THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF William P. Y/reden \ MAN AND WIFE BY WILKIE. COLLINS, AUTHOR OF 'THE WOMAN IN WHITE," "NO NAME," "ARMADALE," "THE MOONSTONE," &c. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1870. BY WILKIE COLLINS. Of all the living writers of English fiction no one better understands the art of story-telling than Wilkie Collins. He has a faculty of coloring the mystery of a plot, exciting terror, pity, curiosity, and other passions, such as belongs to few, if any, of his confreres, however much they may excel him in other respects. His style, too, is singularly ap- propriate less forced and artificial than the average modern novelists. Boston Transcript. MAN AND WIFE. A Novel. With Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, $i oo; Cloth, $i 50. THE MOONSTONE. A Novel. With Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, |i 50 ; Cloth, $2 oo. ARMADALE. A Novel. With Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, $i 60; Cloth, $2 oo. NO NAME. A Novel. Illustrated by JOHN McLENAN. 8vo, Paper, $i 50; Cloth, $2 oo. THE WOMAN IN WHITE. A Novel. Illustrated by JOHN McLENAN. 8vo, Paper, i 50 ; Cloth, $2 oo. THE QUEEN OF HEARTS. A Novel. I2mo, Cloth, $i 50. ANTONINA ; or, The Fall of Rome. A Romance of the Fifth Century. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price. MAN AND WIFE. PROLOGUE. THE IRISH MARRIAGE. $art tfje JFtrst, THE VILLA AT HAMPSTEAD. I. ON a summer's morning, between thirty and forty years ago, two girls were crying bitterly in the cabin of an East Indian passenger ship, bound outward, from Gravesend to Bombay. They were both of the same age eighteen. They had both, from childhood upward, been close and dear friends at the same school. They were now parting for the first time and parting, it might be, for life. The name of one was Blanche. The name of the other was Anne. Both were the children of poor parents ; both had been pupil-teachers at the school ; and both were destined to earn their own bread. Person- ally speaking, and socially speaking, these were the only points of resemblance between them. Blanche was passably attractive and passably intelligent, and no more. Anne was rarely beau- tiful and rarely endowed. Blanche's parents were worthy people, whose first consideratio*n was to secure, at any sacrifice, the future well- being of their child. Anne's parents were heart- less and depraved. Their one idea, in connec- tion with their daughter, was to speculate on her beauty, and to turn her abilities to profitable ac- count. The girls were starting in life under widely different conditions. Blanche was going to In- dia, to be governess in the household of a Judge, under care of the Judge's wife. Anne was to wait at home until the first opportunity offered of sending her cheaply to Milan. There, among strangers, she was to be perfected in the actress's and the singer's art ; then to return to England, and make the fortune of her family on the lyric Such we_re the prospects of the two as they sat together in the cabin of the Indiaman locked fast in each other's arms, and crying bitterly. The whispered farewell talk exchanged between them exaggerated and impulsive as girls' talk is apt to be came honestly, in each case, straight from the heart. ".Blanche! you may be married in India. Make your husband bring you back to En- gland." " Anne ! you may take a dislike to the stage. Come out to India if you do." "In England or out of England, married or not married, we will meet, darling if it's years hence with all the old love between us ; friends A who help each other, sisters who trust each oth- er, for. life! Vow it, Blanche!" ' ' I vow it, Anne ! " "With all your heart and soul ?" "With all my heart and soul!" The sails were spread to the wind, and the ship began to move in the water. It was neces- sary to appeal to. the captain's authority before the girls could be parted. The captain 'inter- fered gently and firmly. " Come, my dear," he said, putting his arm round Anne ; " you won't mind me ! I have got a daughter of my own. " Anne's head fell on the sailor's shoulder. He put her, with his own hands, into the shore-boat alongside. In five minutes more the ship had gathered way ; the boat was at the landing-stage and the girls had seen the last of each other for many a long year to come. This was in the summer of eighteen hundred and thirty-one. n. Twenty-four years later in the summer of eighteen hundred and fifty-five there was a villa at Hampstead to be let, furnished. The house was still occupied by the persons who desired to let it. On the evening on which this scene opens a lady and two