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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE 
 
 ^ 
 
 I f. !A1I
 
 COLLECTION 
 
 UF 
 
 BRITISH AUTHORS 
 
 TAUCHNITZ EDITION. 
 
 VOL. 10G6. 
 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE 
 
 BY 
 
 T, ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 
 
 IN TWO VOL U M f: S. 
 VOL. 1.
 
 THE GARSTANGS 
 
 OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 £, BY 
 
 l^^'^ADOLPHUS TEOLLOrE. 
 
 COPYRIGHT EDITIOK 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LEIPZIG 
 
 B E 11 N n A K I) T A U CII N' 1 I Z 
 
 18 7 0. 
 
 The Hight o/ TransUuion is reserved.
 
 v
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF VOLUME I. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Page 
 
 JHAPTER I. The Grange !) 
 
 — 11. At the "Artingale Arras" 16 
 
 — in. The Family at the Grange 32 
 
 — IV. The Park and the Grange 45 
 
 — V. The Brothers 53 
 
 — VI. The Supper-Table at the Grange . . , , 68 
 
 — VII. The Unlucky Blow 86 
 
 B O O K 1 1. 
 
 — I. The Earl of Linacre and his Cousin. . . . 103 
 
 — II. A General Practitioner of the Beginning of the 
 
 Nineteenth Century 115 
 
 — III. The Earl is Stricken Do'v\ti 12.S 
 
 — IV. Brother and Sister 138 
 
 — V. A Committal for Murder 144 
 
 — VI. Patience goes Forth to Seek Tidings . . . 1.14 
 
 — Vn. Patience and Lucy 165 
 
 — VIII. Lawyer and Client 177 
 
 — IX. Mr. Sligo at Billmouth i;>7 
 
 — X. Mr. Sligo visits the Gnango 214 
 
 — XL Mr. Sligo and Miss Patience 220 
 
 — XU. The Trial 234
 
 « 
 VI CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 Pago 
 
 CHAPTER I. The Earl takea a new View of Things ... 253 
 
 — II. At the Inner Temple 263 
 
 — III. Juliette's Flight 276 
 
 — IV. Vengeance 291 
 
 — V. The Birth and the Death of a Garstang of the 
 
 Grange 304
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 "Che sark, sara."
 
 THE 
 
 GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 The Gi-ange. 
 
 About two or three miles from the thriving little 
 port and town of Billmouth, on the coast of one of our 
 western counties, there is a dAvelliug which rarely fails 
 to attract the attention and appeal to the imagination 
 of any stranger to the locality who may chance to 
 pass that way. And there are many strangers who do 
 so. For the walk by the coast from Billmouth to 
 Garstang, and thence returning throiigh the Artingale 
 woods to the town, is a very pretty and pleasant one; 
 nnd Garstang Grange is a sort of lion, which the Bill- 
 mouth folk, and even people from the somewhat more 
 distant town of l^illiford, a few miles inland to the 
 southward, take visitors to see. 
 
 Houses have physiognomies quite as distinctive and 
 suggestive as those of the human beings whose idio- 
 syncrasies they express in stone, and brick, and mortar. 
 There are many, — the great majority, of course, — 
 Avhose physiognomies express nothing. Their builders 
 had no character to express in them. Of course, houses 
 built by those whose trade it is to build them for other
 
 10 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 people — for any people who will pay tlie rent of them 
 ■ — -belong to the category. And, generally speaking, 
 new houses have less of character in their expression 
 tlian old ones. It seems as if human beings by mere 
 long living in a house can in some mysterious way 
 impart to it a portion, or a reflection, of their own 
 idiosyncrasy. 
 
 Tliis, at least, was the case with Garstang Grange. 
 It was a very expressive house. Everybody agreed in 
 admitting that they were thus impressed by it. And 
 yet it was difiicult to say what the precise character 
 of its expression was, or by what specialties of con- 
 struction it j)roduced the impression it did. 
 
 It was certainly not a cheerful-looking house; and 
 there could be no difference of opinion as to the fact 
 tliat the effect it produced on the imagination was one 
 of sadness and melancholy. An air of dilapidation 
 Avill have this effect. But it was not that in the case 
 of (Jarstang Grange, "^i'he old stone-built liouse was 
 in perfect repair and good condition. The colour of 
 the material of which it was built was sober and vener- 
 able, but could liardly be said to be sad. It was tliat 
 pictures((ue, warm, stone-colour, between yellow and 
 grey, M-liicli liarmoniscs so well with the green of turf 
 or foliage, and Avhich becomes glowingly golden in the 
 slanting rays of the rising or setting sun. Yet it was 
 decidedly a grim-looking house. Of foliage there was 
 little or none near it. And the difference of colour 
 Itetween that side of it which faced the sea, and the 
 opposite side which looked landwards and southwards, 
 sj)oke plainly enough of the inunitigated swee^j of the 
 brine-laden winds that blew over it from the seaward. 
 It could be seen at a glance to be a very substantial
 
 THE GRANGE. 11 
 
 and, indeed, massive buildin*; and must have been 
 specially so, even at a time when houses were not 
 built to last with scientific precision the duration of 
 the builder's lease of the ground. 
 
 It consisted of two wings, joined together by a very 
 short connecting limb of the building, in such sort that 
 the ground-floor resembled, in some degree, the form 
 of the letter H. Both the wings terminated in high 
 and steep gables-, and the roof of the middle, or con- 
 necting portion, projected so as to form very large 
 eaves. The building consisted of a ground-floor and 
 one upper storey, and the rooms of both were low. 
 And in the whole of the principal front — that which 
 looked seaward — there were but six very moderate- 
 sized windows, one in each gable upstairs, and one in 
 each gable on the gi'ound-floor; and one in the central 
 portion upstairs, and one over the deep and low porch 
 which protected the door of entrance. The six rather 
 large but gloomy rooms lighted by these six windows 
 occupied about half the space contained in the house, 
 which was thus by no means a very small one. At 
 the back or landward side of the building, the whole 
 of the space occupied by the centre rooms above and 
 below the front side was devoted to a huge staircase. 
 The house thus consisted of ten very good-sized rooms, 
 besides the kitchen and some other dependencies which 
 occupied an additional and, probably, subsequently 
 built out-house or lean-to at the back. 
 
 The farm-houses of the period, Avhen Garstang 
 Grange was built, were not often constructed so sub- 
 stantially that many specimens of their class have been 
 preserved to our day. Of the houses of the yeomanry 
 a few as good as Garstang Grange may be met Avith,
 
 12 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 chiefly in tlie nortliern counties; but they are rare 
 there, and rarer still in the southern half of the kingdom. 
 Nevertheless, Garstang Grg,nge was, and had doubt- 
 less been built as, the home of a very perfect specimen 
 of that class. The Garstangs of Garstang Grange were 
 still owners as Avell as tillers of the soil. It is probable 
 that when the Grange was built they owned more land 
 than remained to them at the date of the events which 
 the following pages are to record. But the land must 
 have passed from them very many years ago. The 
 few acres which still gave to the name of Garstang its 
 place among the landowners of England were very 
 few, and as poor in quality as in quantity. However, 
 Garstang was Garstang of Garstang yet, and the name 
 sounded well, and its owners were not less proud of it 
 than the scions of the noblest lineages in the land of 
 their ancestral titles and ancestral lands. Indeed, the 
 unfailing tradition of the country-side attributed a very 
 high antiquity to the origin of the family, and of its 
 status in that part of the county of Sillsliire. Common 
 fame declared that Garstangs had been Garstangs of 
 Garstang before the patrician Artingales had ever been 
 heard of in the land, and even before the Farlands — 
 another family of the neighbourhood, who laid claim 
 to ante-Norman blood and settlement — had been known. 
 And the remarkable circumstance that the name of the 
 hundred is also Garstang would seem to give some 
 degree of probalnlity to the vox populi on this point. 
 There is now neither town nor village of the name. 
 It survives only as the name of the hundred and as 
 that of the isolated old Grange, which must once, one 
 Avould suppose. 
 
 When good King Arthur ruled the land,
 
 THE GRANGE. 13 
 
 have been the most important place in the hundred so- 
 called. 
 
 If the family inhabiting the Grange had been 
 wholly dependent upon the few acres of ungrateful soil 
 which remained to them, they would have been miser- 
 ably poor, and the Grange would not have exhibited 
 that appearance of good repair and solid comfort which, 
 despite its grimness, and loneliness, and bleakness, it 
 had the character of The fact was that the Garstangs 
 had for several generations past held, from father to 
 son, a large farm on the estate of the Earl of Linacre, 
 a territorial magnate, whose property lay chiefly on 
 the other or eastern side of Billmouth, where, in a 
 lovely situation not far from the coast, and some five 
 or six miles from Billmoutli, the Linacres had a noble 
 residence, known as Linacre Park. The Garstangs 
 Avere, therefore, well-to-do people as farmers, though 
 they would have been very poor folks as landowners 
 only. 
 
 The coasts of the ocean seem to take a quality of 
 mutability from the notorious character of their moody 
 neighbour. Tlie change in the nature of the coast-line, 
 and of the lands which lie in the innnediate neighbour- 
 hood behind it, is often startlingly sudden and violent. 
 Thus the coast to the eastward of Billmouth was low, 
 gentle in its slopes, and bordered a rich, fertile, and 
 well-wooded country. It was tliis coast-line tliat 
 bounded the well-tilled tields and sunny sloping 
 meadows of the Linacre property. Then came the 
 estuary of the little river Bill, with the little town at 
 its mouth. And beyond tliis, to the westward, tlie 
 character of the coast and of tlie country Avas entirely 
 ditferent. Geologically, agriculturally, and landscape-
 
 14 THE GAUSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 ically, all was different. The coast became high, bold, 
 and craggy. The land Avliich lay behind it changed 
 from deep fertile soil to poor hungry uplands. Some 
 victorious Norman Linacre, in the old time, had known 
 well how to carve out for himself his portion of the 
 soil, which mail-clad chivalry had won from its com- 
 paratively defenceless owners, and had left to the 
 yeoman of the conquered race only the poverty-smitten 
 fields, which would barely pay for culture. The general 
 aspect of the country, too, on the favoured eastern 
 side of the estuary of the Bill differed altogether from 
 that to the westward. Rich woods made everything 
 beautiful in the one direction. In the other, all was 
 nakedness. At a distance of some miles inland from 
 the coast, the woodland character of the district pre- 
 vailed also to the westward of the river Bill. And 
 thereabouts were the Artingale woods — another portion 
 of the soil on whicli the Norman conqueror had laid 
 his hand. So that the bit of his native ground which 
 the old Saxon yeoman had been able to retain in his 
 own possession Avas a mere strip of stony, high-lying 
 coast land, very bare of trees, very bleak and unlovely 
 to the eye, very ungrateful to the hand that tilled it, 
 very constantly swept by the bitter blasts from the 
 ocean, and generally dreary and desolate-looking in 
 its character. Yet here fJarstang of Garstang had lived 
 and clung to tlie soil from father to son for more than 
 six hundred years; and from father to son had loved 
 the dreary spot, and liad, for several generations at 
 least, tilled the richer land of tlie Norman, for the sake 
 of maintaining the old (Irangp, and tbemselves in it, 
 in the condition of stability and decent comfort in 
 which it had been handed down to them.
 
 THE GRANGE. 15 
 
 The position of "The Grange" was a remarkable 
 one. Perched on the higliest cliflf of that part of the 
 coast, it was visible far out at sea, and from many a 
 distant inland position. There was not a tree near it. 
 Square, heavy, and strong-looking, it seemed to cling 
 to the rock on which it was built in sullen defiance of 
 wind and weather. There had been some little attempt 
 at a garden at the back of the house, but the effort to 
 combat nature seemed to have been given ujj in 
 despair; nothing would grow there, and the desolation 
 of the abortive attempt had the effect of adding to the 
 general dreariness of the scene. Two or three stunted 
 and contorted yew-trees were the only vegetation that 
 had been able to struggle against the salt-laden 
 northern winds. It would seem as if something either 
 in the character of the race, or in the circumstances 
 of their fortime, had shaped their minds to delight in 
 the special dreariness of the spot on eartli's surface 
 which fate had allotted to them for their own. Bleak 
 and bare as the Garstang acres were, a cosier position 
 for the homestead might have easily been found for it 
 on them. The little estate abutted on its southern 
 frontier on the Artingale woods, and there a site might 
 have been found at least protected from the bitter north 
 wind and the briny spray which it often carried on 
 its wings. But there had been something in the mood 
 of that old Garstang, who had built the existing house, 
 doubtless on the remains of still earlier foundations, 
 which led him to prefer the wild and exposed situation 
 on a cliff hanging over the sea, on the northernmost 
 edge of his land. Even there another than a Garstang, 
 had he been compelled to choose such a spot ibr his 
 house, would have made it I'ront towards the south.
 
 16 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 and away from the sea, so that it might have looked 
 at least over the pleasant woods and distant lowlands 
 belonging- to the Artiugales and the Linacres. But 
 Garstang of Garstang wanted no such prospect, and 
 had preferred looking out over the billowy sea, which 
 no Norman had been able to break to subjection. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 At the "Artingale Arms." 
 
 The Garstangs were not, and as far as tradition 
 went, never had been, a popular race in the country 
 in which they lived. In that agricultural district, where 
 anti((uity of descent still counted for much in the opinions 
 and imaginations of the people, they were higldy re- 
 spected and thought much of. But they were not liked: 
 the farmers of the neigld)ourhood were fond of remind- 
 ing one another that if all was true >is history-books 
 said, Garstang of Garstang had been on tlie land before 
 ever an Artingale or a Linacre had been heard tell of. 
 And the rustics never forgot that "volks do say that 
 Garstang, though he be a varmer like, is as much a 
 s([iiire by tlie rights of it, as old Muster Farlaud at 
 Farlandstoke himself." And the Mr. Farlaud in ques- 
 tion, who had liimself boasted of Saxon blood, -ancl of 
 great antiquity of descent, and wlio thought a great 
 deal of such matters, ])rofessed great respect for 
 Garstang of Garstang; and tliough a very wealtliy man 
 and habitually liv-ing with the great county magnates, 
 would fain have cultivated the acquaintance of the 
 Garstangs if the latter would have allowofl him to do 
 so, as an overt manifestation of his respect for their
 
 AT THE ARTINGALE ARMS." 17 
 
 antiquity of blood. But Mr. Garstang would not res- 
 spond to any overtures of this sort; he would not be 
 drawn out. 
 
 And this unsocial mood had come to be a recognised 
 traditional characteristic of the family. For generations 
 past no farmer ever expected to see Garstang at the 
 social market dinner; some said that it was mere stujiid 
 stuck-up pride, because he happened to possess a few 
 starved acres of his own. But the elder men, who 
 knew the country and all its histories better, shook 
 their heads, and seemed to imply that the cause lay 
 deeper than that. "It's not so much that, to my think- 
 ing," said old farmer Bolsover of South Coomb — who 
 held a farm on the Artingale jiroperty, that had been 
 tilled by his sire and grandsire before him— one day 
 as he sat at the head of the table at the "Artingale 
 Arms" in Billiford, with a yard of clay between his 
 lips and a steaming tumbler of brandy-and-water before 
 him; — "No, it's not so much that, to my thinking, as 
 that there's a something wrong in the blood of all the 
 lot of them. The Garstangs never was like other people, 
 never! 'Tain't so much that they won't be sociable 
 and happy like with theii- neighbours as that ih^y canH; 
 — not, if so be as they would, they can't." 
 
 Farmer Bolsover of South Coomb was a tall, hand- 
 some, florid man, of some five-and sixty years, who was 
 very well off in the world, and wore always top-boots, 
 and on market days-a blue coat with gilt buttons, and 
 rode into Billiford on a good horse, and always took 
 the chair at the market dinner at the "Artingale Arms," 
 and was a very highly respected man, and a great 
 authority. 
 
 To him Farmer Jennings, — a much smaller man 
 The Garsiaiigs. I. 2
 
 18 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 both in inclies and in standing in the world, a little old 
 man with a red dried apple face, and a blue and white 
 silk spotted handkerchief round his neck; who wore 
 corduroy breeches, grey worsted stockings, and thick 
 shoes, — replied, nodding his head three or four times 
 with much mysterious meaning, — 
 
 "Ay, that's about it. Muster Bolsover. You've about 
 hit the mark. Muster Bolsover generally do hit the 
 mark when he makes an observation," continued Mr. 
 Jennings, looking round the table. "Can't be sociable, 
 nor like other people, not if so be as if they would, 
 they can't, them Garstangs can't. Why, they do say," 
 continued Mr. Jennings, dropping his voice to an awe- 
 struck whisper, "that there is a curse as hangs over the 
 family!" 
 
 "What do you mean by a curse hanging over the 
 family?" inquired his opposite neighbour on the other 
 side of the table — a Mr. Blore, whose broad red face 
 and round prominent eyes seemed to protest angrily 
 against such unpleasant subjects being introduced among 
 pipes and brandy-and-water. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Blore, it isn't I who say so; and I don't 
 rightly know myself wliat is meant by it," replied little 
 Mr. .Jennings, apologetically. 
 
 " Well, it's well known there are such things," said 
 Mr. Greenhill, a young man who had lately entered on 
 a farm on Lord Linacre's property; "but it's mostly 
 the families of the nobility, — the real old,, ancient 
 families, — tiiat one hears of sucli things being in the 
 family; not such people as tlicse (iarstangs. Why, 
 neiglibour Jennings, there, might as well set u]» for 
 having a curse a hanging over Iu'h family." 
 
 Mr. Jennings earnestly protested against being
 
 AT THE "aRTINGALE ARMS." 19 
 
 supjjosed to liarbour any siicli higli-flying* notions on 
 his own behalf. He knew his own station, he said, well 
 enough. But it must be admitted that the Garstangs 
 were a very old family, and respectable enough for 
 anything, for that matter. 
 
 "But M'hat is it, Mr. Jennings? what is the curse?" 
 inquired young Mr. Siincox, the son of old farmer Sim- 
 cox, of Alderly Farm, a weak-looking young man, with 
 pale blue eyes, scanty tow-coloured hair, and a retreat- 
 ing forehead. 
 
 "Ask Mr. Bolsover to tell you," replied Mr. Jen- 
 nings, humbly. "He is more tit to speak than I am; 
 and if there is a man that knows what mayhap other folks 
 don't know, why it's IVIr. Bolsover of the Coomb Farm." 
 
 Thus propitiated, the great Mr. Bolsover slowly 
 took his pipe from his mouth and looked round on the 
 assembled company. Then, having very deliberately 
 fortified himself with a pull at the huge tumbler of 
 brandy-and- water before him, while the eyes of all 
 present were turned on him in expectation of his reply, 
 he, with a preliminary cough, addressed himself to the 
 task of meeting the demand that had been made 
 upon him. 
 
 "I am not one that much favours speaking upon 
 such like things," he said; "but we are all friends anil 
 neighbours here met; leastways I hope we are, gentle- 
 men," he added, with great suavity of manner; "and 
 so being, I don't mind saying what I remember hearing 
 from my father about these here Garstangs. My father 
 was a prudent man, gentlemen, and could see into a 
 millstone as far as most people, — mayl)e a little fartlior, 
 -but that is neither here nor there. The Garstangs 
 have been in this country settled and living on their 
 
 '2*
 
 20 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 own land time out. of miud, there is no doubt about 
 that. And the Grange out there on the cliff, that looks 
 for all the world as if the devil had pitched it down 
 there where it stands, is one of the oldest houses in all 
 tlie country side."' 
 
 "Why does it look as if the devil had pitched it 
 down there?" inquired young; Simcox. 
 
 "Why does it look as if the devil had pitched it 
 down there?" retorted Mr. Bolsover with crushing 
 severity, and turning round in his seat so as to bring 
 his full front to bear on the offender; ''''why does it 
 look so?" 
 
 "Don't you go for to interrupt Mr. Bolsover, young 
 gentleman," put in Mr. Jennings, taking out the value 
 of a little of his obsequiousness to the great man by 
 indulging himself in the safe pleasixre of snubbing the 
 Aveak-eyed Simcox, who only sat in that august 
 assembly as representative of his father, wlio was laid 
 up with the gout. 
 
 Simcox shrunk into his highlows, and Mr. Bolsover, 
 resettling himself in his chair, proceeded with a ma- 
 jestic wave of the hand: — 
 
 "As for the house, anybody may judge for their- 
 selves. Look at it! Did ever a reasonable man tliink 
 of building a homestead in such a situation? unless it 
 was a coast-guard station or a lighthouse , wliich could 
 not help thcirsclves. But I can tell you, gentlemen, a 
 mo^t extraordinary fact concerning tliat tliere house." 
 
 Here the speaker paused, and looked round on his 
 audience with a gratified sense of superiority that made 
 liitn feel in charity witli all men, even to tlic perfect 
 forgiveness of the ill-advised young Simcox. 
 
 llcdoubled signs of eager attention were observable
 
 AT THE "aRTINGALE ARMS." 21 
 
 all round the table. Old farmer Brooks, of Artiugale 
 Mill, tlie oldest mau there, put u^j his hand to help his 
 deaf ears to catch every word of the coming communi- 
 cation; and farmer Blore cried "'Ear! 'ear!" in tones 
 husky -N^dth fat and many years of brandy-and-water. 
 
 "In that there house," proceeded Mr. Bolsover, with 
 increased solemnity of manner, "wrote up on the stone, 
 — leastways cut in the stone that makes the chimley- 
 piece of the great stone chimley in the front kitchen, 
 yoxi will find these words—" 
 
 "Don't he speak just like the parson to church, — 
 for all the world just like the parson ! " said Mr. Jennings 
 admiringly to his next-hand neighbour. 
 
 ^'' These words, Mr. Jennings!" pursued Bolsover, 
 with a glance that showed that the complimentary na- 
 ture of the remark barely sufficed to excuse the inter- 
 ruption of the speaker: — 
 
 When Garstang shall with Garstang mate , 
 The curse shall fall , however lato. 
 
 For a minute or two there was a hushed pause of 
 awe, when Mr. Bolsover had uttered these terrible words, 
 enunciating the lines after the fashion of schoolboys 
 scanning a verse. 
 
 "I told you as how there were a curse in it some- 
 how," said Mr. Jennings triumphantly, "but I couldn't 
 ha' gi'en you the chapter and verse on it, the way Mr. 
 Bolsover have done." 
 
 "What's the meaning on it?" asked Mr. Blore in 
 a tone of considerable indignation, with his staring 
 round eyes more widely opened than ever. 
 
 "Wliy, that's the curse, that is!" said little Mr. 
 Jennings.
 
 22 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "The meaning is plain enough, I take it," said Mr. 
 Bolsover, majestically, "and I suppose after what the 
 company has heard, nobody is a going to doubt any 
 more as that there family has a curse on it. I don't 
 want to be contradictious to Mr. Greenhill, as thinks 
 that none but some great lord or such like can come 
 to have a curse on their families. I never did know a 
 farmer's family as was any ways that Avay, and at my 
 time of life I am not going to say as ever I did, just 
 for contrariness. Mr. Greenhill is a young man as is 
 come into tliese parts from the neighbourhood of Lon- 
 don, and no doubt he imderstands such matters better 
 tlian I do." ("No, no!" from Mr. Jennings.) "But 
 if them there verses ben't a curse, I should like to be 
 told wliat is. And if they be a curse, why them Gar- 
 stangs is gentlemen enough to have that in the family. 
 Tliat's what I say." 
 
 '"Such an effort of oratory as tliat which Mr. Bolsover 
 had just made, was rarely heard at the market dinner- 
 table at the "Artingalc Arms," and the effect produced 
 by it was proportionately great. There was a general 
 chorus of various forms of "adhesion," inarticulate for 
 the most part, but not the less effectual in expressing 
 tlie entire success of the speaker in carrying his hearers 
 with him. 
 
 "Did you ever hoar tell, now, Mr. Bolsover," said 
 .Jennings, with a glance round the table whicli seemed 
 to V)esj)eak attention to the admirable skill and tact 
 with which he was drawing the great man out, — "Did 
 you ever hear tell, now, by any chance, how them 
 tlicrc awful words come to be wrote u]) on the cliimlcy 
 at the Grange?" 
 
 And then the little man looked round the table
 
 AT THE ARTINGALE ARMS." 23 
 
 again, with a little movement of his hand, at the same 
 time, as who should say, "Now don't be impatient; 
 don't hurry the performer; he'll speak presently; and 
 you shall hear what you shall hear." 
 
 Mr. Bolsover did not seem at all likely to sufiFer 
 himself to he hurried by any impatience on the part of 
 his audience. 
 
 '"'' Might I trouble you to ring the bell, Mr. Simcox? 
 you are n young man and are near to it," he said to 
 the weak-eyed youth, who started up to execute the 
 Cha-irman's behest. 
 
 "You may bring me another glass, Sam," he said 
 to the waiter, who answered the bell; "it is an extray 
 sitting to-day. Gentlemen, this is a extray sitting."- 
 
 Most of the market-day sittings in that parlour were 
 voted by the farmers who used it to be extray ones on 
 some pretence or other, as an excuse for a second 
 tumbler. So that the decree of the Chairman was no 
 veiy special compliment to the interest of the matter 
 in hand. But it, at all evepts, shoAved that Mr. Bolsover 
 was going to gratify the curiosity of the company; and 
 his further utterances were expected with eager, yet 
 patient, interest. 
 
 Mr. Bolsover himself also waited patiently while 
 the tumbler Avas being mixed and brought, saying no 
 word, but drumming on the table with the ends of his 
 fingers, and sitting back in his wooden-seated arm- 
 chair Avith his eyes throAvn up to tlie ceiling. When 
 Sam returned Avitli a AA'hole AvaiterfuU of steaming 
 tumblers, and each man had placed his glass before 
 him, Mr. Bolsover tasted his mixture, nodded his licad 
 approvingly, AV'ij)ed his mouth, and thus l)Ogan,— 
 
 "My father, gentlemen, Avas a prudent man; and
 
 24 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 could see into a millstone as far as here and there an- 
 other, — mayhap, perhaps, a little further; hut that is 
 neither here nor there. But this is Avhat I have heerd 
 my father tell as regarding of that there curse and the 
 dreadful verses as is cut on the chimley of the great 
 kitchen at the Grange, — them, as I said off to this 
 company awhile agone: 
 
 When Garstang shaU with Garstang mate, 
 The curse shaU faU , however late ! 
 
 There was a many as know'd the lines when I was a 
 boy," continued Mr. Bolsover, contemplatively, "but 
 I've not heerd so much talk about 'em of late years. 
 I fancy people have got somehow to think less of such 
 things. I suppose it's all along of the irreligiousness 
 of the times, as the parson was telling us about t'other 
 day. Here's to the mending of us all, gentlemen!" said 
 Mr. Bolsover, raising his glass to his lips. The senti- 
 ment would have been considered by the farmer's 
 audience at any other time more fitted for a Sunday 
 than a market-day, and for the parish church ratlier 
 than the parlour of the "Artingale Arms." But on 
 the present occasion it was felt to be in harmony with 
 the solemn nature of the subject under discussion; and 
 the enunciation of it was responded to l)y a chorus of 
 "Ay, indeed!" — "Very true, Mr. Bolsover!" — "Amen 
 to that!" — "Here's to ye, Mr. Bolsover; and wisliing 
 us all better!" — "Ah — h! Here's wishing we may all 
 be here tin's day six mouths!" and the like, which went 
 the round of the market table. 
 
 If Mr. Bolsover had been the most consummate 
 rhetorician on record, and had striven to attune the 
 minds of his hearers to the tone of mystery and awe
 
 AT THE "aBTINGALE ARMS." 25 
 
 befitting the story be bad to tell, be could not bave 
 struck tbe key-note more skilfully. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," he proceeded, after a pause, 
 amid perfect silence, " tbese Garstaugs, as you all know, 
 are not like any other folks now, and, by all I bave 
 heard, they never was like other folk. There's a som'at 
 about them — I don't know what to call it, — a som'at 
 for all tbe world like the way of a dog that's taking 
 sick for going mad. I bad a bull-terrier once, — my 
 poor Jowler! — that I lost that way. He went mad. 
 Well, tbe way he was took, a getting into corners by 
 hisself, a losing all spirit and life like, a seeming to 
 know nobody, and a turning moody and captious like, 
 was just for all tbe world like tbe ways of these 
 Garstangs. And, by all accounts, it always was tbe 
 same. You all know what a woundy old family they 
 be. Well, who knows but what that may be tbe reason 
 on't? The best ale you can brew'll turn to verjuice if 
 you keep it long enough. And, maybe, it's tbe same 
 with families." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "Like enough!" 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder ! " 
 
 "That's it, Mr. Bolsover, you may depend!" 
 
 Tbese and the like exclamations from most of those 
 around the table, testified tbe general approbation of 
 Mr. Bolsover's hypothesis. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," resumed the Chairman, "I've a 
 told you the verses as speaks to the curse; but Mr. 
 lilore asks what's tbe meaning on 'eu)!" 
 
 All eyes were turned on Mr. Blore, and it was 
 generally felt that be was in rather a ])ainful position. 
 He recognised the fact himself so far as to become for
 
 26 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 a minute purple instead of brick-red in the face; but, 
 sustained by the consciousness that although the farm 
 held by Mr. Bolsover was a much more valuable one 
 than his own, yet he, John Blore, had always paid and 
 coidd 2)ay Ids way with any man, and jwssessed at that 
 instant a matter of eight hundred pounds' worth of 
 Avheat still unthreshed in his stack-yard, he soon rallied, 
 and replied firmly, — 
 
 "Yes, I do, Mr. Bolsover. I makes bold to ax 
 what's the meaning of them lines. If tliere's any gennel- 
 man here as knows — barring he have been told it, — 
 barring he have been told it, mind! — why he is a 
 better scollard than Jolm Blore, tliat's all." 
 
 The clause of exception so pointedly insisted on 
 was intended, it Avill be understood, to exclude Mr. 
 Bolsover himself from any benefit in the admission 
 Avliich followed, seeing that, altliougli he did knoAv the 
 meaning of the mysterious lines, he had avowedly not 
 attained to the discovery by the inuiided effort of 
 liis own intellect, l)ut had received the information 
 from liis father. 
 
 "Mr. Blore, sir, there's a hand that never turned 
 its back on a friend or its front on an enemy," said 
 Mr. Bolsover, rising and stretching a huge paw across 
 the table towards Mr. Blore. 
 
 "And I'm proud to take it, sir," said Mr. Blore, to 
 wliose comprehension Mr. liolsover's genial intention 
 was in no degree obscured by that gentleman's some- 
 Avhat confused mixture of images, as he gras])ed the 
 pi'offered liand in a similar one of his own. 
 
 "And here's your jolly good healtli, .Jolm Blore, 
 and prosperity to you and yours," said Bolsover, re- 
 seating himself.
 
 AT THE "aRTINGALE ARMS." 27 
 
 "The same to you, George Bolsover, and many 
 of them; and I says it from my heart," responded 
 Blore. 
 
 It is not very intelligible what there had been in 
 the previons conversation that rendered so solemn an 
 act of amnesty and reconciliation needful; though it is 
 clear that some feelings existed beneath those broad 
 plush waistcoats that rendered such an effusion of sen- 
 timent salutary, or at least agreeable. But when the 
 little scene had been enacted, every man present had a 
 certain inexplicable consciousness of being morally the 
 better for it. A hum of gratified approbation ran round 
 the table, and in every bucolic heart there, there was 
 a proud feeling that a noble manifestation of manly 
 virtue had passed before their eyes, of a nature of 
 which probably Londoners, and most certainly French- 
 men, were incapable. 
 
 Good certainly was produced by the little incident 
 — to the "Artingale Arms-," for both Mr. Bolsover and 
 Mr. Blore, in the warmth of their hearts, drained their 
 tumblers to the bottom. And it was not to be imagined 
 that Virtue could oV)ject to the replacing of the store 
 which had been expended in her own cause; so both 
 gentlemen called for fresh tumblers, and Mr. Bolsover 
 once more resumed. 
 
 '''■Nobody, gentlemen," said Bolsover, Avitli an em- 
 ))hasis on the word nobody that did honour to his 
 generosity, "could tell the meaning of them there words 
 as hadn't had 'cm exidained to him. This here is the 
 explanation as was give to me. Ever so niany years 
 ago — I don't know hoAv many — there was a Garstang 
 — Wilfred Garstang his name was, same as the present
 
 28 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 man's name is Wilfred: they're always called Wil- 
 fred " 
 
 "Wilful, I should say," put in Mr. Greenliill. 
 
 "Not so far out, Mr. Greenhill, for a young man 
 as hasn't known the country long," saidBolsover, with 
 a grave nod to the interrupter. "Well, this here Wil- 
 fred Garstang married a first cousin of his, one Jenefy 
 Garstang. And wilful he was to do it, as Mr. Green- 
 hill says, for, as I have heerd say, there was good 
 reasons give to him why he shouldn't have done it. 
 But she was a pretty lass, — they are all a good-looking 
 lot, the Garstangs, I Avill say that for them, — and a 
 wilful man must have his way, and Wilfred Garstang 
 married his cousin, Jenefy Garstang. Well, they had 
 two sons, named Wilfred and George. And Wilfred, 
 Avho was always a sullen moody chap — just such an- 
 other by all accounts as young Wilfred Garstang, the 
 old man's son, is now — when he was about eighteen 
 years old, gets up out of his bed one night, when his 
 father was, for some reason or other, absent from home, 
 and takes an axe, as he had been felling timber with 
 the day before, and Avalks into his mother's bedroom, 
 and knocks her brains out with one blow of the axe, 
 and then quietly goes to bed again." 
 
 A thrill and exclamation of horror and surprise 
 ran round the room; and Mr. Bolsover felt that his 
 narrative was a complete success. 
 
 "In course tlie onliappy lad was mad — mad as a 
 March hare," he resumed, amid the eager attention of 
 his hearers. "All he would say for himself when he 
 come to be tried for his life was that God Almighty 
 told him to do it. And he (|Uotcd a many sentences 
 out of the Bible, till he made the very Judge's hair
 
 AT THE "aRTINGALE ARMS." 29 
 
 stand on end under his wig. Howsomever, tliey wasn't 
 so particular in them days as they are now whether a 
 chap is mad or not. He know'd well enough what 
 he'd done; and like enough he might take it into his 
 head that God told him to murder somebody else, if 
 he wasn't put out of the way. So, to make a long 
 story short, that 'ere Wilfred Garstang was hung at 
 Silchester for the murder of his own mother. And 
 folks did say and my father believed it was true, that 
 all came of the lad's being the child of two first 
 cousins. And now, gentlemen, you understand the 
 meaning of them two lines. There's a curse upon the 
 family if one on 'em mates wi' a first cousin. There 
 was curse enough came of it once any way; and the 
 verse says that the curse shall come again if ever a 
 Garstang marries a Garstang again." 
 
 "Why, mercy upon us, and he have a been and 
 done it!" cried little Mr. Jennings, in a scared tone. 
 
 "Why, you don't mean for to say that this here 
 Garstang man-ied his cousin, — and that verse wrote 
 up against it in his house?" cried Mr. Blore, his broad 
 face aghast with dismay. 
 
 j\Ir. Bolsover nodded his head solemnly several 
 times. 
 
 "It is a true story, Mr. Blore," he said; "folks are 
 shy of talking about it: tliey're shy of much talking 
 about the Garstaugs at all; and I hardly know, gen- 
 tlemen, how Ave come to get on to the subject to-day. 
 But it is as true as gospel that Wilfred Garstang, — 
 he that now oavus the Grange, — married his first cousin. 
 I remember her when he first brought her home from 
 Silchester. And sure enough, she was that beautiful 
 as might ha' made any man mad in love \\ith her.
 
 30 THE GABSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 This Wilfred Garstang was not like his son Wilfred. 
 He was more like the otlier brother George; but not 
 quite his sort neither. He was a wild, outdacious, dare- 
 devil sort of a chap, different enough from what he 
 looks like now. He was just the one to care for 
 neither curse, nor God, nor devil, when they stood in 
 the way of his love. And he married his cousin , and 
 brought her home to the Grange-, and I've heerd tell 
 that he had the verse on the kitchen chimbley painted 
 over so as to hide it. And now he and liis wife have 
 two sons, christened Wilfred and George, just the same 
 as was at the time of the curse." 
 
 "Lord ha' mercy!" cried Mr. Blore, greatly shocked. 
 "I think for my part that people didn't ought to be 
 let to go on the way these Garstangs do; it's not any- 
 ways pleasant for honest people." 
 
 "But it's not quite the same now as it was last 
 time," said young Mr. Simcox, apologetically, for, as 
 Mr. Bolsover was saying, there was only two sons, 
 Wilfred and George, when — when the curse come 
 afore, and now there's a daughter. Miss Patience." 
 
 "And you think Miss Patience Garstang may serve 
 to keep the curse away this time, eh, Simcox?" said 
 Mr. Greenhill, who, being a young man recently come 
 from the neighbourhood of London , allowed himself a 
 tone in speaking upon the subject which seemed to the 
 old Sillsliire men to smack of indecent levity. 
 
 "I'm sure 1 do not know anything about it, Mr. 
 Greenhill," returned Simcox mildly, "I never spoke to 
 Miss Patience in my life, biit I've seen her." 
 
 "And what did she look like, eh, Simcox?" re- 
 turned the other. 
 
 "Well, she looked like a lady,— tall and slender,
 
 AT THE "aUTIXGALE ARMS.'* 31 
 
 and very quiet-like in the ways of her," said Simcox 
 in reply. 
 
 "But was she pretty? that's what a man means 
 when he asks what a girl is like," said Greenhill 
 chaftingly. 
 
 "Well, I'm sure I don't know. She is not what 
 you would call a girl, Mr. Greenhill. She wasn't 
 dressed like the ladies of the quality, but yet she 
 looked like a lady somehow." 
 
 "And what is the second son, George, like, Mr. 
 Bolsover?" pursued Greenhill, turning rather con- 
 temptuously away from Simcox; "you were speaking 
 of him just now. Do you know him?" 
 
 "Not I, Mr. Greenhill-, I don't know any of them, — 
 not to say know. I have spoken to both the young 
 men before now, but not often. As to this George, he 
 takes more after what his father was in his young days, 
 by all accounts. He is a handsome young fellow 
 enough, and looks a deal pleasanter than his brother, 
 whose face is more like a thunder-storm than anvthing 
 else I ever heerd tell of. I never heerd much good 
 of him-, not that I ever heerd anything very bad either, 
 for that matter. I take it, he's a little wild. It's 
 time I was seeing about getting into the saddle, I'm 
 thinking." 
 
 With tliis, Mr. Bolsover tossed oft' the last drop in 
 his tumbler, and pushed his chair back iVoin the table. 
 His example was soon followed by most of the others 
 present, and that day's extray sitting at the "Artingale 
 Arms" was at an end.
 
 32 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 The Family at the Grange. 
 
 The conversation at tlie market dinner-table at the 
 "Artingale Arms," has sii^jplied the reader witli some 
 of the information necessary to enable him to under- 
 stand the position and circumstances of the family at 
 the Grange. And it may be stated at once that the 
 information so picked up was, for a wonder, accurate 
 in almost every particular. Faz-mcr Bolsover's state- 
 ment as to the existence of the doggerel verse he had 
 repeated, in the position he had assigned to it, Avas 
 perfectly correct; and his account of the circumstances 
 which had led to the placing of it there was sub- 
 stantially accurate. There could be no doubt that the 
 unf(»rtunate Wilfred, who was executed at Silchester, 
 as Mr. Bolsover had recounted, for the murder of his 
 mother, was indeed mad. Whether or no there might 
 have been any fair grouad of conjecture that the dread- 
 ful misfortune was, with any greater or less degree of 
 certainty, the result of the ill-omened marriage between 
 two first cousins of a race in which tlie fatal germs of 
 the fearful malady may have previously given signs of 
 their presence, cannot be known. But the menacing 
 inscription cut on the stone cliimney-piece is evidence 
 that such an idea was present in tlie minds of those 
 whose lives were blasted by the tragedy. Nor would 
 it seem that — whatever future falling of the curse the 
 menacing legend might be siipiKjsed (o point to — the 
 curse which had followed the iirst meeting of Garstang
 
 THE FAJnLY AT THE GBANGE. 33 
 
 witli Garstaiig liad ever ceased from resting on the 
 doomed family. 
 
 For the fact was, as may be partly gathered from the 
 talk of the farmers at Billiford, that the Garstangs had 
 lived apart, shunning, as well as being shunned by, the 
 world around them, from that time to tlie day of which 
 Ave are speaking. It is probalde that the terrible and 
 mysterious taint in the blood, which had so awfully 
 revealed itself, and the hereditary nature of which, so 
 well known to science ^ is one of the most terrible dif- 
 liculties in tlie j^ath of those who seek to make com- 
 jn-ehensible to themselves the Divine government of 
 the world, — it is probable, I say, that this mysterious 
 taint had never ceased to be operative in the Garstang 
 blood, from generation to generation, from the time of 
 the first tragedy to the date of the events here to be 
 chronicled. But it is also true that the lives that had 
 been led by the inhabitants of the Grange, generation 
 after generation, and the consciousness of the brand 
 tliat was on them, may have very efficiently helped to 
 develop any seeds of mental disease that exi.sted, in 
 more or less latent condition, in the constitution of the 
 men and women of the family. 
 
 If all of them were in some degree affected by 
 the curse, it is certain that they were affected in a 
 different manner, l^erliaps science would see in this 
 fact no reason for doubting that all of tlicm, in truth, 
 had the taint in tlieir blood. For, mucli as these men 
 diftered tlie one from the other, there was some 
 evidence, more or less, of what is j)opul:Hly termed 
 "a screw loose" in all of them. And it is a curious 
 fact that the difi'orences observable between them 
 seemed to limit themselves to one or two different 
 
 The Garsiatigs. I. «*
 
 34: THE GAUSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 types, Avhicli reproduced themselves again and again. 
 There "vvere reckless, roystering-mad Garstangs, and 
 moody, religious, melancholy-mad Garstangs. It seemed 
 as if the only alternative open to the members of the 
 unhappy family was one of these two. Old Dr. Black- 
 Avood, of "Tlie Vinery," near Billiford, used to say 
 that the two forms of cliaracter were only two avatars 
 of the same demon, — two manifestations of the same 
 malady, — two morbid growths from the same evil 
 root. ^ 
 
 Of course, such speculations, and much other talk 
 respecting tlie banned family, — for sucli tliey well-nigh 
 were, — were not intended ever to reach their ears. 
 And, indeed, it might have seemed that the whole 
 neighl)our]iood might have talked about nothing else 
 from )norniug to night, without any danger that a 
 syllable of the gossip should ever come to the hearing 
 of the subjects of it, so little communication was there 
 of any kind between the inhaliitants of Ihe Grange and 
 the world around them. Yet "the birds of the air 
 carried ^he matter" somelu)w. And the Garstangs 
 were very conscious of the sort of opinion and feeling 
 that prevailed in tlie neighboiirliood with respect to 
 tliem. They knew that they were held to be not like 
 other people; tliey had records enough of terrible ex- 
 jieriences to compel them to accept as true the popular 
 estimate. From one generation to another tliey re- 
 ceived and transmitted the dark tradition; and thoy 
 were ever in the expectation of some more decitled and 
 fatally terrible outbreak of the inevitable devil they 
 were conscious of carrying about with them more or 
 less insecurely chained in tlie inmost jtarts of their 
 physical and moral nature.
 
 THE FAMILY AT THE GRANGE. 35 
 
 Had there been uo taint of blood, — no fatal in- 
 heritance, — such an abiding consciousness would have 
 been sufficient to destroy the healthy balance of the 
 soundest bodily and mental constitution. 
 
 In the family residing' at the Grange at the time 
 liere spoken of, both tlie above-mentioned forms of the 
 family peculiarities were more or less strongly and de- 
 cidedly manifested. The family consisted of Wilfred 
 Garstang and his wife Jenefy, and their three children, 
 Wilfred, George, and Patience. Tliere it was again: 
 Wilfred and his wife Jenefy^an accurate reproduction 
 of the past! It seemed strange, a part and parcel of 
 the cross-gi'ained peculiarities of the race, that they 
 would go on sticking to the same Christian names, 
 Avhich had become so ill-omened in their use of them. 
 Wilfreds and Jenefys, and Georges and Patiences, 
 succeeded each other from generation to generation. 
 And now again a Garstang had set aside the warning 
 menace that was the great and primary law of his 
 race, and had wedded his first cousin Jenefy. Garstang 
 had a second time mated with Garstang! 
 
 The Wilfred Garstang who had done this had 
 been an only son. His father had manifested, in ad- 
 dition to some of the usual peculiarities of the race, a 
 twist of the mind not common in the family. He had 
 been a noted miser. He had amassed a considerable 
 sum of money, A\'hicli his son, the present Wilfred, had 
 inherited when he was only t^venty-t^\•o years of age. 
 Like many other sons of miserly fathers, his own 
 tendency was to the opposite extreme. He underto(.k 
 the dispersion of the hoards his father had gathered. 
 It is a task that may be accomplisl;ed more quickly 
 than the raking-togcthcr process which precedes it.
 
 36 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 And by the time Wilfred tlie prodigal, tlie son of Wil- 
 fred the miser, had reached his thirtieth year, the 
 accumulations of the father's life-time had been got rid 
 of. And then a change seemed to come over the 
 character of the spendthrift. From being a very well- 
 marked specimen of one of the two types of Garstang 
 character, he seemed to veer over to the other. When 
 at five-and-twenty he had married his cousin Jenefy, 
 he had been a reckless, jovial, roystering, roaring fel- 
 low. Eecklcss he certainly was, to have married his 
 cousin under the circumstances. But men are apt to 
 be reckless when they fall in love as Wilfred fell in 
 love with Jenefy. She was lovely enough to have 
 made a soberer brain forget everything in the madness 
 of passion. They were all hr.ndsome, those Garstangs, 
 male and female. Wilfred, when he won the love of 
 liis beautiful cousin, was himself also as handsome a 
 man as could have been found in Sillshire-, of a type 
 unlike the ordinary one of our southern and western 
 counties— beautiful dark waving and curling lucks, 
 large dark eyes, and a clear white slenderly oval face. 
 He was not the man to whom a ]»rudcnt father or 
 mother would have willingly given their daughter. But 
 he Avas just such an one as might well captivate the 
 aficction" of an imaginative but not very soberly wise 
 
 girl. 
 
 They loved; and laughed at the menace of tlie 
 old kitchen chinnioy-piece. Jenefy knew all about it. 
 It was not likely that a Garstaiig should be in ignorance 
 of the fatal lines, but Jenefy could laugh too in those 
 (lays-, and when Wilfred brought his wife home to the 
 ({range, there was no trMcc of the unfortunate rhyme 
 to suggest uu])lcasant th<iiights: it h;ul heen obliterated
 
 THE FAMILY AT THE GRANGE. 37 
 
 as completely as whitewash and paint could blot it 
 out. 
 
 For some five years or so the handsome and loving 
 couple lived hajjpily enough at the old Grange, spend- 
 ing the hoards of Wilfred the miser freely, and troubling 
 themselves little about all those things which had made 
 the misery of former generations of Garstang. During 
 these five years three children were born to them, Vv^il- 
 fred the eldest, as usual, George a year younger, and 
 Patience nearly a year younger than George. They 
 ^ Avere all three ajijiarently healthy children, and all 
 promised to become sharers in at least the family in- 
 heritance of good looks. 
 
 At the end of the five years came a change. The 
 miser's hoards were well nigh spent, and the character 
 of Jenefy's husband seemed to be undergoing a change. 
 It was not that the money was all gone, there were 
 still the means of living as well as other generations 
 of Garstangs had lived ; thei'e were the ancestral acres, 
 and, what was very much more to tlie purpose, there 
 Avas the large and valuable faim Aviiich Wilfred the 
 ' spendthrift held on the Linacre estate, as Wilfred the 
 miser and other generations of Garstangs had done 
 before him. Wlion his father's hoards had been spent 
 he became a better farmer than he had been before, 
 and his OAvn little estate and the Bishopscn^ft farm 
 furnished sufficient means for perfect comfort. No, the 
 change that Avas Avorking in Wilfred Garstang had no- 
 thing to do Avitli the iact that the money inherited 
 from his father had made itself Avings and liad fioAvn 
 aAvay. Tlie causes of it were of a more intrinsic 
 nature. 
 
 One morning, on coming doAvnstairs to breakfast
 
 38 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 in tlie large room at tlie Grange, which was still called 
 the kitchen, though modern refinement had provided 
 another place at the back of the house where the 
 cooking was really done, Jenefy saw that the first 
 words of the tei'rible inscription over the fireplace, as 
 far as "When Garstang shall," had been restored to 
 their former visibilit}'-, she started violently and turned 
 ])ale, gazing on the fatal letters with horror in her 
 distended eyes. Then recovering herself by a great 
 eifort, and striving to reassure herself by refiecting on 
 the folly of such "superstitions," she set her mind to 
 the task of dlscovei'ing by what agency the restoration 
 of the inscription so far could liavc been elfected. It 
 was very strange; the thick wliite-wash had been care- 
 fully removed with some sharp instrument from the 
 letters, Avhich had been thus as it were recarved. The 
 eldest of the children was only four years old at the 
 time. An old man-servant and his wife, and one 
 younger maid-servant slept in the house, and com- 
 posed, with the members of the family, the entire house- 
 hold. Doubtless tlie old man and his wife, who had 
 lived all their lives at the (.i range, knew all about the 
 inscription and the import of it. But it was liardly to 
 be supposed possible that either old Kalph or Margy 
 iiis wife had done this thing. It Avas very strange. 
 Was it possible that lior husband himself h<ul thus 
 begun the work of restoring the iiiscii])tion to .legi- 
 bility? Jenefy determined to watch him narrowly 
 when he should presently come into the room to 
 breakfast; she did so, and became convii^ced that he 
 loo then saw the change in the condition of tlie in- 
 scription for the first time, lie too apijcared to be 
 much troubled at what he saw. But what seemed
 
 THE FAMILY AT THE GRANGE. 39 
 
 very strange to his -wife was, tliat lie said no word to 
 her upou the subject j it seemed as if he were painfully 
 seeking within his own mind, and failing to find the 
 explanation of the phenomenon. As was natural, when 
 she found that her husband made no remark on so 
 strange a circumstan'^e, which was evidently occupying 
 his mind, Jenefy spoke to him; and asked him if he 
 knew anything about the cleaning out of the white- 
 wash from the words which had been restored. 
 
 "No, I think not," he said; — "of course not! How 
 should I? It is of no consequence. Damn the words; 
 never mind them ! " And then he placed himself at the 
 breakfast-table with his back to the fireplace, which 
 was not his ordinary position in the room, and made 
 no further allusion to the subject. But, at a later 
 period of the day, the Avife stealthily observing her 
 husband with a sore sense of misgiving in her mind, 
 detected him by himself in the room, which was de- 
 serted during the forenoon hours, fixedly gazing at the 
 partially-restored inscription. And fiu'ther vigilance 
 enabled her to convince herself that her husband him- 
 self had thus commenced the restoration of the fatal 
 inscription in his sleep, having walked from his bed to 
 the old Icitchen for that purpose. On subset^ueut 
 nights he continued the task in the same manner, 
 rising always at exactly the same hour, and remaining 
 exactly the same length of time employed on the work. 
 Every morning the progress of the restoration appeared 
 to inspire him with continually recurring surprise and 
 uneasiness. And this continued till the whok^ of the 
 two lines had been restored to their original legibility. 
 But from that time forth tlie habit of sonniambulism 
 became a fixed one with Mr. Garstaug; and almost
 
 40 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 every night he returned to the now needless work of 
 retracing and going through the scmhhxnce of reclean- 
 ing ont the letters. 
 
 Jenefy had sufficient sense to say notliing more to 
 her husband on the subject. But she watched him 
 carefully, and in the daily deepening shadow of the 
 change from his former self to the dark gloom of mind 
 which settled down upon him, she thought that the 
 menace of the inscription was beginning to verify 
 itself. 
 
 Meantime, the children were growing up, still 
 handsome, and, to all oiitward appearance, healthy in 
 body. But already there were symptoms which seemed 
 to indicate that the two boys belonged each to one of 
 the two different known phases of Garstang cliaracter. 
 Wilfred the elder, was of the too well-known moody, 
 melancholy, saturnine, Garstang type; George the 
 younger of the hot-headed and reckless variety. 
 
 The tAvo boys, however, despite tlie marked dif- 
 ference of their characters, grew u]) with strong affec- 
 tion for each other, and for their sister Patience. 
 Patience belonged to the melancholy ty])e of Garstang 
 character. But the family idiosyncrasy manifested itself 
 in her softiewliat differently from the form it assumed 
 in the case of lier brother Wilfred. That which was 
 savage in him, when llie lit was on him, took the form 
 of ascetic severity in her. It could hardly have liecn 
 denied that lier delicate and regularly cut features 
 were handsome. Vet her face could scarcely be said 
 to be a pleasing one. The thin compressed lips gave 
 token too unmistakable of a dry uugcuial tem])erament. 
 The high and snow-white brow, haliitually corrugated 
 iu two slender perpendicular lines above the delicate
 
 THE FAMILY AT THE GRANGE, ' 41 
 
 high nose, told of severity and sternness-, and the 
 drooping corners of the handsomely formed mouth 
 spoke of habitual sadness. Patience Garstang- had an 
 elegant figure also, or what would have been such if 
 she would have alloAved it to appear so. But her 
 dress, always unlike that of the other young people of 
 her day, seemed to be selected with the unique object 
 of imparting as great an air of uncompromising stiff- 
 ness, and as little of becomingness to her appearance 
 as possible. It Avas understood that Patience Garstang 
 had very strong religious convictions. They were so 
 strong, indeed, that the Church of England had no 
 meat strong enough to feed their needs with. Dissent 
 was rare at that time in the agricultm-al and remoter 
 districts of England. But there had recently been 
 established, amid much evil speaking and not a little 
 of social persecution, a small congregation of C^il- 
 vinistic Methodists of a very advanced and decided 
 type of doctrine in the town of Billiford. And to tliis 
 little congregation Patience Garstang had attached her- 
 self, walking the distance from the Grange into Billi- 
 ford in all weathers for the purpose of joining in their 
 religious exercises. 
 
 On rare occasions her brother Wilfred would ac- 
 company her on tliese excursions, lie had never 
 made any [)rofession of liaving dissevered his con- 
 nection with the (Church of England; but lie rarely or 
 never entered the doors of a church. And those who 
 loved him best, even Patience herself, Averc scarcely 
 pleased when he manifested any intention of sharing 
 in the Avorship at Bethlehem Chapel in AVater Lane in 
 Billiford-, for that A\'as a sure sign that matters Avithin 
 were not Avell Avitli him, that tlie black fit Avas on
 
 42 TIIE GAUSTANGS OF GAESTANG GRANGE. 
 
 him, or sliortly would be on liim; aud at sucli 
 times there Avas worse trouble than usual at the 
 Grange. 
 
 And there was no day in those years when there 
 was nut trouble enough within those old walls. Tranquil 
 and peaceful as the dwelling looked in its solid, sub- 
 stantial loneliness — dreamily happy even as one might 
 have figured to oneself the life inside, when the sun 
 shone and gilded the yellow-grey old stones into mel- 
 lowness — there are few human homes in which a smile 
 is so rarely seen as it was in that grim old house. 
 Agony of sharper grief, sorer sorrow, than any which, 
 at any given hour, affected the inmates of tlie Grange, 
 during tlic years which turned Wilfred, and George, 
 and Patience Garstang from children into grown men 
 and women, tliere may have been — there surely often 
 was to have hocn found in uiany a home around them. 
 But normal lumiau nature is nut constituted i'or sull'or- 
 ing. Even as nature quickly covers earth's scars and 
 graves with the soft bright greenery that tells of no 
 ])ast wounds, so does she obliterate human sorrows, 
 aud untiringly covers with a fresh growth of green the 
 scars of tlie heart. But tlie human nature in tliat un- 
 ha})py household was not normal. Some fault, some 
 contravention, some iguorance of tlic eternal laws — 
 who knows how, or how long ago counnitted — had en- 
 tailed this Nemesis. 
 
 Who knows! If we could but /,/iow we could 
 avoid. We know somewhat by this time, and have 
 avoided much. We shall know more, and shall avoid 
 more of evil and suffering. Not to know is to suffer. ) 
 And — greatest, terriblcst mystery of all- -future gener-
 
 THE FAMILY AT THE GRANGE. 43 
 
 atlons will suffer because past generations have not 
 known. 
 
 The human nature in the household at the Grange 
 was not normal. And no returning spring of gladness 
 lightened the hea^y load of sorrow that each member 
 of that family had to bear. 
 
 An ever-deepening gloom had settled down gra- 
 dually, becoming deeper and deeper on the old man. 
 He did the tasks of the day in a mechanical, almost 
 automaton-like sort of way. And when he was away 
 from home on the land with his labourers, he seemed 
 more like Avhat other men in similar conditions are. 
 At home he rarely spoke; and had it not been for the 
 deep, sad, wistful look in his eyes when they met 
 those of any of the members of his family, especially 
 of his wife — a look that seemed to tell of constant 
 never-resting outlook for coming calamity- — had it not 
 been for the unceasing presence of that unresting look, 
 it might have been hoped that the inward spirit of the 
 man was deadened by a lethargy, tliat rendered him 
 as incapable of sorrow as of joy. Ilis habit of som- 
 nambulism, so distressing to those of the sleep-walker's 
 household, continued, and came to be of nightly occur- 
 rence. Almost always the object of his rising from his 
 bed seemed to be to visit the great kitchen, and re- 
 main in contemplation of the restored legend. More 
 than once his Avife had tried the experiment of causing 
 it to be re-covered with obliterating whitewash: but the 
 only result had been that he h;id recommeufod his 
 nightly task of restoring it. Sometimes he would, in 
 his .sleep, station himself outside the door of the room 
 in which his eldest son slept, and nniiain there, ns if 
 standing sentinel, for hours.
 
 44 THE GARSTANGS OP GAKSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 Patience, in every part of her conduct in tlie bouse 
 and towards the inmates of it, Avas more than irre- 
 proachable; she was exemplary, as far as action was 
 concerned. No toil was too great, no continuance of 
 labour too severe for her. Early and late, with passive 
 regularity, she went about the duties of the household; 
 with activity and intelligence she laboured to maintain 
 good order, decency, bodily comfort, and an outward 
 appeai-auce of prosperity both in tlie house and in the 
 farm. In one sense she was the Providence of her 
 parents and her brothers; but it was a Providence 
 Avhich, all unlike the higher one, never smiled, never 
 included any seeming of or attempt at gladness in the 
 scope of her cares. She did love those with whom she 
 lived, and in common with whom she suffered, deeply 
 and dearly; but no one would have guessed as much 
 from her manner, or her voice, or her look. Dry, 
 harsh, and stern, she walked with her stiff, unbending, 
 slender form through life like an embodied assertion of 
 the universal and irresistible jiredominance and mastery 
 of evil over good in all the world. 
 
 Such was the life shut up within the walls of the 
 lone grim house on the bleak cliff overlooking the ocean, 
 during the years that brought the cliildren of Wilfred 
 anil .lenefy Garstang from cliildhood to the ages of 
 twenty-five, twenty-four, and twenty-three respectively. 
 And it will be admitted that farmer Bolsover and the 
 neiirhbours were jiistifiod in thiiikin;,' that there was 
 "sonrat about them Ciarstangs as made them different 
 from other folk."
 
 TIIR PARR AMD THE GRANGE. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Park aud the Grauge. 
 
 In speaking of the members of the family of the 
 Grauge, little has been said of one among them, — the 
 second son, George. The father and mother, Wilfred 
 the eldest son, and Patience the dnnghter, made a 
 homogeneous group, — the fitting subject of a picture 
 in monochrome. George Garstang needs a separate 
 treatment. 
 