gentlemen were seated at the dinner-table. The lady had reach- ed the mature age of forty-two. She was still a rarely beautiful woman. Her husband, some years younger than herself, faced her at the ta- ble, sitting silent and constrained, and never, even by accident, looking at his wife. The third person was a guest. The husband's name was Vanborough. The guest's name was Kendrew. It was the end of the dinner. The fruit and the wine were on the table. Mr. Vanborough pushed the bottles in silence to Mr. Kendrew. The lady of the house looked round at the serv- ant who was waiting, and said, ' ' Tell the chil- dren to come in. " The door opened, and a girl twelve years old entered, leading by the hand a younger girl of five. They were both prettily dressed in white, with sashes of the same shade of light blue. But there was no family resemblance between them. The elder girl was trail and delicate, with a pale, sensitive face. The younger was light and florid, with round red cheeks and bright, saucy eyes a charming little picture of happiness and heajth. Mr. Kendrew looked inquiringly at the youn- gest of the two girls. " Here is a young lady," he said, " who is a total stranger to me. " ' ' If you had not been a total stranger yourself for a whole year past," answered Mrs. Vanbor- ough, "you would never have made that confes- sion. This is little Blanche the only child of 10 MAN AND WIFE. the dearest friend I have. When Blanche's mo- ther and I last saw each other we were two poor school-girls beginning the world. My friend went to India, and married there late in life. You may have heard of her husband the famous Indian officer, Sir Thomas Lundie ? Yes : ' the rich Sir Thomas, ' as you call him. Lady Lundie is now on her way back to England, for the first time since she left it I am afraid to say how many years since. I expected her yesterday ; I expect her to-day she may come at any mo- ment. We exchanged promises to meet, in the ship that took her to India 'vows' we called them in the dear old times. Imagine how changed we shall find each other when we do meet again at last !" "In the mean time," said Mr. Kendrew, "your friend appears to have sent you her little daugh- ter to represent her ? It's a long journey for so young a traveler." "A journey ordered by the doctors in India a year since," rejoined Mrs. Vanborough. " They j said Blanche's health fequired English air. Sir Thomas was ill at the time, and his wife couldn't leave him. She had to send the child to En- gland, and who should she send her to but me ? Look at her now, and say if the English air hasn't agreed with her ! We two mothers, Mr. Ken- drew, seem literally to live again in our children. I have an only child. My friend has an only child. My daughter is little Anne as / was. My friend's daughter is little Blanche as she was. And, to crown it all, those two girls have taken the same fancy to each other which we took to each other in the by-gone days at school. One has often heard of hereditary hatred. Is there such a thing as hereditary love as well ?" Before the guest could answer, his attention was claimed by the master of the house. "Kendrew," said Mr. Vanborough, "when you have had enough of domestic sentiment, ' suppose you take a glass of wine ?" The words were spoken with undisguised con- tempt of tone and manner. Mrs. Vanborough's color rose. She waited, and controlled the mo- mentary irritation. When she spoke to her hus- band it was evidently with a wish to soothe and conciliate him. " I am afraid, my dear, you are not well this evening?" "I shall be better when those children have done clattering with their knives and forks. " The girls were peeling fruit. The younger one went on. The elder stopped, and looked at her mother. Mrs. Vanborough beckoned to Blanche to come to her, and pointed toward the French window opening to the floor. " Would you like to eat your fruit in the gar- den, Blanche?" "Yes," said Blanche, "if Anne will go with me." Anne rose at once, and the two girls went away together into the garden, hand in hand. On their departure Mr. Kendrew wisely started a new subject. He referred to the letting of the house. "The loss of the garden will be a sad loss to those two young ladies," he said. " It really seems to be a pity that you should be giving up this pretty place. " " Leaving the house is not the worst of the sacrifice," answered Mrs. Vanborough. "If John finds Hampstead too far for him from London, of course we must move. The only hardship that I complain of is the hardship of having the house to let." Mr. Vanborough looked across the table, as ungraciously as possible, at his wife. " What have you to do with it?" he asked. Mrs. Vanborough tried to clear the conjugal horizon by a smile. " My dear John," she said, gently, "you for- get that, while you are at business, I am here all day. I can't help seeing the people who come to look at the house. Such people!" she con- tinued, turning to Mr. Kendrew. "They dis- trust every thing, from the scraper at the door to the chimneys on the roof. They force their way in at all hours. They ask all sorts of im- pudent questions and they shqw you plainly that they don't mean to believe your answers, before you have time to make them. Some wretch of a woman says, 'Do you think the drains are right?' and sniffs suspiciously, be- fore I can say Yes. Some brute of a man asks, ' Are you quite sure this house is solidly built, ma'am?' and jumps on the floor at the full stretch of his legs, without waiting for me to re- ply. Nobody believes in our gravel soil and our south aspect. Nobody wants any of our im- provements. The moment they hear of John's Artesian well, they look as if they never drank water. And, if they happen to pass my poultry- yard, they instantly lose all appreciation of the merits of a fresh egg .' " * Mr. Kendrew laughed. ' ' I have been through it all in my time," he said. "The people who want to take a house are the born enemies of the people who want to let a house. Odd isn't it, Vanborough ?" Mr. Vanborough's sullen humor resisted his Mend as obstinately as it had resisted his wife. ' ' I dare say, " he answered. ' ' I wasn't listen- ing." This time the tone was almost brutal. Mrs. Vanborough looked at her husband with uncon- cealed surprise and distress. ' ' John !" she said. " What can be the matter with you ? Are you in pain ?" "A man may be anxious and worried, I sup- pose, without being actually in pain." "I am sorry to hear you are worried. Is it business ?" . " Yes business." "Consult Mr. Kendrew." "I am waiting to consult him." Mrs. Vanborough rose immediately. ' ' Ring, dear," she said, "when you want coffee." As she passed her husband she stopped and laid her hand tenderly on his forehead. " I wish I could smooth out tfiat frown !" she whispered. Mr. Vanborough impatiently shook his head. Mrs. Vanborough sighed as she turned to the door. Her husband called to her before she could leave the room. " Mind we are not interrupted ! " "I will do my best, John." She looked at Mr. Kendrew, holding the door open for her; and resumed, with an effort, her former light- ness of tone. " But don't forget our ' born ene- mies!' Somebody may come, even at this hour of the evening, who wants to see the house." The two gentlemen were left alone over their wine. There was a strong personal contrast be- MAN AND WIFE. 11 tween them. Mr. Vanborongh was tall and dark a dashing, handsome man ; with an energy in his face which all the. world saw ; with an inbred falseness under it which only a special observer could detect. Mr. Kendrew was short and light slow and awkward in manner, except when something happened to rouse him. Looking in his face, the world saw an ugly and undemonstra- tive little man. The special observer, penetrating under the surface, found a fine nature beneath, resting on a steady foundation of honor and truth. Mr. Vanborough opened the conversation. "If you ever marry," he said, "don't be such a fool, Kendrew, as I have been. Don't take a wife from the stage. " "If I could get such a wife as yours," replied the other, ' ' I would take her from the stage to- morrow. A beautiful woman, a clever woman, a woman of unblemished character, and a wo- man who truly loves you. Man alive ! what do you want more ?" ' ' I want a great deal more. I want a woman highly connected and highly bred a woman who can receive the best society in England, and open her husband's way to a position in the world." "A position in the world!" cried Mr. Ken- drew. " Here is a man whose father has left him half a million of money with the one con- dition annexed to it of taking his father's place at the head of one of the greatest mercantile houses in England. And he talks about a position, as if he was a junior clerk in his own office ! What on earth does your ambi- tion see, beyond what your ambition has al- ready got?" Mr. Vanborongh finished his glass of wine, and looked his friend ^teadily in the face. "My ambition," he said, " sees a Parliament- ary career, with a Peerage at the end of it and with no obstacle in the way but my estimable wife." Mr. Kendrew lifted his hand warningly. "Don't talk in that way," he said. "If you're joking it's a joke I don't see. If you're in earnest you force a suspicion on me which I would rather not feel. Let us change