 It has already been gathered from the gossip at the 
 market dinner-table that George differed widely from 
 the rest of the family. A shrewd physiologist, especi- 
 ally if he had been acquainted Avith the history of the 
 ftimily, — ^Dr. Blackwood at the Vinery, for instance, — 
 would probably not have been disposed, by any obser- 
 vations he might have made of the character and con- 
 duct of George Garstang at that period of his life, to 
 infer, with any great degree of hopefulness, that here 
 at last was a Garstang untouched by the family curse. 
 George was too like what his father had been in his 
 youth, — too like Avhat local tradition had recorded of 
 several Garstangs of former generations. He was f(ir 
 the present strangely separated from tlie rest of the 
 family group at the Cirange, only because he belonged 
 to the other well-known category of Garstangs. He 
 was of the warm-blooded, hot-headed, open-handed t}'pe 
 of Garstang. That was all. 
 
 Nevertheless, at four-and-tM'onty (ieorge Garstang 
 would not easily have been believed by anybody who
 
 46 THE GARSTANGS OF GARgTAXG GRANGE. 
 
 saw him to be the victim of mahady of any sort, bodily 
 or mcntah The qualities, which those wlio were well 
 acquainted with the family history considered to mark 
 him as doomed to one phase of the family malady, 
 were at all events less violently developed in him than 
 in other previous examples. He was, as has been said, 
 a young man of jovial, warm-blooded, and somewhat 
 wild and reckless turn. But he had never done any- 
 thing very much amiss, certainly nothing that anybody 
 would ever have dreamed of considering an evidence 
 of unsoundness of mind, had they not been prejudiced 
 by the history of his family. 
 
 It has been said that his father, at the same age, 
 — some four-and-twenty or thereabouts,— had been ])re- 
 eminently such a man as was not likely to be an un- 
 successful suitor for a girl's affections. And the same 
 thing might be said of George with yet greater truth; 
 for there had been a violence of dare-devil reckless- 
 ness, a dash of headlong wilfulness aliout tlio father 
 when he married his cousin Jencfy, Avhich might well 
 have terrified many a girl, and with which George, if 
 not altoge'her free from something of the same sort, 
 was infected in a much slighter degree. He was as 
 handsome as his fatlier had been, and of the same type 
 of beauty, with flowing and curling ]iair of chestnut 
 hue, large bright dark eyes, an aquiline nose, and de- 
 licately sliapcd oval face, with a clear dead-white com- 
 plexion. Unlike his father, he wore both l)card and 
 mouslaclie, silky black both of them, and looked all tlie 
 handsomer for them. 
 
 There was that about his manner, too, wln'ch was 
 eminently calculated to attract female sym])a(hy. Des- 
 pite the violence of the high spirits which nuuked his
 
 THE PARK AND THE GRANGE. 47 
 
 usual moofl — -a liiglmess of spirits -wlucli caused old 
 Dr. Blackwood, of the Vinery, wlio knew all about tlie 
 Garstangs, to shake his head Avhen he had once, by 
 chance, an opportunity of observing the young man's 
 manner — he could assume (I don't mean that he as- 
 sumed artificially, but he naturally fell into) a pecu- 
 liarly touching and gentle tenderness of manner when 
 s])eaking to women, which was the more attractive from 
 the contrast of it with his ordinary tone. 
 
 George Avas popular among the men too — at least, 
 among the young men. Not that the old ones had 
 much to say against him. Though fond of many things 
 that were not, perhaps, altogether consistent with steady 
 work on the farm, it could not be said that he grossly 
 or notoriously neglected his duty in this respect. He 
 w;as to a certain extent, it is true, a fi'equenter of 
 taverns, for he Avas keenly alive to the pleasures of 
 conviviality; and though no man could say that he had 
 ever seen George Garstang the worse for liquor, the 
 respectable old farmers, who held extraij sittings at the 
 "Artingale Arms," and drove home in their gigs very 
 boosily at seven or eight o'clock in the evening, did 
 not ap])r(ivc one of their order, who patronized a dif- 
 ferent house, Avith comj)any of a dilferent sort, which 
 was reported not seldom to be in Ihc liabit of making 
 the small hours musical Avith sounds more melodious 
 than timely. 
 
 After Avhat has been said of the family at the 
 Grange and of George Garstang, it can hardly be wow- 
 dered at that the latter should have been much absent 
 from home. If there Avas any hope fen- a (Jarstang to 
 escape the family doom, it surely must haA-e been 
 frustrated by a life shut up in that house, Avitli the in-
 
 48 THE CtArstangs of garstang grange. 
 
 mates tliat dwelt iu it. I do not know tliat it cau be 
 said, taking all tlie cii'cumstances into consideration, 
 that George deserved any very serious blame for keep- 
 ing away from tbe Grange as much as he did. There 
 was no reason for thinking that any one of the family, 
 excepting, perhaps, Patience, would have wished that 
 George should have been more frequently at home. 
 And the discontent of his sister Patience at his frequent 
 absences was by no means on her own account. It was 
 not that she imagined that any one of tlie unhappy 
 party at home could have been benefited or rendered 
 less unhappy by his staying at the Grange to share 
 their misery; but she disapproved of his absence. She 
 knew that George was away for the sake of enjoying 
 himself And this was in contradiction to the pre- 
 cepts of her creed, and repugnant to lier temperament. 
 For all that, Patience was deeply attached to her 
 brotlier George; and the affection between the two 
 brothers was sincere and profound. Wilfred encouraged 
 (jcorge to be away from liome. He felt as a father 
 might have felt, who, compelled to live in a lazar- 
 house himself, drove his son away from liim. Yet 
 Wilfred bad subjects of discontentment willi his brother. 
 He was dissatisfied and troubled with misgiving at the 
 nature of some of the associates witli whom he knew 
 that George was in the habit of living. There was a 
 second and graver cause of trouble and disapj.roval 
 ;ilso, of which we shall have occasion to sj.oak further 
 presently. With regard to his associates, his disap- 
 i)roval pointed to one jicrson in particular. And 
 George was well aware oi" his brother's leeling on the 
 subjcd; but he could nol bring himself ».. sacrilicc to 
 it the friendship in question.
 
 THE PARK AND THE GRANGE. 49 
 
 The friend, whose intimacy witli George Garstang- 
 was regarded with special disapprobation by the family 
 at the Grange , was Lord Saltash , the only son of the 
 Earl of Linacre. 
 
 It may be said at once that there were none of the 
 strong and decided reasons, which sometimes lead the 
 relatives of one young man to think that the intimacy 
 of a contemporary may be specially dangerous and 
 jjernicious, to be urged against George's friendship 
 with Lord Saltash. There was nothing much amiss 
 with the young man, who was about three years 
 George's junior; but they thought at the Grange that 
 the intimacy was an unsuitable one; that it led, and 
 was likely to lead, George into expensive habits be- 
 yond his station and means. And, above all, it was 
 well known that the friendship between the two young 
 men was strongly disapproved by the old Earl. And 
 this alone would have been abundantly sufficient to 
 make the Garstangs anxious that no such acquaint- 
 anceship should exist; for the Garstangs were very 
 proud men. There was weight also, no doubt, in the 
 consideration that it was not well for a farmer holding 
 a valuable farm, which was the principal means of his 
 maintenance, to cause displeasure and umbrage to his 
 landlord. 
 
 Perhaps these motives and the wishes of their re- 
 spective families ought to have had sufticieut weight 
 with the young men to induce them to give up their 
 intimacy; but so it was that they had not. Many cir- 
 cumstances had occurred to foster it, and to bind the 
 two to each other. Lord Linacre had been unfor- 
 tunate with his family. He had lost throe sons in 
 their boyhood; and there remained t<> him <»nly the 
 
 The Gurstaugs. I. 4
 
 50 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 one son in question, and a daughter a year yoi;nger, 
 at the time of whose birth he had also lost his Coun- 
 tess. Under these circumstances, the preservation of 
 the life of this last hope, — the one frail stay that was 
 to prevent the title and estates of the earldom from 
 passing out of the present line to a distant relative of 
 the family, — was an object of the utmost importance 
 in the eyes of tlie old lord. And as the loss of three 
 other sons seemed to indicate that the constitution of 
 the fourth brother would probably prove frail, it had 
 been determined that the young Lord Saltash should 
 be brought up at home. This had been done under 
 the assiduous care and superintendence of Dr. Black- 
 wood. And whether it were due to that care, or to 
 any other favourable circumstance, so it was that the 
 hope of the house of Linacre grew from childhood to 
 young manhood without giving the slightest cause of 
 anxiety to tliose who were so carefully watching his 
 progress. But then came the time when it was not so 
 easy to manage the entire life of the young man, ac- 
 cording to the views of doctors and nurses, as it had 
 been during his earlier years. The old lord still would 
 not hear of his going away from liome. It seemed to 
 him that the precious life would surely be extinguished 
 in some way, as the others had been before it, if he 
 once let it go out of his own watcliing. So young 
 Lord Saltash remained at Linacre Park as a young 
 man, as he liad always remained tlicre as a child. 
 
 And it was when the child began to outgrow the 
 autliority of nurses and female superintendence that an 
 acquaintance first began between tlie young Lord and 
 George Carstaiig. TIic ino(|uality of social position 
 would have been probably more than enougli in other
 
 THE PARK AND THE GRANGE. 51 
 
 circumstances to prevent the possibility of any such in- 
 timacy. But boyhood seeks the companionship of boy- 
 hood as naturally, and almost as imperiously, as the 
 boyhood of a few years later seeks the companionship 
 of its contemporaries of the other sex. And there was 
 nobody else equally elig'ible to whom the young heir 
 of all the Linacres could turn in the stress of his utter 
 loneliness and dulness in the halls of his fathers. At 
 Artingale there was nobody. The Castle was shut up; 
 and the spendthrift baronet, Sir George of that ilk, 
 was a permanent absentee in London. Young Far- 
 land , the heir of Farlandstoke , was being educated at 
 a distance; his widowed father being equally anxious 
 with Lord Linacre for the well-being of his only son, 
 but turning his attention more to mental improvement 
 than to bodily preservation, and judging that this 
 could be more advantageously cared for away from 
 home. Old Captain Curling, the retired seaman at the 
 Cottage, and old Dr. Blackwood, the almost retired 
 physician at the Vinery, were two old bachelors. 
 There Avas notliing to attract the lonely boy to either 
 of their houses. Boys of his own age were doubtless 
 to have been found among the families of the genteel 
 classes in Billiford: but tliese young gentlemen would 
 have appeared in the eyes of the old lord, and even in 
 those of the high-born boy himself, very much more 
 beneath his oAvn station than the son of Garstang of 
 Garstang, who, after all, was a landowner, though he 
 did till a farm on tlie Linacre estate. Besides, they 
 were town-bred boys, with ways and habits of the 
 town, toAvnish; which all seemed to the bucolic mind 
 of the young territorial magnate far more antagonistic 
 to his own notions of the ways anil habits of a gen- 
 
 4*
 
 52 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 tlemaii than the countrified pastimes and occupations 
 of young Garstang. 
 
 So, under these circumstances, an acquaintanceship 
 between the two boys was first, as one may say, winked 
 at; then more openly tolerated; and, lastly, when the 
 boyish companionship had groAvn into the friendship of 
 young men, was too late grumbled at by the old lord. 
 Perhaps there were other reasons, besides the mere 
 feeling that the intimacy between his sou and Farmer 
 Garstang's son had become closer than he thought 
 ([uite desirable; whicli led him to grumble, and to at- 
 tempt, in an imj)otent sort of way, to check it. Per- 
 haps there were other reasons which led him to disap- 
 prove the habit which had grown up of the young 
 yeoman frequenting the house at Linacre Park familiarly 
 and unrestrainedly. Nevertheless, what with the old 
 Earl's extreme dislike to have unpleasant words with 
 his son, what with indolence and an aversion to dis- 
 agreeables of all sorts, and what with the fact that he 
 himself, however unavowedly to himself, found his 
 own dinner-table and the hour after it mure pleasant 
 when young Garstang was there than it was apt to be 
 at other times, the old lord's grumbling was inter- 
 mittent, and, as such gruml)ling is apt to be, impotent 
 to cause any alteration in the state of things. And 
 thus it came to pass that, when George Garstang was 
 four-and-twenly and Lord Saltash some tliree years 
 younger, the two young men were hand ami glove, as 
 the phrase is; and the amount of disapprobation with 
 which their intimacy was regarded, both at the Park 
 and at the Grange, was quite powerless to change or 
 put a .stop to it.
 
 THE BROTHERS. 53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Brothers. 
 
 It was on a lovely afternoon of a bright breezy day 
 at the end of June, that George Garstang was return- 
 ing to the Grange after an absence which, from an 
 intended six days, had gradually grown into three 
 weeks. He had been with Lord Saltash, more or less, 
 nearly all the time — not all the while at the Park, but 
 hither and thither in the neighbourhood-, and George 
 Avas now hastening homewards, somewdiat conscience- 
 smitten at the length of his absence at a busy time of 
 the year. He had passed through the little fishing 
 village and port of Billmouth, and was breasting the 
 hill, which rose from the western side of the estuary 
 of the Bill to the high cliff on which the Grange is 
 perched. From the direction inland, the height on 
 which the Grange stands may be reached by a more 
 gentle ascent from the bottom, where the little Garstang 
 estate is bounded by the Artingale woods. But the 
 path of the rapidly-vising cliff by the side of the coast 
 is very steep. 
 
 But George Garstang came on with a hearty swing- 
 ing step, little liccding tlio steepness of the path, and 
 twirling and flourishing, with an excess of vigour and 
 vitality, the thick oaken knobbed stick, the size of 
 which almost entitled it to be called rather a cudgel 
 than a walking-stick. But the stceiiness of the hill, 
 and the extra exercise of swinging liis stick, did not 
 exhaust all the vital eneigy or all the breath of that
 
 54 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 •well-knit frame and those vigorous lungs. For lie 
 trolled out aloud strong and joyously, as he stepped 
 along, the words of an old-fashioned west-country 
 ditty, — 
 
 For the farm I now hold , on your honour's estate, 
 Is the sa — a— a— me that my grandfather tilled , 
 He dying, bequeathed to his son a good name , 
 
 the song goes on — 
 
 Which unsullied descended to me . . . 
 
 But George stopped short when he came to the 
 third line, and paused equally abruptly in his walk. 
 His face fell, and the joyousness of youth and high 
 spirits faded out of his eye. He shook his head as 
 much in anger, it seemed, as in sorroAv, as he added, 
 muttering to himself with a heavy frown, and resum- 
 ing his walk more soberly, — "No; least said upon that 
 chapter is best. I Avish one could start fair in the 
 world without any descending of anything for my 
 part. 1 think I could tind or make a way for myself 
 
 if there was a fair stage and no favour. But 
 
 Well, I don't care. I've got a good stout arm and a 
 steady foot from the old stock anyway. 
 
 For v/o can wrestle and fight, my lads, leap over anywhere, 
 
 he went on, breaking into another rustic refrain, and 
 resuming liis j)rcvious manner with an extra dash of 
 recklessness in it. 
 
 George was at that time blest with one of those 
 exuberantly abounding temperaments, the overflowing 
 vitality of which seems capable of imparting some of 
 its redundant vigour to those nearest to it; one of
 
 THE BROTHERS. 55 
 
 those men in whose presence high spirits is infectious, 
 and who have enough life for themselves and duller 
 spirits also. He was a magnificent creature, both in 
 figure and feature; handsomer in the eyes of the lads 
 and lasses of the country-side than his handsome and 
 ever-melancholy brother. For he had colour as well 
 as beauty of form. He had the same magnificent 
 dark eyes, and the same delicately chiselled nose. But 
 the contour of the face was more filled out, and there 
 was more of sweetness about the lines of the mouth, 
 and instead of the raven's wing uncurling locks of 
 Wilfred, he had crisj)ly curling chestnut-coloured hair, 
 in remarkable abundance, with a slight tinge of red in 
 it, like a reflection of sunshine. There was a sparkle 
 in the large dark eye, too, at times, which was alto- 
 gether unlike the still and always thoughtful-looking 
 lustre in the deep eyes of his brother. It needed the 
 eye of an artist, or at least of an art-nourished denizen 
 of cities, to SCO how handsome Wilfred Garstang was. 
 JBut not one of Dame Durden's serving-maids would 
 have made the least difficulty in declaring that George 
 was the handsomest fellow in all the country-side. 
 
 The path by which George was approaching the 
 Grange led directly to the front door; for the front and 
 the entrance were, strangely enough, turned, as has 
 been mentioned, towards the north, and towards the 
 face of the cliff overhanging the sea, instead of towards 
 the south, and the more smiling landward prospect. 
 As he came near the house he saw his brother Wilfred 
 standing leaning, with his arms folded, against the 
 stone door-post. The scene which he was looking out 
 upon was one that might well engage his attention, 
 were it not that those whose dwelling-place is in the
 
 56 THE GARSTANG.S OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 midst of beautiful scones rarely liave eyes for beauties 
 that may be seen from tlieir windows. The taste that 
 had dictated the placinjz; of the Grange as it was placed 
 was a strange one, seeing that the old house could not 
 turn its back upon the ocean when tired of looking out 
 on it-, that it was exposed to every sweeping bitter 
 blast and gust of driving spray in black winter as well 
 as in shining summer, by night as well as by nay, in 
 storm as Avell as in sunshine. Biit on that breezy 
 June day the outlook on which Wilfred was gazing 
 was pleasant enough. The cliff on which the Grange 
 stood jutted out into the sea, forming a promontory in 
 advance of the coast-line on either side of it, as it was 
 also of greater elevation. And on either hand the eye 
 commanded a long sweep of coast, low-lying and 
 richly wooded to tlic eastward on the other side of the 
 estuary of the Bill, and broken into a variety of rocky 
 cliffs, none of which, however, are so high as Garstang 
 Head, to the Avestward. The seaward view extended 
 as far as tlie eye could reach in every direction, to the 
 dim and uncertain line of blending sky and ocean, un- 
 interrupted by any object save here and tliere a sail. 
 It was a day on which Ocean was in not one of its 
 grandest but one of its prettiest moods; a day fine 
 enough for every little bark to display all its show of 
 canvas to the sun, but not still enough to make a dead 
 monotony of caltii; a changeful, breezy day, which 
 caused every sail that specked the wide ])anorama of 
 the sea to flicker and glint in the sunlight, or to hide 
 itself in sudden invisil»ility in the sliadow of a cloud, 
 as by turns it gave its broad surface to the rays, or 
 Avith a turn of the wheel fell off, and for a minute or 
 two mysteriously disappeared; a picturesque day, Avhen
 
 THE BROTHERS. 57 
 
 all the broad extent of the ftice of the Avater was 
 mottled, with patches of light and shade, here traversed 
 by far-stretching paths of dazzling brightness, and there 
 by wide zones of indigo-tinted darkness, into which 
 the distant tall sliips entered, and were "lost with all 
 hands," till in a few minutes the cloud-wafting breeze 
 changed into new combinations all the elements of the 
 scene. 
 
 Wilfred stood leaning with his arms folded against 
 the door-post, gazing out over the prospect. But "little 
 recked he of the scene so fair." His bodily eye ranged 
 over the picture, but it made no report to the brain, 
 which was busy with quite other matters. And it 
 would have been evident to the most careless observer, 
 that the matters from which so fair a scene had no 
 power to win his mind were not of a pleasant nature. 
 But that to Wilfred Garstang was no new or uncom- 
 mon circumstance. It would have been a difficult task 
 to produce, or to surprise, a smile on his handsome face 
 from one year's end to the other, unless, indeed, it 
 were a bitter, or a sad, one. 
 
 Suddenly he caught sight of the figure of his 
 brother advancing towards him. He did not move 
 from his position; but started a little, and drew him- 
 self up, as men are apt to do when suddenly awakened 
 from a deep reverie. 
 
 "Well, George, so here you are at last," he said, 
 lifting his shoulders from their su[)port against the stone 
 of the door-post, and making an effort to rouse himself 
 yet more completely from his trance-like reverie as his 
 brother came uj), ami, putting out his liaud slightly, 
 and almost, one miglit have said, shyly, but, neverthe- 
 less, grasping that of his brother with an atTectionato
 
 58 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 pressure, "I am very glad you liave come, I fancy I 
 heard your voice before you came in sight, but I did 
 not pay attention to it, somehow." 
 
 "How goes it with you all, Willy dear? I ought 
 to have come back long ago; I wish you would give 
 me a good scolding. But you never do scold, old 
 fellow." 
 
 "Would it do any good, George, if I did?" returned 
 his brother, not reproachfully, but with a look of fond, 
 yet profoundly sad, affection. 
 
 "Well, I don't know that it would, Willy, save 
 easing my conscience a little. For I can tell you that 
 I felt very conscience-stricken as I came tip the hill 
 just now." 
 
 "I'm just as well pleased, to tell the truth, that 
 your repentance did not come upon you sooner, George. 
 For I'm sure the more you are away from here, the 
 better for you in every way. And I, fur one, should 
 be very sorry to see you stick at home all the year 
 round. But you know it's a busy time; — there's all 
 the hay to be got in; and we arc a little short of hands 
 this year." 
 
 "I know, AVilly, — I know, old fellow. And I know 
 that you'd slave night and day to let me make holiday 
 the wliile. And that's just why I ougl>t not to let you 
 do it. But it is so difficult to get away, and so difficult 
 to say 'no;' and to make fellows understand that you 
 must go and work, who never did a stroke of work in 
 their lives! How's all been going here. 
 
 "Tlie sun has shone some days, and the sky has 
 been cloudy others; and sometimes the wind has been 
 blowing from the north, and sometimes from another 
 quarter;" said Wilfred, with a slirug of his shoulders;
 
 THE BROTHERS. 59 
 
 — "there's no other difference that I know of in the 
 ■way things go on here." 
 
 George looked at his brother with an almost im- 
 perceptible shake of the head, and an expression of 
 pained affection; but he only said in reply, "How has 
 father been?" 
 
 "Much the same as usual-, — grumbling a little at 
 your being away. And mother, meaning for the best, 
 made it worse by saying every day that you were sure 
 
 to be here the next day. And then father but 
 
 what's the good, you know it all, George, the old 
 thing." 
 
 "And Patience?" said George. 
 
 "Well, Patience; — there's no more change in Pati- 
 ence than in anything else about the place. Poor 
 Patience! she means all for the best, too; and she loves 
 you better than anything else in the world, George. 
 But she can't spare her bitter word, you know. And 
 as far as making or marring betAveen you and father 
 goes, I think her bitter sayings do more good than 
 harm. For they always set father a-saying that come 
 what may, it's his doing. You know it all, George, 
 Avithout my talking." 
 
 "I think, Patience, " said George, with anger 
 
 in his tone; but he broke off and suppressed what he 
 had been about to say. 
 
 "Patience has her own load to bear, and I think 
 sometimes that hers is the heaviest of us all. And 1 
 tell you, George, that if Patience loves anybody or 
 anything in tliis world it is you." 
 
 "And yet I daren't trust her with " And 
 
 George again left what he had been about to say un- 
 linished.
 
 60 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Witli your secret? No; and I should not feel 
 safe in advising you to do so. You see, Patience, well 
 as she loves you, George, would cut your head off to- 
 morrow if she took into her head that it was her duty 
 to God to do so." 
 
 "And there is no telling what she may take it into 
 her head is her duty to God," said George, with some 
 bitterness. 
 
 "Just that," replied Wilfred, nodding his head 
 gravely. 
 
 "Not that I doubt Patience does love me, as you 
 say, AVilly, and I am sure I love her, ])()or girl, and 
 pity her with all my heart. I'oor dear Patience! And 
 yet," continued Geoi-ge, Avith excitement, after a silence 
 of a few minutes, "what is there to pity her for? 
 Damnation! It is enough to make a man knock his 
 head against the wall, Avhen one thinks of it. Slie 
 is young, healthy, handsome, wants for nothing, nor 
 is likely to want. Yet one says poor Patience, and 
 pities her! Wliat is it? Why does one say 'Poor 
 Patience?"' 
 
 "For the same reason, I suppose, lliat you or any- 
 body else would say 'Poor WiltVed!' if not to me to 
 my face, yet of me. Speaking of me, George, you 
 would say 'Poor Wilfred,' and you feel pity for me." 
 
 "l?ut why, wliy, why?" returned (Jeorge, impetu- 
 ously; "wliy is oin- life here what it is, except because 
 wo will have it so? Why can't we will to be different? 
 Oh, Willy, Willy! if 1 could only see you shake your- 
 self free of black thought, and take such a spell of 
 jollity as I have been taking now, there is no telling 
 you how gladly I'd stick to work at home, — ay, or see
 
 THE BROTHERS. Gl 
 
 the farm go to tlie devil either, — so that I could see 
 your life something like life!" 
 
 "Ay, or see me a foot taller or shorter than I am, 
 or yellow- haired instead of black. If you could only 
 see me, and I could only see myself to be Jack Jones, 
 the jolly fat miller at Coomb End, Avho began life as 
 a foundling, and never knew father nor mother. That 
 Avould be something like! Only, you see, I'm Garstang 
 of Garstang, and not Jack Jones. Look at the old 
 house. Has there been any change in it for centuries, 
 any more than in that sea there? How may Wilfred 
 Garstangs of Garstang have there been in it, who have 
 been such as I, — the same, — the same, — always the 
 same? How mi;ch 'jolly life' do you think there has 
 been inside those old walls for the last two hundred 
 years?" 
 
 "Nay, Willy, not always the same. It was different 
 with father by all accounts, — and he was a Wilfred 
 Garstang, you know," said George. 
 
 "Ay, truly; and you see what he is now, and what 
 has to come " 
 
 "No, no, Willy, dear old fellow, not a bit of it. 
 Come, I want to talk to you about my own matters," 
 said George, alarniod at the turn his brother's mind 
 was taking, and fearing that the line of conversation 
 into which they had drifted might bring upon his 
 brother one of those dark tits of more than ordinary 
 despondency, to which he was subject from time to 
 time, and which were wont to plunge him into depths 
 of despair that threatened to extinguish the light of 
 reason in his clouded mind, as they did anniliilatc the 
 light of hope. 
 
 "Come, old fellow," continued George, taking his
 
 62 THE CtArstangs of garstang grange. 
 
 brother by the arm and leading him away towards the 
 back of the house, "I want to be selfish as usual, and 
 to talk to you about my own affairs. It is of no use 
 going into the house just yet, father won't have finished 
 his after-dinner nap, and mother and Patience Avill be 
 upstairs. Come and let us have a look at the stack in 
 the home-field, and we can talk about my matters the 
 while." 
 
 Wilfred allowed himself to be led away round to 
 the back of the house, and gradually seemed to become 
 capable of giving his attention to the topics which 
 George was pressing upon him, evidently more for the 
 sake of producing an effect upon his brother's mind 
 than for any advantage he hoped to draw from his 
 advice. 
 
 "It would have been altogether intolerable to me," 
 said George as he drew his brother away from the 
 house towards the home-field, "to have had a secret of 
 the kind on my mind unshared by any of you. But 
 you, Willy, have known everything from the first, and 
 you have always been to me a real and true brother in 
 the matter; and Willy, old fellow, believe me I shall 
 never, never forget it. But it is very grievous to me 
 to keep such a a secret from my father, and from all 
 of them; it seems as if it was not right to her. I Avish 
 I could tell my fatlier, Willy." 
 
 "Your feeling in tlie matter George, is right — quite 
 right; there can be no doubt about that. And if we 
 were any other people in the world, I should say at 
 once, go to father and tell liim the step you have taken. 
 
 But we are not like other people. I do not so 
 
 much think of any displeasure niy father would feel 
 against you. I do not see that he would have any
 
 THE BROTHERS 63 
 
 reason to be greatly displeased; but I do not think that 
 he would consent to let your secret remain a secret. 
 At all events it would no longer be a secret for any- 
 body in our own house; and I need hardly tell you 
 that Patience would find that she could not justify it 
 to herself to remain silent: and I fear— I greatly fear 
 — what would be the consec[uences to lier^ if the truth 
 became known." 
 
 "True, it is all true," said George with a sigh; and 
 indeed it was no new truth to him, for the same matter 
 had often been talked over between the brothers, and 
 the same arguments had been adduced, and had before 
 been admitted to be unanswerable. 
 
 "I know it all, and I have not a word to say in 
 reply," continued George, plunging his hands into his 
 pockets, and throwing himself down as he spoke on a 
 fragment of granite that cropped up through the thin 
 covering of soil in the midst of the home field; "there 
 is nothing to be said against it, and yet I cannot satisfy 
 myself to let things remain as they are: what if any- 
 thing should happen to me?" 
 
 "Come, George, that is not like you; that is taking 
 up sorrow at interest with a vengeance. Look at you! 
 If ever there was a fellow likely to live, I should say 
 it was yourself You! Why you have a dozen times 
 more life in you than all the rest of us put together." 
 
 "But I am a Garstang of Garstang too; you can't 
 do me out of my inheritance, Willy; I know you would 
 if you could, dear fellow; but you can't, and nobody 
 else can, as you know very Avell. I dont think unicli 
 about it most times; I did not think anything about it 
 when I made that dear trusting happy-hearted girl my 
 wife. Perhaps I ought to liavo tlionght then, that it
 
 64 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 was doing a terribly ill turn to any human soul to make 
 a Garstang of them; Lut all such thoughts were out 
 out of my head then." 
 
 "I think, George, that only mischief could come 
 now from telling my father about it. I do not think 
 that you will have to keep the secret long, as far as he 
 is concerned. He is breaking, George; and I don't 
 think that te is long for this world. All the happier 
 for him. I wish it was come to that with me. But it 
 isn't. I'm no more likely to die yet awhile than jow 
 are, George. And if either one of us remains to the 
 fore, you know that you may trust to its being all 
 right with your wife. I shall never have a wife of my 
 own; and if I had, it would make no difference for that 
 matter. My advice is that, since the thing is done, 
 and has been ke])t secret thus far, nothing be said 
 about it to my father." 
 
 "I remember that you were all against any secrecy 
 in the first instance, Willy," said George, speaking 
 rather nuisingly than argumentatively. 
 
 "Yes; before the deed had been done. That was 
 (juite another matter. And even now, if mattei's at the 
 Grange were all we had to think of, 1 should say, 
 speak out, and hold your own. But I fear for her. 
 The time must come, when the old man goes, that 
 things will come all right for her too. But, for the 
 present, there is no knowing what (he result of a dis- 
 covery of the truth might be." 
 
 "Yes; that's her feeling too. Well, I sup})0se the 
 tree must lie as it lias fallen — ^awhilc longer, at any 
 rate. As for yourself. AV'illy, 1 know Mell enough that 
 she wotild Ije safe; and sure to be; righted in your hands, 
 if 1 were to hop the twig. God bless you, old fellow!
 
 THE BROTHERS. 65 
 
 You've always been a good brother to me; and I've 
 tried you hard at times too." 
 
 "No, not you, George. It is not you that has tried 
 me — not you. On the contrary, when I see you enjoy- 
 ing yourself, the gayest of the gay, full of life and 
 health — -fuller, indeed, than any other fellow I know — 
 I sometimes am tempted almost to hope that you may 
 escape; that the old curse has spent its last force on 
 us others; and that you may be the founder of a new 
 race of Garstangs, which may be different from the 
 old one." 
 
 George cast his eyes down to the ground, and re- 
 mained silent for awhile. 
 
 "At all events, Willy," he said at last, but without 
 looking up, — "at all events, I have not committed the 
 old fault." 
 
 "No; the blood of your wife is far enough removed 
 from our own. But, George, the old sin has been com- 
 mitted anew, and by our father. Can you doubt that 
 the fatal results will follow?" 
 
 "By heaven, they have followed, I think! I don't 
 see that Ave need look for any more of them. What! 
 Are you not all of you under a curse in that terrible 
 old house? Look at my father. Look at my poor 
 mother. Look at Patience. Look at yourself, my poor 
 Willy. Do you think tlie life inside those stone walls 
 is like the life of any other house in the county? Isn't 
 there curse enough and to spare on every creature in 
 it?" he continued, with increasing bitterness. "Is not 
 the curse present at every hour of the day and of the 
 night — at your uprising and your lying down, at your 
 going out and your coming in, at your working time 
 and at your resting time?" 
 The Oarstatigs. I, 5
 
 66 THE GARSTATSGS OF GARSTANG GRANGK. 
 
 Wilfred stopped short in his walk, and, standing 
 up straight and rigid, with his tall slender figure drawn 
 up to its full height, he looked with solemn sadness of 
 feature into his brother's eyes-, but with a strange 
 gleam, that seemed to be })laying in the lustrous depths 
 of his own — a gleam that one skilled in read nig the 
 phenomena of mental disease would not have liked to 
 see there — as he replied to the bitter outburst that had 
 forced its way from his brother's lips. 
 
 "It is as you say, brother. It is even so," he 
 said; "but so has it always been with the inmates of 
 yonder house. A terrible house, you say! Yes, it is 
 a terrible house!. But I love it dearly, George. God 
 forbid tliat I should draw my last breath beneath any 
 other roof. Let Garstang still be Garstang of Garstang 
 Grange, as they have been for so many hundreds of 
 years." 
 
 "And Garstang shall be Garstang of Garstang 
 Grange! And the old house shall see jolly times yet! 
 And you shall see them, Willy, and say, "I told you 
 so!'" cried George, with a sudden revulsion of humour. 
 "Don't let's talk or tliink of curses. By Jove, it's 
 enough to make a man mad to be always having such 
 thoughts in one's mind. Sometimes I feel as if I could 
 kiu)ck my head against the door-post, and beat my 
 brains out, when I think of it all. All, Willy, my 
 dear brother, if you could only laugh at the curse, — 
 if you could only make the old rafters of the Grange 
 shake with a jolly good ha! ha! it would drive aAvay 
 the curse, as a ])ist()l-shot Avill drive the foul air from 
 a beer-vat. Don't talk to me of curses! Does all this 
 look like a curse?" he continued, pointing to signs of 
 agricultural well-being around them. "What could you
 
 THE BROTHERS. 67 
 
 wish better? The .siock is thriving. Those year-olds 
 are coming on beautifully. I was down at Coomb End 
 yesterday, and I tell you they have not got such a 
 beast on all the farm as that beauty there," pointing 
 to a very handsome milch-cow as he spoke. 
 
 "Yes, the farm is well enough, — both Bishopscroft 
 and our own land" — (Bishopscroft was the name of the 
 farm held by the Garstangs on the Linacre estate) — 
 "there is nothing to complain of there. There is no 
 curse on the land. It is not in that way that it will 
 fall on us. Therefore it will come from some other 
 quarter. AVhere? How? When? God knows, George! 
 God only knows! But come it will in some way, George! 
 Come it will!" 
 
 "Let's go up to the house, Willy," said George, 
 with a deep sigh, seeing that there was nothing to be 
 gained by attempting to reason with liis brother; and 
 conscioixs, moreover, tliat there were moments when it 
 was an equally hopeless attempt to shake off the black 
 fit of despondency and the presentiments of evil to 
 which it gave birth, from his own mind. "Let us go. 
 Father will have waked up from his after-dinner nap 
 by this time; and I must let him know that I have 
 come home." 
 
 "Yes, you had better let Iiim see you. I never 
 asked you all tliis time, George, whether you had dined 
 before you came home?" said the elder brotlver. 
 
 "Yes", I had a snack. I shall not want anything 
 more till supper-time. I shall be away at supper-time 
 to-mon*ow niglit. Don't tliink that I am g<iing to play 
 truant so soon again, old fellow. I shan't want to go 
 away nnich before the men knock off. But I promised 
 
 5*
 
 68 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 t 
 
 Saltasli to go with him in the evening, to have a look 
 at a King's ship that has cast anclior in the offing." 
 
 And then the two young men sauntered slowly back 
 to the Grange. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Supper-Table at the Grange. 
 
 The young men found their fiither, as they had 
 supposed they would find him, recently awaked from 
 his after-dinner nap. Wilfred Garstang, the elder, the 
 then master of the Grange, was not at that time really 
 an old man. He must have been under sixty. But 
 his family were in the habit of considering him a very 
 old man-, and there was less of the common illusion, 
 which leads the young to over-estimate the senility of 
 the generation that has preceded them, than ordinarily 
 goes to the forming of such estimates. Wilfred Garstang 
 was a very old man of his years. Somewhat, perhaps, 
 of excess in his roystering youth, and much more the 
 consequence of the state of mind and feeling in which 
 he had lived for the last twenty years of his life, had 
 added the weiglit of a good score of years to both body 
 and spirit. And many a jolly fanner of threescore and 
 ten was to all intents and j)urposes still a younger man 
 than AVilfred Garstang of the Grange at seven-and- 
 fifty. His ahniidance of long wavy liair, that had once 
 been as black as his eldest son's was now, still re- 
 mained to him; ])ut it was as white as silver. And the 
 contour of the face, which in all of the family was al- 
 ways long and slender in the Jaw and cheek, had in 
 him taken the shape that is termed lanthorn-jawed to a
 
 THE SUPPER- TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 69 
 
 remarkable degree. The tliin sunken cheeks, always 
 pale with that clear-skinned whiteness, which is so often 
 seen and is so handsome-looking in conjunction with 
 black hair, had now become sickly-looking in their 
 deadly pallor. There was still something of nobility in 
 the fine form of the large and lofty forehead, with the 
 reverend white locks falling abundantly on either side 
 of it. But then the whiteness, which had once made 
 beauty, had turned to a yellow hue. The eye alone 
 was still little changed, save j^erhaps in expression. In 
 this respect it was curiously changed, from being more 
 like what George's eye was now to a greater similarity 
 to that of Wilfred his elder son. There was still fire 
 in the old man's eyes; but it was not the changeful, 
 flashing, gleaming of youth or of mental health. It 
 was more like a steady burning fire, the result and 
 symptom of fevered heat within; a baleful glaring, 
 which looked out from among the quantity of silver 
 hair with a very peculiar and striking, but not pleasing 
 efifect. 
 
 The old man was sitting in the large stone-paved 
 kitchen, which was now such only in name, in his great 
 arm-chair, which was so placed as to exactly front the 
 liuge old fireplace with its ominous inscription on the 
 stone that formed the chimney-piece. He was not, how- 
 ever, looking at it, at least at the moment when his 
 sons entered; for his head was sunk upon his breast in 
 an attitude of profound reverie. 
 
 "What, George," he said, looking up as they came 
 in; "so you've come back to the nest, — eh? Can't get 
 clear of it, my boy, flutter your wings as you may." 
 
 "I ought to have been here before, father, I know. 
 I should not have stayed away so long at a busy time,
 
 70 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTAXG GRANGE. 
 
 "wLen all the Lay is about. However, I will make up 
 for lost time noAv." 
 
 "Ah, the hay! yes, we want all hands. But you 
 are no fonder of work, I reckon, my son, than I was 
 at your age." 
 
 "Never mind, father, I'll turn-to wath a will now," 
 returned George, Avith perfect good-humour j "I'm sorry 
 I have been truant so long." 
 
 "Nay, you're right enough to keep away as much 
 as you can, my son, — as much as you can. But it's 
 all of no use, — you must come back! Garstang of 
 Garstang! Do you think I Avould not get a^vay if I 
 could? But there's the chain, my boy, riveted down in 
 the foundations of this old house on the old rock, with 
 t'other end riveted in the vitals and tlie heart and tlie 
 brain of every one of us. Get away, indeed! Ah, you 
 may try it, my son, — you may try it, as I did once 
 upon a time. And look at me now ! Here I am on the 
 old stone-Hoor, in the old chair, looking at that" — 
 pointing at the inscription on the chimney — "like every 
 other Garstang before me." 
 
 "I wouldn't go away if I could, for my part, father. 
 I love the old place," returned George, striving to 
 put some pleasanter turn of thought into his fatlier's 
 head. 
 
 „Ah, try it! there's no danger. I tried it. You go 
 to sea, and try wlicther you can have the luck to get 
 drowned. Not a bit of it. You'll come here to pay 
 your debt. You go to London and .set up as Mr. John 
 Smith. You'll have a man ste]) uj) to you in the street 
 and tell you jou are Garstang of Garstang. And the 
 world will cinick you back again on to this (tld cliff as 
 sure as — as sure as you are Garstang of Garstang."
 
 THE SUPPER-TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 71 
 
 "No Johu Smiths for me, father. Garstaug of 
 Grarstaug I am — Garstaug of Garstang I'm proud to 
 be, and Garstaug of Garstaug I'll remain to the end 
 of the chapter. I love the name — I love the old 
 place." 
 
 "Ha — ha — ha!" laughed the old man, with a laughter 
 that it was not pleasant to hear. "Look at that, my 
 son, look at that!" and again he pointed to the letters 
 on the stone opposite to him. 
 
 "Father, if you will only let me, I'll have that evil 
 old stone pulled out from its place and chucked in the 
 sea, and a new chimney-piece put up in its place. I 
 wish you would, father," said George, earnestly. 
 
 "Ah, you're a clever fellow, George — mighty clever! 
 almost as clever as I was when I was your age, George. 
 What, you a Garstaug of Garstaug, and not know that 
 if you were to put up a new stone in that place there 
 every day of the mouth, they'd every one of them have 
 the verses cut on 'em the next morning! / know it, 
 my son, / know it. Yes, a very pretty story, if you 
 could pull the stone out and drown it in the bottom of 
 the sea, and so all said and done. Ah! and is that all 
 you know about it?" 
 
 Wilfred the younger had been standing by the 
 large window, which looked out over the sea, during 
 this conversation, glancing with a face of mournful 
 compassion from one to the other speaker, but uttering 
 no word himself. 
 
 "And the less he knows the better, father," he now 
 said, very gloomily. "The knowledge comes tt) us all 
 sooner or later, and always (juite time enough. But for 
 all that, father," he coiitiuucd, stepi»iug up to the old 
 man's chair, aud taking his thin hand kindly in his
 
 72 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 own as he spoke, — "for all that I, too, love the old 
 place, and would not be other than Garstang of Garstang 
 and your son, if I could. Now I am going down to the 
 ten-acre to see if they have finished cutting it. I don't 
 want George this evening. Let liim stay with you." 
 And with that, giving his brother a look, which very 
 plainly told him to remain with the old man and do 
 what he could to cheer him, Wilfred went out and left 
 George and his father together. 
 
 When Wilfred Garstang said that he would not 
 willingly be any other than he M^as, he said no more 
 than the truth. He fully shared all his father's gloomy 
 presentiments and superstitious conviction that a curse 
 and a doom hung over all of their name. If he did 
 not yet absolutely believe with the old man that, if a 
 new stone were put in the place of the old one, which 
 bore the legend of the family destiny, the fatal in- 
 scription would miraculously reappear on it, he did 
 fully believe in the truth and infallibility of the an- 
 nouncement; and it was probable that, before he was 
 as old as his father, he would share the former more 
 preposterous conviction. And he had a kind of inward 
 unreasoned persuasion that he should do so, which was 
 one of the most curious characteristics of the mental 
 malady that was fatally mixed in the blood of all his 
 race, and one of its most horrible inflictions; a sort of 
 half-recognized and wholly im])otent consciousness that 
 his feelings and persuasions on this subject, and those 
 of the others of his family, had the taint of madness 
 in them, and an ever-menacing dread h)oming in the 
 background of his mind, that this malady of the mind 
 would gradually gain upon him — was gradually gaining 
 upon him.
 
 THE SUPPEa-TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 73 
 
 Yet, for all that, 'Yilfred spoke the truth in saying 
 that he would willinglj change his name and race with 
 none. He was an intensely proud man, was Wilfred 
 Garstang. And his pride was of as morbid a nature as 
 any other constituent por'ion of his idiosyncrasy. Pride 
 is a passion which thrive.? and grows in isolation and 
 solitude. And Wilfred's life had been one of extreme 
 isolation and solitude. And though he had never, even 
 in boyhood, done, or attempted to do, anything with a 
 \-ie\v to lessen this solitude and isolation, he had an 
 instinctive feeling that any aUempt in that direction 
 would have been unavailing. Perhaps the little world 
 around him had, in some of the nameless ways in 
 Avhich men and women, and boys and girls can strongly 
 impress any susceptible mind and imagination among 
 their fellows, made him feel that the repulsion which 
 existed between him and those around him was, at 
 least, mutual. And yet there was that in the heart of 
 the unhappy boy, and the unhappy man, which would 
 have been very fain that it should have been otherwise. 
 And the result of this state of pariah-like exclusion, 
 and of the baulked and unacknowledged yearning for 
 a sympathy which he found nowhere, was to intensify 
 Wilfred Garstang's pride, and to make it a resentful 
 and a bitter pride. There was something agreeable, 
 something flattering to his mind in the persuasion that 
 the Garstangs were a race apart, — people unlike other 
 people; even though the peculiarity which attached to 
 them were the fact that they were specially and mys- 
 teriously afflicted. He was proud of the isolation in 
 which his family and he himself lived, though at the 
 bottom of his heart that also had been a source of 
 sorrow to him. Such as deeply seated and mysterious
 
 7i THR GARSTANGS OP GARST^NG GRANGE. 
 
 physical causes had made it, ana untoward social cir- 
 cumstances had further shaped it, the character of Wil- 
 fred Garstang was not an amiable one, despite sixndry 
 high qualities of heart and disposition. Beyond the 
 narrow circle of his family he loved no man and no 
 woman, and if he did not actually hate, was prepared 
 to do so on any provocation And anybody who knew 
 the man, and had studied the warped and unhealthy 
 growth of his character, would have been disposed to 
 judge that, if Wilfred Garstang did come to hate, he 
 would hate persistently and vigorously. 
 
 The brightest side of his character was his affection 
 for his brother. It was of a tenderer kind that is usual 
 between men, having more of the nature of the love 
 which a sister often bears towards a brother of a 
 character very different from her own. It was mixed, 
 too, with a feeling partaking of the nature of the af- 
 fection which the head of an old and noble race feels 
 for his son and the heir to the family name and lionours. 
 George, as has been seen, was a married man. Wilfred 
 felt very sure that he should never, under any circum- 
 stances, become such. George, therefore, was to be the 
 father of a future race of (jiarstangs. Family pride was 
 ver^'' strong in Wilfred. And this consideration alone 
 sufficed to make George and his well-being all-important 
 to him. 'J'hcn, again, he had hopes, — half unacknow- 
 ledged to himself, or, rather, utterly unowned and re- 
 j)udiated, but existing in the bottom of his heart none 
 the less, — that it might so turn out that George was to 
 be excepted from the family doom; — that the penalty 
 should be sufliciondy palil , in wliatever form it miglit 
 be exacted, by himstilf and liis fatlier, and mother, and 
 sister, on all of whom it was already weighing with a
 
 THE SUPPER-TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 75 
 
 sufficient load of misery. Might it not be that this 
 George who had been thus far remarkably exempted 
 from any of the wonted workings of the Garstang 
 curse, should be the beginner of a new future for the 
 long-suffering family? Though partaking — disinterested 
 lookers-on would have said — of the character well-known 
 as one of the two phases of the family idiosyncrasy, he 
 had never been marked by it in such excess, as had 
 been notorious in his father, and in other bygone 
 Garstangs of a former time. He was so bright, so 
 joyous, so thoroughly healthy and well constituted to 
 all appearance in mind and in body. Might it not be 
 that the old curse had at last expended itself? The 
 hope, and the speculations to which the hope had given 
 rise in the secret thoughts of Wilfred, betrayed tliem- 
 selves in the serious and eager acquiescence with which 
 he had received his brother's half-joking remark as to 
 his liaving, at all events, brought new blood into the 
 family. 
 
 Secretly nourishing himself with such thoughts, 
 Wilfred had grown to feel that George was all in all 
 to him. He lived in his hopes for a brighter future 
 for George and George's children. To him, in his 
 proud and melancholy seclusion in that monotonous 
 home, shut up in those old grey stone walls, which the 
 family fate and the family superstitions had taught the 
 inmates of theui to consider as a prison-house of destiny, 
 from which there was for them no escaping, George 
 had been the one ray of sunshine, the one bright win- 
 dow of outlook into the joyous, warm, living world, 
 with wliich lie and his fellow-prisoners in the grim and 
 dreary Grange had no community, no j)oint of contact. 
 It was the influences of such feelings and secretly-
 
 76 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 cherished hopes that had very potently moved Wilfred 
 to reconcile himself to the marriage, which his brother 
 had contracted secretly, and to consent to becoming 
 the sole confidant of it, and the assistant in bringing 
 it about. There had been other circumstances which 
 led him at first to fear tliat the step in question might 
 lead to trouble and misfortune, and which tended to 
 make his pride rebel against the secrecy which it was 
 necessary to observe with regard to it. But the fact 
 that the person whom George Garstang had made his 
 wife had been taken from a world outside the circle 
 within which the family alliances had heretofore been 
 made, had clearly no connection with any of the races 
 with whom the Garstangs had ever intermarried, and 
 that the marriage was something of a kind (luite fresh 
 and unprecedented in the family annals, had seemed 
 to him grounds of a hope that the future might be 
 different from the past, lie was well satisfied, too, 
 that his brotlier should be married. It was so much 
 gained towards the accomplishment of future possibilities 
 for the race. It seemed to him, in his isolation and 
 loveless solitude, so arduous and difficult a thing for 
 one bearing his ill-omened name to win a suitable and 
 unobjectional)le wife, that ho could not but welcome 
 the opportunity of gaining thus much on fate. He 
 had thus been led first to give a hesitating consent, 
 then to become an active promoter of his brother's 
 secret marriage, and the only person, save one other 
 of George's friends, who was trusted with the secret 
 of it. 
 
 And now, as he walked down to the ten-acre field, 
 he was ruminating on the words tliat had fallen from 
 George as to his anxiety respecting the possible ill
 
 THE SUPPER-TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 77 
 
 results of continuing to keep the marriage a secret 
 from his parents. It was not like George, this sort of 
 misgiving about himself, this talk about the chances 
 of "anything hapjiening to him." Was it that he had 
 a "presentiment" of coming evil? Or were his words 
 mere chance words? Poor "Wilfred knew that it was 
 very like himself to breed and brood over such phan- 
 tasies. The knowledge, however, failed to teach him 
 to put them down and triumph over them. But the 
 consciousness that George was not wont to give way 
 to such dark forebodings sufficed to give more weight 
 in Wilfred's mind to the few words his brother had 
 spoken, and to make them the foundation of an in- 
 creased access of misgiving on his own part. Never- 
 theless, he was sure that he had been right in counsel- 
 ling George to wait yet a little while before allowing 
 the fact of his marriage to be known. It would, in 
 all probability, be but a little while, he thought to 
 himself He felt very strongly persuaded that his 
 father would not live much longer; and when the old 
 man — the old man of less than threescore years — 
 should have gone, there would be, for several reasons, 
 less difficulty in meeting the circumstances which 
 might arise from the fact of this secret marriage be- 
 coming known. It would have been well, Wilfred 
 thought, that his poor father should have known, be- 
 fore quitting the scene, that one, at least, of his sons 
 had made a marriage altogether free from any of the 
 objections that had in former cases brought so much 
 misery, and one which seemed to promise the possi- 
 bility of a brighter future for coming generations at 
 the Grange. But the old man was now too far gone 
 to take much heed to anything, save the gloomy and
 
 78 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 distressing pliantasies that were contimxally generated 
 in a lengthened series of calamitous phantasmagoric 
 shapes by his diseased imagination. It was safe to 
 predict that he would extract no comfort of any kind 
 fi'om the knowledge of his younger son's marriage. 
 And there were })robabilities that it might affect him 
 in quite an opposite manner. On the whole, Wilfred 
 was convinced that it was best to keep silence on the 
 subject; and it was a comfort to him to be sure that 
 George would not speak upon the subject without hav- 
 ing come, together with him, to a determination to 
 do so. 
 
 Pondering over these matters he returned up the 
 hill to the house in time for tlie family su2)per-hour. 
 The fashions of life at the Grange were for the most 
 part those of a past generation. Men change tlieir 
 fashions by associating witli each other. But the family 
 at the Grange had but little and rare communication 
 with the world arnunrl tliem outside the hoary old 
 stone walls of tlicir home; and habits were slow, tlicrc- 
 fore, to change with them. Supper Avas thus still, as 
 with the great grandfathers of the present generation, 
 the princijial meal of tlic day, — more so than dinner. 
 At the latter midday meal some member of tlie family 
 was frequently absent, for some reason or other. But 
 at supper, when the work of the day was done, all the 
 family, save (ieorge, who was fre((uently away from 
 home, were jirotty sure to meet. And the supper-hour 
 was therefore the most dejjressing and melanclxdy of 
 all the dreary day at the Grange. The family were 
 all assembled, and, therefore, that hour was the saddest 
 of the twenty-four. And in that "therefore" a large 
 chapter of the hist(U'y of the unha})i)y household may
 
 THE SUPPER-TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 79 
 
 be read. Witli the uncertain exception of George, 
 who was often absent, as has been said, each one of 
 the little party was more or less unmistakably — more 
 or less markedly — touched by the hereditary malady 
 which branded and isolated the Garstangs of the 
 Grange. 
 
 But little has been said hitherto respecting Mrs. 
 Garstang, — that Jenefy who had borne the fatal family 
 name before her marriage, and who had by that mar- 
 riage placed herself, her husband, and her children, 
 anew under the ban of the menaced curse, which, how- 
 ever superstitiously set forth, and however superstiti- 
 ovisly read by the objects of it, yet did but express 
 Avliat was, in all its fearful matter-of-fact reality, a 
 physiological truth. 
 
 In Jenefy Garstang the more ordinary manifesta- 
 tions of the Garstang peculiarities of temperament and 
 character were perhaps less strongly marked than in 
 the other members of the household. But a skilled 
 physiologist, who would have had an opportunity of 
 observing her but for a few hours, would have said 
 that neither in her case were symptoms of the Garstang 
 taint in the blood wanting. In Jier the unsound touch 
 that vouched all the Garstangs kin, showed itself in a 
 morbid nervousness and timidity. She lived, as the 
 hare is said to live, in a perpetual state of alarm. So, 
 indeed, for that matter, did lier husband, her eldest 
 son, and her daughter. But tlieir dread of ever-over- 
 hanging calamity showed itself in constant depression 
 and gloom. The mother found ever new subject for 
 nervous fears in every incident of her daily life. She 
 lived in a state not only of depression, but of repres- 
 sion. She was afraid of her liusband's moodiness; she
 
 80 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 was afraid of tlie deep-seated judgment of tlie evil she 
 had done in making the ill-advised marriage with her 
 cousin, which she well knew to be ever present in the 
 mind of her son Wilfred; though to do him justice, it 
 should be said, that never had he permitted himself to 
 utter a direct word on this fatal subject. She feared 
 perhaps, most of all, the religious acerbities of her 
 daughter Patience's tongue. And all these different 
 fears manifested themselves in a constant nervousness 
 of manner most trying to those with whom she lived. 
 She never uttered a word Avithout seeming to endeavour 
 to catch it back again almost before it had passed her 
 lips. She was very frequently in tears for hom-s to- 
 gether. And she was a specially aggravating specimen 
 of that tormenting idiosyncrasy which continually 
 suspects and grievously resents a supposed tendency 
 "in those around her to consider their sorrows and 
 afflictions as more grievous than her own. 
 
 It Avill be readily understood that the hour m 
 which a family so constituted was gathered together 
 was, as has been said, the most difticult to be borne of 
 all the hours in the day. Each member of the party 
 acted disastrously upon all the otlicrs. If there had 
 been room to ho])e that any one ..f the race, isolated 
 from the others, and sent forth into the world to mingle 
 with and work in companionsliip with men of sound 
 and healtliy minds, might liavc fought off and con- 
 quered the evil ho inherited from his fathers, tlie 
 chance became iniinitdy less when they were thus 
 shut up together. The social atmosphere of the 
 Grange was, so to speak, saturated with morbid mental 
 conditions. Each member of tlie household knew that 
 tlie others were ever on the brink of madness-, dreaded
 
 THE SUPPER-TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 81 
 
 ever, with a uever-ceasing dread, that that brink might 
 be glaringly overpassed; and was fearfully conscious 
 of similar possibilities for himself. 
 
 Wilfred, on entering the house, found the family 
 on the point of sitting down to their supper. George 
 had been making a desperate attempt to impart some 
 taint ray of tlie sunshine which was in him, to the 
 little party, by declaring that his mother was really 
 looking much better than before he had left home, and 
 had given her much offence by the assertion. She 
 turned away her pale thin face to hide the tears that 
 started to her eyes; and Avhen remonstrated with, de- 
 clared that it was too painful, — was more than she could 
 bear to be so reminded of the indifference which could 
 alone account for sucli blindness. Patience rose with 
 extra rigidity in her mien and extra sourness in her 
 face, to say a long grace before meat. It w-as unusual 
 for that oftice to be assumed by a woman; but every- 
 thing was unusual in that household , and it was re- 
 cognized by all the party that no one of them had any 
 such gift in that direction as Patience. She introduced 
 a special prayer for the rescue from the burning of 
 the stray sheep that evening restored to the fold, in 
 terms which seemed to imply that his surpassing 
 wickedness made it more probable tliat a miracle 
 should be worked for his salvation, and at the same 
 time that such miracle would be an especially accept- 
 able reward to her for being herself one of tlio elect. 
 It did not soiuid complimentary to the other Ihrec of 
 the party; but it expressed genuinely enough Patience's 
 true feeling. She had after her own fasliion a deep 
 affection for her brother George; and strangely enough, 
 though not in contradiction to what is often ohserv- 
 'I'he Garstaugs. J. "
 
 82 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 aljlc in similar cases, seemed to love him all the more 
 because his nature, temperament, character, and habits, 
 were so very unlike her own. Her elder brother, 
 Wilfred, ought, according to all reasonable consistency 
 with her own doctrines and professions to have been 
 dearer to her, as he must assuredly have been admitted 
 by her to have been nearer to the way in which alone 
 escape from eternal destruction could be hoped. But 
 it was not so. Patience loved best the gay sinner, in 
 whom no symptom of any faintest touch of saving 
 grace had ever been seen. But this love in no wise 
 ever seduced her into the "unfaithfulness" of sparing 
 to enlarge upon the flagrancy of his reprobation, and 
 the certainty of his final perdition. 
 
 "I saw Mr. Greenhill the other day, sir, the young 
 man who has just taken the Leawood's farm, lie 
 seems a pleasant sort of fellow enough," said George, 
 addressing his father. 
 
 "Not likely, I should think, to be a very desirable 
 a.ssociate for you, tJeorge," returned the old man with 
 his usual (|uerulous voice and manner. 
 
 "Well, 1 don't know Avliy not, sir. He seems a 
 very well-instructed young man; more so than most of 
 the fanners round about I think," said George. 
 
 "Very like, very like! Tfo comes from London 
 way, (Inii't lip? But that don't make him your equal, 
 George. 1 daresay he never heard avIio his great grand- 
 father was, or wlif'lhor he ever had one! Never forget 
 that you are a (iarstajig of Garstang, my son!" 
 
 "No, sir, I shall not forgot that," returned George, 
 with an inviduntary expression of voice and feature, 
 which seemed very clearly (o say that he was lilllo
 
 THE SUPPER-TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 83 
 
 likely ever to Lave the happiness of being able to 
 forget it. 
 
 "Our own county people at least know who 
 Garstang of Garstang is and was, any time these five 
 hundred years and more. But this new fellow from 
 Loudon maybe never sa much as heard the name be- 
 fore he came down here." 
 
 George abstained from expressing his opinion of 
 the strong probability of this view of the matter, and 
 contented himself with observing that he had heard 
 "Saltash" say that the old lord had a high opinion of 
 Mr. Greenhill's skill and intelligence as a farmer. 
 
 "Saltash!" said his father querulously, with an im- 
 patient shake of his head, "I am afraid, George, that 
 you see more of that young man than is good for you! 
 You let him lead you into habits that are not consistent 
 with your rank and station in society. Saltash, indeed! 
 just as if he was your equal! Not but what Garstang 
 was in the country long before ever Linacre was, if 
 you come to that." 
 