the sub- What do ject. " No ! Let us have it out at once, you suspect ?" ''I suspect you are getting tired of your wife." "She is forty-two, and I am thirty-five; and I have been married to her for thirteen years. You know all that and you only suspectH am tired of her. Bless your innocence ! Have you any thing more to say ?" "If you force me to it, I take the freedom of ^an old friend, and I say you are not treating her fairly. It's nearly tw* years since you broke up your establishment abroad, and came to England on your father's death. With the exception of myself, and one or two other friends of former days, you have presented your wife to nobody. Your new position has smoothed the way for you into the best society. You never take your wife with you. You go out as if you were a single man. I have reason to know that you are actu- ally believed to be a single man, among these new acquaintances of yours, in more than one quarter. Forgive me for speaking my mind bluntly I say what I think. It's unworthy of you to keep your wife buried here, as if you were ashamed of her. " "I am ashamed of her." "Vanborough!" " Wait a little ! you are not to have it all your own way, my good fellow. What are the facts ? Thirteen years ago I fell in love with a handsome public singer, and married her. My father was angry with me ; and I had to go and live with her abroad. It didn't matter, abroad. My father forgave me on his death-bed, and I had to bring her home again. It does matter, at home. I find myself, with a great career open- ing before me, tied to a woman whose relations are (as you well know) the lowest of the low. A woman without the slightest distinction of man- ner, or the slightest aspiration beyond her nurs- ery and her kitchen, her piano and her books'. Is that a wife who can help me to make my place in society? who can smooth my way, through social obstacles and political obstacles, to the House of Lords ? By Jupiter ! if ever there was a woman to be 'buried' (as you call it), that woman is my wife. And, what's more, if you want the- truth, it's because I can't bury her here that I'm going to leave this house. She has got a cursed knack of making acquaintances wherever she goes. She'll have a circle of friends about her if I leave her in this neighborhood much longer. Friends who remember her as the famous opera-singer. Friends who will see her swindling scoundrel of a father (when my back is turned) coming drunk to the door to bor- row money of her ! I tell you, my marriage has wrecked my prospects. It's no use talking to me of my wife's virtues. She is a millstone round my neck, with all her virtues. If I had not been a bom idiot I should have waited, and married a woman who would have been of some use to me ; a woman with high connections " Mr. Kendrew touched his host's arm, and sud- denly interrupted him. "To come to the point," he said " a woman like Lady Jane Parnell. " Mr. Vanborough started. His eyes fell, for the first time, before the eyes of his friend. " What do you know about Lady Jane?" he asked. "Nothing. I don't move in Lady Jane's world but I do go sometimes to the opera. I saw you with her last night in her box ; and I heard what was said in the stalls near me. You were openly spoken of as the favored man who was singled out from the rest by Lady Jane. Imagine what would happen if your wtte heard that ! You are wrong, Vanborough you are in every way wrong. You alarm, you distress, you disappoint me. I never sought this explanation but now it has come, I won't shrink from it. Reconsider your conduct ; reconsider what you have said to me or you count me no longer among your friends. No! I want no further talk about it now. We are both getting hot- we may end in saying what had better have been left unsaid. Once more, let us change the sub- ject. You wrote me word that you wanted me here to-day, because you needed my advice on a matter of some importance. What is it?" Silence followed that question. Mr. Vanbor- ough 's face betrayed signs of embarrassment. He poured himself out another glass of wine, and drank it at a draught before he replied. " It's not so easy to tell you what I want," 12 MAN AND WIFE. he said, "after the tone you have taken with me about my wife. " Mr. Kendrew looked surprised. "Is Mrs. Vanborough concerned in the mat- ter?" he asked. "Yes." "Does she know about it?" "No." " Have you kept the thing a secret out of re- gard for her?" "Yes." "Have I any right to advise on it ?" "You have the right of an old friend." "Then, why not tell me frankly what it is?" There was another moment of embarrassment on Mr. Vanborough 's part. " It will come better," he answered, " from third person, whom I expect here every minute. He is in possession of all the facts and he is better able to state them than I am. " " Who is the person?" "My friend, Delamayn." "Your lawyer?" " Yes the junior partner in the firm of Dela- mayn, Hawke, and Delamayn. Do you know him?" " I am acquainted with him. His wife's fam- ily were friends of mine before he married. I don't like him." "You're rather hard to please to-day! Dela- mayn is a rising man, if ever there was one yet. A man with a career before him, and with cour- age enough to pursue it. He is going to leave the Firm, and try his luck at the Bar. Every body says he will do great things. What's your objection to him ?" "I have no objection whatever. We meet with people occasionally whom we dislike with- out knowing why. Without knowing why, I dislike Mr. Delamayn." "Whatever you -do, you must put up with him this evening. He will be here directly." He was there at that moment. The servant opened the door, and announced " Mr. Dela- mayn. " III. Externally speaking, the rising solicitor, who was going to try his luck at the Bar, looked like a man who was going to succeed. His hard, hairless face, his watchful gray eyes, his thin, resolute lips, said plainly, in so many words, "I mean to get on in the world; and, if you are in my way, I mean to get on at your ex- pense." Mr. Delamayn was habitually polite to every body but he had never been known to say one unnecessary wdrd to his dearest friend. A man of rare ability ; a man of unblemished honor (as the code of the world goes) ; but not a man to be taken familiarly by the hand. You would never have borrowed money of him but you would have trusted him with untold gold. Involved in private and personal troubles, you would have hesitated at asking him to help you. Involved in public and producible troubles, you would have said, Here is my man. Sure to push his way nobody could look at him and doubt it sure t push his way. " Kendrew is an old friend of mine," said Mr. Vanborough, addressing himself to the lawyer. " Whatever you have to say to me you may say before him. Will you have some wine ?" " No thank you. " " Have you brought any news ?" "Yes." ' ' Have 3jou got the written opinions of the two barristers ?" "No." ^ "Why not?"* "Because nothing of the sort is necessary. If the facts of the case are correctly stated there is not the slightest doubt about the law. " With that reply Mr. Delamayn took a writ- ten paper from his pocket, and spread it out on the table before him. " What is that?" asked Mr. Vanborough. " The case relating to your marriage." Mr. Kendrew started, and showed the first tokens of interest in the proceedings which had a (.escaped him yet. Mr. Delamayn looked at him for a moment, and went on. 4 4 The case, " he resumed, ' ' as originally stated by you, and taken down in writing by our head- clerk. " Mr. Vanborough's temper began to show it- self again. -"What have we got to do with that now?" he asked. "You have made your inquiries to prove the correctness of my statement haven't you ?" "Yes." 44 And you have found out that I am right ?" 44 1 have found out that you are right if the case is right. I wish to be sure that no mistake has occurred between you and the clerk. This is a very important matter. I am going to take the responsibility of giving an opinion which may be followed by serious consequences; and I mean to assure myself that the opinion is given on a sound basis, first. have some questions to ask you. Don't be impatient, if you please. They won't take long." He referred to the manuscript, and put the first question. "You were married at Inchmallock, in Ire- land^, Mr. Vanborough, -thirteen years since ?" "Yes." " Your wife then Miss Anne Silvester was a Eoman Catholic ?" "Yes." 41 Her father and mother were Koman Catho- lics ?" 44 They were." ' * "Your father and mother were Protestants? and you were baptized and brought up in the Chuih of England ?" 44 All right!" 44 Miss Anne Silvester felt, and expressed, a strong repugnance to marrying you, because you and she belonged to different religious commu- nities ?" "She did." 44 You got over her objection by consenting to become a Roman Catholic, like herself?" 44 It was the shortest way with her and it didn't matter to me." 44 You were formally received into the Roman Catholic Church ?" . 44 1 went through the whole ceremony." 44 Abroad or at home?" 44 Abroad." 