 It was difficult to avoid falling into the tempta- 
 tion of pointing out to the querulous old man that what 
 with his objections to some for being beneath them, 
 and to others for being too much above them in rank, 
 it was hard to know what fitting associates a Garstang 
 of Garstang could find in the world, or, at least, in 
 that portion of it which was ojion to thorn to choose 
 from! difficult to refrain from remarking tliat tlio. cur- 
 rent Garstang notions on such subjects had, in point of 
 fact, left tliem almost as much isolated, as far as social 
 intercourse was concerned, as if thov wore living in a 
 desert island. But George did refrain, well knowing 
 
 6*
 
 84 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 that any such observations would only have provoked 
 his father into saying more painful things. 
 
 Patience, however, could not abstain from impro^ang 
 the occasion by going off into a long string of denun- 
 ciations, couched in the language of the Old Testament, 
 in which a striking similitude between the family at 
 Linacre Park and tlie Amalekites and other nations of 
 Canaan was assumed as self-evident, and allusions were 
 made to a "peculiar jjcople," which, if the proj)hetess 
 intended to apply that designation to the Garstangs of 
 the Grange, must be admitted to have been clearly 
 justified. 
 
 "Lord Linacre is our landlord, Patience; and it 
 would be unjust not to admit that he is a fairly good 
 one," said Wilfred, in a tone of quiet but grave remon- 
 strance. 
 
 "You know, Wilfred," returned his sister, "that I 
 spoke not of things as according to tlie flesh, but of 
 things as they shall appear when the elders shall bow 
 down before the throne, and — " 
 
 "It's very cruel of you to go on like tliat, Patience, 
 when you know what an effect it has upon my poor 
 nerves," whimpered Mrs. Garstang. "It's too dreadful! 
 I do think you might let alone giving one the horrors 
 by talking of sucli things o)i week-days." 
 
 "MotJier, 1 must be earnest in season and out of 
 season," said Patience in a harsh, grinding voice. "It 
 would be a deal pleasanter to me to proj>hesy easy and 
 pleasant things; but would that be faitliful, motlier? 
 Must I not cry aloud and sj)are not? Why, it was 
 l)Ut yesterday, coming tlirougli the village where I had 
 been about Jolmson's account ior oggs and poultry, 
 that I saw the old lord, ;ind that Jezebel his daughter
 
 THE SUPPER-TABLE AT THE GRANGE. 85 
 
 with him, seated ujj aloft in a high carriage like the 
 Queen of Sheba, with her long love-locks hanging 
 down on each side of her face over her shoulders, in 
 the sight of all men. And she the sister of the man 
 my brother consorts with! How can I see such things 
 and spare to testify against them?" 
 
 "Well, it is not much you need see of them, my 
 lass. Out in the village yesterday, was he? Ah, it 
 'ud be long enough before he'd think of coming to say 
 a word to an old tenant, that's been on the land before 
 ever he or his were heard of in the country," said old 
 Garstang. 
 
 George had risen from the supper-table and walked 
 out of the front-door during the latter part of his 
 sister's speech. Wilfred pushed back his chair from 
 the table, and let his chin fall on his chest with a long 
 sigh. 
 
 It will be admitted that the social supper hour at 
 the Grange was not a pleasant one. George had in- 
 tended mentioning to liis fiither the engagement for 
 the morrow evening, which would prevent him from 
 being with the family at supper. But when the con- 
 versation took the turn it did, he thought it better to 
 let the communication he had made to Wilfred on the 
 subject suffice.
 
 86 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 The Unlucky Blow. 
 
 The little fishing'- village of Billmoixth, — town the 
 inhabitants called it, to the especial indignation of the 
 Billitbrd people, who lived in a real market-town, re- 
 cognised as such in the Gazetteer^ some eight or nine 
 miles inland, — the village or town of Eillmouth is 
 divided into two portions by the estuary of the small 
 river from which it takes its name; and the whole of 
 that portion on the eastern side of the stream belongs 
 to the Linacre property, which lies wholly on the right 
 hand bank of the river. Billinouth returns no Members 
 to Parliament. The Earls of Ijinacre had indeed a 
 share in that power over the constitution of the Lower 
 House which the woi'king, if not the letter, of the 
 British Constitution allowed to the aristocracy in the 
 days when lords were lords, by means of the influence 
 they exercised in Billiford. But more than half Bill- 
 mouth was their own, and would have been a desirable 
 property if it had so hai^pened that Bilhnouth had been 
 a borough. As it was, the ownership of the Bilhnouth 
 lanes and woods could hardly perhaps have been con- 
 sidered such. 
 
 There was one cottage, however, on the outskirts 
 of the place on the eastern side whicli looked as if it 
 might have been a desirable ])roperty for any one. It 
 was so pretty and so cosily situated a little habitation. 
 lOast Kock Cottage it was called; and tlie steward of 
 the Linacre estate well understood that the letting of it
 
 THE UNLUCKY BLOW. 87 
 
 was one of the nicest little bits of patronage of his of- 
 fice. Mr. Barnwell, the steward, would have well liked 
 that the East Rock Cottage should fall in; for he had 
 a tenant in his eye, whom he would have been pleased 
 to place there. And as the cottage was not let on 
 lease, but only from year to year, tliere was nothing 
 to prevent Mr. Barnwell from removing the tenant who 
 occupied it, and had done so for many years, and 
 placing his own friend there, save the fair considera- 
 tion due to the existing holder, and one other circum- 
 stance. It may be hoped that the first difficulty woidd 
 have sufficed to prevent Mr. Barnwell from turning out 
 the old tenant. But the second was at all events in- 
 superable. The inhabitants of the East Rock Cottage 
 were under the special patronage and protection of 
 Lord Saltash. 
 
 These inhabitants consisted of James Baldock, a 
 ship-carpenter, and Lucy his daughter, together with 
 her brother Edward, whenever his avocations permitted 
 him to sleep on terra firma. Old Jem Baldock was a 
 widower, well to do in his way, and was much respected 
 in Billmouthj Ned Baldock was part owner of one of 
 the smartest and bestfitted fishing boats that hailed 
 from that port; and Ijucy Baldock was the pi-ettiest 
 girl in the place. 
 
 There can be no doubt about it, that the world 
 really is improving iif all ways. And though those of 
 the generation that is passing away are very generally 
 the persons most disposed to question the fact, yet they 
 are apt, somewhat inconsistently, to manifest their 
 opinion that the world should improve, and that very 
 rapidly, by their expressed expectation that (boir child- 
 ren should be free from the faults and follies they were
 
 88 THE CrARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 themselves beguiled by at a similar age. The world 
 does improve; but not quite so rapidly as all that. The 
 truth of the matter is more nearly reached by those 
 profounder philosophers who embody their experience 
 in the axiom that "young men will be young men," 
 nor is it generally found that they can be in any profit- 
 able or advantageous way prevented from being so, 
 by being kept at home. "Wlien Lord Linacre in the 
 excess of his parental care determined on keeping his 
 only remaining son at home, no doubt he imagined 
 that lie should thus secure him from not only many 
 perils to physical healtli and well-being, but from sundry 
 of the moral pitfalls which are apt to lie in a young 
 man's way also. Such sclicmes are rarely if ever suc- 
 cessful. They were not successful in the case of the 
 young Lord Saltash, whose home education turned him 
 out a neither much more nor mucli less dissipated young 
 man than liis father had been before him. 
 
 Now the result of all this was that the world of 
 Bilhnouth came to tlie conclusion that the special and 
 noted patronage and jirotection accorded by the young 
 hjrd to the family at East Kock Cottage, was due rather 
 til the beauty of Lucy Baldock than to the respectabil- 
 ity and long tenancy of her father. Of course there 
 were plenty of people at Billmouth, who felt it to be 
 "a duty they owed to themselves," and to society 
 generally, to constitute themselves volunteer detective 
 officers in the cause of the jirevention of vice, and to 
 spy with unwearied vigilance every circumstance and 
 indication that coidd go to show that there was a 
 greater intimacy between the young lord at tlie jiark 
 and tlie carpenter's daughter at the cottage than was 
 warranted by tlieir mutual social position. Of course
 
 THE UNLUCKY BLOW. 89 
 
 nothing could be more delightful than the detection of 
 such circumstances, save the sjDreading the tidings of 
 them abroad. And there were many who had all kinds 
 of anecdotes to tell, all tending to show that "bless you 
 he is always after her!" 
 
 And it may be admitted at once that this much of 
 what the Billmouth gossijjs said was true. In fact 
 there can be no doubt, from what came out afterwards, 
 that the young lord was very much in love with beauti- 
 ful Lucy Baldock. But no circumstane connected with 
 the events to be narrated in the following pages ne- 
 cessarily goes to show that anything had ever passed 
 between her and Lord Saltash of a kind which ought 
 to have ben fatal to Lucy's character up to the period 
 of which we have now to speak. And, certainly, if 
 notliing of the kind had ever taken place previously, 
 it never did subsequently, as will be seen from the 
 circumstances now to be related. 
 
 On the evening subsequent to that on which George 
 Garstang had returned home to the Grange, as was 
 related in the last cha])ter, he came back to the house 
 from the fields, where the hay was being got in, and 
 where he had been at work all day, to change his 
 dress; and then, after having remained to share the 
 family supper— for he had eventually so far changed 
 his purpose as to show himself at the evening meal — 
 took his Avay down tlie steep path leading to the village, 
 as he had announced his intention of doing. He had 
 promised to meet Lord Saltash, for the, purpose of 
 going togetlicr to visit a King's shi]>, which had cast 
 anchor off Billmouth on the morning of the day be- 
 fore. At the present day, one might make the little 
 lishing-village of Billmouth one's home for a long time
 
 90 THE GARSTANGS OP GAKSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 without ever witnessing' such an apparition as that of 
 a ship of war in its waters; but England was at that 
 time engaged in a great contest, and there was much 
 movement in the dockyards, and ships were to be seen 
 hither and thither around the southern and western 
 coasts on errands of more than one kind. 
 
 Lord Linacre chanced to be away from home at 
 the time, in London, which was a rare occurrence for 
 him. Otherwise, it is probable that some more formal 
 invitation to share the hospitality of Linacre Park 
 would have passed between him and the captain of 
 the Cleopatra. As it was. Lord Saltash purposed going 
 to see, as he snid, what sort of fellows the officers 
 were, and had pressed his friend George to go with 
 him-, and George, having barg'ained that the expedition 
 should be made at an hour tliat would enable him to 
 do his day's work in the hay-field before taking part 
 in it, consented. 
 
 The Cleopatra was lying very close under the cliff 
 on which llie Grange stood; but, besides that it Avould 
 have been impossible to descend the face of the cliff 
 directly. Lord .Saltash had to come in a different direc- 
 tion, from the l*ark on the eastern side of the river 
 and of the village. So the young men had agreed to 
 meet at a spot called "the Jetty," though but a small 
 remnant of what had once ])een a Avooden ])ier re- 
 mained to justify the name. Billmouth had, in later 
 times, attained to the dignity of a little stone pier, 
 situated more in (he. centre of tlic town; and the old 
 jetty had been allowed to go to ruin. This spot — 
 "the Jetty" — was very near East liock Cottage. Not 
 so near as to be in sight of it; for the cottage stood 
 on a little isolated rocky promontory of its own , bask-
 
 THE UNLUCKY BLOW. 91 
 
 ing iu tlie sun ou the south-easteru side of it, and 
 facing the coast to the eastward-, and the rock on 
 which it stood, rising behind it, hid it from the town, 
 and the jetty, and the coast to the westward. Whether 
 this vicinity had anything to do with the selection of 
 the spot for the meeting of the two young men, there 
 is no need to inquire. Linacre Park lay to the east- 
 ward, and Lord Saltash, coming thence towards the 
 village, would have to pass by the jetty. And it will 
 be understood, if the relative positions of the places 
 mentioned have been successfully placed before the 
 reader, that, in order to reach that part of the beacli 
 nearest to the spot where the Cleopatra was lying, the 
 two young men Avould have to traverse the whole of 
 the village, or town as it loved to call itself, and to 
 cross the bridge which connected one bank of the Bill 
 with the other. And, having so traversed the town, 
 they might cither take a boat from one of the last 
 cottages on the beach in that du*ection, or they might 
 walk along the beach a good bit further, and get a 
 boat from a fisherman who lived in a lone cottage 
 under the cliff", nearly abreast of the sjiot where the 
 Cleopatra lay. They chose the latter alternative. Had 
 they chanced to adopt the former, none of the events, 
 the remarkable nature of which have caused this nar- 
 rative to be written, would have occurred. 
 
 The visit to the Cleopatra was made witliout giving 
 rise to any incident that need detain us. The fisher- 
 man at the lone cottage iinder the cliff' lent the two 
 young men his boat, in whicli George jjullod his friend 
 off" to the ship. They remained on board longer than 
 they had thought of doing, but there was no reason 
 why they sliould be in a hurry to return; and it was
 
 92 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTAKG GRANGE. 
 
 a lovely June moonlight niglit when they came down 
 the ship's side to their boat to return to the shore. 
 Some of their new friends stood at the gangway as 
 they left the shij), and bade them good-night. George 
 took the oars, and in a few minutes they had landed 
 on the beach in front of the lone cabin; and having 
 reconsigned the boat to its owner, set out on their walk 
 along the beach towards the town. 
 
 The walk under the cliff along the beach was a 
 lonely one. Till the first cottages of the town were 
 reached, there was not a habitation either within sight 
 or within hail. And those were days in wliich smugglers 
 and siuuggling adventure were rife, and lawless persons 
 and lawless deeds of many kinds were more frequent 
 than in our day. Not that there was any real ca\ise 
 for alarm to such a couple of young men as Lord 
 Saltasli and George Garstang, or that they either of 
 them in earnest conceived that there was any such. It 
 was quite jestingly, then, that the latter said to his 
 companion, as they stepped out along the beach, — ] 
 
 "Now would be the time for that rogue of a lawyer 
 that lives up in London. If he could catch the last of 
 the l^inacres at this hour of niglit all alone, luidor 
 Garstang Cliff, one good thwack with a cudgel might 
 give him an earldom." 
 
 "That is not tlie sort of way that rogues of lawyers, 
 who live u]) in London, go to work, George; not but 
 what Mr. liernard Linacre is up to that or anything 
 else, to judge by what the Earl says. I never liked 
 the fellow; but between you and me, I shrmld not be 
 surprised if the devil was not so black as he is painted. 
 ]\Iy father hates the fellow worse than poison, and 
 thinks him bad enough for anything."
 
 THE UXLUCKY BLOW. 93 
 
 "I don't know what put him into my bead now I 
 am sure, unless it were that the thought how easy it 
 would be to make away Avith you on this lone beach, 
 set me thinking on all that he would gain by it," said 
 George. 
 
 "Yes; but, in the first place, I am not alone, and it 
 would take a stoutish fellow to give an account of you, 
 Master George. And, in the second place, though I 
 never gave a thought in my life to any interest any- 
 body might have in getting rid of me, still, as I often 
 am alone on the beach at lone hours, — look here, just 
 take that little cane in your hand." 
 
 The young man piit a slight-looking stick he car- 
 ried into George's hand as he spoke; and the latter 
 ])erceived at once that it was a very much more ef- 
 ficient weapon than it had the appearance of being. 
 It was, in fact, a piece of whalebone artistically spliced 
 overall the length of it witli whipcord, and then painted 
 the colour of rattan cane. And the top was heavily 
 laden; making it, in fact, a deadly instrument of at- 
 tack Avhen wielded l)y a stalwart arm. 
 
 "Yes," said George, poising and vibrating the slight 
 and deceptively innocent-looking little cane in his 
 liand. "Yes; this is as tidy a tool for giving a fellow 
 his quietus as one coidd wisli. Ciive me one swing at 
 a fellow with this little twig, and I think I could an- 
 swer for his never wanting anotlier. Jove! it would 
 drop a man, or a bullock cither, I shouhl think, if ytiu 
 knew Avhere to hit him, as sure as a pistol-shut." 
 
 "Yes; I think I could make a follow keej) his dis- 
 tance with that myself, and I have not got such an 
 arm as you have, George," returned Lord iSaltash. 
 
 And all this time, while tlie young men thus con-
 
 94 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 tinned talking, George, to whom such a weapon was 
 a new thing, retained it in his hand; and, in tlie snper- 
 ahundant energy of his activity, kept brandishing and 
 flonrishing it, and trying the poise and balance of it. 
 
 And so the young men Avalked on in the moon- 
 light by the path under the cliff, till they had passed 
 the lonely part of their walk and neared the toMn 
 without the smallest cause having arisen for trying the 
 efficiency of the young lord's life-preserver. Their 
 purpose was to part company when they reached the 
 spot at which tlie steep path leading up to the Grange 
 fell into that which followed the beach; for that was 
 Garstang's nearest way home, whereas Lord Saltash 
 had to traverse the town on his way to the Pai-k on 
 the eastern side of it. This place where the paths 
 separated was very near the outskirts of the town, 
 within sight of the first cottages straggling on the 
 beach, but before the first of them had been passed. 
 Though within a few paces of the spot, they were not 
 witbin sight of it, because it was hidden from them by 
 a jutting rock, the last bulwark of the cliff on that 
 side, round whicli they had to pass. 
 
 Suddenly, A\hile they were rounding this, coming 
 on at a good pace, and a few moments before tliey 
 came in sight of tlie jtath on the other side of the 
 rock, they were startled by the sound of voices. That 
 voices should be heard there was nothing strange; for, 
 as has been said, they were close to tlie outskirts of 
 the town. But the souiuls that reached their ears Averc 
 outcries, the noise of many voices raised in anger, 
 menace, or alarm. 
 
 Both the young men bounded forwards, and the 
 next instant .sufficed to bring them Avithin siglit of
 
 THE UNLUCKY BLOW. 95 
 
 the cause of the disturbance, and to ex:plain the nature 
 of it. 
 
 There were four men struggling with one and 
 overpowering him clearly, but not without difficulty. 
 He had been thi-OAvn doAvn and was on the ground, 
 still struggling, striking, kicking, biting, while two of 
 his four adversaries Avere endeavouring to force a pair 
 of fetters on to his wrists. At the same moment the 
 slight figure of a female, white in the moonlight, rushed 
 forwards towards the new-comers on the scene, with 
 outstretched arms, and long hair wildly streaming be- 
 hind her, imploring their assistance. 
 
 The whole history of the occurrence was at once 
 intelligible to Lord Saltash and his companion. The 
 woman was Lucy Baldock; the man overpowered on 
 the ground was her brother, and his four captors were 
 a press-gang. 
 
 There was a moment, — time enough to see that 
 Lucy looked very lovely in her agitation and distress, 
 with her beautiful hair streaming in the moonlight, 
 but neither time to hear, nor need for hearing, any 
 articulate utterances of her appeal. The two men 
 rushed forward, Garstang still retaining the life-pre- 
 server in his hand. In the next instant two of the 
 press-gang men were lying on the sand, felled to the 
 ground by two blows of the slight-looking but terrible 
 weapon-, Ned Baldock Avas on his feet again; the Hash 
 and report of two pistols were seen and heard, and 
 Lord Saltash had a bullet in his shoulder. 
 
 "Run, Ned! run for it, my man!" cried the latter; 
 ''they don't want us, and can't do us any harm — more 
 than they have done already; and that's no great
 
 96 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 matter," he added, pressing liis right hand (o his 
 Avoimded shoulder. 
 
 The remaining two men of the jjress-gang who had 
 been unhurt by George's stick, and who liad xised their 
 pistols, one to no purpose, and the other wounding 
 Lord Saltash, closed at the same time with Garstang, 
 and succeeded in "vvi-enching the life-preserver out of 
 his hand; while Ned Baldock, needing no second lunt 
 from his deliverers, dashed off towards the town, and 
 made it clear to his recent captors that their object 
 had for this time been frustrated. 
 
 The struggle was over-, antl there was a pause of 
 a minute, during which both parties took breath, and 
 looked defiantly at each other. One of the men whom 
 George had felled had jiartially risen from the ground, 
 and was sitting where he had fallen. Tlie other still 
 remained stretched on the sand. Lord Saltash had 
 seated himself on an upturned boat that lay under the 
 cliff' by the side of the patlnvay. 
 
 "Oh, my lord," cried Lucy, running to him, "you 
 are wounded. Tliey have shot you. AVhat can we 
 d.)? Where did it hit you?" 
 
 "Lord, is he?" said one of the gang; "a ju'etty 
 sort of ;i lord, Vm thinking. Any way, this night's 
 job will have to be answered i'or; he's got my mark on 
 him; and I'm not going to lose sight of him or t'otlier 
 chap either, till I know who they are." 
 
 "Answered for! Avhy it was a fair rescue, that's all. 
 ^I'wo of your fellows liave got crack'd crowns, and I 
 have got one of your lniUets in my shoulder. Tiiere's 
 not much to be said on eidier side." 
 
 "(Jh, isn't there, though!" returned the other. "I 
 believe my mate there is (b)nc for. And what sort of
 
 THE UNLUCKY BLOW. 97 
 
 tool do you call this?" he continued, looking at the 
 life-preserver, Avhich he had succeeded in taking from 
 George. "This here is a secret and unlawful weapon-, 
 a cowardly thing, too, I calls it, to go for to hit a man 
 with such a thing as this. It's as bad as murder to 
 carry such a thing." 
 
 "And what is it to carry pistols, then?" said 
 George. 
 
 "We are in the execution of our duty, and can 
 answer for what we does; it'll be well for you, young 
 man, if you can do as much. Wliat's the matter with 
 Barnes there? can't you get him up. Bill?" he con- 
 tinued, addressing the other man, who was then kneel- 
 ing by the side of the still prostrate body of his com- 
 panion. 
 
 "My opinion is he'll never get up again," returned 
 Bill-, "that's what 1 think about it. I'm blessed if I 
 don't believe that there murdering thing, as don't look 
 no more than a twig, have done for him. His chest is 
 a-heaving, but he don't open his eyes; and I don't 
 think he's sensible." 
 
 "Had not I better stay with you till I see you 
 home, Saltash?" said George to the young man, Mi-ho 
 was evidently beginning to suffer a good deal from his 
 wound. 
 
 "Go to your oAvn home, George Garstang; go to 
 your home and humble yourself on your knees before 
 God, and before your own people. Is not the hand of 
 the Lord heavy enougli upon us, that you shoidd seek 
 to tempt him by your wickedness?" 
 
 The voice that uttered tliese woi-ds in a harsh and 
 high-pitched tone came from a rock a little above the 
 level of the path on which the struggle that has been 
 
 The (liirstanijs. I. '
 
 98 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 described had taken place. The actors in the late 
 scene all looked np together in startled surprise, and 
 saw the tall, spare figure of a womau, standing like a 
 white pillar in the moonlight on the rock, round which 
 the path that climbed the cliff ran, and which by means 
 of it was easily accessible. George and Lord Saltash 
 and Lucy Baldock knew at once that it was Patience 
 Garstang, and were yet more surprised at the ap^iarition 
 than the strangers. 
 
 "Patience! You there at this time of night! What 
 on earth can have brought you here, Patience?" said 
 Garstang, not a little annoyed at his sister's appeai-ance 
 and words. 
 
 "Never you mind what brought me here. What 
 brought me here? Thank your blessed Lord, George 
 Garstang, that sent me here to Avatch and to warn you, 
 and to declare His will unto you." 
 
 "Thank you^ ma'am, for telling me the gentleman's 
 name. That's just what I wanted to know. George 
 Garstang! And he lives up that way, when he's at 
 home, does he, ma'am?" he continued, re})lying to the 
 gesture of the hand with which Patience had accom- 
 panied her commands. "That will do. We shall hear 
 more of each other, Mr. (Jcorge (Jarstang, and no 
 mistake! And now. Bill, we liad better see about carry- 
 ing poor Barnes to the nearest house, and getting a 
 doctor for him." 
 
 "No, George, tliank you," said Lord Saltash, in 
 reply to liis friond's roncwed offer to accompany him 
 home: "I don't think this is anytliing to signify, though 
 the arm is getting very stiff, and it pains me a good 
 deal. But 1 can walk home very well; and Lucy will
 
 THE UNLUCKY BLOW. 99 
 
 go and knock up old Bartram, and send him up to the 
 park, to see what the damage is." 
 
 It is probable that George would have preferred 
 any arrangement which would have obviated the ne- 
 cessity of his setting out forthwith to walk up to the 
 Grange in company with his sister in the mood she 
 appeared to be in. But there seemed to be no help for 
 it. So good-nights were exchanged between him and 
 his friend, and each departed homewards, George ac- 
 companied by his sister, and Lord Saltash by Lucy, 
 from whom he judiciously separated as soon as they 
 reached the entrance to the town: he pursuing his way 
 along the beach, and past East Rock Cottage, where 
 he called and ascertained that Ned was in safe hiding, 
 and where he told her father that Lucy had gone to 
 send Dr. Bartram to dress his wound; and Lucy 
 hastening on the errand that had been entrusted 
 to her. 
 
 The least hurt of the two press-gang men whom 
 George had felled had, in the meanwhile, got himself 
 on his legs again, and was able to assist in carrying 
 his more seriously injured comrade to the nearest 
 house. 
 
 George had some inclination to remain till he could 
 ascertain whether the man were in reality seriously in- 
 jured. But he had very little fear that such was in 
 truth the case. A crack over the head with a stick 
 was an incident common enough to the imagination of 
 the young Avest country farmer; nor was it Avithin liis 
 experience that anything more serious than a cracked 
 crown, to be mended by a bit of plaister, was known 
 to follow from such an infliction. TIic weapon with 
 which he had felled poor Barnes, the press-gang man, 
 
 7*
 
 100 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 was a new tiling to him, and lie was totally ignorant 
 of the nature of the injury which it was calculated to 
 produce. And he deemed the remarks of the wounded 
 man's comrades to be merely the natural results of 
 resentment and ill-humour. 
 
 So Barnes was carried to the nearest fisherman's 
 cottage, where the doctor who was called to see him by 
 his comrades, about an hour later, found him a corpse; 
 and George Garstang reached his home about the same 
 time, unwotting that he bore the brand of Cain upon 
 his brow.
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed."
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Earl of Linacre and his Cousin. 
 
 The Earl of Linacre was a very good sort of earl 
 for many of the purposes for which earls exist in the 
 world. For some of those purposes he was inefficient. 
 He was of no use as a legislator, and very uniformly 
 abstained from making any attempts to meddle with 
 functions of that sort. Nor could he be said to be, in 
 any active sense, one of the t'apports and ornaments of 
 the Crown, or a representative to the world in general 
 of the splendour and magnificence of the British aristo- 
 cracy. To the minds of the inhabitants of Sillshire 
 indeed, he was a representative of these things in a 
 way not altogether unsatisfactory. The idea of him- 
 self as a British earl presented itself to his mind much 
 more rarely and more feebly than the idea of himself 
 as a Sillshire man, and as one of the first, if not the 
 first of Sillshire men. In London, or indeed anywhere 
 else oixt of his native shire, he felt himself to be 
 nothing. And it may almost be admitted, as far as 
 such a thing can be said of a belted earl without ir- 
 reverence to the British Constitution, tliat so placed he 
 was nothing. But as soon as he had recrossed the 
 frontier of his beloved county he felt himself to be 
 every inch a magnate. If any Sillshire man could 
 have caught the Earl in London streets, and addressed 
 him in the genuine accents of the Sillshire dialect with 
 a piteous story of being all astray and in distress in
 
 104 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 the great Babylon, lie might have made quite sure of 
 at least a ready guinea. But no Sillsliire, or other 
 man, unless he had happened to know the Earl jier- 
 sonally, woiild have guessed that the plain and almost 
 shabby elderly gentleman before him in a much-worn 
 blue body-coat, drab breeches, and hessian boots, look- 
 ing almost as much scared and uncomfortable amid the 
 London bustle as the veriest clodhopper could be, was 
 the Earl of Linacre. 
 
 The Earl was at all times a very plain man in his 
 personal habits, and often more than plain. He seemed 
 to take a peculiar sort of pride in wearing a shabby 
 coat-, and had once been heard to remark that men 
 who ordinarily passed for gentlemen might be divided 
 into two classes,— those avIio were judged to be such 
 by virtue of their coats, and those who were seen to 
 be such despite of their coats. A logician might have 
 objected that the Earl's theory left unclassified those 
 who wore good coats, but who would equally have 
 been known to be gentlemen without them. But then 
 the Earl was not a logician, and held a firm opinion 
 that all men who were, were such only by virtue of 
 their habit and wish to make the worse seem the better 
 cause. 
 
 It must have been, I fancy, of the Tkrl of Linacre 
 that the story was told, how, when leaving home in 
 company with his son for a journey to the metropolis, 
 on the young man remonstrating with liis father on the 
 shabbiness of his outward man, he replied, "J'shaw, 
 boy! what does it signify? Everybody, I should hope, 
 knows who / am!" And when, on reaching London, 
 the young man ventured to hint tliat now, at least, it 
 Avould be as well if liis f;itlicr Avould condescend to pay
 
 THE EARL OF LIN ACRE AND HIS COUSIN. 105 
 
 some attention to his personal appearance, he was 
 answered with, "Pooh, pooh! What can it signify? 
 Who knows anything about me!" 
 
 The Earl in fact was apt to make a worse appear- 
 ance in London than elsewhere. He always wore 
 Hessian boots, and in London these notable articles of 
 costume were very frequently to be seen sadly in want 
 of a little blacking. For when the unwelcome necessity 
 of a journey to London on some business which did 
 not require a stay of more tlian a day or two arose, 
 the old gentleman would come up without any attendant. 
 And it was one of his specialties that he would never 
 allow his boots to be touched with London blacking or 
 by a London shoeblack; a practice which reposed on 
 theories, the soundness of which was strongly avouched 
 and approved of by Mr. Abel Atkius, the Earl's old 
 Sillshire valet. 
 
 But all these, and some other little peculiarities, in 
 nowise injured or interfered with the Earl of Linacre's 
 position and standing in his own county. It is 
 probable, indeed, that they had quite the contrary 
 effect, and contributed to cause the popularity and 
 respect which he enjoyed in his own country. Tlie 
 Sillshire people were proud of a territorial magnate 
 who so thoroughly identified himself with them and 
 their county. And in his own special neighbourhood 
 his conduct and character in tliis respect wore very 
 favourably contrasted with tliose of his neighbour Sir 
 George Artingale, — or rather it would be more correct 
 to say of Sir George, who ought to have been his 
 neighbour. For the baronet of a Sillshire race, older 
 even than his OAvn, was an absentee, and a s[)cndthrift, 
 who spent his time, his health, and, more than all, his
 
 106 THE GARSTANGS OF GAKSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 money in very exalted, but not very reputable, society 
 in London. The Earl, on the contrary, was so 
 thoroughly a Sillshire man that he affected to use the 
 special dialect of the county. Doubtless, as a young 
 man, he was perfectly able to express himself in the 
 ordinary language of his peers and equals. But he 
 had for so many years chosen to speak broad Sillshire, 
 that it may be doubted whether in his old age he could 
 very easily, if he had wished to do so, drop the accent 
 of his county. 
 
 He was a good and improving landlord; and a just 
 man, though a very prejudiced, an obstinate, and a 
 narrow-minded one. He was kind and affable to the 
 poor-, kind, too, though somewhat pompously and con- 
 descendingly so, to the smaller gentry and professional 
 classes of his neighbourhood; but his equals in the 
 country, or those whose social rank and possessions 
 made them at all near to being such, esteemed and 
 declared the Earl of Linacre to be three or four degrees, 
 at least, prouder than Lucifer. The inhabitants of 
 Billiford and Billmouth were wont to declare that their 
 Earl had not an ounce of pride in his composition. 
 But the truth was that the former estimate was the 
 correct one The Earl of Jjinacre was a very proud 
 man. But his pride could hardly bo said to be personal 
 pride. Of himself,— absolutely himself, as he lay be- 
 tween the sheets of a night, a microcosm composed of 
 a hvmian soul and body, he was not ])roud at all. He 
 was a handsome, personable man. But he was free 
 from personal vanity, lie was an honest, brave man. 
 But, least of all, did it ever enter into his head to be 
 proud of that. He was not a clever man; and never 
 imagined himself to be so. He was a God-fearing
 
 THE EARL OF LINACUE AND HIS COUSIN. 107 
 
 man; and knew himself to be a weak and erring 
 mortal. But still it was the fact that an all-wise 
 Providence had willed that he should be the Earl of 
 Linacre; and he was inordinately proud of that fact. 
 He was proud of his descent, of his family, of his estate, 
 of his position, of the respect of all the Sillshire world, 
 of the trappings of his rank, his coronet, his escutcheon, 
 his pedigree, and his hessian boots. 
 
 Upon the whole, he was not a bad man; but he 
 was one of those who would have been a mixch better 
 man had he been a happy and prosperous one. Some 
 plants thrive best in the shade; and some natures are 
 best nursed by adversity. Other flowers require the 
 sunshine ; and other characters need for their favourable 
 development the atmosphere of happiness. The Earl 
 belonged to the latter category. 
 
 It might be supposed by those who imagine that 
 such things can make happiness, that the great and 
 wealthy Earl of Linacre should have been a happy 
 man. Those mainly would conceive that he mtist have 
 been so, who were unhappy for want of the things 
 which he so abundantly possessed. But what avails 
 the possession of everything else, if the one thing, on 
 which the heart is set, be denied us? And this one 
 thing, in the case of the Earl of Linacre, was his sons. 
 He had lost three promising boys in succession, each 
 as he had begun to learn to substitute him in his heart 
 and in his pride for the elder who had been taken 
 from him. Tlie Earl was by temperament and educa- 
 tion a religious man. But he had almost been tempted 
 to rebel in heart against the decrees of Providence 
 which had left his heartli, and, what was much more 
 important, his family tree, thus desolate. He could not
 
 108 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 understand it. The sons of the peasants around him 
 grew up in health and strength despite difficulties and 
 physical disadvantages of all sorts. But no amount of 
 care, and skill, and not all the appliances of wealth 
 and science could keej) alive the heirs of the name and 
 house of Linacre. 
 
 The Earl had thus lived the life of a soured and 
 disappointed man-, and it had not improved his nature. 
 He had a dull and constant, but unrecognized sense of 
 being at enmity with the world. All the kindlier parts 
 of his nature had been stunted and trodden down. 
 And his capacities for hating and feeling resentment 
 had been fostered and strengthened. 
 
 Still he had one son — one hope — left. The three 
 boys he had lost had been as fine and promising 
 children as a father could desire. The present Lord 
 Saltash had been a weakly child. Yet, by dint of care 
 and caution, tlie life of this last had been prolonged 
 beyond tliat of eitlier of his elder brothers. And of 
 late years he had seemed to have outgrown the feeble- 
 ness of his constitution as a child, and to give good 
 promise that in him the Earl might hope to see the 
 lineage of his race perpetuated. And now this hope 
 was the mainstay of the father's life, — the one all-im- 
 portant object of his thoughts by day and his prayers 
 by night. 
 
 The heart of every parent would rise in angry 
 protestation against the assertion tliat tlie Earl of 
 Linacre could love his son better than each father 
 loved liis (iwii, or could be more afflicted by the 
 bereavement of losing him. Yet it is true that the 
 difference of feeling in the two cases would be con-
 
 THE EARI. OF LINACRE AND HIS COUSIN. 109 
 
 siderable: the bereaved fatlier of a son who was cue of 
 the millions is chastened and humbled in his sorrow 
 by the knowledge that others are suffering the like 
 grief; that the blow which has stricken him down but 
 marks him as subject to the lot of mortals , and leaves 
 the world around him to piirsue its unaltered course. 
 But the death of his sole remaining son and heir would 
 have seemed to the Earl of Linacre a misfortune such 
 as none but he was afflicted by, a calamity of so large 
 and wide an importance, as to justify him in looking 
 upon it as a very different matter from the mere pri- 
 vate sorrow which springs from the domestic bereave- 
 ments of ordinary life. It would have had for him a 
 significance akin to that Avhich a total eclipse had for 
 the men of former ages; an ominous blotting out of all 
 the brightness in the world, presaging universal woe 
 and disaster. It was a thought on which the Earl 
 never permitted his mind to dwell. It was too dread- 
 ful to contemplate. And of late years the much-im- 
 proved health of his son had greatly tranquillized his 
 mind; and confirmed him in the strong impression that 
 it could not be the intention of heaven to permit the 
 race of the Earls of Linacre to be extinguished. 
 
 Not that the death of Lord Saltash Avould have in 
 reality caused the extinction of the name and lineage 
 of Linacre. There existed a certain Bentham Linacre, 
 Esquire, Barrister of the Inner Tem})le, who, failing 
 all issue of the Earl, would inherit tlie title and the 
 estates. But the succession of this individual to the 
 family honours would have been almost worse to the 
 Earl than the total extinction of his name. The Mr, 
 Linacre in question was a distant cousin of the house; 
 and, as ill- fortune would have it, was, in many ways
 
 110 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 and for many reasons, especially obnoxious to the 
 Earl. 
 
 In the first place, Lord Linacre hated this young 
 man because he was the heir. He was the possible 
 gainer by all those terrible misfortunes which had 
 saddened the Earl's life; each successive death had 
 brought him a step nearer to title, rank, and fortune. 
 It was difficult for the Earl, difficult perhaps for any 
 less prejudiced looker-on, to believe that the terrible 
 blows which had ftillen upon the head of his house, 
 had been felt by Mr. Bentham Linacre to be as heavy 
 calamities as entire sympathy Avith his suffering relative 
 would have required that they sliould be felt. And 
 this was in itself quite sufficient to make a man, whose 
 likes and dislikes, liowever naturally not ungenerous, 
 were as singularly little under the control of reason as 
 those of Lord Linacre, feel anything but pleasantly 
 towards the man whose fortune would be built on his 
 own discomfiture and ruin. 
 
 But this was not all, nor nearly all. Had the Earl 
 been blessed by a dozen stalwart sons, Mr. Bentham 
 Linacre, barrister-at-law , would have been specially 
 and singularly obnoxious to him. The father of 
 this scion of the great house had been in trade; the 
 first Linacre on record who had ever thus soiled the 
 family escutcheon. Grievance the first. And he had 
 not even gilded his fault by making a large fortune 
 out of his trade; ho had left, on the contrary, but a 
 very moderate com[)etc'nce to his only son Bentham, 
 whom he had sent to Cambridge, and made him a 
 barrister. Grievance the second. For although the 
 Earl knew that a barrister was a gentleman, and (hat 
 the old trader, in allowing his son to be called to the
 
 THE EARL OF LINACRE AND HIS COUSIN. lit 
 
 bar, had made a step towards retracing- the fatal error 
 he had committed in becoming himself a tradesman, 
 yet he would have been better contented that this step 
 should have been taken in any other direction. Why 
 could not the young man, if he wanted to be a gen- 
 tleman, enter the army? The Earl had a special dis- 
 like to lawyers; he looked upon them as a pestiferous 
 race of men always employed in making truth appear 
 falsehood, and vice versa^ in some mysteriously victorious 
 but altogether unjustifiable way, to the confusion and 
 humiliation of all honest men. 
 
 Possibly the Earl's convictions in this respect had 
 been the result of a process of action and reaction. It 
 may be that the above estimate of the legal profession 
 was, in fact, based on what the old lord had seen of 
 Mr. Bentham Linacre himself. He had upon two or 
 three occasions invited the young man to Linacre Park, 
 deeming it his duty to show thus much attention 
 towards a member of his family, notwithstanding his 
 own personal dislike of him. And on each of these 
 occasions Mr. Linacre had ended his visit by leaving 
 the old lord more convinced of the utter detestability 
 of all lawyers in general, and of Bentham Linacre in 
 particular, than ever. 
 
 It would be unjust, however, to Lord Linacre, to 
 allow it to be supposed that his dislike towards his 
 young relative was wholly caused by his own preju- 
 dices. Mr. Linacre was perhaps hardly a very likeable 
 man generally, and certainly he was especially injudi- 
 cious, to use the mildest term, towards the aged and 
 distinguished head of his family. Bentham Linacre's 
 career at Cambridge liad been a creditable, and to a 
 certain extent, a successful one; he had been more dis-
 
 112 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 tiuguished, however, as a member of the Debating So- 
 ciety than iu the schools; he had taken a creditable 
 but not a very high degree; and he had not gained a 
 fellowship. At the bar he had done little or nothing, 
 notwithstanding his industry, and the reputation he 
 had acquired in the profession of being a comjjetent 
 and sound lawyer. The fact was that all the attorneys 
 were afraid of him, he bullied, and snubbed, and 
 badgered them so intolerably; he proved so undeniably 
 tliat they knew nothing at all of the matter in hand, 
 and were utter numbskulls and blockheads; he reduced 
 them to such imbecile, yet irate desperation by the in- 
 vincibility of his reductio ad absurdum, and the unan- 
 swerableness of his Socratic method of showing that 
 they were fools and imbeciles, that they avoided him 
 as the devil avoids holy Avater; Avitli the result of 
 leaving him at the end of ten years from his call a 
 briefless barrister, though a thoroughly sound and good 
 lawyer. 
 
 Now, when he was down at Linacre Park, ]\lr. 
 Bentham Linacre treated the aged and dignified head 
 of his house with no whit greater consideration or 
 courtesy than he treated the attorneys, and, indeed, 
 every other jjersou with whom lie came in contact. His 
 intellect was a much stronger one, and his education 
 had been a much better one, than those of the old 
 Earl; and it was no difficult matter for him so to roll 
 tlie old man over and over in the acrimouiuus discus- 
 sions which would arise between them every day after 
 dinner, as to make him feel that lie Avas foiled and 
 beaten and hum])led by s(nne unfair, unintelligible, and 
 devilish sleight-of-word fence, and that his antagonist 
 was the most presumptuous, the most wrong-headed,
 
 THE EARL OF LINACRE AND IIlS COUSIN. 113 
 
 the most pragmatical, the most cantankerous, and the 
 most ill-mannered and disagreeable fellow in creation. 
 
 And subjects for acrimonious discussion were never 
 wanting between them. The Earl, of course, was a 
 Tory of the old school. Mr. Linacre professed himself 
 to be a reformer and a Radical. The Earl was a 
 sportsman, and a preserver of game. Mr. Linacre had 
 never taken a gun in his hand in his life, and con- 
 sidered the game-laws a remnant of feudal barbarism. 
 The Earl took much interest in the management of his 
 estate, and had notions and theories of his own about 
 agriculture; but when the old man talked agi-iculture, 
 the young man talked political economy, and proved 
 that large landowners were the bane of a nation, and 
 must be got rid of Worst of all, Mr. Linacre called 
 himself an Unitarian, which the Earl considered to 
 mean an Atheist, specially characterized by a tendency 
 towards regicide. 
 
 Neither did Mr. Bentham Linacre succeed, on the 
 occasion of these visits to the Park, in making himself 
 more acceptable to the rest of the Billmouth world than 
 he did to the Earl himself He did not "get on" with 
 his cousin. Lord Saltash, at all. The young man was 
 indignant at the manner in which the Londoner treated 
 his father in his own house and at his own table. He 
 thought him an insufferable prig, and what the young 
 men of a subsequent generation would have called "a 
 muff" into the liargain. Bentham knew notliing of 
 country life, cared nothing for country amusements. 
 He took no pains to conceal his contempt for the latter, 
 and considered himself abundantly (jualifiod to form 
 and propound all sorts of ideas, schemes, and nostrums 
 
 The Gantuugs. I. 8
 
 114 THE GAKSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 for the improvement of the former. Lord Sultash found 
 him, as a companion, utterly insufferable. 
 
 And he was equally unpojjular with every class of 
 the people with whom he came in contact. There Avas 
 somethiiijg;' about his manner and tone that made even 
 the dullest of the country gentlemen and farmers feel 
 that the young barrister looked upon them all as a 
 deplorably benighted and behind-the-world community 
 of barbarians, who had infinite need of being en- 
 lightened and set right by the theories of more ad- 
 vanced science in every kind, — in "agronomy," as he 
 chose to call it, to tnnr infinite disgust and puzzle- 
 ment, — in the management of their poor, — in the man- 
 agement of their vestries, — in the customs of their 
 leases, — in every jjart and matter of their lives, in 
 short. Everybody in the country-side knew perfectly 
 well the relation in which he stood to the old Earl and 
 the property, and a visit from the London cousin of 
 the family was always the occasion of increased fervency 
 in the ])rayers of tlie Avliole neighbourhood for the life, 
 health, and prosperity of Lord Saltash. 
 
 It will readily be imagined that Bentham Linacre 
 ap]toared at IJillmouth in the most unfavourable light 
 ill w liich he couhl have been seen, and that (he picture 
 of liim which has here been drawn has shoAvn the 
 worst and least amiable side of his character. There 
 were good {|uali(ics in the man. He Avas U[)right, hon- 
 ourable, and Avcll-mcaning-, he Avas industrious, active- 
 minded, and iiitelligent. Had his mind been less logic- 
 ally jjrecisc and direct, he Avould have been less dis- 
 liked than he Avas. lie Avould not tlieii have seen so 
 clearly all the stupidities, tiie imbecilities, the unrea- 
 sonaltlenesses, (lie false reasonings, against which he
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 115 
 
 conceived liiiiLself boiuul to run a perpetual tilt. In 
 his own world he was much respected; but he was one 
 of those unfortunate men who are destined to go through 
 the world respected and disliked. 
 
 And now it will be understood that the possibility 
 of the succession of this man to the earldom may have 
 appeared to the old Earl almost a more dreadful thing 
 to contemplate than the entire extinction of the race. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A Cieneral Practitioner of the 'Beginning of the Nineteenth Century. 
 
 It w^as about eleven o'clock at night when Lord 
 Saltash and George left the Clcojmtra to return to their 
 homes. The distance to the shore w^as short, and the 
 walk under Garstang cliff to the spot at which the 
 struggle Avith the press-gang had taken place was, at 
 the outside, a couple of miles. But the two young 
 men had sauntered along slowly in the pleasant moon- 
 light, and it nnist have been not far from twelve when 
 they fell in with the party who had captured Ned Bal- 
 dock. Lucy had run to Mr. Bartram's liouse as if she 
 had wings to her feet, and the old practitioner, as soon 
 as he comprehended the nature of the call upon liis 
 services, made all possible speed in reaching the Park. 
 He got there, in fact, a very few minutes after Saltasli 
 reached it. 
 
 But it must by that time have been nearly, if not 
 quite, two in the morning. The liouse at Linacre Park 
 was hardly more than tlirce miles from tbo scene of the 
 encounter-, but the wounded man had found himself 
 less able to walk the distance than he had imagined. 
 
 8*
 
 116 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 He felt weak and faint, besides being in very consider- 
 able pain; and be made but slow progress. When at 
 length he did reacli his own home, the whole house- 
 hold was very soon in a condition of dismayed activity, 
 as may be readily imagined; and in a few minutes 
 "Dr." Bartram, as the Billmouth people called him, 
 aiTived. 
 
 Old Bartram was a tolerably competent "general 
 practitioner," after the fashion of those days; but those 
 who are old enough to remember what the profession 
 was at the beginning of the present century, will be 
 aware tliat that is not saying much. The old man, 
 however, was quite sufficiently skilled to take a very 
 different view of his patient's injury from tliat which 
 the young man had been inclined to take himself. Of 
 course, he knew better than to let any word drop which 
 might have had the effect of alarming his patient; but 
 he was very seriously alarmed himself. In truth, he 
 did not like the look of things at all. Coming out of 
 the ro(jm in which Lord Saltash had been got to bed, 
 he found old Abel Atkins, who was the oldest servant 
 of the household, anxiously waylaying him. Bartram 
 beckoned him away from the neighbourhood of the 
 door without speaking, and as soon as they were out 
 of possible earshot of the Avounded man, said, shaking 
 his head, and letting his features exjiress all the anxiety 
 which he had ccnnjicUed them to belie in the sick- 
 room, — 
 
 "I don't like it at all, Atkins. And I feel myself 
 placed in a very unpleasant situation, and the Earl ab- 
 sent and all. I shall send for Hathaway — and for Dr. 
 Blackwell. Yes, it will he best to have Mlackwoll. [t 
 is a great responsiltilily for ine. liave a couple of
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONBK. 117 
 
 horses got ready as quick as possible, Atkins; and I 
 will write a couple of notes to Hathaway and Black- 
 well. Let the man be told to offer his horse to Ilath- 
 away, it will bring him here quicker than his own old 
 cob. He might be here in an hour-and-a-half if both 
 be and the groom make the best of their way." 
 
 The notes — very urgent ones — were written, and a 
 couple of grooms despatched with them; and JVlr. Bar- 
 trarn returned to the bedside of Lord Saltash, very 
 much divided iu his mind as to whether he should at 
 once proceed to attempt the extraction of the ball, or 
 whether he should await the an-ival of his colleajrues. 
 Dr. HathaAvay was no more a doctor of medicine than 
 "Dr." Bartram. He was the leading practitioner at 
 Billiford, and was dubbed "the Doctor" at Billiford 
 only by the same courtesy which styled Bartram 
 "Doctor" at Billmoutli. But Hathaway had seen, and 
 saw daily, more practice than Bartram. And there is 
 a small hospital at Billiford. Dr. Blackwell was a phy- 
 sician, and therefore less a surgeon than either of the 
 two general jjractitioners. But there Avas no pure sitr- 
 geon nearer than Silchester, — much too far off for it to 
 be possible to think of waiting till aid could be called 
 thence. 
 
 Old Bartram was half inclined to try for the ex- 
 traction of the ball; but tlie truth was he mistrusted 
 himself, and was afraid of the responsibility. When 
 he returned to the cliamber of Lord Saltash, the sufferer 
 bad, despite tlie pain, sunk into an uneasy sleep, the 
 product of utter exhaustion. Bartram determined to 
 wait. 
 
 Stealing away noiselessly from the bedside, he went
 
 118 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 to ask whether Lady Juliet had yet heard of the cata- 
 strophe. 
 
 Lady Juliet was the Earl's ouly daughter, and 
 was one or two years younger than her brother, Lord 
 Saltash. 
 
 No, nobody had thought of going to her room to 
 tell her anything al)out it. She had gone to bed two 
 hours or more before her brother's return, and was 
 still sleeping in happy ignorance of the misfortune 
 which had happened. Bartram tliought that the only 
 member of the family in the house ought to be made 
 aware of the state of the case, and felt as if the com- 
 municating it to her would make the sense of his own 
 responsibility feel less. So he desired that liady Juliet's 
 maid should be sent to her room, and that she should 
 be told cautiously that her brother was not well, 
 and that he — Dr. Bartram — would be glad to speak 
 with her. 
 
 It was not judicious of Dr. Bartram to cause a 
 young girl to be waked out of her sleep with such a 
 message. Let her maid tell her as cautiously as she 
 might the cause of her being thus disturbed at so un- 
 usual an hour, it could hardly bo tliat slic should be 
 otherwise than terribly ahinucd. lint the fact Avas that 
 old Bartram was utterly scared himself He well knew 
 how important a life was in his hands. The most 
 pressing iuijtortance to him, Bartram, was, that the 
 Earl, who he much feared was destined to iind himself, 
 on his shortly-cxj)ected return to his liome, overwhelmed 
 by a blow which, every one knew well, would crush 
 him to the earth, should not be able in his sorrow and 
 his rage to turn on hiui with any jtlausible accusation 
 that to his want of presence of mind or of skill any
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 110 
 
 pai't of the dreaded catastrophe was due. And Avhat 
 help could the Lady Juliet give him in his difficulty, 
 it may be asked? But those who know how a weak 
 man, ojipressed by a responsibility too heavy for his 
 shoulders, is apt to feel and to act, will hardly ask. 
 He wanted somebody to speak to, — somebody who might 
 only seem to share his responsibility witli him. He 
 wanted to provide against the possibility that it should 
 be said, "Why was not the Lady Juliet made aware 
 of what had happened?" 
 
 So poor Lady Juliet was waked and frightened out 
 of her wits; and in as short a time as it was possible 
 for her to make herself visible, she came, Avhite as her 
 dressing-gown and trembling in every liml), into her 
 brother's special sitting-room, where the Doctor await- 
 ed her. 
 
 There are many young girls in such positions as 
 that of Lady Juliet Linacre, and of not more than her 
 years, who are very able to be of real use in such an 
 emergency and for such a purpose as Bartram needed 
 her. But the Lady Juliet was not one of them. Not that 
 she was deficient either in head or in heart. But for 
 such a duty as that now imposed on her, the habit of 
 self-confidence is needed, and the consciousness of oc- 
 cupying securely, and of being felt by the world around 
 her to occupy securely the position she held, and of 
 wielding all the authority that that position ought to 
 give her. 
 
 And this was exactly what the Lady Juliet did not 
 feel at all. Her life had been of tli;»t sort wbicli most 
 certainly and most efl'ectually makes it impossible for 
 any person so to feel. Motlierless from her birth, her 
 position and the conditions of her life in her father's
 
 120 THE OARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE, 
 
 house had been unfortuuate. She was not what had 
 been wanted there. Lord Linacre's life had been em- 
 bittered by the successive deaths of his sons. And this 
 little frail daughter had lived on, when they could not 
 live. When in his infancy it had been feared that the 
 fourth son, the present Lord Saltash, would share the 
 fate of his brothers, the little Lady Juliet, though frail 
 and delicate as a lily blossom, had never had anything 
 the matter with her which threatened to shorten her 
 life. It would be unjust to the Earl to say that any 
 of the feelings rising out of these circumstances had 
 gone to the extent of breeding in his heart dislike to 
 his little daughter. But tliey had caused her to be 
 considered of little or no account in tlic family, partly, 
 no doubt, her own nature and character contributed to 
 this result. She was very gentle, very timid, morbidly 
 inclined to shrink back into her own corner, and to 
 avoid contact, as far as possible, with tliose whose 
 hearts did not seem to come forward spontaneously with 
 proffered love and sympathy. 
 
 Nevertheless, had not the hopes of the Earl been 
 fixed with such longing anxiety on tlie continuation of 
 his name and lineage in the male lino, he might uiore 
 fre(|uently have remembered — if, indeed, he were aware 
 of the fact, which it is possible he may not have been 
 — that in truth the life of the Lady .Juliet was a more 
 important one than tliat of the generality of the daugli- 
 ters of noble houses. For, in the house of Linacre, as 
 in some few other English families, no Salic laAv pre- 
 vailed. And failing male issue of the Earl, the title 
 as well as the estates would descend to the Lady .Fuliet. 
 It has been said, when tlio fooling of the old Earl to- 
 wards Bentham Linacre was spoken of, that he hated
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 121 
 
 him for being the heir, in case the life of his son 
 should droji. And so the Earl was in the habit of 
 feeling. He had either never known, or habitually 
 forgot, the claims of the Lady Juliet. And how little 
 such a circumstance was ever adverted to in the 
 family, may have been gathered from the conversation 
 between Lord Saltash and George Garstang on the 
 beach. 
 
 Many generations had elapsed since such a descent 
 of the Linacre dignities had occurred; and it is possible 
 enough, as has been said, that even the Earl himself 
 was not cognizant of the fact of the Lady Juliet's heir- 
 ship. And it is pretty certain that nobody else in the 
 little provincial world in which the Earl and his family 
 almost exclusively lived, had any such knowledge of 
 the genealogical history of the county, as made it 
 likely that they shovild be aware of the truth. There 
 was, it is true, one old gentleman, himself of very 
 ancient family, Mr. Farland, of Farlandstoke, near 
 Billiford, who probably knew all about it; for he was 
 a man well versed in such subjects. But, though he 
 and the Earl were acquaintances, it was not likely that 
 anything could lead to his speaking to the latter on so 
 unwelcome a subject. As for the Lady Juliet herself, 
 it may be taken as certain that she had not the smallest 
 idea of any such facts. 
 
 There was, however, one person, at least, who was 
 perfectly conversant with the subject, and who never 
 forgot the s])ecialtios of the rules of descent in the 
 house of Linacre. This was Mr. IkMitham Linacre, 
 barrister of the Inner Temple. He Avas perfectly well 
 aware that, as far as he was concerned personally, it
 
 122 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 was tlie same tiling to him whether his male or his 
 female cousin, or both of them lived. 
 
 Meanwhile the Lady Juliet had always been felt 
 by every one at Linacre Park, and specially by her- 
 self, to be an extremely unimjjortant personage. She 
 had grown from childhood to her present age — one 
 and-twenty — veiy entirely and emphatically in the shade. 
 And it seemed as if, with every year that passed, she 
 shrunk back more and more from ever coming out from 
 the shade into the sunlight. She was, perhaps, weak iu 
 heart and character, as in person. But she was cer- 
 tainly not destitute of strong affection or of the capacity 
 for love. But she was one of those natures from whom 
 love must be elicited. The more her inmost nature 
 craved for love, the more impossible was it to her to 
 go out of herself in search of it. The rock could give 
 forth gushing streams, but only when smitten by the 
 wand of the charmer. 
 
 Of late it might have been observed — if anybody 
 at the Park ever observed the Lady Juliet much — that 
 she had become more timid, more shrinking, more ner- 
 vous in her manner than ever. A shrewd and intelligent 
 observer, especially a medical one, might have probably 
 had his attention drawn to certain circumstances of her 
 looks,, and ways, and general bearing, when she came, 
 scared and trembling, into the room to meet Dr. Bartrain. 
 Hut old Hartram was very far from being either shrewd 
 or intelligent. 
 
 It was 2)robably some imrecognized consciousness 
 of emptiness within that pronijited "Dr." Bartram to 
 assume, in all tliat was possil)lc to him, the recognized 
 outward symliols of learned gravity and j)rofe.ssional 
 dignity, llis brother Hathaway, of Billiford, was a
 
 A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 123 
 
 very difterent man to look at, as he appeared in the 
 daily discbarge of liis avocations. Hathaway, as much 
 entitled to the style of "Dr." as Bartram, and equally 
 called so, was not a much better educated man than 
 his Billmouth brother practitioner. But he was a shrewd, 
 clever fellow; and by dint of a talent for observation, 
 and an innate capability of reasoning on what he ob- 
 served, had made himself a comparatively competent 
 medical adviser. And Hathaway affected a thoroughly 
 lay and countrified style of outward adornment. He 
 might be seen any day with his iron-grey hair covered 
 with a weather-stained white hat, a blue neckhandker- 
 chief setting oft' his florid bronzed face and keen grey 
 eye; and his nether man encased in corduroy riding- 
 breeches and top-boots. A very difterent man to look 
 at was old Dr. Bartram. He always wore a veiy low- 
 croA\Tied, very broad-brimmed black hat in unexceptional 
 condition, a soft Avhite voluminous neckhandkerchief, 
 and a complete suit of black. Long white locks came 
 down beneath the broad hat from a well-powdered head, 
 and he carried with much graceful dignity a large 
 ivory-headed cane. ])r. Bartram thought, and often 
 said, that really llathaway's appearance was too unpro- 
 fessional, and scarcely decorous. Dr. Hathaway knew 
 that Bartram was an old humbug; but was too good- 
 natured to say so, even if it had not been highly un- 
 professional to do so. 
 
 "For God's sake, Dr. Bartram, what is it? What 
 has happened? I know that you will tell me the real 
 truth!" said Jidiet, who had checked herself as she 
 came forward hastily into the room, to make a little 
 courtesy to the white hair and black coat before her. 
 
 "Calm yoiu-self, my dear young lady," returned the
 
 124 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 Doctor, taking her little shaking hand in his, and 
 placing his other palm upon it with the action and 
 solemnity of a bishop perfV)nning a confirmation. "It 
 is above all things necessary for you to be calm. Yon 
 have nothing to blame yourself for, nothing whatever. 
 Providentially I was at home when sent for immediately 
 after the — accident — ahem! and I lost not a moment 
 in coming here. Not a moment has been lost; every- 
 thing has been done that Avas possible." 
 