4 'How long was it before the date of your marriage ?" " Six weeks before I was married." Referring perpetually to the paper in his hand, MAN AND WIFE. 13 Mr. Delamayn was especially careful in compar- ing that last answer with the answer given to the head-clerk. "Quite right," he said, and went on with his questions. " The priest who married you was one Am- brose Redman a young man recently appointed to his clerical duties ?" "Yes." " Did he ask if you were both Roman Catho- lics ?" "Yes." "Did he ask any thing more?" "No." " Are you sure he never inquired whether you had both been Catholics for more than one year before you came to him to be married ?" "I am certain of it." " He must have forgotten that part of his duty or, being only a beginner, he may well have been ignoran^ of it altogether. Did neither you nor the lady think of informing him on the point?" "Neither I nor the lady knew there was any necessity for informing him." Mr. Delamayn folded up the manuscript, and put it back in his pocket. "Right," he said, "in every particular." Mr. Vanborough's swarthy complexion slowly turned pale. He cast one furtive glance at Mr. Kendrew, and turned away again. "Well, " he said to the lawyer, " now for your opinion ! What is the law ?" " The law," answered Mr. Delamayn, " is be- yond all doubt or dispute. Your marriage with Miss Anne Silvester is no marriage at all." Mr. Kendrew started to his feet. " What do you mean ?" he asked, sternly. The rising solicitor lifted his eyebrows in po- lite surprise. If Mr. Kendrew wanted informa- tion, why should Mr. Kendrew ask for it in that way? "Do you wish me to go into the law of the case ?" he inquired. "I do." Mr. Delamayn stated the law, as that law still stands to the disgrace of the English Legisla- ture and the English Nation. "By the Irish Statute of George the Second," he said, "every marriage celebrated by a Pop- ish priest between two Protestants, or between a Papist and any person who has been a Prot- estant within twelve months before the marriage, is declared null and void. And by two other Acts of the same reign such a celebration of mar- riage is made a felony on the part of the priest. The clergy in Ireland of other religious denom- inations have been relieved from this law. But it still remains in force so far as the Roman Catholic priesthood is concerned." " Is such a state of things possible in the age we live in !" exclaimed Mr. Kendrew. Mr. Delamayn smiled. He had outgrown the customary illusions as to the age we live in. " There are other instances in which the Irish marriage-law presents some curious anomalies of its own," he went on. "It is felony, as I have just told you, for a Roman Catholic priest to celebrate a marriage which may be lawfully celebrated by a parochial clergyman, a Presby- terian minister, and a Non -conformist minister. It is also felony (by another law) on the part of a parochial clergyman to celebrate a marriage that may be lawfully celebrated by a Roman I Catholic priest. And it is again felony (by yet another law) for a Presbyterian minister and a Non-conformist minister to celebrate a marriage which may be lawfully celebrated by a clergy- man of the Established Church. An odd state of things. Foreigners might possibly think it a scandalous state of things. In this country we don't appear to mind it. Returning to the pres- ent case, the results stand thus; Mr. Vanbor- ough is a single man ; Mrs. Vanborough is a single woman ; their child is illegitimate, and the priest, Ambrose Redman, is liable to be tried, and punished, as a felon, for marrying them. " "An infamous law!" said Mr. Kendrew. "It is the law," returned Mr. Delamayn, as a sufficient answer to him. Thus far not a word had escaped the master of the house. He sat with his lips fast closed and his eyes riveted on the table, thinking. Mr. Kendrew turned to him, and broke the silence. "Am I to understand," he asked, "that the advice you wanted from me related to this ?" "Yes." "You mean to tell me that, foreseeing the present interview and the result to which it might lead, you felt any doubt as to the course you were bound to take ? Am I really to understand that you hesitate to set this dreadful mistake right, and to make the woman who is your wife in the sight of Heaven your wife in the sight of the law ?" "If you choose to put it in that light," said Mr. 