 "But what is it that has happened? Please to tell 
 me at once, Dr. Bartram," implored Juliet, in a voice 
 that seemed to betoken that she was on the point of 
 bursting into tears, as she withdrew her hands from 
 between his, and joined them in an attitude of en- 
 treaty. 
 
 "The wound is, I trust, not a dangerous one — that 
 is, not a mortal one, I hope and trust. Considering 
 the imj)ortanec of the case, and the difHculty — ahem! — 
 the weight, I would say, of the responsibility, I have 
 thought it right to despatch messengers to both Mr. 
 Hathaway and Dr. Blackwell; I venture to think that 
 my lord will judge that I have exercised a wi.se dis- 
 cretion. . . . Your ladyship, I trust, thinks," he added, 
 after a ]»ause, "tliat I have acted judiciously in this 
 respect?" 
 
 "I have no doubt that you have done all for the 
 best. Dr. ]?;irfr;un; but, for goodness' .sake, do let me 
 know what it is that has hajtpened to Sallash! Cannot 
 I see him?" returned Juliet in increasing agitation, as 
 she gathered, rather from the old man's manner than 
 from his words, that llic matter was very serious. 
 
 "My dear young lady, 1 fear I must not authorise 
 your seeing your brother at present, lie was sleeping
 
 A GENERAL rRACTITIONEIl. 125 
 
 a few tuimites ago, and, I trust, is so still. Sleep is 
 a great restorer, Lady Juliet-, we consider it to be a 
 most potent vts medicatrix^ — I beg your pardon for the 
 Latin,— habit you know! — one of the most powerful 
 curative agents nature possesses. We must not disturb 
 her." 
 
 "Her!" said Lady Juliet, raising her delicately 
 arched eyebrows. "I do not understand. Has any 
 other person been hurt besides my brother?" 
 
 "Not that I am aware of. Lady Juliet; I referred 
 to nature, personified, if I may so say, as a female; — 
 not an unusiial hgure of speech ! I meant to say that 
 it would be injudicious to disturb the operations of 
 nature." 
 
 "Ah! I see; I beg pardon. But what is the nature 
 of the hurt. Dr. Bartrain? You forget that I have 
 only just learned tliat my brother has been wounded. 
 Pray tell me whether it is really very serious. Poor 
 Saltash! and he was so well last night at dinner. And 
 I think most likely papa will be home this morning. 
 "What will papa say? What nill he do?" 
 
 "I think my lord will see that all that was humanly 
 possible has been dune. I think he must admit that; 
 you see, my dear young lady, that as the ball seems 
 to have lodged deep in the muscles of the humerus, and 
 as the tissues ." 
 
 "Dear Mr. Bartram, 1 do nut understand all that; 
 do please tell me at once whether the wound is a 
 dangerous one or not; and how on eartli ditl it 
 happen?" 
 
 As to the latter point the cautious old ductur tliouglit 
 it safest to say no word in gratification of the curiosity 
 of his (Questioner. He had already Iieanl on liis way
 
 12G THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 to the I'nrk some rumours of wluit liad occurred. But 
 of all this it was, he felt, much safest to say nothing. 
 As to the other point, he would have been very glad 
 if his questioner could have enlightened liim. To an- 
 swer, however, Avith all due a])pearance of profundity 
 and perfect knowledge of the su))ject Avas, under the 
 circumstances, a very easy feat for one continually 
 practising such. 
 
 "My dear young lady, all gunshot Avonnds are 
 dangerous things; it is impossible to deny that a certain 
 amount of danger must always attend such cases. 
 Ahem! But in tlie present case I do not apprehend 
 that, as far as we can yet see, there is cause for urgent 
 alarm. We m\ist ascertain the exact course Avhich the 
 ball has taken-, and the amount of danger will depend 
 on anatomical considerations, wliicli, my dear young 
 lady, your insufficient acquaintance witli the structure 
 of the human body would jirevent you from under- 
 standing. My friend llatliaway Avill soon be here, 
 and Dr. BlackAvell will, I trust, not be much later. 
 And we shall then proceed to an examination, Avhich 
 Avill enable us to form a more explicit opinion (»n the 
 case." And the old man {)ulled a huge chronometer 
 from his pocket as he ceased speaking, anxiously 
 aAvaiting the minute Avhen llathaAvay might be ex- 
 pected. 
 
 "Do you knoAV Iioav the accident hapj)ened. Dr. 
 Bartram?" said F^ady Juliet, Avith her car on the 
 watch for the sounds whicli might indicate the arrival 
 of the Billiford doctor, and with a sort of vague con- 
 sciousnoss thnt the solemn figure before her was utter- 
 ing empty platitudes, from Avhich no satisfaction or in- 
 formation was to be got.
 
 A GENEKAL PRACTITIONER. 127 
 
 "On that point I am unable to give your ladyship 
 any reliable information. I did hear some Avord 
 dropped about a struggle on the beach under Garstang 
 Cliff; and somebody spoke of one of the young men at 
 the Grange liaving been with his lordship at the time. 
 It will in all probaljility turn out that whatever blame 
 may be attached to — to circumstances which have led 
 to such a disastrous result, will lie at the door of those 
 persons. They are by all accounts very dangerous 
 people — those Garstangs." 
 
 N.B. One of the peculiarities of the family at the 
 Grange was that no medical man was ever called upon 
 to pass the threshold of their door. 
 
 The Lady Jidiet turned away to the window as 
 Dr. Bartram finished speaking, without making any 
 further inquiries. The first pale light of the summer 
 dawn was beginning to be visible in the horizon; and 
 the Avindow of the room in Avhich Bartram and his 
 companion Avere aAvaiting Dr. HathaAvay's coming Avith 
 almost equal impatience commanded a view of the 
 drive in front of the entrance to the house. 
 
 Dr. Bartram creaked on elaborately cautious tiptoe 
 to the door of the room in Avhich the Avounded man 
 lay, and returned, laying his forefinger on his lips in 
 very needless caution to his companion, Avho continued 
 to look from the AvindoAv. 
 
 In a minute or tAvo more she saAv two horsemen 
 riding quickly up the avenue. 
 
 "Thank God, here they are; both Dr. Blackwell 
 and Mr. IlathaAvay," she cried, turning to Bartram, 
 who left the room hastily to meet them in the hall. 
 
 "What is it, Bartram, eh? "We have ridden as if 
 we had been racing. Dr. BlackAvcH and I loll in Avith
 
 128 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTA^TG GRANGE. 
 
 each other at the corner of Willow Pond Lane," said 
 Hathaway, entering the hall. 
 
 "Upstaii-s?" said Dr. Blackwell. 
 
 And the three medical men, passing through the 
 room in whicli the Lady Juliet was, and saluting her 
 with an almost silent greeting, passed into the bedroom 
 where their patient was lying. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Tho Earl is stricken (iovvu. 
 
 An hour or two later in the pleasant summer morn- 
 ing, Mr. Hathaway, riding briskly on his way back to 
 Jiilliford, met a travelling carriage, and knew at once, 
 as soon as it had come fully into sight, that he had a 
 very unpleasant quarter-of-an-hour before him. It was 
 the Earl coming home from a few days' absence in 
 London. His carriage had been sent to meet him at 
 a post-house on the road from London to Hilchester, at 
 Avhich the mail-coach running to the latter city dropped 
 him. 'I'he Doctor was tempted to put his s])urs to his 
 horse, and push on along the bit of roadside turf under 
 the hedge, in the hope of ])assing the Earl without 
 Ijcing recognised. But the reflection that Lord Linacre 
 would learn, as soon as he I'eached homo, that the 
 a]K)thecary had been at the Park, and must have met 
 (he carriage (»n his ride back to liilliford, and would 
 doubtless be exceedingly angry that the Doctor should 
 liave passed him withttut telling the tidings whicli lie 
 carried with him, a(hiuinisli(Ml him that the second evil 
 miglit be the greater of the two. So lie rode in the 
 niithlle of the road to meet the carriage, and held up
 
 THE earl' IS STRICKEN DOWN. 129 
 
 his extended palm to the coachman to stop, as soon as 
 he came near. 
 
 The man pulled up, and the Earl looked out of 
 the carriage-window. Hathaway presented himself on 
 horseback at the window, with his hat in hand. 
 
 "Ha! Hathaway, is that you? Hullo! Why!— 
 Why! — Why! You are coming back from the Park. 
 Good God! There is nothing the matter, eh? Speak 
 man, eh, eh?" said the old Earl, turning pale, as he 
 observed the countenance of the other. 
 
 "My lord," stammered Hathaway, "I am unhappy 
 that it should be my lot to bring you the news I have 
 to tell." 
 
 The old Billiford practitioner was not a man to be 
 afraid of a lord, or generally slow to speak what he 
 had to say to any man bluntly enough. But he really 
 was frightened at the look of agony in the old man's 
 face, and felt as if he could not get out of his mouth 
 the words that were to tm-n his worst anticipations into 
 certainties. 
 
 "What! what! what is it?" he gasped out. ''Why 
 don't you speak? Do you want to kill mc?" he 
 added, his old voice breaking into a cracked shriek, 
 as he beat with his clenched fist on the edge of the 
 open carriage-ANaudow. 
 
 "My lord," said Hatliaway, himself turning ]»ale, 
 and his own voice husky with emotion — "My lord, 
 what I have to tell you is the worst that can be 
 told?" 
 
 "It is Saltasli! God of heaven! what is it? Is he 
 very ill? 1 will have the truth. I insist upon your 
 telling me the trutli this instant. in (Jod's name, 
 don't keep me in suspense, man." 
 
 The Qarstangs. J. •'
 
 130 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Lord Siiltash has been wounded, very dangerously 
 wounded, by a pistol-sbot in the left shoulder. He is 
 still living, or was so when I left the Park; but — my 
 lord — I nuist not deceive you. I fear there is no 
 hope." 
 
 Lord Linacre gasped to speak; but his head fell 
 forward on his bosom, and he sank back on the cushions 
 of the carriage. 
 
 Hathaway thought for a moment that the shock 
 had killed the old man; and was jihnost inclined to 
 feel that it woidd be the best thing that could happen 
 to him, if it had done so; but the Earl was only faint- 
 ing. Hathaway, with the assistance of the servants, 
 got him out of the carriage, and laid him on the turf 
 by the roadside, opened his neck to the morning air, 
 and dashed liis hands and face from the water of a 
 streamlet that crossed the road, on its hurrying way to 
 join tlie Dili. Thus treated, he soon revived, to find 
 himself in an existence, which the last few mimites 
 had so changed as to have taken from it everything 
 that made it valuable or even tolerable to him. 
 
 It was very horri))le tliat rohiniiiig to consci(msness 
 in the brisk keen morning air, to feel tliat all in front 
 was one black despair; that the hand of fale had sud- 
 denly fallen, at the moment when he had least feared 
 it, and had irrepara])ly crushed liim to the earth. With 
 the very first gle;im of reluming aniiiutlion came <he 
 sonsation of afHictioii, (lie consciousness that some 
 dreadful and irremediable evil liad befallen him; hut 
 the mind was still half stunned by the blow, and it 
 needed an efTort of recollection before he could gntlicr 
 up the threiids of the story of his misery at the point 
 at which bodily weakness had blotted all into oblivion.
 
 THE EARL IS STRICKEN DOWN. 131 
 
 For awhile tlie old man lay on tlie turf, the upper part 
 of his body su})ported on the Doctor's knee, breathing 
 heavily, and gazing with eyes void of speciilation at 
 the mockingly-glad blue sky above him, brilliantly 
 joyous with the coming of another summer day. He 
 sighed heavily, and partly turned his head to look at 
 Hathaway behind him. Gradually, the whole crushing 
 burthen of his sorrow settled down upon him. He 
 raised himself painfully from the Doctor's knee, and 
 said, in tones so altered as to make the latter stai-t, — 
 
 "Give me your hand to help me up, Hathaway, 
 and let me get into the carriage. It is time I was at 
 Linacre. Will you come with me in the carriage? Ah, 
 you have your horse. And you must return to your 
 patients at Billiford. Yes — but stay — how was it? — 
 Saltash!" 
 
 "My lo'.'d, he was alive when T left the Park; 
 but " 
 
 "And you left him, man! You came away, Hath- 
 away, when " 
 
 "Dr. Blackwell and Bartram are both at the Park, 
 my lord. Everything has been done. I should not 
 have left Linacre, my lord, you may be very sure 
 otherwise. I would not have left him, even so, alone 
 in Bartram's linnds; but Dr. Blackwell is with him. 
 It was wholly useless for me to remain." 
 
 The old nobleman groaned wiih a piteous prolonged 
 moan, that went to the heart of the rough general 
 practitioner, inured as it was to the sights and sounds 
 of human suffering. 
 
 "Is there no hope, Hathaway?" 
 
 The Doctor shook his head sadlv. "1 ilarc not 
 say there is, my lord," he answered. "1 should only 
 
 9*
 
 132 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 prejoare worse sorrow for you, if I were to tell you that 
 I have any hojje." 
 
 "And Blackwell — he thought the same?" 
 
 Hathaway gravely bowed his head. By this time 
 the old lord Avas again in his carriage, the coachman 
 had remounted his box, and the Doctor stood at the 
 carriage-door about to close it. 
 
 "But, good God, Hathaway! you have told me 
 nothing. Shot, you say. Shot! Gracious heaven! 
 how shot?" 
 
 "A shot from a pistol in the left slioulder, my lord. 
 It would seem that the first impression of Lord Saltash 
 was tliat the injury was not a severe one — as, indeed, 
 might liave been the case; but " 
 
 "Tell it me all, Hathaway, and at once." 
 
 "We extracted tlie ball, my lord, without much 
 difficulty; but tlie ])arts were so unfortunately shattered, 
 that our attempts to tie up the arteries were very par- 
 tially successful. The internal haMuorrhage is very 
 extensive, and — the ])atient is sinking under it. If it 
 be j)ossible to keep him u)), Hlackwell will do it. 
 Surgery has done what it could (h»; but I must not 
 give you any hope, my lord." 
 
 "God's will be done!" munnured the old man in 
 shaking accents, sinking back as he sjioke in his seat 
 ill the carriage. 
 
 llathaAvay was on the point of turning away from 
 the door. But the iOarl with renewed force of rel>elliou 
 against the inevitable, started forward again to the 
 o|)en window of the carriage, and added with fierce 
 violence:— 
 
 "But tin's was not (Jod's will! This was tlie hand
 
 THE EARL IS STRICKEN DO\^T^. 133 
 
 of man! Hathaway, I insist upou being told wlio lias 
 done this thing. Shot! How? and by whom?" 
 
 "Of all that, my lord, I can tell you nothing," 
 said Hathaway, more cautiously than altogether truly, 
 "ray business was to think only of the case as I found 
 it before me. 1 was summoned in all haste from Billi- 
 ford; rode to the Park as fast as horse's legs could 
 carry me, and had no time to make any inquiries save 
 such as the medical aspects of the case dictated. Your 
 lordship will no doubt receive all information at the 
 Park." 
 
 "Tell him to drive on — and as fast as he can!" 
 said the Earl, again sinking back into the carriage. 
 
 And in less than half an hour, he was standing by 
 the bedside of his son. 
 
 It was already too late for any consolation that 
 might have been derived from any subsequent remem- 
 brance that those last vain words of farewell have been 
 said, whicli are so agonizing in the saying of them. 
 The wounded man still breathed. But he was to all 
 appearance unconscious; and Dr. Blackwell said that 
 there was every reason to believe that he was no longer 
 suffering. But the dews of death were abeady gather- 
 ing on his forehead-, and the Earl knew that the decree 
 had gone forth, and that he was, in any sense which 
 at all mattered to him, a childless man. 
 
 In a few minutes, a grave inclination of the head, 
 and a gesture of the hand from Blackwell, who had 
 kept his post by the side of the sufferer's bed, told the 
 father that all was over. 
 
 'I'he Earl felt that all was indeed over for him in 
 this world. He turned from the bed and from the 
 room in silence, and went and shut himself into his
 
 134 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 own study. His grief for tlie loss of bis son was not 
 of such a nature as to prompt him to linger by the 
 inanimate form, which he would gladly have given his 
 own life to reanimate. Tlie mother who had born him, 
 would have clung with yearning heart to all that was 
 left of what had been her child. To the Earl the body 
 of what had been his heir was meaningless and of no 
 interest. There had been no special tenderness, and 
 but little of companionsliip between the old lord and 
 his son, respecting whom his main anxiety had been 
 to keep the life in him. He would have readily died 
 to save the young man's life. But it was not that he 
 so passionately loved the human being, who had gone 
 to his account; but that he so worshipped the direct 
 male heir to the earldom of Linacre. A motlier would 
 have hung over the clay-cold features, and recurred 
 with breaking heart to each remembrance, and hope, 
 and never-to-be-forgotten look of her darling's child- 
 hood's years. Tlie bereaved Earl, with equally breaking 
 heart, sat himself down in his study alone with the 
 pedigree-roll of his race. 
 
 Dr. Black well was an old friend, and would not 
 leave the Park and its stricken owner at such a moment. 
 Old Bartram did not like to leave the field wholly in 
 the occupation of his superior officer, and continued 
 therefore to hover backwards and forwards between the 
 death chamber, aiul Lady Juliet's sitting-room, heed- 
 less of the risk that some inhabitant of Billmouth might 
 have a chalice of oxalic acid commended to his lips in 
 lieu of Ei)Soia salts, by the ingenuous youth who "dis- 
 ])ensed" for him in his .-ibsence from his shop. 
 
 Nor if Bartram judged that his ])rcsence might ere 
 long be required, was he wrong- in liis conjecture.
 
 THE EARL IS STRICKEN DOWN. 135 
 
 After an hour spent in solitary bitterness, the Earl 
 asked to see Dr. Blackwell, if he were still in the 
 house, and had heard from him, in return for his ques- 
 tions, that the physician was not in a position to afford 
 him any reliable information respecting the calamity 
 which had occurred, lie had reached the Park that 
 morning, together with Hathaway, having fjillen in 
 with him on the road. On their arrival they had had 
 matter enough to engage their thoughts, and he, Black- 
 well, had as yet had no opportunity of making any 
 inquu-ies. 
 
 Thereupon the Earl sent for Bartram. 
 
 "Sit down, Mr. Bartram," said the Earl, bowing 
 liis head sadly, as the apothecary entered his study; 
 "God has so stricken me, sir, in the inscrutable ex- 
 ercise of His all-wise Providence," he went on, witli a 
 stately dignity that in no wise diminished the expres- 
 sion of intense sadness in his voice, "that nothing 
 further in this world has, or can ever more have, any 
 interest for me. Nevertheless, some duties may yet 
 remain to me to be performed. One of them, J\Ir. 
 Bartram, is to thank you for your ])romptitude in 
 coming to the — to my unfortunate son, and for the ju- 
 dicious exercise of your discretion in sending for the 
 best attainable additi(mal assistance." 
 
 "Oh, my lord. I am sure ^" 
 
 An imperative but not rude gesture ol' the Earl's 
 hand, ratlier in entreaty than in command, stopped ]Mr. 
 Bartram short in his sentence, and the old peer con- 
 tinued, — 
 
 "Another duty, ]\lr. Bartram, makes it necessary 
 lor me to inipiirc into all the circumstances that have 
 led to the awftil catastrophe which has extinguished,
 
 136 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 iu the direct line, one of tlie oldest and noblest families 
 in this kingdom. May I request, then, that you will 
 have the kindness to tell me what you know of this 
 inexplicable event?" 
 
 "Of coiirse, my lord; your wishes are commands to 
 me on that or any other subject," began Bartram; "but 
 the fact is that I did not judge it to be expedient to 
 trouble Lord Saltash with any questions, and all I 
 know is from mere report, and that very hurriedly 
 picked up. I fear, my lord, that Lord Saltash has 
 been the victim of his — what ought I to say? — of his 
 condescending kindness towards a yoimg man, who 
 was in no way a fitting companion for him, — young 
 Garstang of the Grange." 
 
 A heavy black cloud came over the old Earl's 
 brow as Bartram spoke; but he only nodded silently to 
 Bartram to go on, which he proceeded to do, not with- 
 out a sense of enjoyment. 
 
 "The fatal misfortune, my lord, occurred, it seems, 
 on the beach, at a spot under the Garstang cliff, just 
 where the path from the Grange comes down the hill- 
 side. As far as I can understand, his lordship, in 
 company with Mr. Garstang, had been to visit the of- 
 ficers of a King's ship which lies in the offing just 
 under tlie Garstang cliff. They were returning together, 
 and had reached so far on their way, when they fell 
 in with a ])arty of men, who, as I have been given to 
 understand, belonged to a press-gang, — of which, as 
 your lordship knows, we have had a good deal 
 lately." 
 
 "Well, sir?" said tlie Earl, after a moment's pause, 
 as Bartram did not go on. 
 
 "Well, your lordship; of course the pressmen could
 
 THE EARL IS STRICKEN DOWN. 137 
 
 have nothing to say to my Lord Saltash, nor he to 
 them. But it seems that Mr. Garstang, for some reason 
 or other, attacked them, and that Lord Saltash, taking 
 his companion's part, received the fatal wound from 
 the pistol of one of the men who were defending tliem- 
 selves. It was said in the town that one of the press 
 party had been grievously hurt by Garstang-, and a 
 boy who came up to the Park this morning, an hour 
 or two ago, said that it was reported in the town that 
 the wounded man was dead. It is to be hoped that 
 this is m6re exaggeration; but if it really be so, it is 
 likely, I should say, to go hard with young Garstang. 
 They don't enjoy a good reputation in the country — 
 the Garstangs. I wish they may not end by having a 
 second of their name hung for murder." 
 
 The Earl got up from his seat, and a hard, stern 
 look came into his face, and a fierce gleam into his 
 clear grey eyes, as he took one or two turns across the 
 room. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Bartram," he said; "I will not 
 trouble you any further at the present moment. I 
 shall find an opportunity of speaking to you again on 
 this morning's work." 
 
 So old Bartram boAved himself out, with a strong 
 feeling in his mind that he v.^ould not stand in George 
 Garstang's shoes for a trifle; and returned to the town, 
 eager to pick up whatever further news was going as 
 to the occurrence of the past night, of wliich, of course, 
 all Billmouth was talking by this time; while the Earl 
 of Linacre remained shut up witli his grief and the 
 growing storm of anger and resentment tliat had begun 
 to stir his mind, as the first gusts of a coming tempest 
 ruffle the waves which they will soon lash into fury.
 
 3 88 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Brother and Sister. 
 
 George Garstang, on parting, as we luive seen, 
 trom Saltasli after the struggle on the heach, walked 
 home up the zigzag path that climhed the cliff", an- 
 noyed and inclined to be angry at his sister's strange 
 and most unexpected appearance on the scene of the 
 occurrence, rather than troubling his head much witli 
 any of the other incidents of the night. He had no 
 snsjiicion that the wound of Lord Saltash was more 
 serious than Lord Saltash had himself sup])osed it to 
 be. Nor did he at all imagine that the man whose 
 liead he had broken Avith the slight elastic stick he 
 had had in his hand, was at all more seriously hurt 
 than all tlie many men with broken heads that he had 
 seen in his day. As to the general result of the en- 
 counter, he saw no reason to be otlierwise than well 
 jdeased with it. lie had all the English civilian's dis- 
 like for the press system and its agents. One capital 
 seaman, and very honest fellow, had been rescued from 
 their hands, and (Jeorge was (piitc contented to have 
 contributed to that result. 
 
 J3ut he bad been vexed, as Avell as greatly sur- 
 jtrised, at the apj)ari(i(in of I'atience, and at the lan- 
 guage which she had lliouglit iit to liold. It had never 
 been bis practice to s]>eak b.irshly to his sister, desjnte 
 all I he disagreeable things she was in llic habit of 
 saying both to him and of him M'henever he was at 
 home. Ibit tlieso things passed en J'amiUc. At the
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 139 
 
 Grange tliey all knew Patience and her ways by heart; 
 and it was an nndcrstood thing that her hard sayings 
 were to be tolerated "and no notice taken." But really 
 it was a diflferent matter when she took to thus follow- 
 ing him into the outer world with her exhortations and 
 denunciations. What must all who saw and heard 
 her, as she stood like a Pythoness on the rock above 
 the path, have imagined as to the conditions of the 
 family life at the Grange? And yet Patience loved 
 her brother George — loved him even better than she 
 loved any other member of the family. And George 
 was partly aware that such was the case. But he could 
 not refrain from expressing his great annoyance at the 
 step she had taken — for the first time she had ever 
 done such a thing — that evening. 
 
 "You have not told me yet, Patience," he said, as 
 they walked up the steep zigzag path, "what on eartli 
 brought you down to the beach at this time of night? 
 I must say that I do not think it is exactly the thing 
 for a lady of your years, and bearing yoiu- name. Did 
 Wilfred know of your intention of going down the 
 hill?" 
 
 "Nothing on earth brought me there, Geox'ge," re- 
 turned Patience, still with the tone and ))earing of a 
 ])rophetess-, "nothing on earth. I was brought there by 
 a will whicli is not of earth, but of heaven. It was 
 borne in upon me to follow you, when you went fm-di 
 this evening to meet that young lord. And 1 did fal- 
 low you even to the place where you took boat to go 
 to the ship-, and I awaited your return, ami I fol- 
 lowed you back to the branching of the path. And 
 then I saw Avhy it was that the spirit had moved mo 
 to follow you. George, it is borne in upon me, that,
 
 140 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 by the means of tliat Avorldling, whom you call your 
 friend, and consort with to the leaving of your own 
 people, will the curse fall upon us and upon our house. 
 Wliy need you have lifted your hand against a fellow- 
 creature in his quarrel?" 
 
 "Lift my hand! Why, you don't sixpposc, Patience, 
 that I was going to stand by and see an honest man 
 kidnapped by those press-gang riiffians, and be crying 
 for help, and they four against one. Lift my hand! 
 Why, I did but give each of the two who had hold of 
 him a tap with tliat little bit of a stick Saltash had in 
 his hand-, it was hardly a thing to hurt a man with." 
 
 "George, George!" said his sister, stopping short 
 in her walk, and turning so as to stand directly in 
 front of him, and holding up the long white fore-hnger 
 of her right hand with a gesture of denunciation, 
 while she drew herself up rigidly to her full height, — 
 "George, George, my l)rothcr! if I could dare to wish 
 that anything Avas different from what God's holy j)ro- 
 vidence has ordered, 1 would wish that my cars iiad 
 been deaf as the deaf adder's, when I heard you say 
 to yon young lord that a blow from that wicked stick 
 was sufficient to cause a man's death!" 
 
 "Good God, Patience! what do you mean? I never 
 said such words!" cried her brotlier, turning pale, 
 wliile drops of cold perspiration formed tliem.selves on 
 his l)row, as a sudden but inqterfect recollection of the 
 talk that had passed between him and Lord Saltash as 
 to the nature of the loaded slick darted througli his 
 mind. In truth, when he had sprung forward, and 
 struck out right and left witli tlie sole idea in his head 
 that ho was taking tlic jtart of one man against four, 
 he had utterly forgotten the special peculiarities of the
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 141 
 
 stick in liis hand. He had struck witli tlie weapon 
 that chanced to be in his hand at the moment, as he 
 would have struck with his naked hand , had he 
 chanced to have no stick in it. Nor, till the leader of 
 the gang had wrested the stick from him, and had re- 
 marked on the nature of it, had he given a thought to 
 the subject; and even then it had never occurred to 
 him that he had done more than — as he would have 
 said in common country phrase — "broken the fellow's 
 head." But now the terrible tone in which Patience 
 had reminded him of Avhat he had himself said struck 
 with sudden coldness on his heart. Still the words had 
 been so lightly and so carelessly spoken that he very 
 imperfectly remembered what it was that he had said. 
 And he repeated, more as if to reassure himself, than 
 as addressing himself to her, "I never said anything of 
 the sort." 
 
 "Oh, CJeorge, the wicked, vald words you uttered 
 are branded on my brain as Avith a l)randing iron. 
 Oh, (ieorge, George! as surely as 1 stand here, the 
 right hand of God is even now stretched out in his 
 anger; and the purpose for which His providence sent 
 me fortli to-niglit Avas to hear and to remember! Would 
 that I did not remember!" 
 
 "What did you liear, Patience? For heaven's sake 
 tell me what it was 1 said! I don't remember. I 
 spoke carelessly; 1 meant nothing! What did you bear 
 me say?" 
 
 "You said, George, when the young lord spoke of 
 the dangerous thing he had put into your hand: '!>,«.' 
 this is as tidy a tool for (jiving a J'eUow liis quietus as 
 one could toish. Give me one swing at a fellow with this 
 Utile twig ^ and I think I could answer for his never
 
 142 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 toanling another. Jove., it ivould drop a man, or a bullock 
 either, I should think, if you hicio where to hit him, as 
 sure as a pistol-shot ^ Tliose were the wicked and pro- 
 fane words you spoke." 
 
 "Patience!" returned her brother, to whose mind 
 his sister's words and manner had suggested certain 
 ideas and images which seemed to bring a fihn before 
 his eyes; "how can it be possible that you should re- 
 member all those words? Wliy I myself coidd not 
 have repeated them to save my life." 
 
 "I tell y<m, George, tliat tliey are burned in upon 
 my mind. I tell you, that it is God's Avill that I 
 should remember them, and that no time or will (jf 
 mine can blot them out. George, I can swear to 
 every word of them!" slie added in a low and husky 
 whisper. 
 
 "Then, Patience, I can tell you what — but, — bah, 
 it is all nonsense. The man could not have been hurt. 
 What, a crack over the crown! j\[any an one I have 
 had, and many an one seen given, and no more thought 
 about it either by him who gave it or him who got 
 it. Bah! Come, let's get home, sister. And the next 
 time you go eaves-dropping I hope it may be to better 
 purpose!" 
 
 "George, George, my heai-t is very lieavy and my 
 spirit is disquietetl Avithin me! [ seem to know that 
 yonder man, who fell by the blow of your band, is 
 dead! It is borne in u])on me tliat he is dead! The 
 liand of the Lord is slrclched out against us, my 
 brother. Pray that he correct us not in his anger, lest 
 wc be brought to notliing!" 
 
 The cold perspiration was now standing thick on 
 George's brow, and he was terribly pale. lie again
 
 BROTHEK AND SISTER. 143 
 
 paused iu his walk, autl took his handkerchief to wipe 
 the clammy drops from his forehead. And again he 
 made a vigorous effort to free himself from the 
 sinister forebodings with which his sister had infected 
 him. 
 
 "Pshaw! I tell yon you are talking nonsense, Pa- 
 tience! The man could not have been badly hurt. 
 Why the other man who was knocked down ^\'itli the 
 same stick, got ixp again none the worse! I am a fool 
 for giving a moment's thought to a word you say! But 
 really you are enough to make the brightest sky that 
 ever a man had over his head black! And I am sure 
 we need none of that at home, God help us!" 
 
 "Amen," said Patience, in the loud nasal tone 
 usually reserved for the services of the conventicle. 
 And the remainder of the walk uj) the hill was passed 
 in silence. 
 
 "Patience," said George, as they reached tlie door 
 of the Grange, "you won't think it necessary I su]»- 
 pose, to tell them anything about to-night and what 
 you saw — and heard. It might do harm, and can do 
 no good." 
 
 "I have no call to speak of it, George. Would 
 that my speaking could do any good. But I fear me, 
 my not speaking Avill do as little. The evil time is 
 before us, my lirother." 
 
 So the brotlier and sister entered the lone liouse 
 by a key which George carried, and went, without dis- 
 turbing any of the other inmates, to their respective 
 chambers.
 
 144 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A Committal for Murder. 
 
 Prudens futuri tem'pons exitum califjinosa node pre- 
 mit Deus! How strewn with sadness would our daily 
 path be, if every time we crossed a thrcshohl, never to 
 recross it, the fact hidden in the future were known 
 to us! 
 
 Despite the strong endeavour Gef)rge Garstang had 
 made to free his mind — not often subject to such feel- 
 ings—from the blackness of his sister's forebodings, 
 and desjjite his own real opinion that the injury he 
 had inflicted on the press-gang man was not such as 
 to involve any serious consequences, he could not sleep. 
 All through tliose dull morning small hours, while Lord 
 Baltash lay breathing out his life, George was tossing 
 restlessly on his sleepless ])illow, till with the earliest 
 dawn he determined to get up, and go down to the 
 town. He would there, doubtless, be able to pick up 
 some intelligence as to the gravity of the press-man's 
 hurt, and woidd probably see Dr. Bartram, and learn 
 from him some news of Lord iSaltash. 
 
 Nobody was yet stirring at the (Jrange when George 
 lifted the hitch (juietly and ste})ped out into the fresh 
 ])ree/.e blowing in from the sea. There was enougli 
 wind to rufllc tlie Avaves a little. Tlie blue surface 
 was sj»ecked over with "wliite horses," glancing in the 
 slanting sunbeams as tlic water tumbled; and the Cleo- 
 ptitro, visible from the i^A\\:^o nf the did", w;is dancing 
 at iier aiw-bnrs. (icnrgn sldod a iiiiiiiih^ <iii (be cliff, to
 
 A COMMITTAL FOR MURDER. 145 
 
 enjoy the prospect and the breeze; and then, before 
 addressing himself to the descent by the zigzag path 
 to the beach, turned — it wouki have been impossible 
 to him to say wherefore — to gaze for a minute on the 
 grim old stone house, Avhich had been the cradle of so 
 many generations of his race, with a strange vague 
 feeling of deep pity in his heart for the unjoyous 
 lives, — the sunless, sad existences — of those who slept 
 within its walls; or, perhaps, whose busy unhealthy 
 fancies hindered them from sleeping. Four of them 
 there were there who bore his name; and on no one of 
 those four faces had, as he well knew, a smile been 
 seen for many a year. 
 
 With a long sigh he turned himself away, and 
 began his walk down to the town. His way — the 
 zigzag path from the top of the Garstang Cliff do^ai 
 to the beach, a little to the westward of the first houses 
 of the town , which has been so often mentioned — took 
 him by the spot where the struggle of last night had 
 occurred; and George was painfully startled to see, 
 still looking ghastly in the morning light, a large pool 
 of blood where the man had fallen who had been felled 
 by his blow. He stood gazing at it, with his back 
 turned towards the town as it chanced, and his face 
 towards the path along the beach under the cliff, while 
 a terrible feeling of misgiving was arising in his 
 mind. 
 
 While ho was thus standing gazing down on the 
 gi'ound, he was startled by a rougli voice close to him, 
 on the side of the town, towards which his back had 
 been turned. 
 
 "Good morning, ]\[r. George (Jarstang," said one 
 of two men, who had come up without disturbing 
 
 The Oaystinitjs. T. 1"
 
 146 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 George from his reverie, "good morning, sir. We were 
 going ixp to the Grange to look for you, but you have 
 saved us a hot walk this morning by coming down to 
 meet usj though, to say truth, this is just about the 
 last place where I should have thought of meeting with 
 you." 
 
 "Why not here as well as elsewhere, Mr. Hopkins?" 
 said George in reply to the man, whom he knew Avell 
 enough by sight, and who was the head-constable of 
 Dillmouth; "and what is it you want with me." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Garstang, I sujipose you knoAV that as 
 well as I can tell you?" said the man. "And as for 
 wliy not here as well as anywhere else, why, mostly 
 tliey who have done such work as that" — jjointing to 
 the pool of blood on the ground as he spoke — "don't 
 over and above much like looking at it. But I sup- 
 pose as you was for making oil' along the beach; and 
 not a bad dodge neither,— only you see we was up a 
 little too early for you." 
 
 "Not I. AVhat sIkjuUI I make off for, as you call 
 it? I Avas going into town to make in((uiry after the 
 man who was liurt here last iiiglit." 
 
 "There's no need to go any furlber then, if that's 
 your errand," said the man, in a tone that seemed 
 half regretful anrl half sulky, "the man who was huH 
 here last night is dead. And my business here, Mr. 
 Garstang, is to take you into custody on the charge of 
 murdering him." 
 
 "Murder!" said Gcorgo, in a sort of hoarse husky 
 whisper, "Murder! (Jood God! if llie man is dead it 
 is bad enougli. Jiut nun-dor! Murder means the will 
 io kill a man. And who d,n-cs fo say that I so much 
 as (h'camed oC hurting the man more than comes of a
 
 A COMMITTAL FOR MURDER. 147 
 
 blow with .1 sticky Wliy, liow many times Lave I had 
 a worse crack myself?" 
 
 "Any way, Mr. George, you did not die of them; 
 and this man is dead. But all that is no business of 
 mine. They say it was not a fair stroke with a stick 
 that killed lain. But it's no business of mine," re- 
 peated Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 "I'll swear that was the worst he had from me. 
 And they Avere four of them against one. Ask Lord 
 Saltash whether it was not so." 
 
 "Nobody will never ask Lord Saltash nothing no 
 more. He died this morning of the pistol-shot he got 
 in this same business." 
 
 "Great God! Are you siire, — certain sure of it? 
 Why, he walked home after being luirt l»y himself, 
 and said that it was nothing to signify!" 
 
 "All the same for that he died less than an hour 
 ago. I seed the doctor that stood by his bedside when 
 he died, so there ain't much doiibt about it." 
 
 George re])lied to this only by a deep groan. 
 
 "And the Earl came home only a few minutes be- 
 fore he died. And they do say that he is in that state 
 of taking on about it, that it's not safe to go near him. 
 And not mucli wonder neitlier. Ah, it's a pretty kettle 
 of fish that this here business last night have made!" 
 
 George (jiarstang stood with his hands clasped in 
 front of him, and his head drooping on his breast. He 
 seemed stunned by the greatness of the misfortune 
 which o])ened itself out in lengthening vistas to his 
 mind. 
 
 "You must come along with us, sir. I suppose 
 there's no need of putting the (hirbies on, nor notliing 
 
 10*
 
 148 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 of that sort, and you a townsman as one may say? 
 The magistrates meets at ten." 
 
 "And where must I go till then?" said George, 
 who seemed still as if he were speaking and moving 
 in his sleep. 
 
 "To the lock-up; there's no help for it. If I was 
 to say I'd take you to my house till the magistrates is 
 met, I should be doing contrary to my duty, and 
 should get into a pretty mess if anything was to 
 happen, — if you was to be ujj to any game," added 
 Mr. Hopkins, elucidating his thought; "and if I was 
 to run that risk it would be none the more agreeable 
 to you, but contrary wise; for my house is at the other 
 end of the town, and tlie lock-ixp is close to the Town- 
 hall, and what a gentleman don't like, I take it, is to 
 be took through the streets of the town for all the folk 
 to stare at him, as if he were a wild beast." 
 
 "I am ready to go with you to the lock-up," said 
 George. "Is it fair to ask who has sworn information 
 against me?" 
 
 "Well, the man whose comrade you — floored, of 
 course. The poor fellow's skull Avas regularly smaslied 
 in, I heerd say." 
 
 George walked quietly to the lock-up, stared at by 
 all who were in the streets at that early horn-, very 
 much, as Mr. Ilojikiiis had said, as if he had been 
 some strange wihl animal. And tliougli lie saw as 
 little as he could help seeing on his way throngli tlie 
 town, he could not help l)Ccoming aware that tlie feel- 
 ing of "tlie public" towards him was very much the 
 reverse of favourable, 'i'ho (Jarstangs, as has been 
 said, were not jiopular. Tlicy held themselves aloof 
 from their neighbours, and this is an anti-social sin
 
 A COMMITTAL FOR MURDER. 149 
 
 wliicli, especially in small communities, is never for- 
 given-, then there Avas a mystery about them, a cloud 
 hanging over them! another very sufficient motive for 
 suspicion and dislike. In judging of one's neighbours 
 the onme ignotum pro magnifico by no means holds good; 
 rather the exact reverse is the truth : omne ignotum pro 
 pessimo is apt to be the rule. If a man does not show 
 himself to the world it must be that he has good 
 reason to fear the estimate and the judgment of the 
 world. In matters spiritual this is specially the case; 
 if a man says nothing about his religious opinions, nor 
 gives any outward and visible token of the special 
 quality of them, it is deemed safe to set him down as 
 an Atheist; which means, one whom everybody may 
 indulge themselves in the luxury of hating, not only 
 without incurring any of the penalties attached to the 
 hating of our fellow-creatures generally, but with the 
 acquisition of positive merit. 
 
 It had long been felt by the community that it 
 was something wrong, uncomfortable, and not in ac- 
 cordance with the eternal fitness of things, that these 
 Garstangs should be allowed to go on for year after 
 year living after their own unsocial fashion, unmolested, 
 uncalled to account in any way, and unaccused of any 
 misdemeanor or fault of any kind. It was a continual 
 and distressing failure of justice, and an offence to 
 good and honest folks. Now things were coming right; 
 Nemesis, though with halting foot, had not altogether 
 lost sight of the wicked who had got the start of her. 
 Ha, what! The (iarstangs were coming out in their 
 true colours at last! All Billmouth had always said 
 that it had all along known what it would come to; it 
 was just what might have been expected; what the
 
 150 THE GAUSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 especial speaker iudeed had been expecting for a long- 
 time past. 
 
 Among all these pretenders to the spirit of 2)ro- 
 phecy, there was one class, whicli was really justified 
 as far as appearances went, in declaring that the recent 
 events, which Avere occupying the minds and tongues 
 of every man, woman and child in Eillmouth, showed 
 the wisdom of words whicli really had been spoken, 
 and the justness of previsions which liad in truth often 
 been expressed. It was certainly natui'al that people, 
 who had been constantly saying that young Lord 
 Saltash was doing a very imprudent and unbecoming 
 thing in associating so intimately witli young Garstang, 
 and that for their parts tliey wondered that the old 
 Earl should permit or tolerate it, should now feel and 
 say loudly enough that the event had abundantly 
 proved that they were in the right. Tlie imfortunate 
 young man liad been tlie victim of his misplaced regard 
 and confidence. And surely the old Earl would l»it- 
 terly regret having paid so little attention to the wisdom 
 which the vox foindi had placed at his command. Tliese 
 critics, however, were unaware tliat the Earl had to a 
 great degree shai-ed their own opinit)ns and fceliugs 
 upon the subject; but that he had found it Ji more 
 difficult task tlian tlie means at his command could 
 enable liim to accomjdisli, to substitute his wishes for 
 those of liis son in tliis matter. 
 
 Tlie tone of the jtublic mind, which made itself 
 perceptible to the accused man on his passage through 
 the streets to the lock-up, differed l)ut little from (hat 
 which jircvailed in those more exalted strata of the 
 social atmosphere, which were to lie found in the 
 magistrates' room at the Town-hall.
 
 A C05IMITTAL FOR MURDER. 151 
 
 Five of the unpaid magistracy of England — an un- 
 usually large board for Billmouth — had assembled at 
 the little Towu-hall on the great and interesting oc- 
 casion in question. Two of the iiumber were clergy 
 — Dr. Potter, the rector of Billmouth, and Mr. Mel- 
 born, the vicar of a neighbouring parish. Then there 
 was Captain Clargate, of Westbury Head, a small 
 estate to the westward of the Bill, a half-pay captain 
 in the navy and a very active magistrate; Dr. Black- 
 well, of the Vinery, and Mr. Mawkins, a retu-ed pro- 
 vision-merchant, who had recently purchased a pro- 
 perty about half-way ])etween Billmouth and Billiford. 
 Dr. Potter was the chairman. And it was he who 
 had granted the warrant for the apprehension of the 
 prisoner. 
 
 The business to be transacted by these five gen- 
 tlemen might h.ave been despatched in a very small 
 number of minutes. There were questions connected 
 with the case which might, perhaps, be by no means 
 so readily settled, but these the magistrates assembled 
 in the Billmouth Towu-hall were not called upon to 
 decide. Their business was quite clear. Two men 
 swore that they saw tlic prisoner give another a bloAV 
 on the head with a weapon — ])roduced in court — and 
 that tlie man who had received the blow had died in 
 consequence of it; and these facts were not disputed 
 by the accused. It was a matter of course, therefore, 
 that he should be committed to the county gaol to 
 await his trial at the assizes. 
 
 But it would have seemed to the gentlemen at the 
 Town-hall inconsistent with the importance of the case, 
 and almost indecorous, to make an end of the matter 
 so quickly. So they indulged in a considerable qiian-
 
 152 THE GARSTANGS OF GAUSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 tity of talk before the prisoner was brought in. And 
 it was talk of a kind not favourable to the accused. 
 It did not turn upon the legal questions that might 
 arise as to whether the act which George Garstang 
 had done amounted to murder or not. Nor did it 
 occur to any one there to moot any of those yet more 
 difficult and subtle points which, at the j>resent day, 
 would assuredly have presented themselves for discus- 
 sion, with reference to a case marked by similar cir- 
 cumstances, as to the mental sanity of the accused 
 man. Dr. Blackwcll might, indeed, have had some- 
 thing to say on this point. But he had no idea that 
 he ought to say it, or that there would be any good 
 in saying it. What the worthy magistrates mainly 
 spoke of was not the death of Barnes, the press-gang 
 man, but that of Lord Saltaslr, and one Avould have 
 imagined that they had some vague idea in their 
 heads that George Garstang was in custody to answer 
 for the deatli of the heir of the house of Linacre. At 
 all events, it was felt in a general way that Garstang 
 was to blame for the dreadful calamity which had 
 occurred. 
 
 The Garstangs were as little popular in the justices' 
 room at the "^rown-hall as they were in the street. 
 They were obnoxiinis to the professional feelings of 
 tliree out of the five magistrates assembled. And the 
 prejvulice arising against a man from this source is apt 
 to be more dangerous than tliat from any other. For 
 tliere are many feelings and princijtles in a man's 
 lieart which move liim to hold in check and be on his 
 guard against his own j)rivate and personal dislike of 
 anotlier; whereas })rofcssional hatred is apt to assume 
 the semblance of a virtue, — passes muster as such be-
 
 A COMMITTAL FOR MURDER. 153 
 
 fore the conscience of liim who fosters it, — and acts 
 witli unrestrained force in warjiing the judgment. The 
 Garstangs frequented no church : how could it be other- 
 wise than clear to Dr. Potter and Mr. Melborn that 
 they were reprobates and castaways; capable of all 
 that has been laid at the doors of him who hath not 
 music in his soul? And they offended another of the 
 sister "black graces" by similar neglect. They called 
 in no medical aid. Dr. BlackAvell was a cultivated 
 and a liberal-minded man, — as far as liberal-minded- 
 ness had learned to go in that day, — and most as- 
 suredly he did not hunger for any fees from the 
 ftimily at the Grange, being a man of independent 
 fortune, and practising but little, and that little mainly 
 for the sake of friendship, partly for the sake of 
 humanity, but not at all for the sake of fees. Never- 
 theless, Dr. Blackwell's mind was prejudiced against a 
 family who by their practice manifested a contempt, 
 or at least a disregard for the medical art. Captain 
 Clargate had a different reason for feeling hostile to 
 the man brought up for killing a press-gang man. How 
 was the King's navy to be manned if an example were 
 not made in such a case as this? Here was a gallant 
 tar, in the service of his King and country, struck 
 down in the execution of his duty. If such an act as 
 that was not visited with the very highest penalty 
 known to the law, why the sooner England hauled lier 
 colours down the better, and the magistrates might as 
 well stay at home and attend to their own affairs. Mr. 
 Mawkins timidly remarked that the weapon with which 
 the ftital blow had been given seemed to him to be 
 one which might be designated as not a fair, legitimate, 
 or lawful weapon; and hit the real main nail of the
 
 154 THE GARSTANGS OF OARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 matter on tlie head by cpiietly sugg-esting that the 
 police should be directed to keep the stick carefully, 
 that it might be produced at the trial. 
 
 Of course there could be no doubt as to the result 
 of their deliberations. George Garstang was duly 
 committed to Silchester Gaol, to take his trial at the 
 next assizes, for the wilful murder of Tliomas Barnes; 
 and then the assembled magistrates proceeded to take 
 into consideration the propriety of framing an address 
 of condolence to the Earl of Linacre. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Patiuncc goes forth to .seek Tidings. 
 
 On that morning, — the morning on Avhich Lord 
 Saltash died, and George Garstang Avas committed and 
 sent to Silchester goal, — the inmates of the Grange 
 arose at their usual hour to ilnd that George had al- 
 ready left the house. The incident produced no special 
 sur])rise. For George's movements were often, as has 
 l)Ocn explained, independent of those of the rest of 
 tlic family, and such absence from the breakfast-table 
 was by no means a very unusual thing on his part. 
 
 One of tlic family ])arty, Patience, however, was 
 not a little disturbed by it. For .some reason or other 
 she forbore from communicating aught of what she 
 knew of the incidents of the past niglit to any other 
 member of the i'amily. It would liavo been paljinbly 
 unwise to do so at the ])resent stage of the matter, as 
 regarded her father. The tottering nn'nd oi' the old 
 man would, tlicrc conhl lit' little doubt, have been ut- 
 terly unhinged by tlie (idiiigs. I'atience Avas already
 
 PATIENCE GOES FORTH TO SEEK TIDINGS. 155 
 
 looking forward with dread and infinite compassion to 
 the moment when, certainty having succeeded to mis- 
 giving, it should be inevitably necessary to tell him 
 the truth as to what had happened; — with infinite com- 
 passion, which no one — not even of those nearest to 
 her — would have given her credit for feeling. For it 
 is one of the curses which make the existences of the 
 unhajipy ones afflicted with temperaments such as that 
 of Patience Garstang, — isolated and miserable in their 
 isolation, loveless, yet craving for aft'ection, — -that they 
 are denied the faculty of giving external ex])ression to 
 any gentle or tender feeling within them. Even as a 
 dumb man is imprisoned within walls of matter which 
 stand irremoveable between him and his fellows, so 
 was the soul of Patience, shut in by ice-bound barriers 
 raised by tlie congenital unsoundness of her mental 
 constitution. 
 
 Obstinacy, pride, temper, self-righteousness! Yes, 
 it is easy to give to the aberrations of human conduct 
 names which serve to justify the unscathed herd in 
 driving with lowered antlers the outcast sufferer from 
 the common jiastiu'c. But as well imagine that a 
 botanical nomenclature carrias with it the knoAvlcdge 
 of the creations it classifies, — of their nature, their 
 structure, and the law of their life — as suppose that 
 any sucli short and ready brandishing of moral phra- 
 seology has explained , or in any way set forth to the 
 understanding of othei's the maladies of a human soul. 
 Yes, no doubt pride, temper, obstinacy, self-righteous- 
 ness, all contributed their part to the moral and in- 
 tellectual unsoiuidness which made ]*atic)U'C Garstang 
 what she Avas. But vincible or invincible ? Ali! tlie 
 old lloman casuists put their finger on the knot of tlie
 
 156 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 matter, if tliey could do no more. Vincible, or in- 
 vincible jH'ide and temper? Tell me that, friend, of 
 any sncli case; and I will tell you two or three otber 
 things tliat mankind have been trying to find oiit for 
 a few thousand years, and will, to all human seeming, 
 be equally ignorant of at the end of any number of 
 future thousands! 
 
 Patience Garstang cotild not seem gentle and loving 
 to those around her. Perhaps, if she had tried harder 
 she could have done so; perhaps she could not try 
 any harder than she did; perhaps, if she did not try 
 any harder, the want of the will to try harder was no 
 fault of hers; perliaps the temper, and the want of the 
 poAver, or of the will to curb it, were the outcome of 
 all the moral short-comings of all the generations of 
 Garstang, who had lived in the Grange since the 
 Garstang who built it chose to turn away its front 
 from the sunny south, and to face the bleak and bitter 
 north; 2)erhaps the Garstangs Avho had caused the in- 
 tensification of the family idiosyncrasy by intermarry- 
 ing with their cousins might have obviated evil by 
 abstaining from such marriages; perhaps the taint in 
 the blood Avas already too strong for it to have been 
 possible to them to master their wills in that matter. 
 Perhaps a little wandering among such limitless laby- 
 rinth of poradventurcs may bring us to at least this 
 one certainty: that, with regard to the amoinit of each 
 man's and woman's moral responsibilities, and to the 
 question what they deserve cither at our hands or at 
 any otiier liands, we know and can know absolutely 
 nothing; and that, inasmuch as this certainty makes it 
 evident that the penalties of human laws cannot be 
 duly aAvarded with any reference whatever to human
 
 PATIENCE GOES FORTH TO SEEK TIDINGS. 157 
 
 deservings, tliey must be dealt out on some wholly dif- 
 ferent principle; wliicli principle, it is not difficult to 
 perceive, when we have arrived thus far, must be, as 
 the only tenable one, the absolutely sole and exclusive 
 consideration of the welfare of the society which makes 
 the laws and exacts the penalties. So that, when 
 some Orsini sets before us, with eloquence difficult to 
 be refuted, the exalted purity of his motives, it is 
 fitting that society should reply to him: — "Applaud- 
 ing your motives, and admiring your heroism, we, 
 nevertheless, proceed with regret, but without the 
 smallest hesitation, to hang you; because we are com- 
 pelled to do so by the formal law of self-preservation, 
 and the conviction that, upon the whole, it is not 
 good for mankind that such deeds as this of yours 
 should be done. Being believers in a God," society 
 may add, "we have not the smallest doubt that, all 
 told, you will get with the utmost accuracy exactly 
 what you deserve to get; but this is a part of the sub- 
 ject altogether beyond our competence, and with which 
 we have nothing whatever to do." 
 
 All those infirmities and unsoundnesses of constitu- 
 tion and temper, which make the misery of others, do 
 not in every case make the subject of them himself 
 equally miserable. Those faults which usually belong 
 to that class of idiosyncrasies which the old physicians 
 used to call the solar temperament, generally do not 
 have this effect. The failings of those born, according 
 to the old theories, under the infiuence of Saturn, rarely 
 fail to do so. And there can be little doubt tbat the 
 peculiarities of Palioncc Cai'stang's tcinp(M-an»ont caused 
 fully as mucli unbaj)pincss to herself as to any one of 
 those about lier.
 
 158 THE GAKSTANGS OF GAUSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 Duriiii^" tlic family breakfast-time, the painful 
 thoughts and anxieties that were tormenting- her mani- 
 fested themselves only by a more than usually bitter 
 outpouring of theological denunciation against most of 
 the things and persons that made up the current of her 
 daily life; but when the mid-day dinner-hour arrived, 
 and nothing had been heard of the absentee, and he 
 did not make his appearance at the dinner-table, 
 Patience was very sorely troubled, — troubled so greatly 
 that her tongue was still; for her mind was busy with 
 very black thoughts and forebodings. Wilfred came 
 home from the Bishopscroft farm, and a cloud gathered 
 on his l)row Avlien he heard that George was still ab- 
 sent, and that nothing had been heard of him; but his 
 displeasure arose only from the feeling that George 
 ought not so soon again to have absented himself 
 from his diUies, at a time Avhcn there was so much to 
 be done on the farm. Ilail Wilfred been any other 
 man than a Garstang, he would, in all probability, 
 have heard the rumours that were already abroad re- 
 sjiecting his brother; for that which was by noon on 
 that day known fact in Billmouth, had only reached 
 the labouring men on the Bishopscroft farm in the 
 lorm of rumour. But no word had been said on the 
 subject to AVilfred. Small communication, save the 
 necessary in(|uirics and issue of orders on the work of 
 the farm, ever took jilace between AVilfrcd and the 
 lalifturcrs. Tliey deemed him a prouder man than the 
 Karl of Linacre; and all because, as they told eacli 
 other, unlike the other farmers of the district, he owned 
 a few acres of ])overty-strick(Mi land of his own. No; 
 the (iarstangs were not liked. But Wilfred would 
 have been only too glad tiiat the men should have
 
 PATIENCE GOBS FORTH TO SEEK TIDINGS. 159 
 
 spoken with him, as they did with other masters on 
 other farms. To bring about such a thing was quite 
 beyond his power; and he knew that he was disliked 
 by every man on the farm. 
 
 No sylhible, therefore, had reached him of the mut- 
 tered talking-over among the men of the strange news 
 that was in tlie air. 
 
 After the silent dinner was over, when AVilfred had 
 returned again to the hay-field, and his father had 
 seated himself in his old arm-chair opposite the legend 
 on the chimney-piece, to feed his mind with black and 
 rebellious thoughts, till sleep should come to promise 
 the rest of forgetfulness , and most probably to break 
 the promise that it held out-, and when Jenefy Gar- 
 stang, after sitting for a^vhile gazing silently, and 
 shaking her head from time to time at her husband's 
 mood, had gone to her room to cry in private, Patience 
 determined to go down to the town. 
 
 It was with infinite reluctance that she made up 
 her mind to do so. She dreaded the exj)edition greatly. 
 Occasionally she was in the habit of going down to 
 Uillmouth, it is true, on errands connected with the 
 business of the farm; but these visits were always j)aid 
 at a much earlier hour of the morning; and even this 
 small difference from habit, that had acquired the 
 rigidity of infiexil)lc law, was very painful to her. All 
 the folks would be out in the streets. She would have 
 to meet and be seen liy people of a different class from 
 those slie was accustomed to see at the early hour of 
 her wonted visits to the town; and this was very pain- 
 i'lil to Patience. Those to whom it may seem iucre- 
 dil»lc that shyness should exist to the extent of not 
 being able to face the accustomed liauntcrs of the higli
 
 160 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 street of a little fishing hamlet, one's own native place, 
 do not know to what a pitch the desire for seclusion 
 and avoidance of the eyes of one's fellow-creatures 
 may grow with the habit of yielding to it. But what 
 made it worst of all was the dreadful fear of what she 
 might hear there — of what she might perhaps read in 
 the eyes of those she met before she heard it. 
 
 Greatly, greatly she feared that her own most ter- 
 rible presentiment had come true — that the man whom 
 she had seen her brother strike had died, and that this 
 absence of her brother was connected with that fact. 
 Utterly ignorant as she was of all such matters, she 
 had no idea what would be tlie first thing that would 
 hajipen to George if, indeed, this were so; how far the 
 consequences would be such as to become of public 
 notoriety in the town in tlie course of a few hours; 
 whether if, indeed, the curse had, at last, fallen in 
 this aAvful form, and it were true that George were 
 accused of killing a man, she should be pointed at as 
 she passed througli the streets as the sister of a mur- 
 derer. It was very dreadful to the rigid, proud, shy 
 woman to have to face these terrible certainties and 
 worse possibilities; but the suspense and anxiety, the 
 agony of doubt, were greater tlian she could endure, 
 and, without saying anything of her intention to any 
 one, she took her way down tlie zigzag path to the 
 town. 
 
 No one would liave guessed, to hjok at the tall, 
 slender, rigidly ujiriglit figure of the woman as she 
 stepped swiftly along the ])atli leading from the bottom 
 itf tlie cliff to tlie town, that (he heart within her was 
 •piivering with horrible dread (jf the future mixed with 
 the tremulous nervousness caused by the troubles of
 
 PATIENCE GOES FORTH TO SEEK TIDINGS. 161 
 
 the passing moment. All tliis, the gnawing fear, the 
 nervous tremors, Patience could, by the exercise of 
 strong will, crush down into her heart, and bid it to be 
 still. She had the strength to do this. To speak a 
 loving word, which should foirly represent the love 
 that was in lier heart — this was beyond her power. 
 Thoroughly self-possessed, concentrated, and self-satis- 
 fied she seemed, as she swiftly placed with energetic 
 precision one long slender foot before the other in a 
 perfectly right line, inclining neither to turning out 
 nor turning in of the toes. The head, grim with 
 haggard rigidity and pallor, thougli the featiu-es were 
 well-formed and handsome, was poised stiffly upright 
 on the top of the long neck. The eyes, protected by 
 the depths of the long coal-scuttle shaped bonnet, were 
 unalterably cast down to the ground; and the corners 
 of the moutli were drawn down, with an expression 
 that seemed to say that, miserable as is this world and 
 all that is on it, and abject sinner as was the owner of 
 that sad-twisted mouth, yet, by virtue of feeling ami 
 knowing that this was so, she was far too pure and 
 holy to touch the moral iilth, among which she was 
 walking, with the liem of her garment. She had 
 neither parasol, reticule, nor any other article of any 
 kind in her hands, which hung down passively by licr 
 sides as she walked. Her petticoats were so short as 
 barely to meet the tops of the stout ankle-walking- 
 boots wliich she wore; but the foot thus exposed was, 
 though not small, liandsomely shaped; and the Iioot 
 was sufficiently well-made and well-fitting to show that 
 it was so. The dress usually worn at that day Iiad 
 none of the modern amplitude; and the outline of 
 every female figure would have appeared, to eyes 
 
 The Garslangs. 1. 1 1
 
 162 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 educated to the present fasliion, to have an ungainly 
 resemblance to a column. But, in the case of Patience, 
 this appearance was caricatured. 
 
 Upright as a column, slender and uniform in shape 
 as one, and almost as rigidly stiff, Patience came on, 
 looking neither to the left nor to the right, swiftly and 
 bravely. Bravely, for the errand and the work she 
 had in hand in truth needed bravery, and Patience 
 was a brave woman — had that within her which, at need, 
 could have made her a very brave woman. The love 
 of pleasure, of ease, of comfort, the habit of enjoying 
 these things, and the habitual exjoectation of finding 
 them in one's path-, inexperience of suffering, and of 
 the practice of looking suffering in the face, and of 
 holding it to be a visitor never far off, and likely to 
 make its appearance at anytime: these are elements and 
 conditions of cowardice, none of which made any part 
 of tlie character of Patience. Suffering, of one sort or 
 another, she habitually looked ujjou as the normal 
 condition of her existence in this world. There was 
 nothing new, or strange, or startling to her in being 
 called on to meet any new phase of it. There had 
 been, indeed, some natural shrinking from the pain in- 
 volved in the business she had now taken in hand. 
 But it had never for an instant occurred to the cold, 
 stern, ascetic woman, to hesitate wliother or no she 
 sliould do what it seemed to her the Lord had put 
 into her jtatli of duty to do. Very narrow, very small, 
 very low and inadecjuate were the notions out of which 
 Patience Garstang evolved her theory of human duty. 
 But such as the dictates derived from this tlioory were, 
 no highest-soulcd hero, no heaven-supported martyr, 
 could have more unflinchingly marched forward with
 
 PATIENCE GOES FORTH TO SEEK TIDINGS. 163 
 
 undeviating directness to the fulfilment of them. Swiftly 
 and straightly she walked on from the point where the 
 zigzag path down the cliff joined the beach towards 
 the first houses of the town she dreaded, — swiftly and 
 undeviatiugly, till she came to the spot whei'e the 
 struggle had taken place. There, right in her path, 
 she came upon a ghastly pool of blood. It was the 
 spot where the slain man, Barnes, had lain bleeding 
 his life away. The shock prodticed by the horrible 
 sight was tremendous. The mere physical offence to 
 the scrupulous and delicate purity of the personal 
 habits of Patience was very painful to her. A strong 
 loathing seized her; pale as she was she became livid, 
 her head swam round, and she feared that she should 
 fall to the ground. Then the temptation to turn and 
 run back up the steep path to the refuge of the strong, 
 cold, dark walls of her home, was strong upon her; to 
 run tliither and shut out the garish daylight, and the 
 sights and the sounds of the outside world, and be still 
 and half-dead amid tlie ordinary and tranquil misery 
 of her every-day life. 
 
 But there was no chance of her yielding to the 
 temptation. The path of recognized duty lay forwards. 
 And Patience resolutely turned her face towards it. 
 She forced herself even to look on the blood that lay 
 in the j)ath before her. Why should she have done 
 so? That was not necessary to the discharge of her 
 duty surely. The sole suggestion of the mind that 
 prompted licr to look Avould probably be found in the 
 fact that it Avas especially disagrcealile to her to do so. 
 So much of that, which the conscience of Patience re- 
 commended to her as duty, was painful, that her mind 
 jumped readily to the conclusion that wh.at was speci- 
 
 11*
 
 164 THE GARSTANOS OF GAUSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 ally painfiil to her to do must be of the nature of 
 duty. Slie stepped aside just sufficiently to avoid 
 putting lier foot in the ghastly pool that barred the 
 path, and passed on her way. What exactly she was 
 going to do, she did not know. She had been driven 
 to come down from the Grange by her overwhelming 
 anxiety to learn wliat had happened to the man whom 
 she had seen felled by her brother's hand, and whether 
 the absence of George from home Avas caused by any- 
 thing connected with that deed. But how exactly she 
 was to set about obtaining the informntion she was in 
 search of, was by no means clear to her. To anybody 
 else it would have seemed the simplest thing in the 
 world. In such a little place as Bilhiiouth the facts 
 she wanted to ascertain Avoiild necessarily have become 
 known to all the town within a very short time after 
 their occurrence. The first townsman she met would, 
 doubtless, liave been able to tell her all she was so 
 treniMingly anxious to learn. But to I'atience it did 
 not seem at all certain that this was the case. And 
 had she been sure that the first man she met could 
 liave told her wliat she wanted to know, it would have 
 been too dreadful to Patience to have addressed the 
 necessary ((uestions to him. She could not liave done 
 it. She had some vague idea of going tr) the house of 
 a woman, — a member of tlie little congregation of 
 worshippers to which she belonged, — to whom she was 
 in tlie habit of soiling lior eggs, and trying in some 
 way to ascertain tlie trutli hy her means. Wlien jiass- 
 jng from the scattered cottages on the outskirts of the 
 town into what gradually assumed the consistency of a 
 street, she found hfrsolC onloring Billmotith; (he absence 
 of any other fcasihlc plan forced her (o the definite
 
 rATXENCE AND LUCY. 165 
 
 adoption of tlie only one slie had been able to imagine, 
 and almost mccliaiiically she turned her steps towards 
 the house in question. 
 
 But she had not proceeded far in this direction, be- 
 fore an accidental meeting forced the knowledge she 
 was in quest of upon her, in a manner that was per- 
 haps the most distasteful to her of any in which it could 
 have reached her. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Patience and Lucy. 
 
 The way to the house Patience meant to go to lay 
 through the churchyard of the little toAvn. There was 
 a flagged pathway across it among the closely packed 
 graves; but it was little used, and the churchyard, save 
 on Sundays, was a very solitary spot. The pathway 
 was, as usual, quite deserted when Patience entered 
 it by the turnstile, which opened on a lane at the other 
 end of which was the main street of the town; and she 
 in some degree slackened her quick pace in order to 
 profit by the solitude, for the better arrangement in her 
 mind of the manner in which she should enter on the 
 subject of her errand with her acquaintance. For to 
 Patience tlie coming interview with the egg-dealer 
 presented difficulties as great as any audience of cm])eror 
 or pope ever suggested to the caution of a diplomatist. 
 
 She was deeply meditating as she walked with her 
 eyes on the flag-stones along the churchyard path, 
 when she siuldenly became aware of a woman coming 
 in the op})(»sitc direction, as fast as ever slie could 
 walk; fiister indeed, for she broke into a run, at every
 
 166 THE GAESTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 two or tliree paces. Patience looked up startled, and 
 recognized the woman at once, though she had only 
 seen her twice or thrice before in her life, and had 
 never spoken to her. 
 
 It Avas Lucy Baldock, the daughter of the old ship's 
 carpenter at East Kock, and the sister of the man who 
 had been rescued at such fearful cost from the press- 
 gang: pretty Lucy Baldock, gay, bright, laughter-lov- 
 ing Lucy Baldock, whose pretty face, charming trim- 
 built figure, slender ankles and light feet, di-ew after 
 her all the lads in Billmouth, but whose reputed 
 flirtation with the heir of Linacre had caused the older 
 and more staid portion of the world she lived in to 
 accompany the mention of her name with a certain 
 amount of grave shaking of the head. 
 
 To Patience Garstang Lucy Baldock was an 
 abomination,— the representative to her imagination of 
 all the concentrated abominations with which the world 
 outside the walls of the Grange was rife. She had 
 heard, probably, less of the gossip that connected her 
 name with that of Lord >Saltnsh tlian any other person 
 at or in the neighbourhood of Billmouth. But she was 
 pretty, gay, and laugliter-loving, and that was enough 
 to make her detestable to I'atience. Not that Patience 
 hated her because she herself Avas less pretty. At the 
 bottom of the grim ascetic woman's heart there was no 
 grain of any such feeling. She would not for worlds 
 have changed persons Avith Lucy Baldock. But all 
 that Lucy represented was odious to Patience. Had 
 she dressed Avith due unbocomingncss, and draAvn down 
 the corners of her mouth into a duly lugubrious ex- 
 pression, — had slie stepped heavily and sedately instead 
 of tripping lightly, — had she groaned instead of laughed
 
 PATIENCE AND LUCY. 167 
 
 through each hour of the twenty-four, — Patience would 
 not have hated her for being beautiful. But she had 
 heard George speak of her. She knew that she was 
 often one at the pleasure-parties, which it was a grief 
 to her that George should make a practise of sharing. 
 And for all this Patience regarded Lucy as little better 
 than an incarnate and special agent of the Evil One. 
 
 The di'ess of Patience was not such as to make it 
 possible to be said of her that she drew her garments 
 around her to prevent them from being defiled by the 
 chance touch of those of Lucy. The garments of Pa- 
 tience could not be more drawn round her than they 
 always were. But the expression is a graphic one; 
 and Patience moved and felt as ladies do when they 
 perform that evolution. She stepped aside and stood 
 on the very edge of the flagstone path as bolt upright 
 as a pillar, with her hands crossed in front of her, and 
 lier face averted. 
 
 But Lucy was neither gay, nor bright, nor laughter- 
 dimpled, nor tripping on the present occasion. She 
 came along with a hurried and irregular step; her neck- 
 haudkerchief was awry; her hair hung doAvn her cheeks 
 in disorder; and her face was haggard with terror and 
 anxiety, and deadly jiale. 
 
 It was not till she had come very near to Patience 
 tliat she seemed suddenly to recognize her. Then she 
 stopped short, and after a moment of evident hesitation, 
 she clasped her hands together, and turning toAvards 
 the grim and shrinking figure of Patience, who seemed 
 absolutely frightened at the girl's manifest intention of 
 speaking to her, said, — 
 
 "Oh, Miss Garstaug! I beg your pardon. I — I — I 
 am glad I met you. I am so out of breath. Oh dear!"
 
 168 THE GAKSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 There was an altar-tomb close by the side of the 
 jjath where Patience was standing, which prevented her 
 from withdrawing herself further away from the agitated 
 girl who had placed herself in the attitude of a sup- 
 pliant before lier. And on this Lucy, who, what with 
 running and agitation and distress, felt really as if she 
 could hardly stand, threw herself down, little dreaming 
 that this nearer approach to the ])erson she was ad- 
 dressing was a subject of alarm and offence. Patience 
 retired one long step towards the end of the large slab 
 which formed the table of the tomb, and there stood 
 motionless and silent. 
 
 "Don't you recollect me, Miss Garstaog?" said 
 Lucy, surprised at the manner and the silence of Pa- 
 tience. "I am Lucy Baldock; and — and Oh, it 
 
 is all so very, very dreadful; and I am so miserable 
 — and so frightened!" 
 
 And sitting on the stone poor Lucy "gave way," 
 as women say, and burst into tears. 
 
 "Ay, young woman, there are many filings dread- 
 ful," said Patience, grimly; "it is well for you if you 
 iiave f(mnd tliat out at last. J'ut what can you liave 
 to say to meV" 
 
 "Because it is you who can say that he did not 
 mean to kill liim. You knoAv lie did not! It is because 
 of the stick, you know, — Lord Saltash's stick. They 
 are all saying Oh, dear, what will become of me?" 
 
 "Who has been killed?" said Patience, crushing 
 down into apjiarently stony tranf[uillity the horrible 
 .'inxietv which was ibittcriiig at her lieart, and com- 
 pelling herself by dint of an immense effort to speak 
 with her usual slow and com])asscd harshness of manner. 
 
 "Good God! What, don't you know? Did you not
 
 PATIENCE AND LUCY. 169 
 
 see it clone? The press-gang man. Tom Barnes his 
 name was, they say. Did you not see liim killed be- 
 fore yom* eyes?" 
 
 "I saw a man struck down; I did not know that 
 he was killed. Is tlie man that was struck, dead then?" 
 Patience condescended to ask, invohintarily dropping 
 her voice as she uttered the word "dead," despite all 
 her efforts to speak in her usual monotonous and pas- 
 sionless tones. 
 
 Lucy shook her head sadly, as she looked up with 
 streaming eyes into the other's face-, and there was 
 genuine compassion in her heart, in the midst of Iter 
 own troubles, for the harsli grim woman she was speak- 
 ing to, as she .said, "He is dead. He died this morn- 
 ing from the effects of the blow." 
 
 Patience felt, in her turn, that her legs were giv- 
 ing way under her; but she would not yield to a 
 weakness which prompted her to sit down on the slab 
 of stone by the side of Lucy Baldock. Stiffening her- 
 self by a strong effort of pride and Calvauistic stoicism, 
 she stood still upright as a column; but her white lips 
 moved without giving utterance to any sound. 
 
 "But he did not mean to kill him," continued 
 Lucy. "It is certain that he did not mean to do him 
 real hanii. Only that stick! But he did not know." 
 
 "But the other knew; tlie man they call Lord 
 .Saltash knew — he who put the murderous weapon into 
 my l)n)tlier's hand. Let him come forward and take 
 liis share of the consequences," said Patience, angry 
 with herself for finding herself thus led into conversa- 
 tion with Lucy Baldock against her will. 
 
 Again Lucy looked up into the hard eyes, which 
 would not meet hers, as she said, with a fresh and yet
 
 170 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 more violent burst of passionate weeping, and piteously 
 shaking her head, — "No consequences can never hurt 
 him no more. Lord Saltash died this morning, much 
 the same time as the other died." 
 
 "Lord Saltash dead!" exclaimed Patience, startled 
 for a moment out of her systematic coldness; "that 
 young man dead too! The Lord gave; and the Lord 
 hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord ! " 
 
 "The pistol-shot killed him. And all for And 
 
 the Earl —Ah, to think that But for Mr. George, 
 
 it's a mercy that you can speak to liaving seen the 
 stick put into his hand, and that he did not know the 
 nature of it. They say tliat tliat makes all the dif- 
 ference," said Lucy, looking wistfully into her com- 
 panion's hard face. , 
 
 "What are the Lord's mercies, and what are His 
 chastisements, jow know little, young woman, as seems 
 to me; for that is a knowledge vouchsafed only to 
 those who have found Him. What I can say is, that 
 George Garstang did know full well the murtherous 
 nature of tlie stick he took from the liands of Lord 
 Saltash," said Patience, speaking tlie wortls very slowly, 
 and as if tliey were s{[ueezed out of lier thin and wliite 
 lips by some power independent of her own will. 
 
 "Hush! liusli! for dear lieavoi's sake," cried Lucy, 
 looking hurriedly around lier Avitli scared eyes. "You 
 diui't know what you arc saying. I tell you, ]*atience 
 Garstang," she continued, as, springing suddenly from 
 the stone slab, she seized l^atience by the wrist, and 
 poured tlic words into lior ear, us Patience vainly strove 
 to shrink away from her, rapidly, and in a low, but 
 intensely earnest, voice,— "I tell you. Patience 
 Garstang, that tliey say that if it wasn't tliat he knew
 
 PATIENCE AND LUCY. 171 
 
 notliing of the nature of sucli a stick as that, he Avould 
 be found guilty of murder, as sure as ever he goes up 
 for trial. He did not know what a blow that stick 
 could give." 
 
 "And I tell you, woman, that he did know it full 
 well. / know it. I am she who can prove it — /, his 
 sister! I heard with my ears. I heard him say, that 
 if he Avere to give a man a blow with that stick, the 
 man who got it would never want another, — that it 
 was an instnxment sure to inflict death on him against 
 whom it should be used. I see it all now. Now I 
 see the providence of the Lord, which commanded me 
 to follow my brother, and caused mine ears to hear the 
 words which make him a murderer. "The right hand 
 of the Lord has been stretched out, and he has brought 
 to pass terrible things." Thanks be to Thee, Lord, 
 who still givest thy servant strength to say, 'Blessed 
 be the name of the Lord!'" 
 
 Lucy's face fell into an open-mouthed look of blank 
 and scared amazement, which gradually, as she sat 
 looking up at the rigid standing figure of Patience, 
 assumed the expression of a new and more vague and 
 awful sort of terror. She, like everybody else in Bill- 
 mouth and its neighbourhood, had heard of the mys- 
 terious brand of madness which was supposed to mark 
 every member of the family at the Grange: and now 
 she fully thought that the strange-mannered and strange- 
 spoken figure before her was that of a mad woman. 
 Her first impulse, as this idea entered into her head 
 was to jump up from her seat and run away; but there 
 seemed to Lucy to be a sort of guarantee in the pious 
 strain of the woman's talk that she had it not in her 
 mind to do her any bodily harm; and the need of
 
 172 THK GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGK. 
 
 making her comprehend the nature and effect of the 
 words she had just uttered seemed very urgent, for she 
 imagined that Patience was ignorant of this; and she, 
 Lucy, had just lieard tlie whole matter discussed be- 
 tween okl Dr. Bartram and tlie clerk to the magistrates. 
 
 Lucy had, after much struggling with her timidity, 
 ventured to stesil forth to the house of the old Doctor 
 under pretence of asking for a lotion or a plaster for 
 the bruises her bi'otlier had received from the press- 
 gang. But her real motive had been to learn what he 
 had to tell of Lord Saltash. All Billmouth knew that 
 he had been summoned to the Park in tlie night, and 
 hail remained there till after the Earl's return in the 
 morning. From him Lucy had learned the fatal result 
 of the wound the young man had received, and she on 
 her side had been subjected to a cross-examination as 
 to the facts of the unfortunate struggle. The clerk to 
 tlie magistrates — an old crony of Bartram's — had come 
 into the Doctor's house, which was near the Town-hall, 
 immediately after the committal" of George, big with 
 tlie fresh uiid interesting news of what had been done 
 at the magistrates' meeting, and finding Ijucy there, 
 and learning from Bartram that she had been present 
 at the fatal fray, he had eagerly joined with the old 
 Doctor in getting out of lier all she had to tell on the 
 subject. There Avas no dii'liculty in doing so — Lucy, 
 believing that all slio could tell went towards the cx- 
 culjiatiiMi III' everybody concerned in (ho unfortunate 
 business, was a willing witness. 
 
 She t(dd how hor brother had liecii pressed while 
 she had been returning with liini from visiting a friend; 
 her terrible distre.ss-, the altogether unexpected ajipear- 
 ancc of Lord Saltash and George Garstang on the
 
 PATIENCE AND LUCY, 173 
 
 scene, coining suddenly within sight of it as they 
 rounded the base of the Garstang Cliff, coming along 
 the beach from the westward; the extreme suddenness 
 of their interference, and the rapidity, quick as thought 
 almost, with which all that had happened had taken 
 jdace; the felling of the two men with two Ijlows only 
 by Garstang; the pistol-shot, which had wounded Lord 
 Saltash at the same moment, and her brother's almost 
 simultaneous escape. To the close and careful ques- 
 tions of the clerk she had replied willingly, and Avith 
 perfect truth; she had told him very positively that 
 Garstang had held in his hand the stick with which he 
 had given the two blows, one of which had proved 
 fatal, at the time when he and Lord Saltash came 
 round the base of the cliff; that she was quite sure, 
 and could swear, tliat he had not received or taken it 
 into his hand after or at the moment of coming within 
 sight of the affray. Then she had heard the clerk 
 pointing out to old Bartram that a blow so given and 
 un<kn- sucli circumstances, even though it should un- 
 liappily kill, would not amount to murder, unless indeed 
 <he ])eculiar and deadly natui'e of the stick used should 
 give (he deed that character. And whether or no that 
 circumstance should and would be held to have given 
 the character of murder to the deed done by George 
 Garstang, would, he said, in all probability depend 
 upon (lie question of his knowledge of and familiarity 
 with the Avcapon. 
 
 All this Lucy had drank in with greedy cars, and 
 was going towards her home from the Doctor's house 
 with the burden of the sad tidings she had learned 
 (here, Avhen she met Patience on the cluin'hyard 
 l)ath.
 
 174 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 She Avas tlierefore fully aware of the fatal nature 
 of the declaration which Patience had just made, and 
 saw with perfect clearness the tirgent necessity of 
 making her comprehend the meaning and bearing of 
 the words which she had heard her brother utter, and 
 the consequences which would follow from her declara- 
 tion that she had so heard them, before she should 
 have repeated them to others. It never for an instant 
 occurred to her that anybody, much less a sister, would 
 dream of making such an admission when once in- 
 formed of the gist of it. Of course the bounden duty 
 of any good kind Christian soul in such circumstances 
 would be to swear stoutly that they had no reason 
 /whatever to believe that the accused man had any such 
 damning knowledge, — had, on the contrary, every cer- 
 tainty that he was ignorant of it. Little Lucy would 
 have so sworn, Avould have denied on oath having 
 heard any of those fatal words, Avith an approving 
 conscience, and kneeling by her bedside in her little 
 chamber that same night would have in all innocence 
 thanked God for the good deed it had been in her 
 ])ower to do. That Avas the morality of her day and 
 s})here. And the notion that the mere love of speaking 
 the truth, — and that in a court of justice too, where of 
 course one's duty Avas to beat the crxiel law and 
 lawyers if possible, — could induce any human being to 
 SAvear aAvay a life, and tliat a brother's life, Avas no 
 more conceivable by her mind than the idea of lighting 
 London streets by gas Avas to the minds of the philo- 
 sophers her contemporaries. 
 
 So gathering up all Jicr courage, she said in reply 
 to the strange Avords Patience had uttered: "Yes, Miss 
 Garstang, I do bless God that I met you here afore
 
 PATIENCE AND LUCY. 175 
 
 you said wliat you have just told me to anybody else. 
 Miss Patience, I've been a hearing but now wliat the 
 lawyers say about it. And as sure as you and I stand 
 here in tliis churchyard, them words as you spoke just 
 now will hang your brother George if so be as they 
 be known!" 
 
 Lucy spoke these words with an earnestness of 
 manner that was intense, in her eagerness to impress 
 the import of them on her hearer. She imagined that 
 all that Avas needed to ensure the silence on the part 
 of Patience, which was so absolutely necessary, was to 
 make her mind comprehend the real circumstances and 
 state of the case. But she had misgivings whether 
 the condition of Miss Garstang's intellect might not be 
 too unsound to admit of her rightly understanding this. 
 
 But Patience had at a glance comprehended the whole 
 nature of the case, and the bearing of the circum- 
 stances, and the fatal force and effect of the Avords she 
 liad overheard her brother speak, far more completely 
 and entirely than Lucy did. And a low deep groan, 
 sounding as if it had been mechanically pressed forth 
 from her bosom by the weight of agony, escaped her 
 in response to Lucy's words. 
 
 "But, Miss Patience," said she eagerly in reply to 
 this moan of pain, "yon know no living soul but your- 
 self heard tliem words; no living soul," she added with 
 a great sob, "for the other ears that beared thorn can 
 liear no more. Everybody knows, — leastways, no doubt 
 many an one can prove," she continued, correcting 
 herself Avitli a blush, all unnoticed by Patience, "tliat 
 that terrible stick belonged to Lord Saltash, and not 
 to yoiu' brother; and can say tliat he never saw such 
 an one before, and knew nothing about it. That's all
 
 176 THE GARSTANCfS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 they want to know! But tliem words as you spoke 
 just now would hang 1dm ^ — would hang your brother, 
 Miss Patience, so sure as ever you speak them again! 
 Never, never, as you hope for heaven, let them pass 
 your li})S again." 
 
 "Woman, woman!" began Patience; but the im- 
 mensity of the chasm that yawned betAveen her mind 
 and that of the person she was addressing, and the 
 hopelessness of enabling the latter to see the circum- 
 stances and the necessities of the case from her jjoiiit 
 of view, presented themselves so vividly to her mind 
 that she gave up the attempt, and broke off speaking 
 abn^ptly. Joining together the two palms of lier hands, 
 she stood f(n" a minute or two raising to heaven her 
 dead white face, in the Avell-cut features of which there 
 was a tragedy legible of no ordinary intensity. She 
 remained tbus utterly motionless for uwliile. Tbcn her 
 white lips moved; and she said slowly aiul lowly: — 
 
 "0 Lord — my God, I see an(l know thy out- 
 stretched arm. Chasten me not in thim> anger, 
 Loi'd, lest tbou bring me to notliing. If tliis cup niiglit 
 pass from me — Nevertheless, O Lord, not my will but 
 tliine be done." 
 
 And having thus s])okcn, she turned witlu)ut further 
 word; and retracing Iicr steps by the way she had 
 come, (|uitted the churcliyard on her way homo, leaving 
 Lucy str(jngly persua<led tliat she was in Irutli wliolly 
 out of her mind; and tliat the best chance, as regarded 
 the testiuu)ny, which she miglit give if called upon — 
 as she, in all prol»abili(y, wouhl lie- -at lier brotlier's 
 trial, lay in tlie hoj)C that slie miglit be regarded as 
 so unsound of mind as to render lier evidence null 
 ;md void.
 
 I 
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 177 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Lawyer and Client. 
 
 Wilfred Garstang was sitting, about a week after 
 the circumstances liad happened which have been related 
 in the foregoing j^^g^*^? i^^ conference with Mr. Sligo, 
 of the firm of Slowcomb and Sligo, solicitors in the 
 city of Silchester. Slowcomb and Sligo was the style 
 and title of an old-established and very highly-respected 
 firm of solicitors, the professional house of, perhaps, 
 the highest standing in the county of Sillshire. They 
 were not entrusted with the Crown business at Sil- 
 chester, and, indeed, laid themselves out but very little 
 for criminal business of any kind all. The elder j^art- 
 ner — old Slow, as he was universally called in Sil- 
 chester — would, probably, have rather resented the 
 notion that he had any professional knowledge of cri- 
 minal law at all. He was proud of being able to tell 
 you the history of the descent of pretty nearly every 
 acre of land in the county for the last three huiidrcd 
 years, and he laid claim to the possession of a com- 
 petent share of the legal knowledge specially necessary 
 to a real property lawyer. But he never meddled witli 
 affairs on "the Crown side," was not particularly anx- 
 ious that the firm should have much to do with that 
 class of business, and would very peremptorily hand 
 over to Mr. Sligo any matters of the sort with wliicli 
 the firm could not decline to meddle. 
 
 Mr. Sligo was a very different sort of man from 
 his much elder partner. He was tlic son of a deceased 
 junior partner of old Slow, who would not, probably. 
 
 The Qanlntigs. 1. 12
 
 178 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 under other circumstances, Lave selected Mr. Sligo as 
 a partner. Mr. Sligo was, however, a good attorney, 
 a London-bred man — active, intelligent, acute; a man 
 of the new school as essentially as old SIoav was a 
 man of the old. The two men were, indeed, whimsi- 
 cally contrasted. Young Sligo was as rapid as old 
 Slow was slow. Nothing could be more difierent than 
 the outward style and appearance of the two men. 
 Old Slow wore a suit of unchanging black, powder, 
 breeches, black silk stockings, magnificent shirt-frill, 
 and a huge watch-chain and seals dangling from a fob 
 placed in the old-fashioned position under the waist- 
 band. He looked jjerfectly in his proper place in the 
 bishop's dining-room, where, in fact, he might often be 
 seen. Mr. Sligo would certainly have appeared some- 
 what out of place in such latitudes. He affected a 
 green cutaway coat, blue neck-handkerchief, drab 
 trousers, and a white hat stuck on one side of his 
 head — an object of great aversion to his senior partner. 
 He was a sparely-built, thin-faced man, with a restless 
 eye and sharp incisive speech-, whereas old Slow Avas 
 portly, ponderous in manner as well as in person, and 
 could not by any possible combinati(ni of circumstances 
 be hurried into expressing himself without his usual 
 deliberation and verbose circumlocution. 
 
 Probably botli partners were equally useful to the 
 interests of the firm, each in liis own way. Mr. Sligo 
 was certainly an experienced Old Bailey attorney, and 
 Wilfred Garstang, in the extremity and bitterness of 
 the terrible affliction wliidi had fallen upon the family, 
 tliouglit himself fortunate in being able to entrust his 
 brother's defence to a firm of such liigli standing and 
 unimpeachable respectability.
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 179 
 
 Wilfred Garstang had gone up to Silchester on the 
 third day after the committal of his brother. He would 
 have hurried thither at once, had it been possible for 
 him to leave the rest of the family so immediately. But 
 the dreadful news had to be broken to his father and 
 mother as cautiously as possible. Wilfred had dreaded 
 the immediate effect that this new blow might produce 
 upon his father. But the result was different from 
 what he had expected. One might almost have been 
 tempted to imagine that the old man had been anti- 
 cipating such a misfortune; that by some mysterious 
 process of second sight he had been aware of the blow 
 which the future was preparing for him before it fell. 
 So little did his grief partake of the nature of surprise; 
 so utterly prostrate and dead was the unresisting re- 
 signation with which he received the terrible tidings. 
 
 He uttered a low quivering moan, like that which 
 an extra jjang wrenches from a sufferer almost too 
 weak to give any expression to his chronic sense of 
 pain, and then slowly bowing his head, said,— 
 
 "Ha! That is how it comes, is it? It could not 
 come worse, Willy; could not come Avorse. Of course. 
 That's of course, you know. Ha! Yes! However late! 
 however late! It could not be much longer in coming, 
 yon know, or I should have been off. But it has caught 
 me. Of course it has caught me." 
 
 Wilfred liad also some long conversation with his 
 sister, in the course of which lie learned all the facts 
 of which she had been witness while surreptitiously 
 foUowiug George during his walk with Lord Saltash. 
 Wilfred was very angry with her. But he knew well 
 how worse than useless it would be to manifest his 
 displeasure to Patience in any Avay. And, besides, 
 
 12*
 
 180 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 there was a feelins: in Wilfred's heart much akin to 
 that which made his father accept the tidings of mis- 
 fortune as he did-, a feeling that it was only what was 
 to be expected, — that it was the fulfilment of a doom 
 of which they had known before. 
 
 Nevertheless, he had been much shocked at finding 
 that Patience had overheard such words from George, 
 and that the effect of them would be to give a fatal 
 character to the deed which followed them that would 
 not otherwise have necessarily attached to it. And he 
 knew Patience Avell enough to feel quite sure that, if 
 questioned upon the subject, no human consideration 
 would avail to induce her to affirm that slie had not 
 heard tliat which she had heard. The only hope was 
 that she might not be so questioned. He was very 
 ignorant as to the way in which such matters were 
 managed. Nothing had been said at the magistrates' 
 meeting, when George had been committed, about Pa- 
 tience, or her presence on the scene of the affray; and 
 Wilfred imagined that this circumstance afforded good 
 ground to hope that no inquiry miglit be made into 
 that portion of the facts. 
 
 The first necessity was, however, to employ some 
 lawyer to undertake the defence. And Avith some dif- 
 ficulty — so complete was the social isolation in which 
 the family at the Grange, all save George, lived among 
 their neighbours — Wilfred had procured from one of 
 the frien'ls of his brother an introduction to Messrs. 
 Slowconib and Sligo, whicli had sufliccd to obtain for 
 him immediate admission to the little room a< (he office 
 in the High Street at Silchester, on which Avas painted 
 in white letters, ''Mr. Sligo." 
 
 "The letter 1 brought to the firm of Slowcomb and
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 181 
 
 Sligo ," began Wilfred, after lie had very elabo- 
 rately bowed to Mr. Sligo, witb far too slow an enun- 
 ciation for that rapid gentleman to allow him to pro- 
 ceed any further. 
 
 "Prefer to see Slowcomb — senior partner — more 
 satisfactory, perhaps— nature of business? Mr. Slow- 
 comb does not often see strangers; you'll excuse me 
 Mr. — a — Garstang," said Sligo, glancing at the letter 
 of introduction which lay open on his table. 
 
 "Mr. Sligo," commenced Wilfred again, "it is a 
 circumstance of a very painful character which has 
 caused me " 
 
 "Naturally, my dear sir, naturally so-, quite the 
 common course of things; the circumstances that make 
 people apply to a lawyer are rarely pleasant ones. 
 That's the misfortune of our profession Mr. — a — Gar- 
 stang, just like the doctors for that. What are the 
 symptoms, eh? Obliged to make that the first ques- 
 tion," rattled Mr. Sligo, putting his head on one side 
 and shutting one eye. 
 
 "I will tell you the fortunate circumstances of the 
 case fully, sir, without any concealment " 
 
 "Quite right, Mr. Garstang; what's the good of 
 having a doctor, and then misleading him as to yoiu* 
 case? A circumstantial statement, clear, full; and as 
 short as may be; that's the ticket." 
 
 "Well, sir; my brother George, now lying iu Sil- 
 Chester goal, was an intimate friend of the late Lord 
 Saltash " 
 
 "Indeed, sir! Died the other day, — heard of it 
 only yesterday. Strange reports about the cause of his 
 death. Very sad thing, very; last heir! — Go on, my 
 dear sir; you have all my attention," said Mr. Sligo,
 
 182 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 still rattling, but with au evident increase of respect 
 in his manner. 
 
 "My brother and Lord Saltash were returning late 
 in the evening from visiting tlie officers of a King's 
 ship lying off Bilhnouth, when they quite suddenly and 
 unexpectedly came in sight of a party of four men, 
 members of a press-gang who were in the act of 
 capturing a Billmouth man, in whom, it seems, his 
 lordship had some interest. The man's sister was pre- 
 sent, and implored Lord Saltash and my brother, as 
 they came in sight, to rescue her brother. Tliey botla 
 rushed forward to do so. My brother had a stick in 
 his hand, with wliich lie, with two blows right and left, 
 knocked down two of the press-gang men. And the 
 captured man jumped up from the ground and ran off. 
 But, in the same instant. Lord Saltash received a pistol- 
 shot in the shoulder, from one of the other men of the 
 party, from the consequences of wliicli he died the 
 following morning. One of the men whom my brother 
 had felled to the ground also died from the effect of 
 the blow the next morning. And for that my brother 
 has been committed to gaol for murder." 
 
 "Murder! pooh, pooh, all stuff and nonsense, Mr. 
 Garstang! Case of manslaughter, and not a bad one 
 either. Those blunder-headed old blockheads at Bill- 
 mouth ought to have admitted your brother to bail. 
 We shall soon jmt all that to-rights. Wish we could as 
 easily put poor Lord Saltash on his legs again." 
 
 "It is a very great consolation, Mr. Sligo," com- 
 menced Wilfred, who felt as if a mountain were re- 
 moved from his breast, and a new dawn of hope and 
 bright future possibilities opening before him, — "a 
 greater comfort than you can imagine."
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 183 
 
 "Glad to have it in my power, sir; we shall soon 
 put this matter to-rights-, it will be my business, Mr. 
 Garstang. My partner, Mr. Slowcomb, — old Slow the 
 Silchester folks call him; ha! ha! ha! — does not meddle 
 with Crown side business. Marriage settlement, sir, con- 
 veyance, — anything in that line, old Slew's your man. 
 But in matters of this kind Slow won't do, will it, Mr. 
 Garstang? Ha! ha! ha! I, James Sligo, at your ser- 
 vice, shall have the pleasure of seeing Mr. George 
 Garstang through this little matter," rattled Mr. Sligo, 
 taking his white hat off the corner of his head, and re- 
 placing it with an elegant bow, as he spoke. Evidently 
 the mention of the acquaintanceship between the ac- 
 cused man and the late Lord Saltash, had produced a 
 very sensible effect on the junior partner of the firm 
 of Slowcomb and Sligo. 
 
 "And now, sir," he continued, "I must trouble you 
 with a few more questions; and then we shall see our 
 way clearly. Your brother, you say, carried a stick in 
 his hand, when he came unexpectedly on the struggle 
 between the press-gang and their capture; — the stick, 
 in fact, with which the unlucky blow was struck?" 
 
 "He did, sir; it was not his habit to carry a stick. 
 That which he had in his hand at the time belonged 
 to Lord Saltash, and had been put by his lordship into 
 my brother's hand a little time previously." 
 
 "Humph! humph! I should have preferred for 
 choice that it had been Mr. George Garstang's habit 
 to carry a stick. However, it is clear that he had it 
 in his hand before he came within sight of the affray, 
 and when he had no sort of anticipation of anything 
 of the sort?"
 
 184 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Clearly so, sir; certainly, there is no doubt at all 
 about tbat," replied Wilfred. 
 
 "And why, allow me to ask," said Mr. Sligo, after 
 after a minutes' tliought, "why did Lord Saltash put 
 his stick into your brother's hands? How came ho to 
 do so? What was his motive for it?" 
 
 "It was a very peculiar stick. There had been 
 some talk between Lord Saltash and my brother, more 
 jestingly, I fancy, than anything else, about the facility 
 with which anybody, having an interest in doing so, 
 might make away with a man on that solitary beach. 
 Upon which Lord Saltash observed that he was not so 
 unarmed as he seemed, and gave my brother his stick 
 that he might feel how efficient a weapon it Avas." 
 
 "Oh! The stick was handed to your brother that 
 he might judge by having it in his hand how efficient 
 a weapon it was?" said Mr. Sligo, over whose face 
 a slight expression of gravity had crept, like a 
 cloud over a sunny sky, during his client's last 
 sentences. 
 
 "Yes, exactly that. It was a very slight-looking 
 stick, which did not appear to be capable of giving a 
 serious blow. But, as I have since learned, when 
 taken in the hand it was found to be far more formid- 
 able that it seemed, being formed of some elastic 
 material, with a heavy knob attarlied to it," said 
 Wilfred, speaking with evident uneasiness and anxiety. 
 
 "I see, Mr. Garstang, I see," said the lawyer, over 
 whose manner also a visible change had come; "it 
 was what is commonly called a lifc-j)rcservcr, — because 
 it is specially adapted for destroying life, 1 suppose. 
 May I ask if you are aware where the instrument in 
 f|uestion is at this present time?"
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 185 
 
 "In tlie custody of tlie magistrates at Billmoxitli, I 
 presume," said Wilfred. "I know that it was produced 
 when my brother was committed; and that it remained 
 in the hands of their clerk." 
 
 Mr. Sligo remained silent an unusually long time 
 for him, and bit his nails meditatively. 
 
 "You speak of this stick, Mr. Garstang, as if such 
 a weapon was perfectly new to you. Do you suppose 
 that the nature of it was equally unknown to your 
 brother?" he said at last, looking keenly into his 
 client's eyes as he spoke. 
 
 "I have no doubt of it, sir," said Wilfred, in 
 reply eagerly; "I never saw such a contrivance 
 in my life, and I have no sort of doubt that it was 
 the first thing of the sort my brother had ever 
 seen." 
 
 Again there was a silence of some minutes, during 
 which the lawyer jumped up from his seat, and walked 
 up and down the little room three or foiir times, al- 
 ternately biting his nails and thrusting his hands into 
 the pockets of his trousers. Suddenly he came to a 
 stand-still, immediately opposite Wilfred's chair, and 
 said, with a gravity of manner Avhich was very strongly 
 contrasted with the levity which had previously marked 
 his tone: 
 
 "Mr. Garstang, between us, as between legal ad- 
 viser and client, it is absolutely necessary that there 
 should be the most unreserved confidence. It is my 
 duty to tell you that the circumstances you have now 
 communicated to me change the aspect of the case 
 very materially; and give it, I must say, a very serious 
 — yes, a very disagreeable appearance." 
 
 Wilfred's face fell painfully, and the expression
 
 186 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 of it was immediately observed by the sharp-eyed 
 lawyer. 
 
 "It would be very wrong in me," he said "not to 
 make you aware of the full gravity of the circum- 
 stances, Mr. Garstang. You see, when you first spoke, 
 the aspect of the case seemed very different. A sud- 
 den affray, unexpected, without special malice, a blow 
 with an ordinary stick, ordinarily carried in the hand, 
 followed by the death of the person struck, contrary to 
 all presumable probability, and to all presumable in- 
 tention on tlie part of him who gave the blow. Such 
 a combination of circumstances would not constitute a 
 case of murder. But — it is impossible not to see that 
 the facts, as you now state them — assume — ahem — a 
 very different appearance." 
 
 "It is abundantly certain that my brother had no 
 purpose to kill this man; no malice against him," said 
 Wilfred, looking up into Mr. Sligo's face, as pale 
 as death, and with an expression of infinite agony in 
 his eye. 
 
 "Doubtless, my dear sir, doubtless! But — if you do 
 that to any man which might presumably be expected 
 to cause his death, the law assumes that you meant to 
 kill liim, and that is malice. Even if the circum- 
 stances are such as to show that you were reckless 
 whether you killed a man or not, and chanced to kill 
 one, the law would im))ute malice to you. Ordinary 
 blows over the head with ordinary sticks do not kill 
 men; and such a blow Avould not therefore be taken to 
 prove that the giver of it, especially if striking sud- 
 denly, and in chance medley, was reckless whether he 
 killed or not. The idea of causing death is too far off 
 from the giving of a simple ])low, Avith a simple stick.
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 187 
 
 But blows from such a weapon as that which your 
 brother unfortunately carried, do kill; are eminently 
 calculated to kill. Besides that, the use of the weapon 
 in question is always regarded by the court with 
 espectal disfavour and suspicion. It is a secret weapon ; 
 a treacherous weapon, so to speak; a weapon which 
 has capabilities of injury in it not apparent to the eye. 
 I would rather tliat your brother had happened to 
 have a pistol in his hand, and had shot the man 
 with it." 
 
 "But my brother was ignorant of the properties of 
 the stick in question. He had never seen such a thing 
 before. He had only had it in his hand a few minutes. 
 It was a mere chance that it had remained in his 
 hand." 
 
 "Unfortunately, we cannot prove anything as to 
 that fact. The only person whose evidence could go 
 to that point, Lord Saltash, is dead. It is a very un- 
 fortunate circumstance." 
 
 "But that is not the case," cried Wilfred, eagerly 
 and hurriedly. "As it happens, strangely enough, 
 there is other evidence to the manner and the moment 
 of the stick being put into my brother's hand by Lord 
 Saltash." 
 
 And then Wilfred proceeded, not without some em- 
 barrassment and reluctance, to relate the circumstances 
 which had led his sister Patience to be so far present 
 as to be able to give evidence on this point. 
 
 Mr. Sligo listened with very close attention to his 
 client's narrative. 
 
 "These are very important facts, Mr. Garstang," 
 he said; "most important. I wonder (liat you did not 
 mention your sister's presence in your tirst statement
 
 188 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 of the circumstances. But people never do see, I tliink, 
 where the strong points of their case lie. We shall 
 call your sister, and show from her evidence that the 
 stick had been casually handed to your brother by 
 Lord Saltash only a short time before the fatal oc- 
 currence, and yet sufficiently long before it to prove 
 that the handing of it could have had no reference 
 whatever to the unexpected circumstances which 'en- 
 sued. Probably she may be able to tell us something 
 of what passed between the two gentlemen on the oc- 
 casion, which would go to show that Mr. George 
 Garstaug was altogether ignorant of the use and capa- 
 bilities of the weapon." 
 
 Wilfred looked up at his questioner with an agony 
 and strong terror in his ftice, Avhich miglit liave seemed 
 as if he was being detected in some secret guilt. For 
 an instant his dry lips moved without uttering any 
 sound. The gist and tenor of the observations which 
 ]\rr. Sligo had been making on the bearing of the case 
 had fully opened his eyes to the deadly significance of 
 the words Patience had overlieard her brother utter. 
 His first impulse was to conceal the damning fact in 
 utter silence; to breathe it not to any human being, 
 and trust to the fact that one only living creature had 
 heard tlic words. But a moment's consideration 
 showed him the folly of concealing anything from his 
 defender. 
 
 "Patience — my sister," he said, slowly and pain- 
 fully, "did hear words that George said when he took 
 the stick into his hand." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Sligo, eagerly and encouragingly, 
 "what was it she heard? Wliat will Miss Garstang be 
 able to prove for us?" he added, rubbing bis liands
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 189 
 
 together, and expecting the coming communication 
 with his head on one side and one eye knowingly 
 closed. 
 
 Wilfred groaned audibly. 
 
 "Patience heard George say," he went on, forcing 
 the words out of his lips, "that one blow from such a 
 stick as that would be the quietus of any man; that if 
 he ever struck a man with it, the man would never 
 need a second blow; that it would give a blow to fell 
 an ox with." 
 
 "Good God in heaven, Mr. Garstang!" exclaimed 
 the lawyer perfectly aghast; "let me tell you at once, 
 that those words given in evidence in court would 
 hang your brotlier as surely as he is now in SUchester 
 goal. We cannot be too thankful that no ear heard 
 them, save that of your sister; it must be explained to 
 her that she overheard amiss, that she mistook the 
 sense of the words. Probably in reply to Lord Saltash's 
 observation tliat he carried that stick for his protection, 
 your brother observed that such a t^vig as that was not 
 sufficient to hurt any man, that nobody could get a 
 quietus from a tap with that; that what his lordsliip 
 ought to carry was such a stick as would serve to gi\ e 
 a bullock a knock-down l)low. Doubtless Miss Garstang 
 will remember on reflection that this was the sense of 
 what she overheard, and we must call her to give 
 evidence to tliis effect; wliicli joined to evidence show- 
 ing that your brother had never had such a tiling in 
 his hand before in his life, may I hope, pull us through. 
 But it is an ugly business, Mr. Garstang, I don't con- 
 ceal from you, — very ugly! The courts don't like se- 
 cret weapons." 
 
 "You don't know Patience, Mr. Sligo," said Wil-
 
 190 THE GARSTAXGS OF GAKSTAXG GRANGE. 
 
 frecl in a very low voice: "I greatly, very greatly fear 
 — I think that it will be best not to call her to give 
 evidence in court at all." 
 
 "You don't mean that she would object to see the 
 thing in its true light; you can't mean, sir, that your 
 sister would wish to give evidence that must put a 
 halter round her brother's neck," cried Mr. Sligo, with 
 a frown and an appearance of displeasure, which he 
 manifested for the first time during the intervieAv. 
 
 "I mean," said Wilfred, still speaking in the same 
 low, slow, constrained voice, "that if my sister is 
 examined in court, I fear — indeed I am sure — that no 
 eartlily power or consideration will pi'event her from 
 repeating the words she heard George say, exactly as 
 she heard them." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Garstang," rejoined the lawyer, himself 
 looking pale and agitated, "I can only tell you this 
 that if those words are given in evidence in court, by 
 the living God, your sister -wall have hung her brother 
 as much as if she had put the halter round his neck 
 with her own fingers! By heaven, it is as I tell you: 
 let those words be repeated in court, and it is all over 
 with him; all the eloquence of all the bar on the cir- 
 cuit could not save him!" And the laAvyer walked 
 up and down his little room with quick and angry 
 steps. 
 
 Wilfred only groaned aloud again. 
 
 "But it is all nonsense," resumed Mv. Sligo; "good 
 God, such a thing was never lieard of, that a .sister 
 should go into court and swear her brother's life away, 
 and that on the strength of words overheard from a 
 distance! OIi! it is too monstrous! Of course, when she 
 is duly instructed, Miss Garstang will be aware that it
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 191 
 
 is at least equally likely that she did not accurately 
 hear, and that the words spoken were in fact as I 
 have suggested. Why of course it was so; the thing 
 is clear." 
 
 Wilfred shook his head despondingly. 
 
 "I fear," said he, "I fear ^^'ith a dreadful fear, that 
 it will be impossible to persuade Patience that she heard 
 amiss, or to induce her to report what she heard other- 
 wise than as it struck her ears." 
 
 "Then I wash my hands of the matter," cried Mr. 
 Sligo, thro^dng himself into his arm-chair with an ex- 
 pression of extreme disgust. "It would be as well to 
 let Miss Garstang understand that she will be looked 
 upon from one end of England to the other as her 
 brother's executioner. By God, she will have murdered 
 him far more truly than he murdered the press-gang- 
 man: it is madness! perfect madness! If Mr. Garstang 
 is my client, and such evidence were given by his 
 sister, I should set up a plea that she was mad! I 
 should, by God." 
 
 A black cloud gathered over Wilfred's face, as the 
 other spoke; and he looked up at the unconscious 
 lawyer Avith a dangerous-looking scowl on his face, oi' 
 which Sligo did nut at all comprehend the meaning, 
 and of which he took small heed. 
 
 "But, as I said before," he resumed, "it is all 
 nonsense! It is impossible to siippose such a thing. 
 1 must see Miss Patience Garstang myself 1 will not 
 doubt that she will give her evidence as a well-in- 
 tentioned and discreet young lady should do." 
 
 "Would it not be better, perhaps, to avoid calling 
 my sister into court at all; and to content ourselves 
 with proving that George was wholly ignorant of the
 
 192 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 use of any such weapon as that Lord Saltash put 
 into his hand for the first time?" said Wilfred plead- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Better far, of course that she should be anywhere 
 rather than come into court to give such evidence as 
 you have spoken of. But how are we to prevent the 
 prosecutioii from getting hold of her? If she is deter- 
 mined to hang her brother they will give her the op- 
 portunity of doing it, never fear. Who knows that 
 she was following your brother all the time?" he asked 
 reflectingly. 
 
 "Probably nobody but ourselves," replied Wilfred; 
 "but the press-gang men, — the three survivors of them, 
 — the rescued man, and his sister all know that she 
 was present at the affray, and saw the fatal blow 
 given." 
 
 Mr. Sligo shook his head. "If we do not call her 
 they will," he said. "If she is not on our side, she 
 will be against us — against her brother. I must see 
 Miss riarstang. I will not believe that it will be im- 
 possible to make her hear reason on this point." 
 
 "I trust you may be more successful than I think," 
 said Wilfred with a deep sigh. 
 
 "If I am not, Mr. (Jarstang, I give you fair notice 
 that the result will be a disastrous one. I have not 
 said one word upon this point which is one whit stronger 
 than I fully and entirely mean. I should not be doing 
 my duty if I were to attempt to conceal it from you. 
 Those words, wliich your sister fancies she overheard 
 your brother speak, ])ut wliich in all jirobability, were 
 never uttered, must not he repeated in court. If Ihey 
 are you may prepare for the worst." 
 
 "If you judge it to be desirable to sec my sister,
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 193 
 
 Mr. Sligj, when should you purpose doing so? Would 
 it be better that she should come to you here?" 
 
 "No, I think not. I will call upon Miss Garstang 
 at Billmouth. There are many reasons which make it 
 desirable that I should pay a visit to the spot. Cir- 
 cumstances may occur to me — opportunities of — by the 
 way, do you know, Mr. Garstang, whether anybody 
 for the prosecution has been down yet? whether any 
 inquiries have been made, quietly perhaps, you under- 
 stand? Borers and Lorpent have most of the Crown 
 business. Very good and respectable people. Do you 
 know whether any of them or anybody employed by 
 them has been down yet?" 
 
 "Not that I am aware of, sir-, I did not know that 
 any such step would be taken," replied Wilfred. 
 
 "Yes; that is the way in which such matters are 
 managed. But it might very well be that they may 
 have been making their inquiries withoiit anything of 
 it having come to your ears." 
 
 "When do you think it might suit you to run down 
 to Billmouth, Mr. Sligo? We live at the Grange, not 
 fur from the town, but on the top of a hill very high 
 above it. If — we could offer you hospitality — ," said 
 Wilfred, somewhat hesitatingly, for, as may be readily 
 understood, he felt very doubtful about bringing any 
 stranger into the midst of so strange and peculiar a 
 household as that of his home. 
 
 "No; many thanks, Mr. Garstang. That would 
 not be desirable for various reasons. I must move 
 about and see what is to be done independently, and 
 without proclaiming to all the coiiiitry-side what I am 
 there for; as I should do if I were your visitor. No! 
 
 The Qarstangs. I. 13
 
 194: THR GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 thanks all the same. Let me see — Avill you excuse me 
 a minute?" 
 
 Mr. Sligo put a paper into his client's hand, and 
 ran into the neighbouring room, on the door of which 
 Avas painted in letters similar to those which adorned 
 his own, "Mr. Slowcomb." He remained there con- 
 siderably more than a minute, and more than ten 
 minutes. It was of no more use to pour a story into 
 Mr. Slowcomb's ears faster than his mind chose to re- 
 ceive it, that it is to attempt to pour water into a bottle 
 in a stream larger than the but tic's neck. The Avords 
 all ran over to waste*, and the operation had to be re- 
 peated. It took much longer, tliereforc, to make old 
 Slow comjirehend the outline of Mr. (Jarstang's case, 
 than Mr. Sligo would have needed to tell it five times 
 over. 
 
 "Well, Sligo, you know more about these matters 
 than I do. To me it seems as if Mr. — a — what's-his- 
 namc — (iarstang; — I fancy I know that name in the 
 north of Sillsliire — has conniiitted as undeniable murder 
 as ever a man did; and that he Avill assuredly be hung 
 for it. However, it is right, of course, that the case 
 should be defended; for you see, Sligo, the theory of 
 our law upon tlic matter 1 take to be this " 
 
 "It is the practice, sir, any Avay; excuse nie, Mr. 
 Slowcomb; the poor man is waiting for me in the next 
 room. When do you think I could run down? Is 
 there anytliing to prevent my going on Saturday? I 
 could be back here by Tuesday morning, and turn the 
 Sunday to use." 
 
 "There! that's the sort of thing that comes of med- 
 dling with criminal business;" said old Slow, pettishly. 
 "It always has to be done in a huny. Kveu a mari
 
 LAWYER AND CLIENT. 195 
 
 who is going to be married has to wait for his solicitor. 
 But a man who is going to be hung, won't — or can't. 
 And I don't approve of turning Sunday to use, as you 
 know, Mr. Sligo. Well, don't let them come to me 
 about the matter, that's all. Manage it your own way; 
 you will take the sittings on the Crown side, brother 
 Sligo," said Mr. Slowcomb, making his huge watch- 
 chain and seals imitate the function of a clock's pen- 
 dulum, Avhile a similar motion was imported to the 
 pig-tail behind his poll, by the oscillations of his head, 
 which were meant to emphasize the humorous nature 
 of his last observation. 
 
 "You know of nothing, then, to prevent my run- 
 ning down to Billmouth on Saturday?" rejoined Sligo, 
 briefly. 
 
 "No, no, I think not; nothing that I am aware 
 of." 
 
 "Then I will go and tell Mr. Garstang that I will 
 do so," answered Sligo, hurrying out of the room, and 
 leaving Mr. Slowcomb with a feeling of being hurried 
 till he was out of breath by the disagreeable and vulgar 
 necessities of "criminal business." 
 
 In the county paper wliich Mr. Sligo had put into 
 Wilfred's hand to amuse him while he was left waiting, 
 the amusement he had found was an account of the 
 fray at the foot of the Garstang Cliff at Billmouth, 
 with the death of Lord Saltash, and the "shocking 
 murder" of the press-gang man, "engaged in his duty 
 to his king aiul country, in providing the means of de- 
 fence for our hearths and homes from the insidious foe 
 who is prowling around our coasts, by a desperado of 
 the name of Garstang." And the editorial "we" under- 
 stood that "some very strange and deplorable circum- 
 
 i;3*
 
 196 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 stances would be brought to light on the trial, showing 
 how the unfortunate young nobleman had been led into 
 this unhappy affair by the prisoner, avIio had thus re- 
 quited the never-sufficiently-to-be-lamented condescen- 
 sion with which he had been treated by the late sou of 
 his landlord." 
 
 "There," said Wilfred, pointing out the paragraph 
 to the notice of Mr. Sligo, on his returning into the 
 room; "there! that is a mass of falsehoods. I don't 
 know whether any notice ought to be taken of it." 
 
 "Oh, this sort of thing is always said and written. 
 This is a Tory print. Some Radical paper will say 
 that your brother Avas led into the mess by Lord Saltash. 
 Don't fash your mind about this sort of thing. It may 
 serve to give me a hint or two. We can throw back 
 again as good as they jjclt us with. Well, then, let it 
 so remain. I will run down to Billmoutli on Saturday. 
 Take you uo notice of mc at all. If 1 sec good to 
 call on you at the (Jrange, I will do so. If I do not, 
 di) nut you seek to meet me. For the present, I have 
 one only thing to im2)rcss upon you. Strive" — and 
 here Mr. Sligo lowered his voice to an impressive 
 whisper — "strive, as for dear life, to make your sister 
 listen to reason on that point. And now, my good sir, 
 I need not dctaiu you longer. You may depend upon 
 no stone being left unturned, and no effort spared, to 
 pull your Itrother througii. Mut it is an ugly business. 
 1 can't deny it. It lias an ugly look." 
 
 "Will it not be nece.s.sary to employ some counsel?" 
 said Wilfrcfl, lingoringly, as he stood at the door. 
 
 "Will it not 1)0 necessary? Why, good heaven! 
 of course it will be necessary. We slinll have the best 
 men (>\\ I lie circuit; Sir Visjty (JiMious .ini! Mr. liarker,
 
 MR. SLIGO AT BILLMOUTH. 197 
 
 I should suggest. Perhaps it would not be a bad move 
 to give a brief to yoimg Borer, as junior. He is a 
 sharp fellow, and is a third or fourth cousin, or some- 
 thing of that sort, of Borers and Larpent." 
 
 "I leave all these arrangements to you, Mr. Sligo. 
 Do your best for us," said Wilfred, with a wan plead- 
 ing look. 
 
 Sligo gave him a nod, and pressed his hand for 
 answer; and Wilfred, feeling as if every eye was on 
 him, and every finger pointing him out as "the mur- 
 derer's brother," slunk off tlu-ough the Silchester streets 
 up to "the Castle," to return to his" brother in gaol. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mr. Sligo at Billmouth. 
 
 The interview between the two brothers in Sil- 
 chester Gaol was as sad an one as may be imagined. 
 Wilfred gave his brother an account of his conversation 
 with the lawyer, and s.trove to find some word of en- 
 couragement to say to the prisoner. But it was rather 
 George who acted tlie part of comforter towards Wil- 
 fred than vice versa. The elder brother had striven 
 hard, while in the lawyer's office, to demean himself as 
 other men do, — after the fashion, that is to say, of men 
 who have not s})ecial and mysterious curses hanging 
 over them and all their family. But in talking to his 
 brother, who knew all, lie felt himself unable to keep 
 up any such fiction. What was the use? Did they 
 not both know, one as well as the otlier, that this, or 
 something as bad as tliis, was to be? The curse had 
 to fall. It was now falling.
 
 198 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 Can the reader guess what was the word, in all 
 that Mr. Sligo had said to Wilfred Garstang, that cut 
 him the dee2)est, that made him wince the most, and 
 seemed to his ears fraught with the most horrible 
 calamity? It was that passing exclamation, that had 
 meant so little in the lawyer's mouth, to the effect that 
 he should hold Patience Garstang to be "mad" if she 
 acted in the way her brother said it was probable she 
 would act. Was it so? Was the world beginning to 
 find out this horrible secret respecting them, the Gar- 
 stangs? Despite the efforts of so many years, the half- 
 conscious self-misgivings, the never wholly sleeping 
 fears, the strong determination that it should not be 
 so, were they mad, — they Garstangs, brother, sister, 
 father, mother, grandfathers and grandmothers and all? 
 Were they all down at the bottom, ineradicably deep 
 down in the foundations of their natures, "mad?" 
 And was the dreadful fact coming up, — coming up 
 irresistibly to the surface, and to the general cognizance 
 of the world? 
 
 "Mad!" he repeated, after telling his brother this 
 ]jart of the conversation, Avith a look in his eye that 
 might well have led a near observer to the conclusion 
 that madness was the last subject on wliich it was 
 desirable for him to think or to speak, -"mad!" he 
 said-, "/« l*atience mad, George, do you suppose?" 
 
 "Pooh! nonsense, Willy! No, J^itionce is right 
 enougli ill her mind, — riglitcr than many an one, I 
 slutuld say. But I'll tell yf)U what it is, old fellow: if 
 my life is to depend on the ({uestion wlicthor Patience 
 Avill say she heard what she did bear, or wliotlier she 
 can be persuaded to say that she heard no such thing 
 or heard something (lin'orent, it is all iiji with me;
 
 MR. SLTGO AT BTLLMOUTH. 199 
 
 and you and your Mr. Sligo may as well give your- 
 selves no further trouble about the matter. I know 
 Patience. Poor dear soul, she would be skinned alive 
 to save me, if that would do any good 5 but she would 
 not, and Avill not alter one hair's-breadth of the truth 
 in wliat she says about it eitlier in court or out of 
 court, — not to save me, or herself, or all the Garstangs 
 that ever lived in the old house. I know Patience well 
 enough! But, maybe," he added, hopefully, "they may 
 find the means of managing so that she may not be 
 called upon to give any evidence at all. You will all 
 of you do for the best I know. Willy, my boy, I am 
 not so terribly afraid to die! I am sorry for the death 
 of that poor fellow with all my heart; but my con- 
 science does not tell me I am a murderer. I know 
 that I had 110 more intention to kill him, or any man, 
 tlian I had to kill myself So if I am hung, it will be 
 worse, my poor old Willy, for you and the others than 
 it will be for me. It grieves me, Willy, that a stain 
 should fall on the old name through me. Try to make 
 my father understand that from me. I could find it in 
 me, Willy, to hope that he is too far gone to rightly 
 understand anything about it. But nov\^ there is one 
 matter that lies the heaviest on my heart, and that I 
 want to speak a word to you about, Willy, once for all. 
 You know what I mean,— my wife. That's whore the 
 sharpest sting is, Willy. Most people would say that 
 I did her harm enough in marrying her. I am not 
 sure of that. I think and believe, that had things 
 gone diflerently I might have made life better to her 
 one day, than it was ever like to be without me. lint 
 now! think of the position in which I leave her! think 
 of what will be the I'csnlt to her of my being hung as
 
 200 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 a murderer! And I cannot, dare not, attempt to com- 
 municate with her! Through you, you will say, I 
 know, Willy. I know how entirely I can trust you, — 
 to your prudence as well as to your goodwill. But 
 when I remember that she — when I remember all things, 
 I know that I am doing best for lier in abstaining. 
 And now, if you are to go to Billmouth to-niglit, you 
 must be going, old fellow, or you will miss the coach. 
 See it is I that have to look after you yet, Willy," 
 said George, with a sad smile. "When shall I see you 
 again, old fellow?" 
 
 "As soon as ever Mr. Sligo has returned from the 
 visit he proposes to make to Billmouth. lie means to 
 be back here on the Tuesday morning. It will be 
 best that I should be at home while he is down there; 
 but I will come up on the Tuesday night, so as to be 
 here on tlic Wednesday morning. Good-by, my brotlier, 
 and (iod bless you! It may be that this cup shall yet 
 pass from us." 
 
 The parting between the brothers was a very sad 
 one; and Wilfred's solitary journey to Billmoutli was 
 still sadder. Little inclined to be hopeful at any time, 
 Wilfred had little doubt how the present misery would 
 end. His interview with the lawyer had — as even the 
 most sanguine man could not have concealed from him- 
 self — .shown the matter to him in a yet less ho])oful 
 asj)ect than it had before presented itself to him. Mr. 
 Sligo seemed to make the whole is.sue depend on the 
 f|Ucstion whether I'atiencc could be induced to give 
 false evidence; and Wilfred knew what amount of hojic 
 cuuld be based on that exjtectation. 
 
 The arrival at Billmouth in the first hours oC the 
 morning was inexpressibly jtainfnl to him. The bright
 
 MR. SLIGO AT BILLMOUTH. 201 
 
 cliecrful sun of the new day was calling all tlie people 
 forth to their work and to their pleasure. Everything 
 was in its usual j^lace, and everything was going on in 
 its accustomed order. There was no heart there to 
 sympathize with the sorrows of the miserable solitary 
 man; and yet it seemed to him that there was no eye 
 there that did not mark with malevolent curiosity the 
 brother of the murderer. He could not face the getting 
 down from the coach, when it should draw up at the 
 "Artingale Arms," in the midst of the little group of 
 idlers, who were wont always to attend the event of 
 its arrival. So he bade the coachman pull up at the 
 entrance to the little town, and, taking his little valise 
 in his hand, made for his lonely home, where the sad 
 inmates were awaiting him, across the fields. 
 
 "You know who that is, I supjjose?" said the coach- 
 man to the passenger on the box beside him, as Wil- 
 fred walked away. 
 
 "Not I. How should I?" said the traveller, who 
 was a stranger. 
 
 "That 'ere man, as got down from this here coacli," 
 said the coachman, impressively, pointing after AVilfred 
 with his whi]», "is the brother of the noted murderer 
 as now lays in Silchcster gaol, to be tried i'or the 
 murder of Barnes, the press-gang man. He's been to 
 Silchester to see his brotlier, and see what can be done 
 for liiiii, no doubt. Ah, that were a murder— a double- 
 Ijarrclled one, as a man may say, seeing as how the 
 young lord came l)y his death in tlic same job, and 
 that there fellow Gar.stang led him into it." 
 
 "He don't seem to have heard anything good at 
 Silchester, to judge by the look of him," said a towns- 
 man, wlio was sitting behind tlie coaclnuan.
 
 202 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Not likely, I should say," returned that functionary. 
 "Anj^ good — what good should he hear? Tliere's young 
 Lord Saltash a lying dead all along of him. And the 
 way the old Earl is in aboiit it is, by all accounts, 
 something not to be told. If the Earl don't have Gar- 
 stang hung as high as Heavens — (Haman , coachee 
 meant; but he spoke by ear, and not by book) — why, 
 there won't no man never ])e hung any more. Hung! 
 I should think he would be too, — let alone the press- 
 man that he murdered in cold blood!" 
 
 "A fight with a press-gang, I suppose?" said the 
 stranger. "Is the press hot on this coast now?" 
 
 "Pretty middling for that, sir," returned the coach- 
 man, looking round at the man by his side. "This 
 were a rescue like. And tliis here Garstang goes with 
 one of them murderous lifo-])rescrvers, and smashes the 
 man's skull to bits, as cool and clean as a butcher fells 
 an ox. Not that I hold altogether with pressing," 
 added the coachman, reflectively. "Though they do 
 say that tliey never meddles Avitli none but seafaring 
 folks; and men as is born to go to sea, ought to go to 
 sea — didn't tliey, sir?" said Jeliu, Hanking the near 
 leafier, as lie turned a street corner, and brought 
 the coach u]) cheerily to tlie door of the "Artingale 
 Arms." 
 
 The conversation on the roof of the Silchester and 
 Ijillmouth IIighfly(!r Avas a fair sjiecimen of that whicli 
 was going on wlicrever two men met in liilhiiouth, or 
 in the noiglibouring market-town of Hilliroril. The 
 rustic mind, to wliich all powers and j)riiRi|Kili(ies, law, 
 majesty, and authority, were represented and incarnated 
 in the white-headed and blue-coated person of the Earl 
 of Linacre, jumj)efl at once, Avithout any trouble of
 
 MR. SLIGO AT BILLMOUTII. 203 
 
 questioning, to the conclusion that a man, — after all 
 scarcely more than any other one of the farmers on 
 the Earl's estate, — who had been the cause, (it Avas 
 assumed as a matter of course that lie had been the 
 cause) of bringing the heir of Linacre to a premature 
 and violent death , must in the nature of things , and 
 as stood to reason, be himg for it. It was this ill- 
 doing, far more tlian that of having killed a press- 
 gang man, which seemed to Billmoutli and its neigh- 
 bourhood to demand and ensure the punishment of the 
 guilty one. 
 
 Then the peculiarities, which were understood to 
 mark the family at the (i range, — the suspicious dislike 
 with which they were looked on in the neighbourhood, 
 — the general notion that they were all of them more 
 or less mad, made it seem to the popular mind of half 
 a century ago a right and desirable thing upon the 
 whole, that one of this uncanuy race should be knocked 
 on the head as soon as the law got a cliance of doing 
 so. Very far from the prevalent notion of the present 
 day, tluit sucli unsoundness of mind ought to be a 
 reason for not holding those so afflicted as responsible 
 for their actions, the popular feeling of that day regarded 
 a mad man very much in the same light in which it 
 regarded a mad dog, — as a public nuisance, an unsafe 
 animal, whom it was desirable to get rid of at the 
 earliest opportunity. Probaldy not an individual cuuUl 
 be found in Billmouth from the Rev. Dr. Potter, who 
 committed him, to the tattei'domalion hanger-on about 
 the stables of the "Artiugale Arms," who did not regard 
 it as a foregone conclusion that George Garstang would 
 be hung. 
 
 Mr. Sligt) arrived in Billmouth on (lie Saturday ac-
 
 204 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 cording- to liis purpose, aud very soon made himself 
 fully aware of the general attitude of the public mind 
 respecting his client. Nor did he consider this to he 
 altogether an indifferent matter as regarded the upshot. 
 It was true that the jury would not be selected from 
 among the inhabitants of Billmouth, and of course Mr. 
 Sligo did not imagine that any power or influence of 
 the Earl of Linacre would or could be exerted to bring 
 about his client's conviction and capital punishment. 
 But popular feeling propagates itself. And besides, 
 thii? general tone of the public mind rendered the 
 chances that Mr. Sligo might succeed in picking up, or 
 moulding and shaping a little, some scraps of evidence 
 that might be of assistance to him, very much smaller. 
 When Mr. Sligo sat down in tlie coffee-room of the 
 "Artingale Arms" to his "mutton chop, sir, beefsteak, 
 sir?" and j)int of sherry, at five o'clock, and thought 
 over the result of his day's work, he shook his head 
 with an expression that boded no comfort to the family 
 at the f! range. 
 
 Still Mr. Sligo had the conviction in his own mind 
 that his client was not, in fact, guilty of murder, and 
 would not be convicted of being so, if evidence could 
 be found to prove the real truth as to every one of the 
 circinnstances as it liad really occurred. lie liad had 
 an interview with his client in prison, since tliat meet- 
 ing with bio brother wliich has been described; had 
 found George a much pleasantcr fellow in all respects 
 than his elder lirotlicr, des]tite tlic circumstances under 
 wliicli the lawyer made his acquaintance; a man of 
 much more practical sense, as Mr. Sligo phrased it, 
 and at the same time mudi easier to see to the bottom 
 of tlian Mr. AVilfrod fJarstang. And tlie result of this
 
 MR. SLIGO AT BILLMOUTII. 205 
 
 interview had been a conviction on the part of the 
 lawyer that George had been not only wholly free from 
 any murderous intention at the moment of entering 
 into the fray with the press-gang men, but really and 
 totally forgetful at the moment of striking, of the nature 
 of tlie weapon he had in his hand. 
 
 But how to obtain evidence of this? How to prove 
 even the unpremeditated and sudden nature of the 
 meeting Avith the press-gang? 
 
 Mr. Sligo had, at a very early stage of his in- 
 f^uiries, ascertained that it was all utter falsehood and 
 nonsense about George having been the means of lead- 
 ing Lord Saltash into the scrape. He had discovered 
 that the reverse was, in fact, the case; and had formed 
 a very shrewd opinion of the nature of the interest that 
 had urged Lord Saltash to attempt the rescue of Ned 
 Baldock, the carpenter's son. 
 
 But might not the whole of this story appear to the 
 eyes of the jury to make it all the more likely that the 
 attack on the press party had been a planned thing, 
 and not an unexpected and sudden one? But for the 
 unlucky fatality of Lord Saltash's deatli! 
 
 Thinking over the matter, Mr. Sligo determined 
 that, as soon as he had iinished his dinner and his 
 pint of sherry, he would walk down to the East Rock 
 Cottage and try to see Lucy Baldock. He had already 
 .ascertained tliat her brother liad either really left (he 
 country, or was in hiding and pretending (o lia\c doiic 
 so. And he did not expect to find a very willing Avit- 
 ness in the sister. He decided, however, on seeking 
 her out, and seeing wliat he could make of her. 
 
 He iound tlic old .ship's carpenter sitting very dis- 
 consolately smoking his pipe on the beach at the foot
 
 206 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 of the rock, which gave his cottage its name. It was 
 much duller, "rocfror nana Qua noXvxIfXoiG^oto Qa- 
 Xaaavjg ,'''' in that fashion than going to the parlour of 
 the "Jolly Fisherman," as had been his wont of an 
 evening before the late terrible occurrence. But he 
 had been too closely concerned with the tragedy to 
 make it, at all events as yet, agreeable for the old man 
 to meet the Avorld in the public-house parlour. So he 
 kept himself to his cottage, and smoked his evening 
 pipe in the solitude of tlic beach immediately beneath 
 his own door. 
 
 "Mr. Baldock, I presume? Good evening, sir," said 
 the lawyer, with all the insinuating politeness he was 
 master of. "This is your cottage, I presume? Lovely 
 spot, upon my word; really worth a stranger's while to 
 walk out to the East Rock to see. But the truth is, 
 Mr. Baldock," continued Sligo, coming close up to the 
 old man and speaking confidentially — "the truth is 
 that I came here on a small matter of business; nothing 
 disagreeable — at least, not to the inmates of this cliarm- 
 ing cottage. Can I speak a few words with Miss Bal- 
 dock?" 
 
 Old Baldock eyed his visitor attentively for a 
 minute or so without speaking and without taking his 
 pipe from his mouth, before he replied. 
 
 "You're a asking for Lucy Baldock — that's my 
 (laughter. INFay I ax, sir, what is your business with 
 lier? I am her father." 
 
 "Certainly, Mr. Baldock. There can be no secrets 
 between you and me in the matter, you know," said 
 Sligo, in a tone that seemed to imply that, Avhatcver 
 mystery and deceitfulncss all the rest of the world 
 might practise towards each other, the very nature of
 
 MR. SLIGO AT BILLMOUTH. 207 
 
 thiugs made it evident on the foce of the matter that 
 nothing save the closest and most unlimited conti- 
 dence could have place between him (Sligo) and Mr. 
 Baldock. 
 
 "And what matter might it he as you was a speak- 
 ing of, sir? No offence meant, sir," said the old man 
 sloAvly and cautiously. 
 
 "And none taken. TMiat offence can there be? 
 Look here, Mr. Baldock, between you and me, I am 
 here about this unhappy business that all the town is 
 talking of, and in which it really seems as if no party 
 was much to blame. I am here on behalf of the un- 
 fortunate young man that struck the fatal blow; with 
 no 'more intention, bless you, of doing the man a 
 serious mischief, than you have of doing me a miscliief 
 this minute; and I want to find out what your daughter 
 can say about it. Tliat is all." 
 
 "Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I don't think it's 
 much that Lucy can tell you about it. Woman like, 
 you know, sir, she were so scared, that scarcely, as a 
 body may say, she didn't have her right senses about 
 her like. I don't know as there's much good to be got 
 with carpeting her about it." 
 
 "But you see, my friend, she was present when the 
 unlucky blow was struck. There is no doubt at all 
 about tliat: so tliat she is safe to be called into court, 
 let it go liow it may. And if slie don't go for me — 
 that is, for the defence — she Avill be called for the 
 prosecution. Now, you can judge for yourself whicli 
 she would find the most disagreeable — to go into court 
 to help to swear a man's life away, or to a|)i)ear there 
 for the purpose of helping to save it. There can be 
 no doubt about that, I think?"
 
 208 THE CtArstangs of garstang grange. 
 
 "And can t'otliers — them as is for hanging the 
 hid — force my girl to go to the court, if so be that she 
 has no mind to?" said the ohl fellow. 
 
 "Ay, to be sure they can. And so could I, on my 
 side, force her to come into court. She must go if she 
 is called. But I should like better to arrange it all 
 witli her in a friendly way — much better. It is a dis- 
 agreeable thing, you see, Mr. Baldock, to be called 
 into court as a witness against your will. You must 
 go. And then you are badgered and bothered by the 
 lawyers till you don't know whether you are standing 
 on yoxiY head or your heels. But if you are called by 
 those that are on your own side, and the matter has 
 been arranged beforehand, then it all passes easy and 
 pleasant enough. That is what I have come here for 
 this evening. Sluill 1 step up to the cottage, and see 
 if I can find Miss Baldock?" 
 
 "Ay, you can do thatj, sir, if you please, and wel- 
 come. The door is open. But I'm thinking you'll find 
 she ha'n't got much to tell." 
 
 Sligo was all the better pleased to get an oppor- 
 tunity of thus speaking to the girl alone, and springing 
 up the steep little path which led from the beach to the 
 cottage door, he put his hand on tlic latch, and at once 
 found Lucy in the kitchen, making ready her father's 
 siij)j)er. 
 
 She started at the entrance of the stranger, but after 
 a few seconds made liim a courtesy, and awaited his 
 statement of his business tliere. 
 
 "I saw your father on the beach, Miss Baldock; lie 
 told me I sliould find y<»n here. I daresay you can 
 guess what my crnmd is. I am a lawyer, and I am 
 come to in<|iiir(', alioiit tliat iiiilortiiuatc all'air at the foot
 
 MR. SLIGO AT BILLMOUXri. 209 
 
 of the Garstang Cliff. But I am not on the side of the 
 prosecution, you must understand. I am employed by 
 Mr. Wilfred Garstang to defend his brother. He had 
 no more intention to commit a murder than you had, 
 Miss Baldock; and we must see what we can do to 
 bring him off'. I am sure you would wish to help in 
 that." 
 
 "Indeed, I would, sir, if I could. But what can I 
 say? They know that I saw him give the blow that 
 killed the man." 
 
 "Yes, that is well known. So that you arc sure to 
 be called into court by them if you are not called by 
 our side, you see. And as I Avas telling yonr father, it 
 is a deal less unpleasant to be called by the lawyers 
 on your own side, than by the others." 
 
 "But Avhat can I say, sir? How can I tell 'em that 
 it wasn't he as struck the man, sir?" said Lucy, sorely 
 distressed. 
 
 "You cannot say so, and it would be no good if 
 you could. There is plenty of evidence that George 
 Garstang struck the fatal blow. There will be no at- 
 tempt to deny it. But that don't make murder, Miss 
 Baldock. The question is whether what Garstang did 
 comes to murder or not. We must try to show that it 
 does not. Now, whether the blow that killed the man 
 Barnes was murder or not, — whether George Garstang 
 will be hanged for it or not, depends. Miss Baldock, 
 on this, mark me; — whether, when he struck the man, 
 it was done all of a sudden, so ([uick, that he had not 
 time to think whether what he was doing was likely 
 to kill ;i man or not; or whether he had it in his mind 
 before that he was going to have a fight with the press- 
 
 Tlie Gatsianga. 1. 1 i
 
 210 THE GAESTANGS OF GARSTANG GllAlSGE. 
 
 gang, and had the stick ready in his hand for the pur- 
 pose. Do you understand Avhat I mean?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I understand that. I knew that much 
 from what I heard the clerk to the magistrates say." 
 
 "Very good. Well now, what can you tell us, Miss 
 Baldock, on that point? Do you know whether George 
 Garstang and poor Lord Saltash had any reason to ex- 
 pect that they should fall in with the press-gang trying 
 to take your brother when and where they did?" 
 
 Lucy pressed the corner of her apron to her eyes, 
 and stilled a little sob, before she answered. 
 
 "Expect it, sir; for certain sure they could not ex- 
 pect any such thing? How could they? Them kind of 
 ])eople — the press people, I mean — don't tell folk be- 
 forehand what they are going to do." 
 
 "Very ti-ue, Miss Baldock; and very Avell observed. 
 And I suppose you had no expectation of seeing either 
 of the two gentlemen just at that time, and at that 
 place?" 
 
 The lawyer S])oke this rather rapidly, and with 
 apparent carelessness, turning his eyes aAvay from the 
 object of his questioning. The fact was, he feared that 
 IVIiss Lucy might have expected to see one or both of 
 the gentlemen in question that evening. And, though 
 the expectation of such a meeting would, in fact, have 
 had nothing to do with the affray with the men of the 
 ]»ress-gang, still, on the trial, the circumstance of their 
 being exjtected on tlie spot would have been likely to 
 operate unfavourably. 
 
 But Lucy answered evidently Avithout any shadow 
 of concealment in her mind. 
 
 "No expectation at all, sir; I did not expect to be 
 there myself an hour before. And 1 did not know
 
 MR. SLIGO AT BILLMOUTH. 211 
 
 from Adam," said j^oor Lucy, with a confusion of 
 language, the result, probably, of her emotion, "where 
 his lordship or Mr. Garstang was that evening. And I 
 am sure they did not know where I was." 
 
 "And when they did come in sight, the whole 
 thing passed very quickly, I suppose?" 
 
 "Bless you, sir, it was all over before as one could 
 say Jack Eobinson. It was like a flash of lightning. 
 It was just two turns of his wrist like — Mr. Garstang's, 
 I mean, — that knocked the two men down; and- — his 
 lordship — (sob) — was shot in the same moment." 
 
 "Very good, that is just Avhat we want; that is 
 what yoii must tell the jury on the trial. And there 
 is no difficulty in telling the plain truth, is there? 
 But there is one other point that perhaps you could 
 help us on. Perhaps it is within your knowledge. 
 Miss Baldock, that tlie stick, which George Garstang 
 had in his hand on that occasion belonged to Lord 
 Saltash, and not to him?" 
 
 "I know that the stick belonged to Lord Saltash," 
 said Lucy dropping her eyes to tlie ground. 
 
 "And perhaps you can tell that Garstang had 
 never seen it before that night?" 
 
 "I can't say that, sir; I know nothins; about that! 
 How should I?" 
 
 "But you have no reason for thinking that he had 
 ever seen the stick before, eh?" 
 
 "No, sir, I have no reason to think so, I know no- 
 thing about that." 
 
 "Very good; quite certain that tlic meeting was 
 altogether unexpected, and have every reason to be- 
 lieve that Mr. Garstang had never seen the stick be- 
 fore." 
 
 11*
 
 212 THE OARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. ' 
 
 "Please sir, I said I had no reason to believe any- 
 thing about it," said clear-minded Lucy. 
 
 "Yes, yes; no reason to think he had ever seen it 
 before, very good; it is all the same thing. Many 
 thanks, Miss Baldock, for tlie help you have given mo, 
 I shall probably ha^^e to ask you to give me another 
 half-hour one of these days before the trial comes on; 
 now I think I need not trouble yoii any further. I 
 wish you good evening. Miss Baldock, you have a 
 charming cottage here; good evening." 
 
 He had already reached the door, and had his hand 
 on the latch, when Lucy who had been striving to 
 bring her courage to the point, wliile Mr. Sligo liad 
 been speaking his salutations, said with much hesita- 
 tion, — 
 
 "If you please, sir, " 
 
 "Yes, Miss. Anytliing further occur to yoiir mind, 
 speak freely; all among friends, you know." 
 
 "Please sir, of course, sir, you know best; Init, 
 
 please sir, they do say that a deal depends 
 
 upon whether Mr. George knowed the use of that there 
 
 stick; whether he knowed liow easy it might give 
 
 a man his death?" 
 
 "Certainly, my dear young lady, (|uite right; it 
 may be said all to dej)end on that. If we can prove 
 in any way that tlic prisoner was wholly unaware of 
 the deadly nature of the weapon he tlicn had in his 
 hand for the lirst time, we shall liave a good chance 
 to bring liim oft." 
 
 "But, plea.se sir," returned Lucy looking down on 
 the ground, and droj)ping her voice to ;i whisper, "I 
 a)n n^rnid h(^ r/»V/ loiow."'
 
 MR. SLIGO AT BILLMOUTII. 213 
 
 "Why should you think that, my good girl?" Scaid 
 Sligo almost sharply, aud looking at her keenly. 
 
 "Please sir, — because — Miss Patience, that's his 
 sister, please sir, — Miss Patience, she was following 
 her brother, a spying of him, as one may say, at the 
 time he took the stick out of Lord Saltash's hand; and 
 she overheard him say that it was a stick as he could 
 give any man his death with at one blow." 
 
 Sligo almost groaned with vexation and provoca- 
 tion. 
 
 "Indeed," said he, "and pray when did you hear 
 that?" 
 
 "Please sir. Miss Patience told me, and please sir, 
 — I should not have taken tlie liberty, sir, of mention- 
 ing it to you, if it wasn't that I am afraid, that if she 
 said that to me, she might repeat it to other folks. 
 And if that was to be known — " 
 
 Mr. Sligo cast a quick glance of admiring appro- 
 bation on Lucy's downcast and blushing face. A 
 [tretty sort of baggage Miss Patience must be, he 
 thought to himself. Not content with making up her 
 mind to swear away her brother's life in court, she 
 goes gadding about to make sure work of it. 
 
 "I am extremely obliged to you for the hint, my 
 dear Miss Baldock. It is most necessary to be attended 
 to. It is highly improper of Miss Garstang to go 
 spreading about re})orts of the kind — incofrect reports 
 too, as I happen to know. AVliat she overheard im- 
 perfectly had, in fact, just the contrary sense. I must 
 see Miss Patience. And I am very much obliged to 
 you, my dear. Of course, with your good sense, you 
 will understand that the foolish words of IMiss Patience 
 to you should not be repeated to any other persons."
 
 214 THE GARSTANGS OF OARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Oil, sir! of course I know that. I slioiild not 
 think of speaking- of it, only I thought that it was best 
 that you should know." 
 
 "Quite so, my dear, quite so. You have done 
 quite right, and I am very much obliged to you. I 
 must see this Miss Patience. If all people had your 
 sense, my dear young lady, we should put this un- 
 happy business straight. But as it is, upon my word 
 I do not know what to say to it. Good evening. Miss 
 Baldock." 
 
 And so saying the lawyer lifted the latch, and left 
 East llock Cottage, making up his mind, as he did so, 
 to go at once to the Grange and see Miss Patience 
 that evening. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Sligo visits the Grange. 
 
 Mr. SLKiO did see I'ationce Garstang that same 
 evening. And it so happened that his visit was 
 timed very opportunely for his purpose of seeing her 
 alone. 
 
 It was nearly nine o'clock before the lawyer reached 
 the top of the Ijleak clifl' on wliicli tlie Grange stood; 
 and the old peo])le had already gone to bed. "Gone 
 to their rest" would be an eu])hcmism scarcely appli- 
 cable to the case in (juostion; for the long nights,— so 
 long bccau.se the evening hours j)assed in the old arm- 
 chairs had already lasted till they were woll-nigh in- 
 toleraldy tedious, — were I'm- from hoing altogetlier 
 periods of re])osc to the old man, whose habits of 
 sleep-walking seemed to grow upon him, or to the
 
 MR. SLIGO VISITS THE GRANGE. 215 
 
 prematurely old wife, wliose nights were broken by 
 watching him. Tliey had gone, as soon as the day 
 was over, to their chamber; and Wilfred was standing 
 witli his slioulder against the corner of the porch, 
 looking out over the wide expanse of moonlit sea, 
 when Mr. Sligo came up the zigzag path from the 
 beach. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Garstang," said the lawyer; 
 "perhaps you had heard that I was in Billmouth? 
 Arrived this morning." 
 
 "I thought it likely you might be, sir; but I hear 
 little of the news of the town." 
 
 "You are too much above it, eh?" said the lawyer, 
 with a laugh at his own facetiousness. " Magnificent 
 spot — very fine situation you have, upon my word. 
 Kather exposed in winter perhaps?" 
 
 "Yes, the Grange gets whatever storm there is 
 blowing; but it has stood against all the storm could 
 do for many a day," replied Wilfred, Avith a melan- 
 choly meaning in his words, not unmixed with a sort 
 of mournful pride in the antiquity and stability of the 
 old grey ancestral walls that had weathered so many 
 a tempest, and that seemed to his fancy to be sym- 
 bolical of the fortunes of the race which had built ami 
 dwelt in them for so many generations. "Have you 
 been able, Mr. Sligo, to learn anytliing during tlie day 
 of any moment?" he added, forcing his mind apparently 
 with difficulty from the contemplation of the prospect 
 he had been gazing on. 
 
 "Not much, Mr. Garstang. And honestly, I do 
 not like what I have seen and lieanl. 'I'he general 
 feeling is against us — very unreasonably so, it seems
 
 216 THE GAKSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE, 
 
 to me, and to a degree which one hardly knows how 
 to account for " 
 
 "We Garstanf!;s are not a popular family, I am 
 afraid," said Wilfred bitterly. 
 
 "I am sure I have heard nothing to justify any 
 feeling of the sort, Mr. Garstang," said the lawyer not 
 quite truthfully; unless, indeed, the accuracy of his 
 assertion could be based on a rigorously accurate 
 acceptation of the Avord "justify." "But you Avill say," 
 he went on luirriedly, "that that has nothing to do 
 with the matter in hand. And of course it ought to 
 have nothing to do with it. Rut such is not quite the 
 case. A prejudice of the kind does do mischief. How- 
 ever, I have ascertained that one princij)al witness is 
 thoroughly friendly, — the girl Baklock, who was pre- 
 sent at the occurrence." 
 
 "It was to rescue her brother that tlie wh(de tiling 
 happened," returned Wilfred, witli a bitter feeling. 
 
 "Yes. It was to be anticipated certainly that she 
 would be favourable; — only there is never any know- 
 ing. I am afraid we .shall be ol)liged to subject her 
 to an examination of an unjtleasant character. But, 
 of course, I gave her no hint of that; and it did 
 not seem to have suggested itself to her mind in that 
 light." 
 
 "How do you mean? I don't see what can be .said 
 to throw blame on her in the matter." 
 
 "No, not at all, not as regards the main fact of 
 the case. But you see, Mr. Garstang, the fact is that 
 the people al)out here, and s])ccially, as I am given to 
 understand, tlic Earl of Liuacre, wlio has been bit so 
 cruelly hard by this mischance, have got it into their 
 heads tliat your brother somehow or otlicr was the
 
 MR. SLIGO VISITS THE GRANGE. 2l7 
 
 means of loading the late Lord Saltash Into this mis- 
 fortune. And in all probability this will be put for- 
 ward in a manner very disadvantageous to us at the 
 trial. Now, as you and I know perfectly well, the 
 exact reverse of this was the truth. Mr. George 
 Garstang was led to interfere between the press-gang 
 and their captive by Lord Saltash. That must be 
 shown to have been the case. How came it to pass 
 that such loan the case? What was his lordship's 
 motive? Don't you see that we may be obliged to 
 })ress certain questions on that pretty young lady down 
 at the East Rock in a manner that may not be very 
 agreeable to her?" 
 
 "Ah, yes. I see. But it would be unfair to press 
 on her too hardly. I do not the least believe, mind 
 you, Mr. Sligo, that there was anything wrong between 
 her and Lord Saltash — nothing that had gone beyond 
 a little foolish love-talk. Not that / should know any- 
 thing about it in any way — save that I judge so far 
 from what I have heard f?ill from George. But there 
 is no doubt in \\\(i world that George Avas set on to 
 rescue Ned Baldock by the wish of Lord Saltash, to 
 render a service to Lucy." 
 
 "As for 'fair' or 'unfair,' Mr. Garstang, a lawyer's 
 business is to save his client. And where it is a 
 matter of life and death , I can't tliink nuich about a 
 little more or less sparing the blushes of the prettiest 
 girl that ever stepped. At the same time, you see, it 
 won't be our cue to be down upon her on tliat jioint 
 harder than we can help-, because it would clearly do 
 us harm with the jury to bring forward anything that 
 would go against the late Lord Saltash. We must 
 show clearly that the attack on the press-gang was his
 
 218 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 doing; and, at the same time, put bis conduct in the 
 matter in a fayourable and chivalrous sort of light be- 
 fore the jury, rather than the reverse. Only as young 
 noblemen don't go aboixt the world rescuing the sons 
 of ship's-carpenters in their trouble, we must let it be 
 seen what the motive that led Lord Saltash was." 
 
 Wilfred replied only by a deep sigh, and by slowly 
 bowing his head. 
 
 "But, Mr. Garstang," continued Sligo, "I did not 
 come here to trouble you to-night -with telling you of 
 these matters, which it is my duty to see to. After 
 all, the really important point — the point on which the 
 whole matter is likely to turn — is the evidence of 
 your sister. It is a very cruel thing to think that 
 such should be the case, and yet that we should not 
 l)e sure of having that evidence all we coiild wish it 
 to be," said Mr. Sligo, striking the palm of his left 
 hand violently with the closed fist of his right hand, 
 as he spoke. "A damned cruel case, Mr. Garstang!" 
 he reiterated with much bitter feeling. "Despite all 
 the points there are against us, I think we should pull 
 through, if only Miss Garstang Avould go straight. I 
 think we shall be able to show that the whole thing 
 was altogether sudden and unforeseen. If the stick 
 used had been an ordinary one, I should have little 
 doubt of tlie result. We may get over that by show- 
 ing the prisoner's entire ignorance of such a thing, 
 and his unconsciousness of its speciality at the moment 
 of striking with it. But if your sister rc])eats the 
 words she fancies she overheard your brother utter we 
 are done. I wish, by-the-by," continued Mr. Sligo, 
 with a sudden change in the direction of his thoughts, 
 which were evidently wholly bent on making himself
 
 MR. SLIGO VISITS THE GRANGE. 219 
 
 familiar witli every aspect of his client's case — "I wish, 
 by-the-by, that the papers were not so full of those 
 stupid rumours of suspicious-looking vessels seen cruis- 
 ing oflP the coast." 
 
 ""\A^iy, what upon earth has that to do with my 
 brother's case?" asked Wilfred, much amazed. 
 
 "Ah! you don't understand these things, my dear 
 sir. Don't you see how counsel will work it? Press- 
 gang man killed! Why, there's some tempers of the 
 public mind when killing a man in a fight with a press- 
 gang would not seem much worse than killing a mad 
 dog. But put it that people are frightened out of 
 their wits with stories of Frenchmen making a descent 
 on the coast, — banks pillaged, homesteads burned, and 
 all the rest of it. Then your press-gang are gallant 
 fellows, doing their duty to their King and country, 
 and providing for the defence of our hearths and homes, 
 and all that an Englishman holds sacred. Don't you 
 see? There's nothing like a devil of a fright for 
 making folks all aglow with admiration and enthusiasm 
 for 'the gallant defenders of their country' — don't you 
 see? It all depends on this sort of thing how a jury 
 is disposed to look at a matter. If there were no fish 
 to be had in the market now, because the press-gang 
 
 had pressed all the fishermen But we must work 
 
 the 'sacred liberty of a British freeman' all we can. 
 ('an I see Wiss Patience? I think, perhaps, it would 
 be better that I should sec her alone, if you would in- 
 troduce me." 
 
 "Certainly. And I have never asked you to walk 
 in all tliis time. You must excuse me, Mr. Sligo, re- 
 membering how full my nn"nd must be of ]iaiuful 
 thoughts. My father and mother are very early in
 
 220 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 their li.ibits; they have already gone to their room. 
 There will be no difficulty in your finding Patience 
 by herself. If you will lie good enough to Avalk in , I 
 will explain to her the nature of your errand." 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Mr. Sligo aud Miss Patience. 
 
 "Now, my dear Miss Garstang," said the lawyer, 
 with an air of cheery briskness, as soon as Wilfred, 
 having told his sister, in a few words, who Mr. Sligo 
 was, and what he was there for, had left them to- 
 gether, "I am sure we shall have no difficulty at all 
 in putting this matter straight between us. I have al- 
 ways observed tliat tliero is something in the female 
 mind which specially adapts it to — the intelligence of 
 — of the matters in question. Do you not agree with 
 me that such is the case?" 
 
 Miss Patience was sitting bolt ujiright on a tall, 
 straiglit-inadc chair, in such sort that no j)ortion of her 
 person came in contact with tlie back of it. Her two 
 feet were placed parallel to each other, immediately in 
 tlie middle of the front of the chair; and her two hands 
 were crossed on her bosom. Ilcr attitude altogether 
 was very like tliat of one of tlic sitting Egyptian gods 
 at the Britisli Museum. And she eyed Mr. Sligo 
 askance with an exjiression of alarm, whicli suggested 
 tlio idea tliat nothing but tlie stony immobility of pose, 
 to wliicli she was evidently vowed, prevented her from 
 jumping up and running out of the room. 
 
 "Sir!" she said, in a scared tone, in reply to his 
 attempt at entering into conversation.
 
 MK. SLIGO AND fflSS PATIENCE. 221 
 
 "It is oue of the uufortunate circumstances of this 
 uiifoi-tuuate affair, Miss Garstang," said the hx-vvyer 
 returning to the charge somewhat thrown aback, but 
 by no means disconcerted, "that it will be impossible 
 to avoid calling you into court as a witness. It is dis- 
 tressing, but there is no help for it. For if we do not 
 call you, the other side will." 
 
 "I can but speak the truth, as the Lord shall give 
 me utterance, whichever side may call me. Neither 
 could do so without the permission of my Lord." 
 
 Now Mr. Sligo had been bored and vexed so many 
 times that day by all sorts of references to the wishes, 
 opinions, and views of Lord Linacre in the matter of 
 the coming trial, that no doubt occurred to his mind 
 that Miss Patience v.as alluding to the same object of 
 the constant thoughts and pre-occupation, as it seemed 
 to Mr. Sligo, of all the Billmouth people. So he re- 
 plied to Miss Garstang's words with just a little flavour 
 of impatience in his manner. 
 
 "Allow me to assure you, my dear lady, that no 
 such permission has anytliing on earth to do with it. 
 We do not need the permission of any lord whatsoever, 
 for the carrying on of the business of the courts in 
 this country. We shall call whatever witnesses it seems 
 good to us to call, — and our adversaries will do the 
 same without the smallest reference to the wishes of 
 Lord anybody." 
 
 Patience groaned aloud, and cast a longing glance 
 towards the door. 
 
 "I only wish to i)oint out to yon, my dear Miss 
 Garstang, that you cannot avoid aj)poaring in the court; 
 and therefore it is extremely dcsiralilo for the object 
 that we all have in view, that I should know what it
 
 222 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 is that you will be able to tell the jury when you are 
 before them." 
 
 "What can I say in the presence of the Lord God 
 of Hosts?" said Miss Patience, speaking the last words 
 Avith ringing clearness, to prevent the possibility of any 
 further misunderstanding by the reprobate worldling 
 she was speaking to. "What can I say save that which 
 He knows to be the truth?" 
 
 Mr. Sligo, who always went to morning service at 
 his parish cliurch, unless when he could turn his Sun- 
 day to professional use, as on the present occasion, and 
 who considered himself to be an orthodox and religious 
 man, was somewhat shocked at this strong-voiced use 
 by Miss Patience of words Avliich his reverential feel- 
 ing, like that of the worthy helpmate of Parson Adams, 
 would have confined within the enclosure of sacred 
 walls. But he contented himself with a deprecatory 
 bow, as he replied, — 
 
 "Exactly so, my dear lady, ex — actly so. The 
 truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as 
 the Holy Scripture tells us. Tluit is what we want, 
 llemember, my dear ma'am, what the Holy Command- 
 uient says. Thou slialt not bring false evidence against 
 thy neighbour," said Mr. Sligo, adapting his tone, as 
 he thought, with admirable and ready skill, to the 
 lady's theological style of discourse, and pardonably, 
 j)erhaps, substituting a slightly professional modified 
 reading for the original text. "And oh. Miss darstang, 
 if it is going against God's Holy Word to bring false 
 evidence against thy neighbour, think what it must be 
 to do so against thy brother." 
 
 '^I'his was said with a tone, and Avith a gesture of 
 the hand, imitated as accurately as Mr. Sligo's histrionic
 
 MR. SLIGO AND MISS PATIENCE. 223 
 
 powers would permit, from those of the Reverend yEneas 
 Thorburn, minor canon in the cathedral of Silchester, 
 as he was wont to appear in the pulpit of the little 
 parish church of St. Vitus ad Pontem, in that city, 
 which Mr. Sligo was in the habit of attending' in his 
 nun-professional character of a paterfamilias. But Mr. 
 Sligo, with a startling rapidity, became all himself 
 again, as suddenly crossing one knee over the other, 
 and looking at his companion with a shrewd sidelong 
 glance, and a near approach to something very like a 
 wink, he continued, — 
 
 "Now we happen to know. Miss Garstang, that on 
 the evening of the lamentable occurrence in question, 
 my client, Mr. George Garstang, while walking with 
 Lord Saltash, since unfortunately deceased, did, on re- 
 ceiving into his hand from that nobleman a certain 
 slight stick or walking-cane, remark thereupon, with 
 reference to certain observations which had before 
 passed between them, that such stick or walking-cane 
 was no efficient protection against any attack; ex- 
 pressing himself more particularly to the effect that 
 the said cane could not be expected to give any man 
 his quietus; that what Lord Saltash ought to carry was 
 a stick that would give such a blow that a man should 
 never need another; with other words to the same or 
 like purpose. We have further reason to believe that 
 you, by a singular chance, overheard your brother 
 speak such words. Now all that will be needed in 
 the cause of truth and justice, will be that you state 
 accurately and truthfully that you did hear him speak 
 to that effect. There is no difficuUy about that, is 
 there now?" 
 
 '"Sir," said Patience, speaking very slowly, and iu
 
 224 TnE GARSTANGS OF GRASTANG GRANGE!. 
 
 a harsh voice and mauuer, but with a look of eloquent 
 agony in her pale face, which Avould have sufficiently 
 told to any observer skilled in reading- human features, 
 how terrible was the pain inflicted on her by the para- 
 mount necessity of speaking what she knew to be the 
 truth, and by her correct knowledge of the consequences 
 of her so speaking — "Sir, you have been deceived as 
 to the sense of the words I heard my brother speak. 
 The words which I did hear with my ears, and which 
 I must perforce repeat if called upon to do so, had a 
 sense exactly the reverse of those which you have now 
 s])oken. God heard them also. Alas, alas! that they 
 should have been uttered." 
 
 "Heavens and earth, my dear madam!" exclaimed 
 the lawyer, starting to his feet, aiul standing in front 
 of Miss Patience as she sat — a picture of stony despair, 
 hardened by immovable determination, — "think of tlie 
 responsibility laid on you." 
 
 I'atiencc l)owed her head slowly. 
 
 "Tliink of the consequences of your saying to the 
 jiu'y what you liave now said to me." 
 
 Again Patience slowly bent her head, and a low 
 moan escaped from the bottom of licr cliest. 
 
 "I must not, I dare not, disguise them from you. 
 So sure as you speak those words in court, so sure will 
 your own brother, your innocent brotber, be hung on 
 the gallows as a nnirdercr." 
 
 Patience did not sink back in lier chair, so that 
 her person should be supported by the back of it, as 
 another woman would have done. But she gras])ed 
 the two sides of it with her two hands, as if to hold 
 herself bard on to the hard seal in hor stony ujiright 
 Jilgyplian i<h)l-like position, llor dry tliiu lips moved,
 
 MR. SLIGO AND MISS PATIENCE. 225 
 
 but no sound came fortli from tliem; and again she 
 bowed ber bead slowly till ber cbin rested on her 
 bosom. 
 
 "And that for a mistake, a bliinder. For the 
 words really spoken were as I have told you. Mark 
 that! Yoit will be swearing your brother's life away 
 falsely. You Avill be bringing false evidence against 
 him. Think of the uncertainty of bearing. Think 
 liow easily one may be mistaken in words heard from 
 a considerable distance. Think whether you are 
 justified in being sure, when others better informed tell 
 you that you are mistaken. Think of all this, Miss 
 Garstang; and spare yourself this agony, and this 
 shame, and this crime. For a crime, and an awful 
 one, it will be, to cause this innocent blood to be 
 shed." 
 
 "Get thee behind me, Satan!" said Miss Patience, 
 between her closed teeth, grasping her seat more con- 
 vulsively than ever, and trembling in every nerve, as 
 she glared on him with stony eyes. 
 
 It was a curious consequence of the real earnest- 
 ness with which Sligo had been speaking, — of the 
 manifest agony tliat was racking eAcry fibre in the 
 frame of the unhappy woman before him, — and of the 
 power of strong emotion to lift ordinary natures above 
 their ordinary level, that Mr. Sligo was neither 
 astonished nor dismayed at the uniisual and decidedly 
 unprofessional luiturc of Miss Garstang's address. On 
 the contrary, he i-ecognized in the likening of him to 
 the great tempter, an admission of the fact that he had 
 succeeded in at least tempting Miss I'aticnce to follow 
 whither he was striving to lead ber. And he therefore 
 redoubled bis attack. 
 
 The Qarsltmga. J. 1&
 
 y 
 
 226 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Nay, woman, I am warning you against the 
 temptation of your own obstinacy and. self-opinion," 
 said he, holding up a menacing forefinger as he spoke. 
 "Think of the sin of staking your brother's life on 
 your own infallibility. Think of having his innocent 
 blood evermore on your head. Think of what you 
 will feel when you will remember too late, that after 
 all you were not sure^ — that it was impossible to be 
 sii/re of the words that seemed to strike your ear. 
 Think, I implore you, Miss Garstang! think of all 
 this!" 
 
 Mr. Sligo paused, with denunciatory forefinger still 
 extended towards Miss Garstang's face. He had been 
 speaking with genuine earnestness, and turning all the 
 powers of his mind to the effort he was making. But 
 that did not prevent the thought from crossing his 
 mind, ■ as he paused in his oratory, that it was a 
 thousand pities tliat Providence had not called him to 
 a station in life in which addressing juries would have 
 been within the sphere of his duty. He was astonished 
 at his own eloquence. Miss Patience was obviously 
 moved by it. 
 
 "I have thought," she said at last, speaking with 
 that husky slowness, and forced movement of tlie 
 muscles around the mouth, which indicates the parched 
 dryness of tlie throat and painful difficulty of enuncia- 
 tion. "I have been thinking ever}' flay, and every 
 night, and every hour of the day and of the niglit. I 
 have thought, and tliouglit, I have tried to forget, and 
 to confuse my mind, and to blind myself; may my 
 God forgive rue! And I have sought tlie liord: but he 
 will not let me do this thing. If 1 might, oh, if so
 
 MR. SLiaO AND MISS PATIENCE. 227 
 
 be that I might! — I will seek the Lord again. May- 
 He grant me His guidance." 
 
 And Patience then and there rose, automaton-like, 
 from her chair, and turning to a further corner of 
 the room slowly kneeled down in front of a large 
 arm-chair. 
 
 To Mr. Sligo's conscious surprise, this strange con- 
 duct of the strange woman before him did not appear 
 either absurd or ludicrous. He felt awed indeed, and 
 somewhat disagreeably impressed by a consciousness 
 of the falsehood of the statement to the putting forth 
 of which the approbation of Heaven was being so 
 solemnly asked. His sensations were someAvhat akin 
 to those of the pretended necromancer, of whom the 
 story tells that, when feigning to evoke spirits from 
 the vasty deep, he was terribly taken aback by the 
 appearance of them in answer to his spells. It seemed 
 as if the game were suddenly becoming more serious 
 than he had bargained for. He was conscious of a 
 something which forbade him to gaze at the kneeling 
 Avoman mentally writhing in the agony of her struggle. 
 He turned away to the uncurtained A\indow, wliich 
 looked out on the bare esplanade between the front of 
 the house and the edge of the cliff, and over the ex- 
 panse of sea beyond. The moon was shining briglitly; 
 and he could see Wilfred slowly wnlking up and down, 
 in the moonlit space, with his arms folded in front of 
 his bosom. The house was quite still-, — absolutely 
 dead silence, save for the ticking of a clock, which 
 Sligo had not observed before, and Avhicli seemed to 
 intensify the silence, as a black spot enhances the 
 purity of a snow-white skin, weighed upon the place 
 offensively. All without was equally still and motion- 
 Id*
 
 228 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 less, save the solitary figure of "Wilfred slowly moAnng 
 pendulum-wise in bis sentiueMike walk. Sligo stood 
 by the window waiting the result of the silent struggle 
 going on in the further corner of the room, till the 
 dead silence and strangeness of the scene made him 
 feel nervously afraid of disturbing it by the sound of 
 his own breathing. 
 
 From time to time a low faint moan came from the 
 comer where the kneeling figure was wrestling with 
 her agony, then the dead silence returned; and with 
 every passing minute Mr. Sligo was becoming more 
 uncomfortably nervous, with a feeling unlike any that 
 he could remember himself to have been affected with. 
 
 Suddenly he became aware of the sound of steps 
 overhead; and started as if sucli a phenomenon had 
 been something strange, instead of the most natural 
 thing in the world. What followed, however, was 
 .strange enough. Slowly and regularly Mr. Sligo heard 
 the steps descending tlie stone-stairs. Nearer and 
 nearer they came; till the door of the large old kitchen 
 opened, and the figure of an old man in a dressing- 
 gown and nightcap Avalked into the room, and sat 
 itself down in a large arm-cliair immediately opposite 
 to the fireplace. There was nothing very remarkable, 
 it might seem, in this. Mr. Sligo knew very well that 
 fliere was an old gentleman in the house upstairs. Yet 
 flie manner of the new-comer Avas strange, and pro- 
 iluced a singular effect on tlie mind of the lawyer, 
 strung up, as it was, to a condition of unusual nervous 
 tension. 
 
 It was odd, in the first place, that the old man 
 took no sort of notice of hiin, Mr. Sligo, tliougli liis 
 presence there was ]>reviously unknown to the master
 
 MR. SLIGO AND MISS PATIENCE. 229 
 
 of the house. Neither did he seem to see the figure 
 of Miss Garstang kneeling in the corner of the room. 
 It was rather remarkable that neither did she take any 
 heed of him. But this might be accounted for, and 
 no doubt was due to the intensity with which Patience 
 was occupied by her own inward struggle. There was 
 something strange, too, in the manner of the walk and 
 the look of the figure, which had entered the room. 
 Mr. Sligo could see quite well that the old man's eyes 
 were wide open, — specially so, it seemed to him, — and 
 there was that qiieer uncanny look about them, which 
 characterizes eyes which look, but do not see. ]\Ir. 
 Sligo felt something almost resembling fear, as .he 
 stood stockstill in his place by the window, waiting for 
 what should come next. 
 
 What came next was more strange still. For after 
 a minute or two the figure rose from the chair, ad- 
 vanced to the fireplace, and began tracing letters, as it 
 seemed, with the forefinger, on the stone which formed 
 the architrave of the chimney-piece. Slowly but un- 
 iuten-uptedly the old man continued this till his finger 
 had traversed the whole length of the stone! And then 
 with a heavy sigh the figure turned, and left the room 
 as he had entered it, and re-ascended the stairs. 
 
 Of course the reader knows that what Mr. Sligo 
 saw was old Mr. Garstang walking in his sleep, and 
 can understand what the old man was doing, though 
 it was utterly unintelligible to the lawyer. lie was 
 at his old work of examining and retracing the fatal 
 inscription, which was the destiny and the doom of 
 his life. 
 
 Even as the old man turned to leave the room, 
 Patience had risen from her knees, and saw liiui as
 
 230 THE GAR8TAKGS OF GARSTAXG GRANGE. 
 
 he passed out of the door. Mr. Sligo saw that she did 
 so-, and his astonishment was increased at perceiving 
 that she testified neither sui-prise nor interest in the 
 circumstance. 
 
 "Ay, truly!" slie said, coming forward slowly, with 
 fixed eyes, and her thin long hands still held palm to 
 palm in front of her. "There it is written; and so it 
 shall be. Do you wish to know, sir, to what end all 
 the efforts you may make for the warding off the blow 
 that is about to fall on this house can tend? Read 
 there; read where the history and the fate of our 
 house is written. Then you will see what is Avritten 
 so deeply in the hearts of us all, that my poor father's 
 thoughts are occupied with it even during his hours of 
 sleep." 
 
 She beckoned to the lawyer, who advanced, not 
 Avithout a lively curiosity, towards the chimney-piece. 
 When he had come close enough to see the carved 
 letters. Patience put her finger on the first word of 
 the legend; and IVIr. Sligo read the lines in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "That was cut in stone there," said Patience, "as 
 I have heard tell, and as every Garstang knows, when 
 the mating of two cousins of our family had brought 
 aboixt a dreadful misfortune to themselves and to their 
 descendants. It was put there as a warning to the 
 generations that were to follow. Sir, the thing, against 
 which those of our family were thus warned, has, 
 nevertheless, been done again. My father, sir, married 
 his first-cousin! Judge for yourself, whether the legend 
 has not proved itself to be true. Garstang has a second 
 time mated with Garstang. And has not the curse 
 fallen?"
 
 MR. SLIGO AND MISS PATIENCE. 231 
 
 "Miss Garstang," said tlie lawyer, whose imagina- 
 tion was nevertheless a good deal more impressed by 
 the ominous words he had read than he chose to admit 
 to himself, or to allow to become apparent to her, — 
 "Miss Garstang, you will understand that I must not 
 allow myself to be deterred from doing my duty by 
 anything that people long since dead and gone have 
 thought fit to write on an old stone. If this house 
 was mine I would have that stone with its threatening 
 rhyme pulled out of the wall and tossed over the cliff 
 yonder. You Avouldn't let your brother come to gTief, 
 Miss Garstang, in order that the words cut on an old 
 stone might come true? Let us show that there is no 
 meaning nor sense in them. I hope that, now that 
 you have reflected, you will be able to remember that 
 the words spoken by your brother were to the effect I 
 have spoken of If you can bring that back to your 
 mind, all may still be well." 
 
 Patience shook her head slowly and sadly. 
 
 "Sir," she said, speaking lowly and solemnly, and 
 looking at him the while fixedly in the face, "the 
 words v.'hich I heard, I heard. They burned them- 
 selves in upon my brain, — and it cannot be that I can 
 forget them. God in heaven heard them too. He 
 knows that I heard them, as doubtless His Providence 
 sent me there to hear them. He knows that I have 
 not forgotten them. It cannot be, but that I must 
 testify to the truth. Were I to try to speak a lie my 
 tongue would refuse to utter the words." 
 
 Sligo despaired of his case. But there was one 
 other motive to which he fancied he might appeal; 
 and before throwing up the cards he determined on 
 making an experiment on the lady's fear.
 
 232 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "I am very sorry to hear you speak so, Miss Gar- 
 stang," he said; "but it is my duty to let you know 
 the real circumstances of the matter, as it stands. If 
 you do swear that you heard your brother speak, as 
 you fancy you heard him, you will in fact be commit- 
 ting perjury. "VVe have the means of knowing, as 1 
 mentioned to you, that the words Mr. George Garstang 
 spoke on the occasion in question had a very different, 
 indeed a totally contrary sense to what you imagine 
 him to have said. Now, if you go into court and com- 
 mit this perjury, painful as it may be, it will be the 
 duty of the court to order that you shall be indicted 
 and prosecuted for perjury. Do you know what that 
 means. Miss Garstang? Do you know the consequences 
 of it? And if any prosecution for perjury is terrible 
 and disgraceful, think what it would be to be convicted 
 of perjury, the object of which was the swearing away 
 of a brother's life. Think of the position in which 
 your name would stand before all the county, ay, and 
 before all England!" 
 
 Miss Patience had no suspicion that the lawyer was 
 attempting to play on her fears by vain and absurd 
 suppositions and threats. She quite believed him that 
 all that he menaced lier with would very likely happen. 
 And the consequences that he held up to her, as likely 
 to follow from her utterance of what she knew to be 
 the truth, were certainly not less appalling to her ima- 
 gination than he su}»j)oscd that they would be. But 
 all such fears and afflictions were swallowed up, as far 
 as Patience was concerned, in the far greater fear and 
 affliction which she was already facing. If I'aticncc 
 could not bring herself to prevaricate with the truth 
 for the sake of saving her brother from a felon's death,
 
 MR. SLIGO AND MISS PATIENCE. 233 
 
 it was little likely that she could be moved to do so 
 by personal fears, however terrible. Besides, the laAvyer 
 had made a mistake. He had misjudged the iiature of 
 the person against whom he was striving. Miss Pa- 
 tience was not of those, who can be moved by threats 
 of personal inconvenience, when every other argument 
 is powerless to move them. 
 
 "And you suppose, sir," she said, with more of 
 wonder than of anger in her face and manner, "you 
 can really suppose that I Avould do what I cannot do 
 to save my brother, in order to save myself from suffer- 
 ing. I do not know what the law and the lawyers 
 can do to me if they think that I swear falsely; but 
 this I know, that if they were to order me to be taken 
 out of the court, and burned at the stake in the High 
 Street, it would be less dreadful to me than the having 
 to speak the words which I must speak. How willingly 
 would I go to such a stake, if so I might save my 
 brother." 
 
 "Then my client is lost. There is no hope for 
 him — no mercy. Miss Garstang," said Mr. Sligo, linger- 
 ingly, as he was turning to leave her. 
 
 "If I am not called to the court, and not asked to 
 tell what I know, then will I remain Avithin these 
 walls, and speak to no man aught; but, if I speak, it 
 is God's will that I speak the truth. God's will be 
 done." 
 
 "Then upon your head be your brother's blood!" 
 said Sligo, for the first time losing his temper, as he 
 turned away and left the room. 
 
 "I fear wc have little room to hope, Mr. Garstang," 
 he said to Wilfred, wlio was still pacing his solitary 
 walk, as he came out from tlie house. "1 cannot nxove
 
 234 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 your sister; if you can, for God's sake, do. If she 
 gives the evidence she says she will give, I tell you 
 yoitr brother is a lost man. If she remains in her 
 present mind, as 1 fear me she will, we shall not call 
 her in any case. It would be simply suicidal. But 
 there is very little hope but what the other side will 
 do so. Good-night, Mr. Garstang, good-night. Of course 
 if there is any hojje that your sister may be brought to 
 relent, you will let me kuoM- at once. Good-night." 
 
 And the lawyer walked down the steep path to his 
 room in the "Artingale Arms," quite persuaded that 
 his client George Garstang would be hung for murder, 
 and meditating much on the general strangeness of the 
 people into the midst of whom he had been brought by 
 the recommendation of the prisoner, George Garstang, 
 to the firm of Slowcomb and Sligo. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The Trial. 
 
 The next event that occurred to break the ordinary 
 monotony of the lives of the good people of Billmouth, 
 after the committal of George Garstang to take his 
 trial for wilful murder, was the funeral of Lord Saltash. 
 It was an event M'hich enlisted the sympathies of a 
 larger world than that (jf Billmouth. The last remain- 
 ing direct heir of tlie Earldom of Li nacre could not be 
 tlius prematurely stricken down by dealh, and that in 
 such a manner, witiiout exciting a very wide-spread 
 interest tliroughout the county. Very great pity was 
 felt for the old Earl; for it was well known how bitter 
 to liim the blow must be. Of course the terrible event
 
 THE TRIAL. 235 
 
 was commented on, and the facts of the case narrated 
 in various fashions. But all seemed to agree that the 
 misfortune had arisen from the young man's regi"et- 
 table intimacy Avith the son of his jFather's yeoman 
 tenant. 
 
 Of course, also, the circumstances caused the Gar- 
 stangs and their peculiarities to be talked of more 
 widely than they had ever been before. There was 
 just the degree of mystery and strangeness hanging 
 about them which invites rumour and gossip to magnify 
 it. All sorts of stories were told and listened to. The 
 public mind was disposed to believe that the family at 
 the Grange were one and all monsters capable of every 
 kind of terrible wickedness, and to picture to itself the 
 grim, old, forbidding-looking house on the bleak cliff, 
 as concealing Avithin its sombre walls whole melodramas 
 of dimly-imagined horrors. 
 
 "Yes, there can be no doubt about it," said Mr. 
 Slowcomb to his partner, Avho had been remarking on 
 the disadvantage under Avhich his client laboured in 
 consequence of this state of the public feeling-, "the 
 general feeling is not without influence in such matters. 
 But between you and me, Sligo, the fellow would be 
 hung in any case; and he fully deserves it. If ever 
 there was a case of murder, this is one. A fellow who 
 boasts, not five minutes before he knocks a man's 
 brains out, that one blow of the stick in his hand 
 would be enough to kill any man " 
 
 "But a blot is no blot till it is hit, sir; and if it 
 wasn't for that madwoman of a sister of his, I believe 
 he would have got off. Did you ever hear such a 
 thing in your life?" 
 
 "I believe all those Garstangs are as mad as March
 
 236 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 hares," said Mr. Slowcomb in reply. "It is e"\'er so 
 many years since I have heard the name mentioned; 
 hut I remember very well hearing my old friend Dr. 
 Blackwood, of the Vinery near Billiford in that part of 
 the country, speaking of these Garstangs as a remark- 
 able instance of family peculiarities inherited from 
 generation to generation. I believe the simple truth 
 to be that they are all more or less mad. The pity is 
 that this poor Lord Saltash should have ever had any- 
 thing to say to such a lot." 
 
 "But you know, sir, it is all stuff and nonsense 
 talking abotit Saltash having been led into the mischief 
 by Garstang. The truth is that the exact reverse was 
 the case," said Mr. Sligo. 
 
 "How do I, or how do you, Sligo, know anything 
 of the kind? Pretty girl in the case. Humph! Why 
 was not Garstang just as likely, — more likely for that 
 matter — to be interested in her then Lord Saltash? 
 You say you found her very anxious to give the jtri- 
 soner a helping hand. Besides, Garstang was evidently 
 foremost in the fray. It is hardly likely that he wouhl 
 be in such a desperate hurry in another man's quarrel." 
 
 "I believe it was so, nevertheless," replied Mr. 
 Sligo; "and I am very much of o])inion that he will 
 swing for it. We shall see. I liave done my best." 
 
 "Yes, indeed. You have been like a fish in water, 
 Sligo. Did you hear anytliing about the Earl when 
 you were down (hero?" asked Mr. Slowcomb. 
 
 "What, liord Liiiacre? Only that he was dread- 
 fully cut up — dreadfully; and that he is very bitter 
 against my client. 1 can hardly wonder at it. They 
 say that he has a parliciilar aversion to the man who 
 succeeds to the title and the projjcrty."
 
 THE TRIAL. 237 
 
 Then tliey talk of what they know nothing about, 
 as they very generally do," said Mr. Slowcomb, comr 
 placently swinging his watch-chain and seals. 
 
 "Why, do you know the man who is the next 
 heir?" asked the younger partner. 
 
 "No man is the next heir," said Mr. Slowcomb, 
 dogmatically. 
 
 "I profess, I do not understand you, sir," said Mr. 
 Sligo, supposing that his senior was perpetrating some 
 legal joke, as he Avould occasionally do with elephantine 
 playfulness, and rather cross that Mr. Slowcomb sliould 
 mean something Avhich he, Sligo, did not at once com- 
 prehend. "I presume the Earldom is not extinct, and 
 the estates are not likely to be swallowed up by the 
 sea." 
 
 "Neither of those contingencies is at all likely to 
 happen, as far as I am aware, Mr. Sligo," said Slow- 
 comb, much enjoying liis partner's discomfiture; "but 
 you must permit nie to observe, that if you had uiade 
 the law and history of England as bearing on the 
 great subject of the descent of real property an object 
 of deeper and more prolonged study, you would have 
 been aware not only that a third contingency was pos- 
 sible , but that such third contingency actually occurs 
 in the case under consideration, Mr. Sligo." 
 
 Mr. Slowcomb Avas enjoying himself with great 
 gusto, and Mr. Sligo knew that such Avas the case, and 
 felt that it was at his expense. 
 
 "The 'great subject' you speak of, sir, seems to 
 me very like a conundrum. With all respect for the 
 law and history of England , I give it up," said Mr. 
 Sligo, with a sneer. 
 
 "Aha! You give it up? A'^ery good. That's what
 
 238 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 many another before you has had to do, Sligo. Well 
 then, no man is heir to the Earldom and estates of 
 Linacre because a woman is. Ha! ha! ha! You see it 
 now, Sligo?" 
 
 "A woman heir to the Earldom?" exclaimed Mr. 
 Sligo. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Sligo, a woman. The Earl has a daughter, 
 I believe. That daughter inherits both the title and 
 the property." 
 
 "A daughter inherit the earldom?" exclaimed Sligo; 
 "who ever lieard of such a thing?" 
 
 "Many people have never heard of it, my dear 
 Sligo-, but the fact exists none the less. It is not al- 
 together peculiar to tlie liouse of Linacre." 
 
 "The present Earl's daughter then Avill become, at 
 her father's death. Countess of Linacre?" said Sligo, 
 lialf incredulously. 
 
 "Not Countess, Sligo, but Baroness. The Earldom 
 will be in abeyance. The older barony descends in 
 the female line. There are two or three other families 
 in whicli a similar thing occurs." 
 
 "Well, I fancy that your statement, I\rr. Slowconib, 
 would be as much news to most of the folks do^sn at 
 Billmouth as it is to me. Everybody there talks a))Out 
 the death of this poor Lord Saltash as leaving the old 
 Earl without any heir of his body. Thoy all think 
 that a distant cousin, a man specially objectionable to 
 the Earl, they say, comes in." 
 
 "Yes, I know; Mr. Bentham Linacre of the Inner 
 Temple. / know all about it. And so does he, I'll 
 undertake to say. But I should not wonder a bit if 
 tho. Earl knew nothing about it, or had forgotten it all, 
 if he ever knew. Naturally enough nobody else down
 
 THE TRIAL. 239 
 
 there knows anything about it. Who is there likely to 
 know anything about such a matter? There is one 
 man, by-the-by, who knows the facts of the case, I'll 
 be bound; my old friend ]\Ir. Farland of Farlandstoke. 
 But I dare say there is not another man in all the 
 north of Sillshire, Avho has ever heard of the facts. 
 There is no mistake about it, however. By the death 
 of Lord Saltash, the Lady Julietta becomes the heir to 
 the barony and estates of Linacre." 
 
 "For all that, the old Earl, by all accoiiuts, is none 
 the less bitter against my unfortunate client; and that, 
 too, will not fail to tell against him to a certain de- 
 gree. The Earl is a popular man in the county." 
 
 "Yes, and deserves to be so," said Mr. Slowcomb. 
 "I do not think that he is one who would wish to bear 
 unfaii'ly hard on a man on his trial for his life. Any 
 way you have done all you can, Sligo, as I said be- 
 fore; and we must leave the issue to the jury." 
 
 Mr. Sligo understood that his senior partner con- 
 sidered the subject to have been sufficiently discussed 
 between them, and sauntered out into his own room. 
 
 . Mr. Sligo did not usually saunter. He was gener- 
 ally brisk and rapid in his movements. But the fact 
 was, that, to his own surprise, he was nervous and 
 anxious about the issue of the trial, which was now 
 near at hand. Country life and practice had quite de- 
 moralized him, he said. In old days, at the Old Bailey, 
 he had defended prisoners unsuccessfully as well as 
 often successfully, and had seen them taken from the 
 dock under coudonmation to death, all in the way of 
 business, without being uncomfortably moved by it. 
 But now he was made nervous and unfit for his ordi- 
 nary work by his anxiety as to the issue of the trial
 
 240 THE GARSTANGS OF GAKSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 of George Garstaug. One difference perhaps was that, 
 at the Old Bailey, nobody beyoud the precincts of the 
 court was troubling their liead about the matter. When 
 the lawyer W3nt home after tlie work of the day, he 
 went away into a world which knew nothing and cared 
 nothing about the life-aud-death battle that had been 
 fought out in that murky court amid the crash and 
 roar of London streets. But here, in quiet Silchester, 
 everybody was full of interest about the great trial for 
 murder. There was no getting away from the subject. 
 The whole city, almost the whole county, was in the 
 boxes, and Mr. Sligo was one of the performers on the 
 stage. And he could not prevent liimself from feeling 
 restlessly nervous. 
 
 Everything had been done that could be done, as 
 Mr. Slowcomb had said; and as Mr. Sligo repeated to 
 himself again and again. It had been finally deter- 
 mined not to call Patience Garstang for the defence. 
 Sir Vispy Gibbons, consulted upon this point, liad fully 
 concurred in the opinion Mr. Sligo had so frequently 
 expressed, that the evidence as to the words she had 
 overheard, whicli there was every reason to believe that 
 Miss Patience Avould give, would be absolutely and 
 undoubtedly fatal. But Mr. SUgo knew very well that 
 Miss Garstang wouhl assuredly be called for the 
 prosecution. Tlie fact of lier presence within sight 
 and hearing of the fatal fray Avas known to several 
 jjcrsons at Bilbuuuth. And even if Lucy Baldock 
 should be so firmly reticent as to avoid all mention of 
 her, the leader of the press-gang would of course have 
 stated the circumstance. It liad not been nionfioned, 
 rallier strangely, before the magistrates at the time of 
 the prisoner's committal. But the more searching iu-
 
 THE TRIAL. 2il 
 
 quiries of young Mr. Borer would not have failed to 
 elicit the fact. 
 
 Even in the absence of any evidence to those fatal 
 words spoken by George Garstang witli reference to 
 the nature of the so-called "life-preserver," the case 
 was a very doubtful and chancy one. That the stick 
 had belonged to Lord Saltash would be shown. But 
 the evidence, to be given by Wilfred, to the effect 
 that the use of such a weapon had been absolittely 
 unknown to his brother, was not of a very cogent 
 description. 
 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Sligo, and even Sir Vispy Gibbons, 
 thought that, if Patience could be kept out of court or 
 kept silent as to the words she had overheard, the pri- 
 soner might have a fair chance. 
 
 In due time, however, the subpoena was served; 
 and on the eve of the trial Patience, accompanied by 
 her brother Wilfred, went up to Silchester. Till then 
 she had not \-isited her brother George in his prison. 
 Neither old Mr. Garstang nor his wife went to the 
 assize town. The old man was almost too far sunk in 
 the lethargy of his despair and his brooding superstition 
 to be very vividly conscious of any otlier subject of 
 thought or feeling. And Jenefy could not or would 
 not leave him. 
 
 On the evening of the day before the trial Patience 
 was taken to the prison to visit her brother. How 
 great was the suffering of that meeting can be guessed 
 only by those whose powers of sympathy are sufficiently 
 active to picture it for themselves. For neither of the 
 parties to it gave much expression to the thoughts and 
 feelings that were tearing their hearts asunder. George, 
 who was perfectly instructed as to the evidence which 
 
 The Gaisiaiigs. I. 16
 
 242 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 his sister was prepared to give, and as to the probable 
 result of it, would not have spoken on the subject at 
 all, if Patience had not done so. He felt that by the 
 unwarrantable step she had taken in following him on 
 that fatal night, she had in fact brought about his con- 
 viction and execution as a murderer. But this was a 
 subject on which he could not and would not speak. 
 Nor would he stoop to implore her to do for his sake 
 what her conscience forbade her to do. Something 
 tliere was of good and noble feeling in this; but some- 
 thing doubtless of anger and resentment also. 
 
 As for Patience, even in the smaller matters, and 
 the constantly recurring occasions of life, it was always 
 impossible to her to communicate to the world without 
 her, either by words or any other manifestation, any of 
 the softer, gentler, or kindlier feelings that were hidden 
 deep down in her heart. Least of all could she now 
 give utterance to the intinite anguish that was crushing 
 her to the earth. 
 
 Suftering and misfortune are to some natures sti- 
 mulants; — stimulants to resistance, to action, even to 
 feverish attempts at action; — at least to lamentation 
 and complaint. To Patience, on the contrary, suffering 
 did not act as a stimulating sting, but as a leaden 
 weight crushing out of her all jiowor, all thought of 
 action or resistance. Suffering came to her, as the fate- 
 decrees of necessity, superior in nn'ght to the gods 
 tluMnselves, came to tlic personages of tin? old Greek 
 tragedy — with the additional force of crushing, that 
 was gendered by the long expectation of many years 
 that evil fate was on its road pursuing Iier remorselessly, 
 and the certainty that it would one day overtake her. 
 The form in which evil was to come was to Patience
 
 THE TRIAL. 243 
 
 something new, now revealed for the first time; the fact 
 that it was to come in some form, — this was a know- 
 ledge of old date. 
 
 Few words passed between them. Any expression, 
 any look that told of yearning love, it was wholly out 
 of the power of her hard and bigotry-bound features to 
 fashion. But there was an intense look of dumb agony 
 in the stony eyes of Patience, as she sjjoke her Bible- 
 fashioned words of hard farewell, that might have told 
 George the truth that Patience had spoken to Mr. Sligo 
 under the provocation of his attempt to move her by 
 menace, but which she never uttered a second time; — 
 that indeed, and in very truth, she would rather have 
 gone to death by fire at the stake, than have spoken 
 the words that were to send her brother to the gallows, 
 had any such alternative been offered to her. 
 
 On the next day the trial came on — the first case 
 to be tried. 
 
 The interest that had been excited throughout the 
 county was intense; and the court was crowded to the 
 utmost limits of its capability. The trial of Garstang 
 of the Grange for the murder of Barnes, the press-gang 
 man, has not been altogether forgotten in Silchester 
 yet. It was a scene to be remembered. 
 
 But it is not my intention to detain the reader with 
 a detailed account of tlie trial. Our English forms of 
 trial are eminently dramatic. Every circumstance of 
 the conduct of them is well calculated to give interest 
 to a minute account of the proceedings. 'I'he absolute 
 and paramount legality; —the certainty in the minds of 
 all present that a something greater, stronger, more 
 immutable than the will of any man, or extant body of 
 men, must rule the issue, is a very powerful element of 
 
 16 »
 
 244 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 dramatic interest. The spectator watches the fate-like 
 operation of a power in the grasp of which judge and 
 jury, lawyers and witnesses, are but instruments. This 
 it is that makes the awful solemnity of our courts. 
 This it is that secures all-compelling acquiescence in 
 their fiat. This it is that makes their proceedings a 
 matter of such enchaining interest to the bystanders. 
 
 But to reproduce that interest, the minute detail of 
 the drama must be reproduced. Space and time must 
 not be grudged. And upon the present occasion the 
 requirements of the story I have to tell do not leave 
 me space and time to spare for this purpose. Besides, 
 such stories have been told, and well told, more than 
 sufficiently often to render it undesirable to attempt 
 yet another narrative of the sort, even in the case of a 
 trial so remarkable as that of which I am speaking. 
 
 The main facts, and the result, may therefore be 
 told in a few words. 
 
 The Earl of Linacre was on tlie l)ench. The 
 propriety, as a matter of taste, of his being there, under 
 all the circumr4;mces, was much canvassed; more 
 especially as there could be little doubt in the minds 
 of those who marked the face and bearing of the old 
 man, that the feeling with which he watched the pro- 
 gress of the trial was one of bitter hostility to the pri- 
 soner. People thought and argued differently upon 
 this point; but there was no difference of opinion among 
 those who knew him personally, on the remark (hat 
 the Earl looked a good ten years older tlian he liad 
 done before the circumstances had occurred wliioh led 
 to the trial. 
 
 The counsel for the prosecution, after a few feel- 
 ingly spoken words on the special iminfuluess of the
 
 THE TRIAL. 245 
 
 duty he was called upon to discharge on the present 
 occasion; and after adverting to the defence, which he 
 believed would be set up, — the only one possible, he 
 admitted, under the circumstances of the case, — to the 
 effect, that the prisoner at the time of using the fatal 
 weapon in his hand, had been wholly unconscious of 
 the peculiar powers and danger of it, said that his duty 
 obliged him at once to crush any hope the prisoner's 
 friends might have based on such a line of defence; 
 and that, in order to do this completely and irresistibly, 
 he should be obliged to take the very painful step of 
 calling the prisoner s sister. 
 
 The witnesses to the facts of the case, which were 
 undisputed, were then examined, and the more formal 
 part of the case quickly despatched. Then Patience 
 was called. 
 
 In answer, as it seemed, to the little buzz of ex- 
 pectation and interest thi-oughout the court which this 
 call occasioned, the counsel said, with a glance around 
 the audience as well as at the jury, that he ventured 
 to ask the indulgence of all present for the witness who 
 was about to appear in court, requesting them to bear 
 in mind the dreadful nature of her position, and to 
 sympathize with the strong and lofty feeling of religious 
 conviction which could alone prevail to induce a person 
 so placed to discharge the duty they owed to their God 
 and to their country by giving such evidence as the 
 witness would give. 
 
 Patience came into Court. 
 
 She walked to the box as one may figure to oneself 
 the victims of the Inquisition walking to the faggot 
 and the stake. She stepped slowly but not hesitatingly, 
 with her thin, narrow, tall figure, rigid in its straight-
 
 246 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 cut black garments, drawn up, and her long thin hands 
 pressed palm to palm in front of her. Her face was 
 deadly white, and her large cold grey eyes, widely 
 opened with a look of stony horror, plainly saw no- 
 thing of the scene before them. It might have seemed 
 that the being thus paraded in a crowded court would 
 have been of itself an ordeal of terrible suffering to the 
 shy and recluse woman. And so it would have been 
 under any other circumstances. But Patience was 
 beyond suffering from that cause now. She saw and 
 knew nothing of the crowd which was gazing on her 
 with greedy eyes. One thing only was present to her 
 consciousness, — the necessity that was laid upon her of 
 speaking her brother's condemnation, together with a 
 high-strung sense of the real presence of the living God, 
 whose allseeing eye made it impossible for her to avoid 
 the declaration of His truth. 
 
 Thus Patience Garstang walked through the court 
 to the witness-box with the step of one whose mind is 
 too anxiously busy elseAvhere to take its usual charge 
 of the movements of the body. And then occurred an 
 incident which none of those present had ever heard to 
 have occurred in an English court before, and which 
 has probably never been Avitnesscd since; — an incident 
 which was well remembered in Silchester for many 
 years, and which is still to the present day not wholly 
 forgotten there. 
 
 Suddenly, as soon as slic found iicrself in the place 
 where it was evidently intended that she should take 
 her stand, and give her evidence, slic kneeled down 
 on her two knees on the floor of the box, and raising 
 her eyes and joined ])alms towards the heavens, said 
 aloud in a hard clear voice, —
 
 THE TRIAL. 247 
 
 "0 God, mighty and jealous God, whose eye sees 
 all that is hidden, whose ear hears every word that is 
 spoken-, God, whose eyes are too pure to behold 
 iniquity; God, who triest the hearts and the reins 
 of thy creatures, stretch out thy right hand to me in 
 this hour! Be my rod and my staff! Give me the 
 strength and the will to do Thy will! Now and ever, 
 God, my God, Thy will be done." 
 
 Then she arose to her feet, and stood convulsively 
 grasping the round Avooden rail in front of her with 
 her two hands. A tin-ill of surprise, and then a hush 
 of awe rested on the court. Tears gathered in many 
 an eye little wont to be so affected. And people 
 listened breathlessly for what was to follow. 
 
 Mr. Sligo whispered to Sir Vispy Gibbons that it 
 was all over, as much as if the jury had given in their 
 verdict. 
 
 The examination of the witness was completed in 
 very few words. In answer to the first question put 
 to her. Patience told how she had followed her brother 
 on the night in question. In reply to the demand as 
 to what had been her motive for doing so, she said 
 that she had done so in obedience to God's will; that 
 she had been warned in spirit to follow her brother 
 when he left the house; that she could give no other 
 reason for her conduct, and firmly believed that to be 
 the true one. 
 
 Then, on being asked if she had heard what 
 passed between her brother and Lord Saltash, imme- 
 diately subsequent to the taking of the stick into his 
 hand by the former, slio repeated word for word the 
 sentences which George had uttered, as they have been 
 written down in a former chapter. She repeated them,
 
 248 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 one sentence after another, witli the utmost verbal ac- 
 curacy, and in a clear unmodulated mechanical sound- 
 ing voice, that seemed as if the words came out of the 
 machinery of an automaton. 
 
 "The "witness may go down," said the counsel, 
 after a pause of silence. And then Patience was led 
 out of the court. 
 
 For a minute or two a dead silence rested on all 
 the mass of people assembled there , so great had been 
 the impression made by the manner and the words of 
 Patience Garstang. 
 
 Then the counsel said, "Gentlemen of the juiy, my 
 case is closed." 
 
 Sir Vispy Gibbons would not abandon the struggle 
 without an attempt to shake the testimony of Patience 
 in cross-examination. He tried to induce her to ad- 
 mit that she might have been mistaken, and suggested 
 that the words overheard had, in reality, borne a 
 signification such as that which Mr. Sligo had wished 
 to attach to them. But it was all to no purpose. 
 Patience writhed under the agony of the temptation to 
 whicli he exposed her, but she was unshakeable. 
 
 "Get thee behind me, Satan!" she exclaimed at 
 last to the startled cmnisel; and produced a little titter 
 in court among the lighter-minded of the audience by 
 the unusual mode of address. But it had been at once 
 put down by the general sense of the real solemnity of 
 the adjuration in tlic mouth of the Avitness, and of the 
 awful nature of the temptation to whicli she was ex- 
 posed. The judge forbore to reprimand her, and Sir 
 Vispy Gibbons could but bow his head gravely, and 
 resume his seat. 
 
 George Garstang was found guilty of the wilful
 
 THE TRIAL. 249 
 
 murder of Thomas Barues. The judge condemned 
 him to be hung by the neck till he should be dead. 
 No committees besieged the Secretary of State with 
 statements and affidavits, showing the decided tendency 
 to madness by which all the family of the condemned 
 man was marked, for these things were not as yet. 
 
 And in the Castle-yard at Silchester it was done 
 to George Garstang as the judge had said.
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 "My daughter, oh, my daughter !
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Earl takes a new View of Things. 
 
 It has been remarked in a previous page of this 
 narrative, that the Earl of Linacre was one of those 
 men who would have been a better man if he had 
 been a happier one. During many years of his life, 
 his character had been injuriously affected by the 
 grief and disappointment which he had suffered from 
 the successive deaths, at an early age, of his three 
 elder sons. And now the result of the dreadful blow 
 that had fallen upon him, in the sad death of his last 
 remaining son, was a modification of the old man's 
 character in the same sense, of a yet more marked 
 kind. He felt angry with the world. He became 
 savagely morose to all around him; and shut himself 
 up with his grief in almost complete seclusion. 
 
 At the time of the trial, it had been much can- 
 vassed, as has been said, how far the presence of the 
 Earl on the bench on that occasion was consistent, 
 under all the circumstances, with perfect propriety and 
 good taste. And the bearing of the old man, as he 
 sat there eagerly watching the progress of the case, 
 had not been such as to reconcile the critical public to 
 his conduct. It had been too plain to every eye that 
 he was eagerly desirous of the conviction of the 
 prisoner. Evil passion had gleamed out of his eager 
 grey eyes, as tliey greedily watclicd the swaying 
 balance of the probabilities as to the termination of
 
 254 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 the case, from under tlie bushy iron-grey shelter of 
 their contracted brows. And when Patience liad given 
 tlie fatal evidence, which had put an end to all doubt 
 as to the issue, an unconcealed gleam of triumph and 
 satisfaction had lighted up his features. 
 
 It was very bad, very unchristian, very terrible, — 
 the manifestation of this deadly animosity. But the 
 old man was an Earl; and it was certainly true that 
 he had been subjected to a trial which might well be 
 held to be sufficient to sour the nature of any man. 
 It was vaguely felt, though not avowed to themselves, 
 and miich less to each other, by "the masses" — (the 
 meaning intended was deemed to be sufficiently in- 
 dicated by the phrase, "the people," in those days) — 
 tliat an Earl could not be expected to be amenable to 
 the laws wliich ought to govern the temper and feel- 
 ings of other men. And, on the other hand, much 
 real pity was felt for the old man's bitter sorroAv; and 
 a very general feeling of sympathy with his enmity 
 against the family which, as he chose to suppose, had 
 been the means of bringing his son to a terrible and 
 untimely death, was shared by all save the very few 
 eccentric people whose emotions waited on their real 
 knowledge of the facts. 
 
 As soon as ever the verdict had been given, and 
 the words of condemnation to death on the gallows 
 had been spoken, the Earl had made his ivay from the 
 court to his carriage, and had travelled all night to his 
 home, at the northern extremity of the county. And 
 a few liours behind him on the road \Vilfred and 
 Patience had returned by the night coach to their 
 equally bereaved and yet more miserable home. 
 
 Nor was the moral result of the unhappy events
 
 THE EARL TAKES A NEW VIEW OF THINGS. 255 
 
 which had taken place less deleterious in its eflfects on 
 the family at the Grange than it was on the Earl of 
 Linacre. The father and mother of the man who 
 perished on the scaffold were indeed almost beyond the 
 reach of any fiu-ther malice at the hands of fortune. 
 The old man especially was so broken down, and his 
 mind had so given way, that it could hardly be said 
 that his state was much worse after the recent calamity 
 than it had been before it. And the fact of the small 
 difference that the death of George really made in the 
 amount of evil that lie had to bear, was curiously 
 .shown by his inability to bear in mind the date of that 
 misfortune. He mostly seemed to consider that it had 
 taken place a long time ago. He had always known, 
 he said, that it was to be .so; and the looking forward 
 to it, or the looking back to it, made small difference. 
 Nor was there enough of life and vigour left in the 
 man for the amount of reaction necessary for the feel- 
 ing of much resentment against either man or fate. 
 He was too thoroughly crushed. 
 
 With Wilfred and with Patience the case was dif- 
 ferent. In both of them the moral nature was very 
 markedly injured by their suffering. Both were soured 
 and embittered against the world in general. But the 
 poison acted on the nature of each of them according 
 to the specialties of their different idiosyncrasies. To 
 Patience herself, it seemed to have the effect of mak- 
 ing her yet more religious, — of weaning her still nu)re 
 completely from the world, and leading her mind more 
 than ever to regard all worldl}' things from a strictly 
 scriptural point of view. But the scriptural stand- 
 point in which the religious feelings of Patience 
 Garstang led her to place herself was almost invariably
 
 256 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRAXGE. 
 
 supplied by the wi-itings of the older dispensation, and 
 was so selected as to bring into strong relief an analogy 
 between those few of her fellow-creatures, with whom 
 the circumstances of lier life had brought her into any 
 sort of contact, and the Gentile nations whom the 
 particular people had been commanded to destroy. And 
 Patience never nursed her wrath and enmity against 
 her enemies, — that is all the world outside the grey 
 stone walls of the Grange, — by the use of any bitter 
 language against them, save such as was culled, ac- 
 cording to strict religious practice, from the pages of 
 the sacred writers. 
 
 In Wilfred's mind the woof was of a different 
 character. There was no marked religious tendency 
 in it. He had neitlier the fanaticism, which might 
 have enabled liini to indulge his hatred under tlie garb 
 of religious fervour; nor the real spirituality of char 
 acter, which might have taught him that hatred was 
 evil and not good. He came back from the trial to 
 his bereaved and desolated homo witli a conscious 
 hatred in his heart against all the world, whicli did 
 not seek to disguise itself, and a special and bitter re- 
 sentment against the Earl, which knew no bounds-, 
 and was, at (be least, as envenomed, and perhaps more 
 undying, than tliat which the Earl felt against him 
 and his family. 
 
 All that evil influence in the bringing about of the 
 twofold misfortune wliich had hapjiencd at tlie foot of 
 the Garstang cliff, Avhicli the P^arl attributed to George 
 Garstang, Wilfred, witli more reason, attributed to 
 Lord Saltash. In sim])le truth, there had been no 
 "evil influence" in tlic matter, beyond the fact, that it 
 had Ijeen tlie special wish of Lord Saltash, fur the
 
 THE EARL TAKES A NEW VIEW OF THINGS. 257 
 
 rescue of Ned Baldock, aud no special wish of George 
 Garstang for that ohject, that had led to the fatal fray. 
 So far it was certainly Saltash who had led Garstang 
 into the mischief, and not Garstang who had led 
 Saltash. But Wilfred did not see it thus simply. In 
 his eyes the intimacy of his brother with the young 
 Lord had been a bad and dangerous thing. Social 
 prejudice, jealousy engendered by the falseness of his 
 own position as a landowner of ancient lineage, and 
 yet not in the enjoyment of a status on a level with 
 that of other landowners, no doubt contributed to cause 
 this feeling. And not only on the fatal occasion in 
 question, but on all occasions of their companionship, 
 Wilfred thought that Lord Saltash was leading his 
 brother into mischief. And now this had culminated 
 in his brother's death on the gallows. And that old 
 man hadr triumphed in the fact! For Wilfred had Avell 
 marked the countenance of the Earl during the trial. 
 He had read his triumph, — his satisfaction at the ter- 
 rible result in his evil eyes ! And as Wilfred journeyed 
 home during the silent hours of that night he thought 
 of this, — unweariedly, tenaciously thought of it. And 
 he did not become hot Avith fevered passion, as he 
 thought; for that was not according to his natjire. 
 But the picture that lie fed his fancy with, as he sat 
 silent in the corner of the coach during the hours of 
 that night, was the picture of the old Earl, crushed, 
 broken-hearted, disgraced, and knowing that it was 
 he, his enemy Wilfred Garstang, Avhom he had in- 
 jured, at whose hands, aud by whose will he was so 
 suffering ! 
 
 It will be readily imagined that the life of the 
 family at the Grange was not at all changed for the 
 
 Tlie Gutstatigs. J. 1 <
 
 258 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 better by the misfortune which had befallen them. It 
 is easy to understand that all the peculiarities which 
 had attached to their position would be aggravated and 
 intensified by that event. If the family was isolated 
 before, they would be more isolated afterwards. If the 
 grim and gloomy old Grange had seemed to the neigh- 
 bours a weird and uninviting place before, they would 
 feel it to be more so now. If the family were unpopu- 
 lar before, they would be more so now, especially as 
 it was well known that they were tlie objects of the 
 peculiar dislike and resentment of the Earl. The isola- 
 tion of the family became such as almost to amount to 
 social outlawry. Even the workmen on the farm began 
 to show signs of being unwilling to remain with them. 
 And it became difficult to Wilfred to obtain a suffi- 
 cient quantity of labour for tlie land. 
 
 The kind of life Wilfred Garstang must have led 
 in that house with his father, and mother, and sister, 
 and the kind of home it must have been to liim, may 
 be perhaps imagined, but can hardly be efficiently de- 
 scribed. 
 
 It was about a fortnight after the execiition that 
 Lord Linacre told his servant one night that he should 
 start for London the next morning. One or two letters 
 liad passed between tlie Park and Mr. Wentworth, of 
 the firm of Wentworth and Jennings of Gray's Inn, 
 who were the Earl's lawyers; and Mr. Abel Atkins, the 
 Earl's valet, had no doubt Avhatever that the object of 
 Ills master's journey M-as to see those gentlemen, — 
 doubtless with reference to matters connected with the 
 late lamented death of Lord Saltash. 
 
 Mr. Atkins was perfectly right in his surmises. In 
 writing on some matters on which correspondence had
 
 THE EARL TAKES A NEW VIEW OF THINGS. 259 
 
 been rendered necessary by tbat event, Mr. Wentworth 
 had thought it desirable to call the Earl's attention to 
 the fact of the peculiarity of descent in the case of the 
 Liuacre title and estates, and of the consequent heir- 
 ship of his daughter, which had arisen on the death of 
 the late Lord Saltash. 
 
 The Earl had been a good deal startled by the 
 lawyer's lettei*. He remembered indeed to have heard, 
 many years ago, something about some such specialty, 
 and about a descent of the property and title in ac- 
 cordance with it, which had taken place many genera- 
 tions ago. But the Earl had been told these things, 
 when, alas! he had been the father of four fine boys; 
 and the matter in question seemed to be utterly imma- 
 terial and uninteresting to him. He probably, too, 
 looked on the information as antiquarian lore connected 
 with the history of his family, which hardly came 
 home to him at all, as a fact applicable to modern 
 times. And then it had gone entirely out of his mind. 
 He marvelled at himself, under his present lamentably 
 changed circumstances, that this fact of his daughter's 
 possible claim should not have been more in his mind. 
 But he had been so utterly wi-apped up in his sons; 
 — he had so placed all his hope in them, and so 
 taught himself to feel that if he were bereaved of 
 them, there was an end of all things, that the forget- 
 fulness of what he could not be said to have ever 
 very clearly known or understood , was not perhaps 
 surprising. 
 
 Now, indeed, the matter adverted to in tlie lawyer's 
 
 letter had become important. Not that any such fact, 
 
 or any such inheritance could avail to soothe, even in 
 
 any appreciable degree, the bitterness of the Earl's 
 
 17*-
 
 260 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 grief for tlie loss of Ids sons. It was far from being 
 the same thing. It was not a real continuation of his 
 line. This effect, however, it apparently wonld cer- 
 tainly have — it wonld exclude Mr. Bentham Linacre 
 from the succession. That Avas, at all events, some- 
 thing. It was so much, that, as the Earl posted up to 
 London, it was the main fact upon wliich his mind 
 rested. He had never during his life been wont to 
 consider his daughter of any importance; and it was 
 too much contrary to all his notions and prejudices 
 and habits of mind, to conceive of a daughter as stand- 
 ing in the place of, and as an equivalent to, a son, for 
 him to admit such an idea, at all events so suddenly, 
 into his mind. 
 
 On the morning after his arrival in town the Earl 
 called on Messieurs Wentworth and Jenning, at their 
 offices in Gray's Inn; and in a "long and special" 
 conference with the senior partner was made fully and 
 clearly cognizant of the fact that the Lady Juliette, 
 his daughter, would, at his deatli, become Baroness 
 Linacre, and the heir U> all tlie family estates. 
 
 He had, of course, been in a certain degree pre- 
 pared by the lawyer's letter for this information; but 
 it seemed to him a thing so new and strange that he 
 had hardly realized it as a veritable fact, overturning 
 all Ills previous notions and feelings upon the subject 
 — his feelings especially. It needs a greater shock 
 and change to alter a man's feelings than to modify 
 his ideas; but this new view of things was calculated 
 to produce a decided cliange in the Karl's feelings. He 
 had loved his sons \ery dearly, — or at least it had 
 seemed to himself and to others, that he had loved 
 them very dearly — because tliey liad been all-important
 
 THE EARL TAKES A NEW VIEW OF THINGS. 261 
 
 to what he most uiic|iiestionably did love with his 
 whole heart — the continuance and due transmission of 
 his lineage, his title, and his estates. All the hopes 
 that he had with such desperate clinging built upon 
 the lives of these sons had failed him. And now it 
 appeared that the daughter of whom he had thought 
 so little, who had been in fact nothing to him, was 
 to be the means of gratifying in a certain measui'e 
 the desire of his heart. In a certain measure; for 
 it was not the same thing; it was very far from 
 being the same thing, as the Earl repeated to himself 
 again and again. Nevertheless, at least Mr. Bentham 
 Linacre, the Unitarian radical, the pragmatical can- 
 tankerous fellow who had so often really seemed to 
 tliiuk, and had absolutely almost had the air of mak- 
 ing it appear, that he, the Earl of Linacre, was an old 
 blockhead who knew nothing about anything; — at least 
 this pestilent lawyer would not be Earl of Linacre. 
 And there was enough in that to make the old man 
 feel very much as if it had been a mistake of all these 
 years not to have loved his daughter, and as if he 
 could and should henceforth begin to love her, as it 
 was natural to love his heir. And he abeady began 
 to contemplate certain changes in the domestic arrange- 
 ments and habits at Linacre Park, having for their 
 object the placing of the Lady Juliette in that position 
 before the world, in her own eyes and in those of 
 other people, which her present prospects made it pro- 
 per that she should occupy. 
 
 And then, as he was driving back from Gray's Inn 
 to his hotel, the Earl reflected that he had nothing 
 upon earth to do -with the rest of his day. He began 
 to be anxious to get back to the Park as soon as might
 
 262 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 be. He would set out on his return journey the fol- 
 lowing morning, and would so be able to arrive at 
 Linacre on the morning after, having thus been absent 
 from home only three entire days. But what should 
 he do with the rest of his morning? 
 
 Then it suddenly occurred to the Earl that he 
 would go and call upon Mr. Linacre in the Temple. 
 He felt j)erfectly persuaded that that clever gentleman 
 knew nothing whatever about the peculiarity in tlie 
 Linacre title and mode of descent, Avhich made the 
 Lady Juliette the heir instead of himself If he, the 
 Earl, had known little or nothing of the matter, it 
 stood to reason that Mr. Linacre, the far-off cousin, 
 knew nothing about it. And doubtless he Avas hugging 
 himself in the imagination, that since the late terrible 
 catastrophe, nothing stood between him and the earl- 
 dom save the life of one old man. And the Earl felt 
 that it would be pleasant to set Mr. Linacre riglit in 
 this respect. It was of course in every way proper and 
 in accordance with the hienseances to do so. It would 
 have become IVIr. Linacre to wait upon the Earl, if he 
 had had any knowledge of his being in town; but this 
 he had not. 
 
 He would drive to the Temple and call ujjou Mr. 
 Linacre. And for once, at all events, he would have 
 the pleasure of setting the self-sufficient barrister right, 
 and showing him that he, the Earl, knew somewhat 
 more than he did; and that upon a more interesting 
 subject, too, tlian any of the matters upon which the 
 young man had so often contradicted liim. So he 
 jiulled the check-string ol' tlic carriage, and ordered 
 himself to be driven to the Temple.
 
 AT THE INNER TEMPLE. 263 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 At tbe Inner Temple. 
 
 The Earl had to climb to the third storey, up a 
 not very easy or commodious wooden .stair, before 
 arriving at a landing-place with a door on either hand, 
 on one of which was painted the name "Mr. Bentham 
 Linacre,'' and on the other "Mr. Walter Farnaby." It 
 liad never occurred to the visitor that it was very pos- 
 sible he might not find Mr. Linacre at home till the 
 moment he pulled the bell; but as he did so, he thought 
 to himself that in any case he must trespass on his 
 cousin's home so far as to sit doAvu for a few minutes 
 after his climb. 
 
 "Bentham! Mr. Bontham Linacre!" grumbled the 
 old man to himself. "Who ever heard of such a name? 
 Bentham! no such name in the family. Mother's family, 
 I suppose. Bah! Bentham, sixteenth earl! Ugh! No, 
 no, my fine fellow, not a bit of it. You're a little too 
 much in a hurry." 
 
 Then the door was opened, not by a little boy 
 caUing himself a clerk, as the Earl had expected, but 
 by one whom the Earl, being himself a gentleman, at 
 once perceived to be such. He was a very tall and 
 large-made young man, with a laughing light blue eye, 
 a sweet mouth, crisp curling hair a little on the red 
 side of chestnut, and a noble forehead. 
 
 At the same moment that the door was opened, the 
 Earl heard the high-pitched and somewhat unpleasant 
 voice of his cousin calling out, —
 
 264 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Don't let anybody come in to me, Farnaby; for I 
 must get this finished to-day." 
 
 Farnaby smiled pleasantly and courteously at the 
 old gentleman on the landing-place. 
 
 "You hear my instructions, sir," he said. "The 
 fact is, Mr. Linacre ts very busy. But I suppose I am 
 to consider myself invested with some discretionary 
 powers in my office of door-keeper-, and if you will 
 
 favour me with your name " 
 
 The Earl put his card into the young man's hand. 
 "Bentham, here is your kinsman, the Earl of 
 Linacre, at the door!" he cried. "To think of our 
 keeping you standing here, my lord, after climbing all 
 these villanous stairs. Permit me to show you the Avay 
 to Mr. Linacre's room." 
 
 And as he spoke the frank smile vanished from 
 his face, and his manner became subdued, in tribute 
 to the Earl's suit of mourning, and to his knoAvledge 
 of the dreadful misfortune which had so recently fallen 
 upon him. 
 
 "I shall be beholden to you, sir, if you will 
 kindly do so," said the old man, gravely bowing as he 
 entered. 
 
 "Ilumpli! Farnaby! Tliat's the name on the op- 
 posite door. Uumph! Some of these lawyers are gen- 
 tlemen any way," thought the Earl to iiimself, as he 
 passed through the dark ))assage. 
 
 Bentham Linacre stood uj) behind the desk at which 
 he liad been writing to receive his kinsman. But he 
 did not press forward to meet him at the door of the 
 room. Farnaby Avould have done so in his place. And 
 accordingly men liked Walter Farnaby, and did not 
 like Bentham Linacre.
 
 AT THE INNER TEMPLE. 265 
 
 "I am shocked, Bentham, tliat we should have 
 kept the Earl standing; — oui- stairs are no joke," said 
 Farnaby, drawing an arm-chair for the old noble- 
 man. "If you want me to see the end of that," he 
 continued, "before sending it off, you will find me in 
 mj room." 
 
 And with that he bowed to the Earl, and left the 
 two kinsmen together. 
 
 Bentham Linacre was also, like the Earl, dressed 
 in complete mourning. With reference to him too, 
 pidging merely by the look and presence of the man, 
 it might have been said, by a less j)i'ejudiced critic 
 than the Earl, that unquestionably some of these 
 lawyers were gentlemen. But then some gentlemen 
 have, like Walter Farnaby, the gift of impressing 
 favourably every man, woman, and child with whom 
 they come in contact-, and some gentlemen have, like 
 Bentham Linacre, the unhappy property of doing the 
 exact reverse. 
 
 On the present occasion, however, Mr. Linacre was 
 more fortunate than usual in his manner with the Earl. 
 There was a glance of real sympathy in liis eye, as 
 putting his hand meaningly on the sleeve of the old 
 man's coat, he said, — 
 
 "There are no words, my lord, which do not seem 
 to mock our grief in sorrows such as these, therefore I 
 will say nothing of your bereavement. If I had 
 known," he continued, after a pause, during which the 
 Earl had seemed too much overpowered to be able to 
 speak, — "if I had had the least idea that you were in 
 town, I should of course have had the pleasure of 
 Availing upon you at your hotel, and so sparing you
 
 266 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 tlie trouble of coming to sucli a place as this. Why 
 did you not send for me, my lord?" 
 
 "I could not take that liberty, Mr. Linacre, with 
 so busy a gentleman as yourself. As it is I am tres- 
 passing on time which would doubtless be better em- 
 ployed if I were not interrupting you — — " 
 
 "Not at all, my lord — not at all! Pray do not 
 mention it. I was at work on an article here on 
 certain points of the law of easements," said Mr. 
 Linacre, tapping the sheets on his desk before him 
 with his finger; "but I shall have time to finish it be- 
 fore night. 1 am afi-aid I can hardly hope that it 
 is a subject on Avhich your lordsliip Avill feel any 
 interest." 
 
 "What! the easements you speak of? Not specially. 
 Why, no; no, not 2)articularly. I can't say that 1 have 
 given the subject any special attention," said the Earl, 
 who had not tlie remotest conception of what was 
 meant l)y the term in question, which seemed to him 
 a singularly strange one. "But even if I had," he 
 continued, "I could not spend the time in discussing 
 the subject, for 1 came here to speak to you, Mr. 
 Linacre, on matters of perliajis even greater interest." 
 
 "I am entirely at your lordshi])'s orders," said Mr. 
 Linacre, settling liimself in liis arm-chair in the atti- 
 tude he assumed when listening to a client — or rather, 
 it would be more correct to say, in the attitude he used 
 to assume on such occasions, when clients sometimes 
 came to him in the days before he liad driven them all 
 away. It was an attitude, and a look of more than 
 attention: an attitude which seemed that of one ready 
 to pounce, like a cat on a mouse, on tlie very smallest 
 Hmav, or error, or mistake that might show but the tip
 
 AT THE INNER TEMPLE. 267 
 
 of its nose in the words of tlie speaker: an attitude 
 that made one feel, while speaking to Mr. Bentham 
 Linacre, like a man who is warily venturing his foot 
 on the plate of spring-trap, which may be expected 
 every instant to snap and catch one in its fangs: an 
 attitude and manner that made the Earl feel uncom- 
 fortable, desjjite of his inner conviction that he had 
 come there to discomfit, and not to be discomfited. 
 
 "You have alluded," the old man began — "you 
 have alluded, Mr. Linacre, with very kind feeling, — 
 for which I thank you, sir, — to the — the calamity which 
 has fallen upon me." 
 
 Mr. Linacre bowed his head gravely. 
 
 "How it has stricken me down you can, per- 
 haps, in part conceive; in part, Mr. Linacre, — in 
 part!" 
 
 The old man paused, and seemed for a minute or 
 two unable to go on. Mr. Linacre forbore, by a great 
 effort, from remarking that there existed no sufficient 
 grounds for assuming that he could or could not con- 
 ceive this, that, or the other matter, and contented 
 himself with lying in wait for what should come next. 
 
 "Of course," proceeded the Earl, after recovering 
 himself, "it Avas not to be expected that one in your 
 position, Mr. Linacre, should be affected by tlie awful 
 blow in a similar manner. Of course any such notion 
 Avould be preposterous." 
 
 Again Mr. Linacre gravely bowed his liead. There 
 was no possibility of disputing what the Earl had 
 said. 
 
 "Indeed, that much might be said of any stranger," 
 pursued tlie old man, who felt some Hide difticulty in 
 coming to his point-, "but in your particular case, Mr.
 
 268 THE GARSTANGS OF (^AllSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 Linacre, — in the position you hold, — it is specially dif- 
 ficult to suppose that you can feel in this matter at all 
 as I, or any other of the connections or friends of — of 
 — of the deceased would feel. It cannot be expected, 
 I say, that it should be so. For, of course, it is im- 
 possible for you to forget that the blow which crushes 
 me, brings you nearer to rank and fortune." 
 
 "Surely, my lord, it will be time enough to discuss 
 how I should feel under given circumstances, when the 
 case sujiposed shall have arisen. It is not likely that 
 it ever should arise. Till it does, I cannot myself tell 
 how I should be affected by it." 
 
 "I don't think I quite follow the purport of your 
 observation, Mr. Linacre. But perhaps it is not neces- 
 sary for me to do so. What I wish to observe — and 
 I assure you without any idea of imputing to you the 
 smallest degree of blame — is that your feelings on the 
 — the death of Lord Saltash must naturally have been 
 modified by the consideration that his removal made 
 you tlic heir to the honours and estates of our house." 
 
 "And I Avish to observe, my lord, in reply," said 
 Mr. Linacre, not altogether witJiout a certain sort of 
 waspish tcm])cr in his tone, "that my feelings on the 
 occasion you spoak of could not have been modified in 
 any such manner as your lordship suggests, for the 
 very sufficient and evident reason, that the removal of 
 Lord Saltash does not make me the heir to the honours 
 and estates of our house." 
 
 "Ha! Yon Avero aware then — You knew that 
 in our family, in default of heirs male, the title 
 passes to a daughter?" asked the Earl, in much sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Certainly, my lord. Of course I knew that per-
 
 AT THE INNER TEMPLE. 269 
 
 fectly well. It seems strange to me that you should 
 suppose that I could be ignorant of it." 
 
 "And have you known these facts all the time?" 
 said the Earl. 
 
 "All what time?" asked Mr. Linacre. 
 
 "Why, all along, to be sure. Did you know of it 
 before my poor boy died?" 
 
 "Certainly, my lord, I knew it before that — long- 
 before. I have known it for many years — for pretty 
 well all my life, I may say," replied Mr. Bentham 
 Linacre, not without a certain sense of triumph in his 
 superior knowledge of the affairs of the family. 
 
 "You were perfectly well aware, then, that the 
 death of my unfortunate son did not make you the 
 heir to the earldom?" said the Earl, staring at his 
 young cousin, with the air of a man who is conscious 
 of having gone out to seek wool, and come home 
 shorn. 
 
 "Undoubtedly, Lord Linacre! I was perfectly 
 aware of it; perfectly aware that my cousin, the Lady 
 Juliette, is the undoubted heiress; and that her heirs 
 will succeed in due course, and renew the male line of 
 the family. I was thus spared," continued the young 
 lawyer, with somewliat of severe dignity in his tone 
 and manner, "the pain of being obliged to feel what 
 you have had the condescension, with so much kind- 
 ness and delicacy to point out to me, — that the un- 
 happy death of my cousin , Lord Saltash, was a matter 
 of advantage to myself." 
 
 The Earl could not lielp feeling that once again 
 Mr. Linacre had the better of him; and it furnislii'd 
 another proof to his mind of the exceeding detestability
 
 270 THE GARSTANGS OF C4ARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 of that gentleman. He became very rod in the face, 
 and snorted with suppressed anger, as he replied. 
 
 "Then, Mr. Linacre, I must take the liberty of 
 saying that I think, considering my position, thai — 
 that I might have expected — that it would have been 
 becoming in you to have communicated to me your 
 knowledge of these facts." 
 
 "I am sorry, my lord, that I am obliged to differ 
 from you toto ccelo^ in the view I take of my duty in 
 this matter," said Mr. Linacre, rather in the provoca- 
 tive tone of a man, Avho is quite ready to enter into 
 an argument upon a subject, and anxious to tight it 
 out, than in that of one who means to close a dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 "I do not understand your barbarous law terms, 
 and have no ambition to do so," said the Earl, snap- 
 pishly, the innocent Latin Avords that ]\[r. Linacre had 
 used having seemed to his bucolic mind to conceal 
 some mysterious meaning of the sort by which lawyers 
 and suchlike pragmatical individuals are enabled to get 
 the better of honest men. 
 
 *'I am not aware of having used any such," re- 
 joined his antagonist. "I merely wish to point out to 
 your lordship that I cannot think tliat it was any part 
 of my duty to obtrude u])on your lordship any infor- 
 mation upon the point in question. How could 1 imagine 
 that your lordship Avas ignorant of the facts of the 
 case? If you were not fully acquainted with them, 
 was it not the' business of your lordship's solicitors, 
 rather than any duty of mine, to funiisli all the in- 
 formation needed? I tliink I may venture to say that 
 Messieurs AVentworth and Jennings were perfectly well 
 aware that the matter stood as I have stated it to your
 
 AT THE INNER TEMPLE. 271 
 
 lordship. If you wished for any better information 
 than you were in possession of, was it not rather to 
 them that you should have applied for it?" 
 
 "Very well, jlr. Linacre, very well! I have no 
 doubt you are perfectly right, sir; no doubt at all. I 
 have the honour to wish you a very good morning, Mr. 
 Linacre." 
 
 And so saying the angry old gentleman bowed 
 himself out of the room, and made his way to his car- 
 I'iage, swearing to himself very energetically that that 
 should be the last time he would ever hold communion 
 with the pragmatical, abominable, detestable, insolent, 
 self-conceited, ill-mannered, overbearing, pettifogging, 
 odious puppy, whom Providence had in its very evident 
 wisdom so wonderfidly excluded from the near chance 
 of becoming Earl of Linacre. 
 
 "Farnaby!" cried Bentham Linacre, going to his 
 door as soon as he had heard the descending step of 
 the Earl far enough down the stair to carry him out of 
 hearing, and crossing the landing to that of his friend 
 opposite. "Farnaby, the old boy is gone; just come 
 and read the last pages of this paper, there is a good 
 fellow; I shall finish it in less than half an hour." 
 
 "All right, old fellow. And while I read your 
 lucubrations on the law of 'easements,' you shall look at 
 a little thing of mine, that I have just put the finishing 
 touch to," said Farnaby, getting up and returning 
 Avith his friend to the opposite chambers. 
 
 "I don't see, for my part, what need you liave to 
 trouble yourself with such tilings, Farnaby. If 1 had 
 your fellowship, I know I'd work at something better 
 than this sort of ephemeral scribbling. There is no 
 excuse for it but the res a^igiista. You too, with
 
 272 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 yoiir very pronounced propensity for toying with Ama- 
 ryllis in the shade." 
 
 "But don't you see, my dear fellow," returned 
 Farnaby, with a laugh, "that the pleasing occupation 
 you allude to might possibly lead to the disappearance 
 of the means on which you base your theory of my 
 freedom from the necessity of work. Toying with 
 Amaryllis in the shade — at least any such Amaryllis 
 as I should care to toy with — has a tendency to be 
 fatal to fellowships. Joking apart, however, I don't 
 think my scribblement here is like to do much towards 
 paying a score at the 'Mitre;' and, to tell the truth, I 
 was not tliinkiug of any such praiseworthy object when 
 I wrote it." 
 
 "What is it?" said Linacre, taking two or three 
 sheets of draft paper out of his friend's hand. "What, 
 poetry! Oh, Farnaby, Farnaby! 'The Loves of the 
 Benchers!' Wliy, man alive, the very title is enough 
 to breed dreams of Scan. Mag. and the Star Chamber." 
 
 "Bah! There's no harm in it, only a little quiz- 
 zing. ^Vliy not 'The Loves of the Benchers' as well 
 as — or almost as well as 'The Loves of tlie Triangles?' 
 What was the meaning of so portentous a phenomenon 
 as a visit of the Earl of Linacre to the Inner Temple?" 
 
 "He is the most extraordinarily unreasonable and 
 absurd old gentleman that ever wore a coronet. And 
 that is saying a good deal. It is impossible to shut 
 one's eyes to the fact, Farnaby, that the existence of 
 a privileged class tends to the progressive cretinism of 
 the members of it," said Ijinacre, with tlie air of a 
 man, who has said a trutli so neatly and felicitously, 
 that the dictum thenceforward takes rank as an axiom. 
 
 "Tla! ha! lia! Bravo, Linacre!" laughed Farnaby,
 
 AT THE INNER TEMPLE. 273 
 
 with a pleasant musical laugli; "but, if I am not mis- 
 taken," he continued, "you have had a narrow escape 
 from such a condemnation to cretinism yourself. I 
 wonder whether the progress of the degradation would 
 be very rapid in your case?" 
 
 "Humph!" rejoined his friend with a shrug and a 
 grim smile. "I am not likely to be tried. It Avas 
 with reference to that possibility that that oi;ti-ageously 
 absurd old boy took the trouble to climb all those 
 stairs." 
 
 "AVhat had he got to say about it?" asked 
 Farnaby. 
 
 "Well, you know, I believe, how the thing stands. 
 The Linacre barony is one of those few that descends 
 in the female line, failing male heirs. Well, the 
 lamentable death of Lord Saltash, which we were talk- 
 ing of, you know, the other day — by-the-by, that fellow 
 is hung, — did you see? — as I was ready to bet he 
 would be! — would have made me heir to the earldom, 
 if there had been no daughter of the Earl existing, or 
 if there had been no such peculiarity of descent. But 
 I knew all about it. Of course I did. I knew that 
 the Lady Juliette is now the heiress to the barony and 
 the estates; and that, seeing that she is a very charm- 
 ing young lady, in perfectly good health, and sure to 
 be snap})ed up by the luckiest out of a dozen candi- 
 dates for lier hand, I liave not a wliit any better 
 chance of the succession than I had before. But would 
 you believe it, that old fellow came here, either still 
 in ignorance of the fact of his daughter's lieirship, or 
 having just learned it from his lawyers, — I can't quite 
 make out which, — and quarrels violently with me, be- 
 
 Thc Oarstavgn. I. IS
 
 274 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 cause / had never communicated to him the facts of 
 the case. Was there ever anything so absurd?" 
 
 "Oh! evidently a case of cretinism in a very ad- 
 vanced stage. What did you say to him?" 
 
 "Oh! I endeavoured, mildly and courteously, of 
 course, to lead him to some glimmering of conscious- 
 ness of his own stupendous blockheadism — only just 
 enough to satisfy my own conscience; for I knew it 
 was no use— having often tried before." 
 
 "And the stupid cretin wvas ungrateful for all your 
 efforts? He must have had some small ray of sense, 
 you know, Bentham, to perceive that the salutary dis- 
 cipline you w'ere administering to him was disagreeable," 
 said Faruaby, laughing. 
 
 "Yes; he did not like it a bit, and went off in a 
 huff." 
 
 "And the Lady Juliette, to whom the barony and 
 estates descend, is a charming person, you say? It 
 strikes me now, Bentliam, tliat the better plan would 
 be, instead of roughing the old gentleman with that 
 somewhat powerful rasping instrument, your eloquent 
 tongue, to marry the Lady Juliette, your cousin, 3'our- 
 self" 
 
 "I marry her! It must be by Avinning a charming 
 bride, after tlie fasliion of the roblier knight in tlic 
 ballad, then, and carrying her off from her father's 
 lialls vi et armis. For if I aiu not mistaken, the Earl 
 would rather marry her to any tenant farmer on liis 
 estate than to me. And the chances are that the feel- 
 ings of tlic lady herself towards me are not niucli more 
 favourable." 
 
 "Well, you know best aiiout that; but in all sober 
 seriousness tluit seems to me the best and most natural
 
 AT THE INNER TEMPLE. 275 
 
 way of arranging the future descent of the title and 
 property. The name would be preserved, — not by the 
 lady keeping her own, which is always but a make- 
 believe sort of contrivance, — but in the j)roper course 
 of things. The race would be continued in the real 
 male line. It would be a match that everybody would 
 at once recognize as tlie most natural and fittest that 
 could be made under the circumstances; — always sup- 
 posing of course that the lady could make herself 
 agreeable to you, and you could make yourself agree- 
 able to the lady." 
 
 "However natural and fitting such a marriage may 
 be, you may make yourself quite certain, Farnaby, 
 that it will never come to pass. You don't know the 
 Earl as I do. Come, let us look at 'The Loves of the 
 Benchers-,' it is a less unpromising subject than the 
 loves of the Linacre cousins. Why not try the ad- 
 venture yourself, Farnaby? Why should you despair 
 of succeeding in such an enterprise?" 
 
 "If I had seen tlie lady, and had liappened to fall 
 in love with her, I probably should 7iot despair," said 
 Farnaby, quietly. 
 
 "Well, why not go and look? As far as beauty 
 goes, I can assure you that you will not be disappointed. 
 I can give you an introduction — not to the Earl, that 
 Avould never do-, but I could introduce you to an old 
 acquaintance of mine — the only man down there who 
 has any more brains in his licad tlian a bullock — one 
 Farland, of Farlaudstokc, a man of culture. You 
 would come to him like a ray of light in the midst of 
 darkness. He is on nciglibourly terms with the people 
 at the Park; and you coidd make the acquaintance 
 through him." 
 
 18*
 
 276 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Fancy BentLam Linacre in the character of match- 
 maker. There; give me the paper on 'easements,' and 
 take you 'The Loves of the Benchers,' — the title is the 
 best line in it." 
 
 And there was no more said upon that occasion 
 between the young men, on the subject of the Lady 
 Juliette or the disposal of her hand in marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Juliette's Flight. 
 
 The Earl was absent from Linacre Park, on the 
 occasion of his journey to London, only three days, 
 as has been said. He travelled all night so as to reach 
 home on the morning of the fourtli day. But to this 
 the hale old man had not the least objection; he rather 
 preferred to reach home in the morning, that so he 
 might be able at once to go out and into his stables, 
 and round his farm to see how all had gone on during 
 his absence. 
 
 He had driven back on the evening of the second 
 day of his stay in town, — the day on which he had 
 visited Mr. Linacre in the Temple, — to liis solitary 
 dinner and his solitary e^'ening after it at liis hotel,— 
 a combination of circumstances as dejiressing and 
 wretched, (nie would say, as a civilized Englishman in 
 the nineteenth century can well be exposed to. l^ut 
 the Earl did not fnid the hours unbearably long, and 
 the solitude was not unacceptable to him. For his 
 mind was full of the new order of ideas, which the in- 
 telligence he had that day received had opened io him; 
 and he found sufficient occupation in l)nnging all the
 
 Juliette's flight. 277 
 
 furniture of his mind — his thoughts, plans, notions and 
 affections — into due harmony with the new state of 
 things. Of all possible future events, one to which he 
 had hitherto given the smallest possible degree of at- 
 tention, — the marriage of the Lady Juliette — became 
 the most interesting and important to him. And many 
 were the projects and schemes, many the castles more 
 or less in the air, which occupied the Earl's mind 
 diiring the hours of that evening. 
 
 During the same hours the family at the Grange 
 were sitting over their equally dull and silent and far 
 more miserable supper. They could not be said to be 
 in solitude, for the diminished family were still four in 
 number. But the barriers, far more impassable than 
 material prison walls, which isolated them from each 
 other, — barriers raised by uncongeniality of tempera- 
 ment, by habit, by temper, by suffering, by the in- 
 ability for bringing mind into contact with mind which 
 is engendered by long disuse of the faculty of doing 
 so, — these inclosing and isolating barriers made a soli- 
 tude among them far more distressing and unhealthful 
 to man than mere corporeal loneliness. 
 
 Very few words had been spoken between tliem, 
 during their evening meal. They had no [)lans or pro- 
 jects for the future to discuss, or to meditate on. Life 
 was all a dreary blank before them, in which the only 
 difference between tlie elder and tlic younger genera- 
 tion was that the barren sands stretched out to a more 
 distant horizon in the casd of the latter than in that of 
 the former. 
 
 Suddenly, however, the melancholy family party 
 were startled by a very strange and extraordinary 
 event. A knocking was heard at the door of the
 
 278 THE fiARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 house! A stranger seeking admittance to the Grange, 
 at that hour of the night! A stranger certainly, for 
 Ealph and Margy, tlie two okl servants at the Grange, 
 were quietly eating their sujiper in the back-kitchen, — 
 the room so called, hut which really was the only 
 kitchen of the house in modern days, — and their voices 
 in cozy chat were faintly heard from time to time in 
 the room where the family sat, tantalizing them with 
 suggestions of cheerful intercourse, which they could 
 neither imitate nor share. A stranger certainly; for 
 the only member of the family, who had once been in 
 the habit of so mingling with the outside world, that 
 his return home at such an hour was a not improbable 
 circumstance, was there no longer to break the leaden 
 monotony of the life at the Grange. The old people 
 at first fancied it must be George at the door. And 
 there shot a sudden momentary spasm through Wil- 
 fred's heart, as his imagination, at the first shock of 
 the startling surprise, suggested to him the fancy of 
 his brother's restless spirit wandering diu-ing the dark 
 hours back to its old haunts. 
 
 But, as the startled family sat gazing with mute 
 inquiry into each other's faces, the knocking was heard 
 again, though somewhat more fiiintly than before. It 
 was what sailors call a dirty night. A squally wind 
 was blowing a wrack of broken cloud masses across 
 the sky, and, except at rare intei'vals, altogether ob- 
 scuring the light of the young moon and the stars. 
 And a thin cold sleet was falling, Avhich, up on that 
 l)leak cliflF, was driven by the north wind that blew in 
 from the sea, with tlie violence of a tempest against 
 tlie seaward front of the Grange. 
 
 Wilfred, after a moment's startled pause, rose from
 
 Juliette's flight. 279 
 
 his seat to go to the door; for he knew that, specially 
 on such a night as that, the knocking at the front door 
 would not reach the ears of the servants in the back- 
 kitchen, on the other side of the house. 
 
 Leaving his father and mother and sister sitting at 
 the table staring in mute surprise at each other, "Wil- 
 fred went in silence to the door. The heavy old oak 
 planks Avere pushed against him so violently as soon 
 as he lifted the latch, that it needed all his force to 
 stand up against them; and for a moment he thought 
 that it was intended to enter the house by violence. 
 But it was only the force of the wind, which in that 
 bleak and utterly unsheltered situation was blowing 
 with the impetuosity of a tempest. He had not taken 
 a light with him, or it would have been blown out in 
 an instant. But he thought he saw, very indistinctly 
 in the darkness, the figure of a woman crouching on 
 one of the benches that occupied the sides of the porch 
 before the door. 
 
 "Who is there?" he said, calling out so as to be 
 heard above the wind, while a misgiving which sent a 
 cold spasm to his heart, shot into his mind. 
 
 "It is I, Wilfred! For the love of God let me 
 come into the house! I have hardly been able to drag 
 myself to the door. It is such an awful night, and — 
 and " 
 
 The words died on the quivering lips of the speaker; 
 her head fell on her bosom, and she would have fallen 
 in her fainting fit from the seat, if Wilfred had not 
 sprung forward to si;pport her. 
 
 The instant he took his hand from the door to do 
 so it was violently flung wide open against the wall of 
 the passage by the force of the wind.
 
 280 THE GARSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 "Good God! What is to be done! What mad- 
 ness has brought her here. What in heaven's name 
 shall I do with her? Patience! Patience!" he called 
 alond, disenfj'aging: one hand and arm so as to be able 
 to reach the kuocker of the door, with which he knocked 
 violently. 
 
 In the next miniite Patience came into the pas- 
 sage, not running but stepping doubtfully and timidly 
 forward. 
 
 "Wilfred! Wliat is it, Wilfred? Who knocked 
 at the door?" 
 
 "A woman, who has fainted! Quick, bring cold 
 water here, — and brandy! Quick, Patience!" 
 
 "But who is it, AVilfred?" reiterated Patience. 
 
 "How should I know? A Avoman, I tell you; and 
 she has fainted. Be quick, I tell you, with the 
 brandy." 
 
 Patience returned into the house to obey her brother 
 with no very great alacrity; and before she had re- 
 turned, the stranger had recovered from her fainting fit. 
 
 "Is that you, Wilfred?" she said, shuddering as 
 the wind daslied tlie rain-drops into her face; "thank 
 God r am here! But I am afraid, Wilfred — I am 
 afraid I am very ill! You will let me come into the 
 house, W^ilfred?" 
 
 This was said in a gentle, timid, pleading voice; 
 and the tones were evidently those of a lady, and 
 a delicately bred one. And the moon shining out just 
 at that moment, as the wind swept the clouds from 
 ])efore it for a minute or two, showed a very pale face 
 of delicate beauty, turned up with sad wistful eyes to 
 Wilfred Garstang. 
 
 "Of course, you must come in, Juliette. Of course
 
 Juliette's flight, 281 
 
 you must. We must see wliat can be done. But — but 
 — what lias induced you to take this step?" 
 
 "What couhi I do, Wilfred? and where could I go? 
 My God! where else could I go?" she said, clasping 
 her hands. 
 
 "Hush! here is Patience. We must get a bed 
 ready for you." 
 
 "I have brought the brandy, Wilfred; and cold 
 water in a basin," said Patience, somewhat ungraciously, 
 as she came do^ni the passage, still in the dark; for 
 the stranger was still in the porch; the door was wide 
 open, and the wind was rushing into the passage in a 
 manner that would have made it impossible to carry a 
 light for a moment. 
 
 "She has recovered from her fainting fit, and must 
 be put to bed," said Wilfred. 
 
 "Wliat, here! — here, at the Grange?" said Patience, 
 scarcely believing her ears. 
 
 "To be sure, she must have a bed here! Is this 
 a night to turn a dog from the door, let alone a woman? 
 Go in. Patience, and see to prepare a bed. I will 
 bring her in!" returned Wilfred. 
 
 "But who is she? and where am I to put her?" 
 said Patience, still unwillingly. "What spare bed is 
 there?" 
 
 "Wliat spare bed! Are we as many in family, 
 Patience, as we were?" replied Wilfred sternly, and 
 almost fiercely. "Go quickly," ho added, "and see 
 that the bed is made ready in the room that was 
 his!'' 
 
 It was not often that Wilfred was thus stern, 
 decided, and masterful in his manner; and Patience 
 knew that in his present mood it was best and safest
 
 282 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 to obey liim. So slie went to do as lie had told her. 
 But she did not do so willingly, or with a good grace; 
 and she very greatly marvelled at the orders given to 
 her. 
 
 As soon as she was gone, Wilfred assisted the 
 stranger to rise, brought her into the house, and shut 
 the door. Then, avoiding the kitchen, in which his 
 father and mother were still sitting at the supper-table, 
 wondering in a dull and imbecile sort of way at the 
 unusual incident which had occurred; he took the vis- 
 itor into a small room on the other side of the enti'ance 
 passage, which was rarely put to any purpose. His 
 manner in doing this, and in placing the form of the 
 evidently delicately nurtured lady he had called 
 "Juliette," on an old sofa, which, with a round table in the 
 middle of the room, were the only articles of furniture 
 it contained, was markedly respectful and even tender 
 in its care. But it Avas not cordial; nor was any genial 
 welcome exjn-essed in it. 
 
 "Now, for God's sake, tell me. Lady Juliette, 
 before Patience comes back, Avhat has induced you to 
 take this stej); why yoii are here; and what I am to 
 say to Patience, and to my father and mother?" 
 
 "The truth, AVilfrcd! What can I say to them, 
 or what can you say for me, but the truth? It cannot 
 long be concealed; and oh, Wilfred, I coiild not, 1 
 dare not await the return of my fatlicr! If it had not 
 been .... if all had been difiercnt," she said, with a 
 convulsive sob; "if I had had my beloved, my noble 
 husband to stand by me, I Avould have dared all — 
 avowed all! But now .... Avhat is to become of me 
 now! Tliink of my father's angei* — think how he 
 would spurn me when he knows "
 
 Juliette's flight. 283 
 
 "Yes," said Wilfred, moodily shaking his head 
 with a mixture of bitterness, and wounded pride, and 
 pity in the expression of his voice and face. "Yes; 
 it was hardly to be lioped that the nature of the facts, 
 "which have made his daughter a widow, would help to 
 reconcile him to the connection slie had formed by her 
 marriage. It is hardly to be expected that the Earl of 
 Linacre would be easily brought to acquiesce in finding 
 his daughter the widow of a convict who has died on 
 the gallows!" 
 
 "Oh! Wilfred, how can you say those horrid, hor- 
 rid words!" she said, amid her tears; "yet they are 
 words," she added, "that have been ringing in my 
 own brain like the clang of a funeral bell ever since 
 .... ever since. I wonder — I wonder T have lived!" 
 
 "Those do not die, Lady Juliette, to whom deatli 
 would be welcome. And Avhat words can I say? Are 
 they not the words your father will say?" rejoined 
 Wilfred, with bitter helplessness in his voice. 
 
 "But it is not only that," said the unfortunate girl 
 again. " It is not only that. He has so bitter a resent- 
 ment against him — against all of you- — against the 
 whole family! He thinks that he, my darling — my 
 
 own husband — my truest, best Oli, God! oli, 
 
 God! Was there ever a load of sorrow to bear equal 
 to my load?" 
 
 And as she spoke, slie writhed apparently in bodily 
 pain, as she lay on the sofa. 
 
 "Your burden has been, — is — a heavy one," said 
 Wilfred; "and each heart knoweth its own bitterness. 
 But there arc others. Lady Juliefto, whose lot is — not 
 brighter; — others who, believe me, wuuhl gladly cliango 
 fates with you." And tlie expression of utter, utter
 
 284 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 hopelessness in "Wilfred's face, more terrible than even 
 the sting of present agony, Avas such as to make it 
 easily believed that he spoke in all sincerity of heart. 
 
 Nevertheless, the l)urden that was laid on him was 
 not greater than he could bear, for he continued to 
 bear it for many a dreary year; while that which Avas 
 crushing the frail and delicate creature, who lay in 
 anguish on the little hard sofa before him, was, in 
 truth, more than her powers of resistance were capable 
 of enduring — for she sank under it. 
 
 Tlie few words that passed between Wilfred and 
 his sister-in-law, the Lady Juliette, have been sufficient 
 to tell the reader, almost in its entirety, a love-tale, the 
 romantic details of which might liave made the story 
 of it worth telling, Avere it not that the ulterior results, 
 to which it led, and which it is the purpose of this 
 narrative to relate, will require for the telling of them 
 all the space which remains to us. 
 
 George Garstang, first brought into the house at 
 the Park by his boyish friendship with Lord Saltash, 
 which arose under the circumstances that have been 
 related, had continued on terms of intimacy there long 
 after tlie Earl had })egun to feel disa])proval of the sort 
 of footing on whicli he habitually frequented the house. 
 But this disapproval had had no reference to his 
 daughter. In the first place, the Earl did not think 
 enough about her at all for him to have conceived any 
 such notion on her account. And, in the second place, 
 if he had thought about her at all, the notion of an 
 attachment between his daughter and the son of his 
 tenant would liave seemed too preposterous to him to 
 1)0 worthy of a moment's consideration. Assuredly, if 
 any idea had occurred to hhii that such a thing had
 
 Juliette's flight. 285 
 
 for an instant entered into tlie head of either the lad 
 or the lass, he would have consigned the young man 
 to some limbo of exile beyond the Linacre Park-gates 
 in a very summary manner. But he lived in habitual 
 neglect of his daiTghter, and no such monstrous thought 
 had ever come near his mind. His disapproval of the 
 intimate terms on M'hich young Garstang frequented 
 the Park had reference solely to his son. He began 
 to doubt whether the extreme intimacy which had 
 sprung up between the young men was altogether 
 desirable. But his disapproval had never been strong 
 and energetic enough to control the will of his son and 
 hell' in this respect by the strong hand of authority. 
 It had only been strong enough to make him feel, when 
 the terrible catastrophe that has been related occurred, 
 that he had been right in his feeling his disapproval 
 of his son's friendship for the young yeoman, to con- 
 firm him in the notion that it was, of course, George 
 who had led his unfortunate son into mischief, and to 
 engender in his mind a feeling of intense hatred for 
 all the Garstang race. 
 
 How tliat Dame Nature is apt, in such cases as 
 that mider our consideration, to be less mindful of "the 
 majesty which doth hedge"' an Karl, than might, per- 
 haps, be wished, is a very old story. The Lady Juliette 
 lived in neglected seclusion. George Garstang was 
 pleasing in exterior, frank, bold , and amiable, and her 
 brother's particular friend into the bargain. They fell 
 in love; and then having done so with sufficient violence 
 to make it appear to their own young hearts that 
 .separation from each other was quite impossible, tliey 
 were very nnich frightened at what they liad dune. 
 All their mutual discussion of their terrible position
 
 286 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 was based upon tlie liypotliesiis, mutually admitted to 
 be indisputable, that it could not be undone; and the 
 result was a marriage, — neither party having for an 
 instant contemplated, it may be observed, any other 
 possible issue — contrived during an absence of tlie Earl 
 in London, of which Lord Saltash and Wilfred Garstang 
 were the only confidants, and to which they were the 
 only witnesses. 
 
 Secret marriages were very much moi-c easy matters 
 at the period to which this narrative refers than modern 
 legislation upon the subject has made them. Lay 
 legislators found considerable difficulty in dealing mth 
 a matter respecting which they were officially bound 
 to recognize the validity of ecclesiastical theories, that 
 maintained that a few words spoken by any lawfully 
 ordained priest under any circumstances, produced ir- 
 revocable results. 
 
 There were in those d.-iys, as is well known, far 
 more tlian plenty of utterly Avorthless and unscrupulous 
 men, who were nathlcss indisj)utably lawful priests, and 
 who made a shameless trade of prostituting their sacred 
 ministry to the tying of the marriage-knot between 
 any parties whatsoever who would pay them their fees 
 for doing so. But the marriage between George 
 Garstang and Juliette Linacre was not made under 
 such disreputable circumstances as these. 
 
 There were many degrees in the scale of re- 
 spectfibility between sucli men as those above alluded 
 to, and men who would not lend their ministry to any 
 rites save such as could be openly solemnized in the 
 face of all men. And it would be unjust to the 
 rneinory of "poor Jack Brackenbury," which is even 
 yet green in certain sec[uestcred social nooks of his Avell-
 
 Juliette's flight. 287 
 
 loved Silchester, to class him among tlie men of whom 
 the "Fleet parson" was the most perfect type and 
 specimen. 
 
 "Poor Jack Brackenbury," as most of the in- 
 habitants of Silchester nsed to call him-, "Honest Jack 
 Brackenbury," as those were wont to say, who were of 
 the class (a larger one in those days than in these) 
 w^ho liked their parsons "wet" rather than dry; "Poach- 
 ing Jack Brackenbury," as aggrieved owners of shoot-' 
 ing around Silchester used to shake their heads and 
 say, — the Rev. John Brackenbury, minor canon in the 
 Cathedral of Silchester, and the acknowledged possessor 
 of the finest tenor voice in the west of England, whether 
 for an anthem of Crofts, or for some such chant as that 
 immortal duet l)y Jackson of Exeter, " Time has not 
 t^iinned my flowing hair;" — he it was, who pronounced 
 that God had joined together George Garstang and 
 .Juliette Linacre, and bade no man put them asunder. 
 
 Honest Jack Brackeiibury must have known very 
 Avell that if the deed he did that day should reach the 
 ears of the Earl of Linacre, not all the value to the 
 Silchester choir of his unrivalled voice, nor all the in- 
 dulgence of his not over-severe superiors of the Chapter 
 could have availed to save his minor canonry. And 
 assuredly he had not been bribed to do his office by 
 the love of lucre. But poor Jack Brackenbury had a 
 very soft heart, and not a very hard head. He was 
 very meltable by a talc of true love garnished by some 
 ]iearly female tears ; and was probably not less so when 
 under the mild influence of a not excessive quantum 
 of his favourite rum-punch. 
 
 That is the truth of the matter; and now I have 
 told it, I have a fear that the present generation of
 
 288 THE GAKSTANGS OP GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 readers may tliink that poor Jack Brackenbury was 
 a worse man tlian I believe he really was. I, the 
 present writer, have survived the man so many years, 
 — I have lived on into a generation so much improved 
 and so "earnest," that I am almost ashamed to admit 
 that, such as he was, I loved the man-, and did not 
 feel by any means the reprobation that I ought to have 
 felt, when Avith a merry twinkle in his humorous eye, 
 and a rich roll in his voice, which .seemed never to be 
 quite free from some trace of tlie intoning, of which he 
 was so consummate a master, he would ask me to come 
 for a feast of glees and "a bowl," as soon as "the per- 
 formance" was over; — the word "performance," thus 
 used, absolutely having reference to that of the evening 
 service in the Cathedral. 
 
 Other times, other manners; — and other estimates 
 of men and things! 
 
 With all tliat, honest Jack Brackenbury was not 
 a bad man; though it cannot be said that he was an 
 exemplary clergyman. But non ex quovis ligno! There 
 was not the making of a good parson in poor Jack. 
 But he was by no means a rara avis in his profession 
 in those days of cakes and ale; though, having regard 
 to his coat and his voice, he certainly may be said to 
 liave resembled "a black swan." And as the type is 
 one that has jjerished from the face of the earth, I hope 
 this little digression in memory of him may be par- 
 doned. J 
 
 Such was the man who lent the aid of his ministry 
 to make a secret marriage between George Garstang 
 and Juliette fjinacre. 'I'lic intcnliDn of (he parties was, 
 that it sliould be kept pmfoundly secret during the life- 
 time of tlie Karl. Of course no longer would secrecy
 
 Juliette's flight, 289 
 
 be needed. Lord Saltasli was a party to the proceed- 
 ing. And when he should be Earl, the marriage might 
 be avowed. 
 
 L'homme propose^ et Dieu dispose^ and many a slip 
 between the cup and the lip, make both sayings the 
 tritest of all proverbs. At, or very soon after, the 
 time when the miserable end of George Garstang and 
 of Lord Saltash had made it more than ever hopeless 
 that the Earl should be brought in any degree to 
 mitigate the extreme wrath to Avhich he would be moved 
 by the discovery of his daughter's marriage, it began 
 to make itself apparent to the young wife that conceal- 
 ment would not be much longer possible. The agony, 
 the despair, tlie excess of terror that this discovery 
 caused her may be imagined. The bare contemplation 
 of the idea of having to confess herself the widow of 
 a felon, who had died by the gallows, and that felon 
 the man, already so deadly hated by the Earl, whom 
 he believed to be the author of the bereavement that 
 had made his own life a blank, seemed to her to make 
 it incredible that she should have so greatly feared to 
 own herself George Garstaug's wife when no stain rested 
 on his name. The present position was so infinitely, 
 so unspeakably worse, tliat the former one seemed by 
 contrast to have presented no very formidable dif- 
 ficulties. 
 
 Hence had come the ilight from her father's house 
 on the second day of his absence from home. AVhat 
 she hoped and planned, — how far she imagined that 
 running away to the home of her liusband's family 
 would have the effect of screening her from lior father's 
 displeasure, she probably could nut have (oUl herself 
 All she knew was that she dared not stay there to face 
 
 The Qarstanijs. I. 19
 
 290 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 him with the story she should so soon he obliged to 
 tell. Little as he had seemed ever to care about her, 
 or to think of her, perhajjs she might he allowed to 
 remain in the asylum she was about to seek unmolested. 
 Perhaps her exile from the Park might suffice; and 
 she might be suffered to live and die forgotten. 
 
 When, as soon as it was dusk on that day, the 
 second of the Earl's absence in town, — much about 
 the same hour that he was employed in projecting 
 schemes for her marriage, and tardily recognizing her 
 importance to him, in his London hotel — Juliette bad 
 stolen out of the house, and flitting under the shadows 
 of the trees of the avenue, had crossed the Park, and 
 fearing every instant to be recognized as she made her 
 way to the other side of the town, keeping to the 
 beach in preference to the streets for greater safety, 
 she had not felt ill in body. Her mental sufferings 
 were keen; but she had not felt at all afraid of the 
 walk to tlic Grange, if only she could accomplish it 
 without detection. 
 
 But on reaching the foot of the zigzag path which 
 climbed from the beach to tlie top of the cliff on v/hich 
 the Grange stood, she felt, to her surprise, that she 
 had overtaxed her strength. Somctliing, perhaps, was 
 due to the weather; for as slie had made her way along 
 the beach it had begun to rain. As she turned the 
 corner of the Garstang cliff she became cxjiosed to all 
 the violence of a strong gale bloAviug from the north- 
 wards, which di'ovc tlie sleet, mingled with spray from 
 the sea, against her, and made her progress far more 
 difficult. Nevertheless she had been surprised at feel- 
 ing how unequal slic was to the task of climbing the 
 cliff. tShe had no choice however. Tiiere was no other
 
 VENGEANCE. 291 
 
 possible haven for her; and with much bodily sufiFering', 
 added to her torment of mind, she had at last dragged 
 herself to the door, as has been seen. 
 
 But now, as she was waiting for the bed which 
 Patience, in obedience to the positive behest of her 
 brother, was preparing for her, instead of feeling better 
 for the rest she had reached at last, she began rapidly 
 to feel more ill. 
 
 And when at length Patience returned to the room, 
 where Wilfred and his sister-in-laAV were, with the not 
 very graciously communicated intelligence that the 
 room was ready for her, it was not without difficulty 
 that Patience and old Margy together succeeded in 
 getting their visitor upstairs and j^laced in it. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Vengeance. 
 
 As soon as Patience, with the aid of Margy, had 
 got Juliette to bed, she came out of the room and 
 sought her brother, eager- — as far as a word expressive 
 of so much animation could ever be applicable to her 
 — to remonstrate and give words to her indignation at 
 the unheard-of enormities to which she had been con- 
 strained to lend her assistance. A stranger received, 
 harboured, domiciled within the walls of the Grange! 
 A lady — a Philistine — an Amalekite! &c. &c. And 
 that the daughter of tlie Earl of Linacre, the daughter 
 of her father's landlord, and — as had been but too 
 clearly and strongly felt by every member of the family 
 at the Grange, ever since the dreadful and memorable 
 day of the trial at Silchester — their mortal enemy ! 
 
 19*
 
 292 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTAXG GRANGE. 
 
 It may be doubted wbetlier, among tbe desirable 
 modifications of the character which strong religious 
 sentiment is calculated to produce, an increased tendency 
 in the female heart to think kindly and charitably of 
 those sisters who possess the "fatal gift of beauty," can 
 fairly be reckoned-, more especially when, as must be 
 owned with regard to the instance in question, the 
 circumstances of the case seem to afford no small anioimt 
 of prima facie evidence to the effect that the beautiful 
 sister is also an erring one. The reader knows the 
 extent of the Lady Juliette's errors. But Patience knew 
 nothing of all that unliappy story. When she jierceived 
 who the stranger Avas whom old Margy was putting to 
 bed in the best room at the Grange, the thought of 
 George and of his lamentable and disastrous intimacy 
 witli the family of Lord Linacre naturally ruslied into 
 her mind, and as naturally had the effect of indisposing 
 her yet more than before towards the object of her 
 cares. Surely this strange invasion of her father's home 
 nmst in some way have been motived by that intimacy 
 of her brother which she had so often deph)red, and 
 which had at last led to his terrible death. And of 
 what nature could the connection between that intimacy 
 and the arrival of the Lady Juliette under such cir- 
 cumstances at the Grange be? 
 
 It may be admitted, that there was wherewithal in 
 the case, as it presented itself to Patience, to rouse the 
 unfavourable suspicions of a more leniently disposed 
 censor than she. And it was in a very angry and in- 
 dignant mood that Patience retiu'ned downstairs to the 
 front kitchen, where her father and motlier had been 
 left sitting at the supper-table, when the family party 
 had heon startled by (he unusual coming of a visitor
 
 VENGEA2JCE. 293 
 
 to their door. There was not enough vitality left in 
 either the old man or the old woman for them to feel 
 any very active degree of anxiety for the explanation 
 of what had occurred. They had no hope that it could 
 be anything good. And they were well nigh beyond 
 the apprehension of any further ill. 
 
 "I thought it had come," said the old man, 
 dreamily; "but maybe there is more to come yet." 
 
 "It is very bad of Patience to go away in this 
 guise, when I want to be going to bed," wailed the old 
 woman. 
 
 And so they sat, old Wilfred twirling his thumbs 
 and gazing with melancholy wistfulness at nothing; 
 and old Jcnefy putting the corner of her hankerchief 
 to her eye from time to time. 
 
 Patience encountered her brother in the passage, 
 just as he was about to enter the front kitchen. 
 
 "Well," said Wilfred, with more of eagerness in 
 his manner than was at all usual with him; "how does 
 she seem now? You have left her in bed, I suppose? 
 I fear me she is very ill." 
 
 "You are forgetting, brother, that, so far as you 
 ai'e aware, I have no knowledge who this woman is," 
 said Patience severely. "It is true that I have re- 
 cognized her. And you cannot wonder that the re- 
 cognition has been painful to me. On your liead, 
 brother, be the liarbouriug of this woman here? Has 
 not mischief enough come to us from tliese people? 
 Are we never to be free from the contact Avith tliem? 
 I have done your bidding. The woman is lying, — 
 sleeping probably liy this time, for slie seemed weary 
 — beneath my father's roof. What brings her here, it 
 is for you to explain, since you have willed that so it
 
 294 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 should be. That she should have been harboured here 
 it is for you to justify. I wash my hands of it." 
 
 "I am now about to explain to my father and 
 mother the circumstances that have led this lady to 
 come hither, and which make it fitting- that she should 
 be received here," said Wilfred, gravely and coldly, 
 "and if you care to hear the explanation I have to 
 give, you had better come in and listen to it, Patience." 
 
 Wilfred said this, being a little irritated by the 
 tone in which Patience had spoken, forgetful of the 
 just grounds for misgiving she had, and remembering 
 only, as men are apt to do, his own sources of anxiety 
 and trouble, which made it seem hard to him that his 
 sister should aggravate his vexation. But he knew 
 that the explanation to be given was mainly intended 
 for her. He knew that In's father would barely com- 
 j)rehend the facts, or remember on the morrow that 
 there was a stranger in the house; and that his mother 
 would in any case make the occurrence a subject of 
 lamentation, which would l)e little diminished or in- 
 creased by any explanation. 
 
 It was to Patience that it was really necessary that 
 the truth should be made known. 
 
 Patience followed him into the kitchen without any 
 further speech. She observed tliat he carried in his 
 hand a small strong box or iron-])ound coffer, which he 
 had apparently been to seek, while she had been en- 
 gaged with Margy in getting their visitor to her bed. 
 
 "Mother," said Wilfred, seating liimself at the 
 table, and putting down the box on the floor by his 
 side, "tlie person who knocked at the door just now 
 was the Lady .Juliette, tlie daugliter of Lord Linacre." 
 
 "Here! come here to the Grange at this time o'
 
 VENGEANCE. 295 
 
 niglit! Willy, Willy, it must be tlie gliost of lier, for 
 certain sure, tlie gliost of her!" said the old woman. 
 
 "No, mother! It is the Lady Juliette herself in 
 life. She is ill, and greatly beaten by her walk here 
 in such weather as this. And Patience and Margy 
 have put her to bed upstairs!" 
 
 "The Earl's daughter in bed at the Grange!" said 
 old Jenefy, with a sort of helpless wonder. 
 
 "Even so, mother; and it was in compliance with 
 my wish that Patience gave her a bed " 
 
 "Which it is for you to justify, brother! I wash 
 my hands of it!" inteiTupted Patience. 
 
 "And the reason why I judged it right in any case 
 so to do," continued he, not taking any notice of his 
 sister's interruption, "is, that this lady was the wife, 
 and is now the widow of my brother George!" 
 
 "The wife^ brother?" said Patience, with an un- 
 mistakable emphasis on the word. 
 
 "Merciful goodness!" exclaimed Jenefy, to whom 
 no more astounding statement could have been made: 
 "the wife of my boy — my boy! my murdered boy! 
 And he ... . Ah me! Ah me! Ah me!" she repeated, 
 as her speech passed gradiially into a prolonged wail. 
 
 "The lawful, wedded wife of my brother George — 
 your daughter-in-law, mother! Your sister-iu-law, Pa- 
 tience; my sister-in-law!" said Wilfred, Avith solemn 
 seriousness. 
 
 "I do not suppose," he went on, "that either of 
 you here, will imagine the possibility of my uuiking 
 such a statement unfoundedly. But as far as other 
 persons are concerned, such an assertion of mine would 
 be of small value without such proofs of the accuracy 
 of it as the law reij^uires. Those proofs I have here,"
 
 296 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 added Wilfx'ed, laying his hand on the iron-bound 
 strong box. 
 
 "And we hear this now for the first time," said 
 Patience, not doubtfully, but deeply displeased. 
 
 "So it was deemed best, Avhen this ill-starred mar- 
 riage was made," replied Wilfred. "I need hardly 
 say to any of you here, that if it had rested with me 
 to prevent it, no sucli marriage would ever have taken 
 place. But that was not iu my power. It ivas in my 
 power to take care that what was done should be done 
 legally, and to seciu-e the legal proofs of it. Shall I 
 show them to you?" 
 
 "Eh, Lord — Lord! and there be the marriage lines 
 in that box, say you, Willy?" said Jenefy, acquies- 
 cingly. 
 
 "How should I understand the Godless writings of 
 (rodless laAvyers! But I do not doubt in any wise, 
 brother, that it is even as you say," answered Patience. 
 
 "I and Lord Saltash were the only Avitnesses," con- 
 tinued Wilfred ; "and it was intended that the marriage 
 should remain a secret till after the death of the Earl. 
 It was not to be supposed that he would have been 
 otherwise than greatly angered at such a match even 
 then " 
 
 "Why should he be angered?" interrupted old 
 Wilfred Garstang, with a scowl, giving a greater in- 
 dication of mental vitality than the old man had ex- 
 hibited for many a day, and showing that he had 
 given heed to what had passed more than he had 
 seemed to do. "AVhy should he be angered? She 
 was not a Oarstang anyway! And my boy's blood is 
 as good as hers! .... was as good .... was as good
 
 VENGEANCE. 297 
 
 . . . . was as good!" he added, with a low wail of 
 anguish. 
 
 "But there was no hope that the Earl would fail to 
 be very exceedingly angered then when the marriage 
 was made. And if it was to be supposed that he would 
 have been angry then, what would his feelings be 
 likely to be now! This unhappy young woman, who 
 is now in bed upstairs, did not dare to meet her father, 
 when he should know the truth. She has reason to 
 think that the truth cannot be long concealed from 
 him. He is now absent from home*, and wisely or un- 
 Avisely, she decided on taking the opportunity of 
 escaping from the Park. Where else than here could 
 she go? And how could it be possible to |turn my 
 brother's wife from the door?" 
 
 "And when the masterful and Godless Earl shall 
 return and seek for his daughter like a roaring lion, 
 and find her here?" .... said Patience. 
 
 "It might well be that he would not find her," re- 
 plied Wilfred. "She came here, as for as I can learn 
 from her, without having told her purpose to any one, 
 and without having been traced or watched. And 
 Heaven knows that she might remain liere long enough 
 without any one being the wiser. Old Ealph and 
 Margy can be trusted. And you know hoAv far it is 
 likely that any other eye should see her here." 
 
 "There is one other which will see her liere," said 
 Patience, in a denunciatory tone, with upraised fore- 
 finger. 
 
 "But the Earl will be none the wiser," said Wil- 
 fred, Avith something approacln'ng to a sneer; adding, 
 however, immediately, — "nor will our consciences be 
 the sorer. Why should not God see her here? In
 
 298 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 wliat place could it be more proper for lier to be? Is 
 she not my brother's widow? And did I not promise 
 him many a time that I would stand by her and pro- 
 tect her? And, by God's help, I will do so! I say," 
 he added, after a pause, "that for aught that I can 
 see, she might remain here from year's end to year's 
 end without the Earl being able to discover where she 
 was. And it is to be noted that if he did discover it, 
 we are doing right and no wrong. Juliette is doing 
 right and no wrong. The house of her husband's 
 father is the place where it is the most proper for her 
 to be." 
 
 "And will you then keep her here in secrecy?" 
 said Patience, wlio had risen from her chair and was 
 standing with one liand resting on the table, and the 
 other planted on her hip. 
 
 "That may be a matter for much consideration," 
 replied her brother; "we must think of it and decide 
 on what is best." 
 
 "And of course you will at once assert openly and 
 prove the marriage, whether the proud Earl finds his 
 daughter here or not. For her sake, and for the sake 
 of her good name, and for the sake of ours, it is ne- 
 cessary that the fact and legality of the marriage 
 should at once be proved," said Patience decisively. 
 
 Wilfred's brow clouded over heavily, and he re- 
 mained silent for some time before answering his sister's 
 observation. 
 
 "I have promised," he then said. "I gave George 
 a solemn promise that I would see his wife and his 
 child, if he should have ono, riglitcd before the Avorld, 
 and I will keep my j^'omise. By Ciod's help I will 
 keep my promise as I have said; but it rests with me
 
 VENGEANCE. 299 
 
 to considei' tlie best way iu wliicli that may best be 
 done. I gave no promise binding me in this respect." 
 
 "I do not understand, brother, how there can be 
 more than one way in which it can be done," said 
 Patience, meaning only to express her ignorance with 
 all simplicity. 
 
 "But there may be more than one time for doing 
 it, may there not?" replied her brother, with some 
 asperity and irritation in his voice. "It is for me to 
 judge what may be the most favourable — the most 
 desirable moment for making the marriage known," 
 he added, while a heavy and menacing scowl came 
 over his brow. 
 
 "But this unfortunate lady?" urged Patience. 
 "Surely she will wish that her real position should be 
 at once made publicly known. Of a surety she will 
 demand that her marriage should be declared imme- 
 diately." 
 
 Wilfred lifted the small iron-bound coffer from the 
 floor, and placing it on the table before him, while he 
 rose from his chair at the same time, laid his hand 
 upon it, as he replied: "The assertion of any such 
 marriage unsupported by proof would be worse than 
 useless. The proofs of the marriage are contained in 
 this box, and this box is and will remain in my hands. 
 AVith me alone, therefore, will it rest to judge ivhen it 
 may be most opporti;ue that the marriage between my 
 brother and the daughter of the Earl of Linacre shall 
 be declared." 
 
 All this time the same heavy scowl had remained 
 on Wilfred Garstang's brow; and as he changed his 
 position from a sitting to a standing one, when he 
 spoke the above words, there was a hard, evil ex-
 
 300 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 pression on his face, and a baneful light in his hand- 
 some, but ordinarily spiritless eyes, that was not good 
 to see. 
 
 "But," still persisted Patience, with the true ten- 
 acity of a timid woman, though she was frightened as 
 Avell as puzzled by the expression of her brother's face, 
 "how can we continue to keep under this roof a — 
 person in the position that this lady would seem to all 
 the world to be in, until the fact of her marriage is 
 made public." 
 
 "All the world!" sneered Wilfred in a tone of con- 
 centrated bitterness and scorn; "what have we to do 
 with all tlie Avorld — we Garstangs Avithin the walls of 
 this old Grange? Does the world trouble itself about 
 us? Besides, I thought tliat you, sister, Avere especially 
 aboA'e all worldly considerations. What is 'all the 
 Avorld' and all the chattering in it to me, or to any of 
 
 us?" 
 
 "But why ?" Patience was beginning to urge 
 
 yet again, when her brother sharply and almost savagely 
 cut her short Avith Avords hurled from his mouth, as if 
 he Avere hurling a gauntlet of defiance on the floor be- 
 fore him. 
 
 "Did ijou sec that old man, that Earl, as lie sat 
 disgracing the judgment-seat tliat day? Did you see 
 him drinking in the words that Avcrc to make our home 
 desolate? Did you note Iioav he gloated Avitli satisfac- 
 tion over tlic fatal sentence?" 
 
 "I do knoAV, brother, that the bad and Godless man 
 rejoiced in the evil, even as the Prince of Darkness 
 rejoiceth. Assuredly God, even our God, avIU requite 
 it unto him," said Patience. 
 
 "Assuredly /, even I, will rcfiuitc it unto him,"
 
 VENGEANCE. 301 
 
 returned Wilfred, striking his open palm violently on 
 the table, and speaking in a voice of concentrated 
 hatred and anger that caused the half-dozing old man 
 to start in his chair, and scared Patience into drawing 
 herself back hastily from the table a couple of paces. 
 If she had been a Catholic she would have crossed her- 
 self. As it was she crossed her arms upon her bosom 
 and turned up the whites of her eyes. 
 
 Nevertheless, the notion of punishing the Earl, if 
 any means could be found of doing it, was not unac- 
 ceptable to Patience. She was far from having been 
 passive, in her inmost heart, under the manifestation 
 of hostile and malignant feeling towards her brother 
 by the Earl. Clearly he was God's enemy. Clearly 
 it would be right as well as very pleasant to behave to 
 him as such. Clearly it would be in the path of duty 
 to avail themselves of any opportunity of fighting on 
 God's side in this manner, which God's good providence 
 might open to them. But Patience was friglitened by 
 the violence of her brother's manner, and scandalized 
 by the irreligious, not to say Pagan, tone of his phra- 
 seology. If he had clothed his thirst for vengeance in 
 a citation from the Psalms, Patience would have gone 
 with him without difficulty. As it was she was 
 frightened; and was quite at a loss to guess what 
 means her brother might suppose himself to possess of 
 requiting the hatred of the Earl. 
 
 "Assuredly /, even I, Avill requite him." "Wilfred 
 had said. And truly, as he drew up his tall but 
 ordinarily slouching figure to its full height, and stood 
 with his open hand upon the table, and the sjteakiug 
 expression of intense hatred in his firmly closed mouth 
 and flaming eye, and of deadly determination on his
 
 302 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 contracted brow, he might well have been deemed a 
 terrible and dangerous foe by most men. 
 
 '"''Thou canst not requite, save He give tliee the 
 power to do so," said Patience after a pause, in a lower 
 voice than was usual with her. 
 
 "But that power He has put into my hand, my 
 sister," replied Wilfred with less violence, but with 
 gloomy determination of manner. 
 
 "How hath He given the Earl into thine hand?" 
 asked Patience, looking at him fixedly. 
 
 "Listen to me. Patience," he said. "To-morrow 
 or next day he will return home, and will expect to 
 find his daughter. He will knew, sooner or later, that 
 she has run away hither. That she should have come 
 to the house of her husband's family, even though that 
 family be Garstang of the Grange instead of one or 
 other of the richer landowners of the county, would be 
 no disgrace. The proud Earl would not be pleased. 
 But there would be nothing in it to sting him to the 
 soul; to bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the 
 grave; to stab him to the heart. But what do you 
 suppose, my sister, that the feelings of this worldly, 
 proud, bad noble would be, if he and all the world 
 believed that his daughter, his only daughter, his only 
 child, had l)cen not tlie wife, but the seduced mistress 
 of the man of yeoman class who was hung on the gal- 
 lows for murder?" said Wilfred unflinchingly uttering 
 the last worfls with a quivering lip, but with a steady 
 voice and unsoftening brow. "How would my lord 
 the Earl like that. Patience? And from the agony of 
 that disgrace / only can save him," he continued, 
 tajiping the coffer lid as he spoke. 
 
 "But your promise to George?" said Patience, iu
 
 VENGEANCE. 303 
 
 almost whispered tones, while the quickened beating of 
 her ordinarily sluggishly moving heart communicated 
 a visible movement to the fold of the white muslin on 
 her bosom; and told that she also was not inaccessible 
 to the passions which her brother's words called into 
 wakefulness. 
 
 "The promise I made to my brother, shall assuredly 
 be kept. His memory, the character of his wife, — the 
 rights of his child, — if child be born to him, — shall be 
 cleared and have right done to them. But this shall 
 not be during the lifetime of that evil old man. It is 
 not to be thought that he will live many years. The 
 agony of his shame may well shorten them. His re- 
 maining life Avill be all too little for the punishment 
 he has merited. But as long as he lasts, so long his 
 punishment shall last. He shall die a broken-hearted, ' 
 miserable, and disgraced man. I, Wilfred Garstang, 
 have said it." 
 
 Patience was about to say something in reply, 
 touching the part which the unhappy lady upstairs 
 would be required to play in this scheme of vengeance, 
 when the hca\y step of old Margy was heard descend- 
 ing the stairs. She had been left with the Lady 
 Juliette, when Patience had come from the room to 
 seek her brother-, and now hurried into the front 
 kitchen, as fast as her old limbs would carry her, to 
 beg that Miss Patience would come uj) directly, for the 
 lady was took much worse, and she — Margy — believed 
 her to be very ill.
 
 304 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Birth and the Death of a Garstang of the Grange. 
 
 Patience Garstang had probaLly less of any sort 
 of knowledge available in a sick-room than is usually 
 picked up by women of ordinary intelligence by the 
 time they have reached her age. But she had no dif- 
 ticidty in convincing herself that the stranger within 
 her father's gates was unquestionably very ill. She 
 was very reticent and unwilling to reply to any ques- 
 tioning of Patience-, but begged at last to speak to Mrs. 
 Garstang. Patience ran downstairs to communicate 
 this request to her brother. It was not so easily granted 
 an one, as it seemed. Old Jenefy had gone up to help 
 her husband to bed as usual; and, as both Wilfred and 
 Patience well knew, woukl be utterly useless in a sick- 
 room. In fact, it was no good, in any case, saying 
 anything to her about the visitor's illness. But what 
 was to be done? Wilfred went himself to the bedside 
 of bis sistor-in-law, and at once made up his mind that 
 it was absolutely necessary to seek some medical help 
 f.)r her. She was evidently suffering very great pain; 
 and when he told her that he would at once go himself 
 as (|uickly as jxissible doMu to liillmouth, and bring 
 Dr. Bartram back with him, she answoreil him only 
 with a groan in which mental distress seemed to have 
 its part as well as pliysical suffering. 
 
 As he left the room to do as he said, leaving Pa- 
 tience by her sister-in-law's Ijedside, old Margy followed 
 him to the head of the stairs, and whispered to him.
 
 BiETH And death of a garstang. 305 
 
 "I knoAvs well enotigli what be the matter with her, 
 Master Wilfred. Lord bless ye! Miss Patience, she 
 don't know nothing about it-, but she be taken ill, as 
 girls mostly is very apt to be taken as runs away from 
 their homes in sitch like fashion. That's it, and all 
 about it, Master Wilfred, as sure as I stand here," 
 continued the old woman, winking and nodding to 
 enforce her meaning, which Wilfred readily guessed. 
 
 "The best thing I can do," he said, "is to run for 
 the Doctor anyway. I will go as fast as my legs will 
 carry me." 
 
 "And the Doctor, I'm thinking, sir, had best lose 
 no time neither, if he means to be of any use," rejoined 
 old Margy, turning back to the room where the sick 
 woman lay. 
 
 Wilfred bounded down the steep path, at a pace 
 that brought him to Billraouth in a very few minutes. 
 The storm had passed away, and the moon was shining 
 brightly, wliicli made his errand much the easier. 
 
 But the part of the matter to which Margy had 
 referred was just the most difficult. Wilfred very soon 
 found himself at Dr. Bartram's door; and in a minute 
 or two more had communicated to him the astounding 
 intelligence that the Lady Juliette Linacre was at the 
 Grange, and very ill, and in urgent need of his — Dr. 
 Bartram's — assistance. But it took a longer time for 
 the Doctor to realize so utterly monstrous a truth; and 
 a longer still to enable him to decide whether he would 
 obey the summons brought to him or not. 
 
 "Good Heavens! sir; Mr. (Jarstang — Mr. Wilfred 
 Garstang, I believe?" said the Doctor with an emphasis 
 that seemed intended to mark the necessity of assuring 
 liimself that his visitor was not the other Mr. Garstang, 
 
 The Garstangs. I. 20
 
 306 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 who had been hung. "Gracious Heaven, Mr. Garstang! 
 My Lady Juliette at the Grange? Are you sure of 
 the fact, sir?" 
 
 "I left her there not twenty minutes ago, very ill!" 
 said Wilfred somewhat roughly, "and if she dies for 
 want of medical help, while you lose time here, Dr. 
 Bartram, the Earl will probably consider you to be in 
 fault." 
 
 "The Earl! he is not at home. Was anything ever 
 so unfortunate! To attend the Lady Juliette at Gar- 
 stang Grange. But who knows, my dear sir, whether 
 it would be the Earl's wish that I should attend his 
 daughter at the Grange? I profess I do not see my 
 way, I do not indeed!" 
 
 "If you think. Dr. Bartram, that you would rather 
 have it said by others as well as by the Earl, that this 
 lady has lost her life because you refused to attend 
 her, you can do so; and I will try to find some other 
 help, if it be not too late!" 
 
 "I did not say so, sir; I did not say that!" rejoined 
 the old man, nervously drumming with his fingers on 
 the top of his snuff-box; "but it is right and proper 
 that I should wish to see my way." 
 
 "But there is no time to lose. Dr. Bartram; and I 
 see my way very clearly. If you cannot make up 
 your mind to return with me at once to the Grange, I 
 must apply to Mr. Bolton, and that without the loss of 
 more time." 
 
 Now Mr. Bolton was a young practitioner in Bill- 
 mouth, whose name was by no means sweet in the 
 nostrils of old Dr. Bartram; and it was very dreadful 
 to tliiiik that it was very possible, if Mr. Bolton were 
 called to attend the Lady Juliette Linacre on this oc-
 
 BIRTH AND DEATP£ OF A GARSTANG. 307 
 
 casion, the result might be that he would succeed in 
 insinuating himself into the practice at the Park, than 
 which no greater misfortune could happen to Dr. Bartram 
 in his old age. Though he was called Dr. Bartram, 
 and his young rival was only known as Mr. Bolton, 
 the latter had as much legal right to the learned title 
 as the former, plus a considerably larger provision of 
 science. But Dr. Bartram was very favourably known 
 at Billmouth by vu-tue of his black knee-breeches, 
 shoebuckles, powdered head, cane, and broad-brimmed 
 hat; whereas Mr. Bolton possessed none of these things. 
 It may be supposed that age and standing also went 
 for something in the matter; and thus Dr. Bartram was 
 universally admitted to rank far above Mr. Bolton in 
 professional as well as social status. And all this 
 might be perilled if the younger man should once 
 obtain access to the bedside of so distinguished a 
 patient. 
 
 Still the matter was a very perplexing one. On 
 what hypothesis was the astounding presence of the 
 Lady Juliette at the Grange to be accounted for. 
 Might it not well be that the Earl might esteem the 
 attendance of him. Dr. Bartram, on his daughter under 
 such unaccountable circumstances as a matter of offence 
 instead of the reverse? Then it was in itself very 
 distasteful to Dr. Bartram to pay this visit to the 
 Grange. He did not like the people. They were said 
 to be atheists; and, worse still, they never called in 
 any medical adviser. Dr. Bartram had never before 
 spoken to any one of the family, except perhaps to Mr. 
 George. And now it had been seen what came of 
 supposing tliat any one of such a lot could be any 
 better than the rest. It was notorious, too, that the 
 
 20*
 
 308 THE GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 family liad become the object of the Earl's bitter 
 animosity. It was very difficult to know what to do. 
 
 The mere fact of having to set out to climb to the 
 top of Garstang cliff at that hour of the night was no 
 small objection to old Dr. Bartram — as, indeed, a man 
 of his years might be excused for considering it. 
 
 Nevertheless Bolton would go at once — of course 
 he would — jump at the chance — Devil doubt him. 
 And Dr. Bartram felt that anything was better than 
 that. 
 
 "Of course, sir," he replied, therefore, in no very 
 good humour — "of course if the Lady Juliette Linacre 
 requires my services they are at her command. I have 
 enjoyed the entire confidence of the Earl, her father, 
 for too many years for there to be any doubt about 
 that under any circumstances. But pray, how am I 
 to get to the top of Garstang cliff? To drive round 
 by the road would take a post-boy a good hour-and- 
 a-half if not two hours, and I confess that to climb 
 the cliff on foot, specially at this time of night, is 
 beyond me." 
 
 "You have your own pony, Dr. Bartram. If you 
 will mount him, I will lead him myself up the zigzag 
 with every care, and guarantee your arriving safely at 
 the Grange. I will also promise to see you down 
 again in the same manner. The path is not a bad 
 one. I assure you there is no difficulty. At all events 
 I must beg you to decide whether or no you Avill ac- 
 company me at once; for, as I have said, there is no 
 time to be lost. The lady is very ill." 
 
 Thus urged the old man signified his consent, and 
 ordered his pony to be saddled as (juickly as might be. 
 Wilfred, as he had promised, led the pniiy by the rein
 
 BIRTH AND DEATH OF A GARSTANG. 309 
 
 up the steep path. There was no necessity for any 
 such precaution as a measure of safety; but it enabled 
 Wilfred to accelerate the pony's steps a little, and to 
 land the Doctor at the door of the Grange somewhat 
 sooner than would otherwise have been the case. 
 
 Wilfred passed the pony's rein through a ring built 
 into the wall of the porch, and admitted the Doctor 
 to the house by simply raising the latch. The candle 
 that he had left when he started on his errand was 
 still burning in the passage, and the house was quite 
 still. 
 
 "If you will follow me. Dr. Bartram," said Wilfred, 
 taking up the candle, "I will lead you to your patient 
 at once; and will then send some one to look after 
 your pony." 
 
 They ascended the wide old oak staircase, and by 
 the time they were at the head of the stair the low 
 moan of one in great pain was audible in a neighbour- 
 ing room. 
 
 "Here is Dr. Bartram," said Wilfred, in a low 
 voice, as he opened the door of the chamber gently. 
 The two women. Patience and old Margy, were by the 
 bedside, and an unbroken succession of low moans, 
 every now and then rising into a louder wail, testified 
 to the urgency of the patient's suffering. 
 
 "Patience," said Wilfred, "if you will come with 
 me, we will leave the Doctor witli his patient and 
 Margy. You will find the old woman a very competent 
 nurse. Dr. Bartram; and I shall be at hand if you 
 have anything to say to me." 
 
 "She has been suffering greatly, brother," said 
 Patience in her cold hard manner, as tliey left the room
 
 310 THE GARSTANGS OF QARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 togetlier; "Margy, however, says that she doubts not of 
 her speedy recovery." 
 
 "I trust so — I trust so. We shall see what the 
 Doctor says presently. You had better go to bed, 
 Patience. Margy will give all the attendance needed. 
 I shall remain here till I see the Doctor. Good night," 
 said Wilfred. 
 
 And Patience, without any further remark, went to 
 her own room. 
 
 In a very few minutes Dr. Bartram came out of 
 the Lady Juliette's room; and saw Wilfred standing at 
 the further side of the large old-fashioned landing-place, 
 at the head of the stairs, waiting for him. Beckoning 
 to the Doctor to follow him, Wilfred led the way down 
 to the kitchen; and when he had placed the light on 
 the table, and was able to observe the Doctor's face, 
 he saw that he was scared and pale with alarm and 
 dismay. 
 
 "Were you aware of the nature of the illness of 
 the lady upstairs, Mr. Garstang?" he said, in a voice 
 shaking with displeasure and fright. "If so," he con- 
 tinued, as Wilfred made no reply, "I must say that I 
 think I have been very unfairly dealt with — tricked 
 and mi.sled." 
 
 "What u the nature of the lady's illness?" said 
 Wilfred, impassably. 
 
 "She is pregnant, sir, and is now in labour!" re- 
 turned the Doctor, angrily. "I am convinced tliat the 
 old woman there must luive known the fact ! And now 
 what am I to do?" 
 
 "Attend the lady in her confinement!" said Wil- 
 fred, shortly and quietly. 
 
 "Yes, that is very easily said," returned Bartram,
 
 BIRTH AND DEATH OF A GARSTANG. 311 
 
 evidently very ill at ease; "but — what will the Earl 
 say? What are the circumstances? I profess I do 
 not see my way. I think, Mr. Garstang, that I have 
 a right — that I am bound — that it is my duty, in this 
 very singular case, to ask under what circumstances — 
 in what way has it come to pass, that this lady is in 
 need of my services on such an occasion? I did not 
 observe, sir, that the lady wore any marriage-ring on 
 her finger; and, indeed, — of course we all know that 
 the Lady Juliette Linacre is unmarried. And " 
 
 "Dr. Bartram, I have no information to give you 
 on the subject. And I cannot see that it is at all 
 necessary for you to trouble youi'self with seeking for 
 any. Let the circumstances be what they may, which 
 have brought this lady to the position in which you 
 find her, would you deem it to be your duty to let 
 her lose her life, perhaps, for want of medical care and 
 attendance?" 
 
 "I don't say that, sir! but what the Earl may say 
 to it " 
 
 "You cannot suppose that, in any case, he would 
 wish that you should allow his daughter to die for 
 want of " 
 
 "I don't know. I don't know, I am sure! God 
 knows what the upshot of such an afi'air may be. 
 Besides, I am unprovided. I ought to have been 
 warned! I tell you fairly, sir, that I do not like the 
 look of the case. It is a premature birth ! The mother 
 has suffered a very severe shock to the nervous system. 
 There is a great deal of fever! — great prostration of 
 strength. I don't like the look of it at all, I tell you, 
 sir, — not at all." And Dr. Bartram, as he spoke, 
 walked up and down the stone-paved kitchen, with his
 
 312 THE GARSTANGS OF GAESTANG GRANGE. 
 
 hands in his breeches-pockets, in a state of considerable 
 agitation. 
 
 "What is it that you need, Dr. Bartram, that you 
 are not provided with?" said Wilfred quietly, in a tone 
 that showed that he did not in any degree partake in 
 the agitation of his companion. 
 
 "Matters that you cannot furnish me with, — proper 
 instruments. It is absolutely necessary that I should 
 have the means of sending a message to my house." 
 
 I will provide a messenger directly. Dr. Bartram. 
 If you will write to your house directions Avhat things 
 should be sent, the man shall bring them with the least 
 possible loss of time. He will go quicker on foot, or I 
 would send a horse. You will find there paper, pen, 
 and ink." 
 
 And Wilfred went out to get the promised mes- 
 senger ready. 
 
 Dr. Bartram had by no means exaggerated the 
 symptoms, which indicated that there was cause for 
 very considera})le misgiving as to the issue of the Lady 
 Juliette's confinement. Perhaps a better informed prac- 
 titioner might have thought even worse of the matter 
 than old Bartram did. 
 
 Shortly after the despatch of the messenger to the 
 Doctor's house, there occurred a temporary cessation of 
 tlie severe pain wliich the patient had been sufi'ering; 
 and she availed herself of the comparative ease to beg 
 that Mr. Wilfred Garstang should come to her, and 
 fliat the Doctor and old Margy would leave her alone 
 with him for a few minutes. 
 
 "Wilfred," she said, as soon as she was alone with 
 her brother-in-law, "I am sure that Dr. Bartram tliinks
 
 BIRTH AND DEATH OF A GARSTANG. 313 
 
 I am going to die. And— and, as far as I can guess 
 myself, T have little doubt that he is ri^i^ht." 
 
 "Let us hope " interrupted Wilfred, about to 
 
 utter some of the commonplaces that are uttered in 
 such cases, for want of any really useful word to be 
 said. 
 
 But Juliette interrupted him again. 
 
 "Why should we hope anything else? What have 
 I to hope in life? — what to look forward to? It is far 
 better for all parties — for all — that I should go! One 
 only joy have I had in this life, — your brother's love. 
 That is over! — he has gone! Let me go to him! Li- 
 deed, indeed, it is the only outlet from the present, 
 that seems to show one gleam of light. Don't speak 
 to me of hoping that I may live. But, Wilfred, I leave 
 a sacred trust to you." 
 
 Wilfred sloAvly and solemnly bowed his head, but 
 did not interrupt her by speaking. 
 
 "I cannot die in peace, unless I know that — that 
 the truth about me shall be known, and known beyond 
 all doubt. I owe this to my father as well as to my 
 own name. ... It may be," she added, after a pause, 
 and with an effort, "that I shall owe it yet more to 
 another." 
 
 For a Avhile she lay silent, apparently collecting 
 her energies of body and of mind for another ctt'ort. 
 Wilfred, in obedience to a sign from her hand, abstained 
 from speaking. 
 
 "If," she said at length, putting out her slender 
 band burning with fever, and laying it on his coat- 
 sleeve, while she turned her face away from him, "if 
 I die, and leave a living child behind me, I charge 
 you, Wilfred, — you, who will be its nearest relative,
 
 314 TUB GARSTANGS OF GARSTANG GRANGE. 
 
 not only to be ns a fatlier to the babe, but to clear its 
 luinie from every taint of sliame, and to see tliat it is 
 placed in tliat position in the world to "which its birth 
 entitles it. Will you promise me this, Wilfred?" 
 
 "To do as you have said, Juliette, shall be the 
 main aim, object, and business of my life; and to that 
 I give you my most sacred promise," said Wilfred, 
 with solemn earnestness, fully minded to keep the 
 jjromise he gave in its entirety, and in every sense, 
 but greatly congratulating himself at the same time 
 Ihat it had not occurred to Juliette to say any word 
 that bound him to do that which he had promised to 
 do within any given time. Yes! The name of his 
 brother's wife should be cleared before all the world; 
 his brother's child — should any child survive the 
 mother, — should be cleared from every slain that doubts 
 respecting its birth could cause, should be placed in its 
 due position before the world, and should enjoy what- 
 ever rights and advantages the legitimate child of 
 (ieorge Garstang and Juliette Linacre could, or might 
 be, entitled to. But these things should not be yet. 
 The Earl must first receive his punishment; — and his 
 punishment must endure as long as his life! 
 
 "Thanks, my brotlicr," said Juliette, M'hen he had 
 given his promise, "lielieve me, 1 have now no wish 
 to live!" 
 
 When Dr. l^artram was re-admiltcd into the room 
 he called for brandy, which he administered to the aj)- 
 parently sinking woman timidly, and more sj)aringly 
 than he should have done, if any help was to be 
 gained by it. Tlie messenger who had been des])atched 
 t(j Billiiiouth, relurned very (piickly, having made all
 
 BIRTH AND DEATH OF A GARSTANG. 315 
 
 speed. And Dr. Bartram passed the remainder of tlie 
 niglit by the bedside. 
 
 But on this occasion, at all events, the Doctor's 
 previsions were not belied by the event. 
 
 Abont an hour after the daAvn' of the next morn- 
 ing, Juliette Garstang gave birth to a female child; 
 and, within half-au-hour afterwards, had herself ceased 
 to breathe. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 PKINTING OFFICE OP THE PUHLISHER.
 
 DATE DUE
 
 ^ OO P 630 87 P 7