'Vanborough ; " if you won't consider ' " I want a plain answer to my question ' yes, or no.'" " Let me speak, will you ! A man has a right to explain himself, I suppose ?" Mr. Kendrew stopped him by a gesture of dis- gust. "I won't trouble you to explain yourself," he said. "I prefer to leave the house. You have given me a lesson, Sir, which I shall not forget. I find that one man may have known another from the days when they were both boys, and may have seen nothing but the false surface of him in all that time. I am ashamed of having ever been your friend. You are a stranger to me from this moment. " With those words he left the room. "That is a curiously hot-headed man," re- marked Mr. Delamayn. " If you will allow me, I think I'll change, my mind. I'll have a glass of wine." Mr. Vanborough rose to his feet without re- plying, and took a turn in the room impatiently. Scoundrel as he was in intention, if not yet in act the loss of the oldest friend he had in the world staggered him for the moment. " Tliis is an awkward business, Delamayn," he said. " What would you advise me to do?" Mr. Ij^elamayn shook his head, and sipped his claret. ' I decline to advise you," he answered. " I take no responsibility, beyond the responsibility of stating the law as it stands, in your case." Mr. Vanborough sat down again at the table, to consider the alternative of asserting or not as- serting his freedom from the marriage tie. He had not had much time thus far fof turning the matter over in his mind. But for his residence on the Continent the question of the flaw in his 14 MAN AND WIFE. marriage might no doubt have been raised long since. As things were, the question had only taken its rise in a chance conversation with Mr. Delamayn in the summer of that year. For some minutes the lawyer sat silent, sipping his wine, and the husband sat silent, thinking his own thoughts. The first change that came over the scene was produced by the appearance of a servant in the dining-room. Mr. Van'borough looked up at the man with a sudden outbreak of anger. " What do you want here ?" The man was a well-bred English servant. In other words, a human machine, doing its duty impenetrably when it was once wound up. He had his words to speak, and he spoke them. " There is a lady at the door, Sir, who wishes to see the house." "The house is not to be seen at this time of the evening." The machine had a message to deliver, and delivered it. " The lady desired me.to present her apologies, Sir. I was to tell you she was much pressed for time. This was the last house on the house agent's list, and her coachman is Stupid about finding his way in strange places. " "Hold your tongue, and tell the lady to go to the devil !" Mr. Delamayn interfered partly in the inter- ests of his client, partly in the interests of pro- priety. " You attach some importance, I think, to let- ting this house as soon as possible ?" he said. "Of course I do!" "Is it wise on account of a momentary an- noyance to lose an opportunity of laying your hand on a tenant?" "Wise or not, it's an infernal nuisance to be disturbed by a stranger." "Just as you please. I don't wish to inter- fere. I only wish to say in case you are think- ing of my convenience as your guest that it will be no nuisance to me. " The servant impenetrably waited. Mr. Van- borough impatiently gave way. "Very well. Let her in. Mind, if she comes here, she's only to look into the room, and go out again. If she .wants to ask questions, she must go to the agent." Mr. Delamayn interfered once more, in the in- terests, this time, of the -lady of the house. "Might it not be desirable," he suggested, " to consult Mrs. Vanborough before you quite decide ?" " Where's your mistress ?" "In the garden, or the paddock, Sir I am not sure which." ' ' We can't send all over the grounds in search of her. Tell the house-maid, and show the lady in." The servant withdrew. Mr. Delamayn helped himself to a second glass of wine. " Excellent claret," he said. " Do you get it direct from Bordeaux ?" There was no answer. Mi-. Vanborough had returned to the contemplation of the alternative between freeing himself or not freeing himself from the mai'riage tie. One of his elbows was on the tables he bit fiercely at his finger-nails. He muttered between his teeth, " What am I to do ?" A sound of rustling silk made itself gently aud- ible in the passage outside. The door opened, and the lady who had come to see the house ap- peared in the dining-room. IV. She was tall and elegant ; beautifully dressed, in the happiest combination of simplicity and splendor. A light summer veil hung over her face. She lifted it, and made her apologies for disturbing the gentlemen over their wine, with the unaffected ease and grace of a highly-bred woman. "Fray accept my excuses for this intrusion. I am ashamed to disturb you. One look at the room will be quite enough." Thus far she had addressed Mr. Delamayn, who happened to be nearest to her. Looking round the room her eye fell on Mr. Vanborough. She started, with a loud exclamation of aston- ishment. "YbM/" she said. "Good Heav- ens ! who would have thought of meeting you here ?" Mr. Vanborough, on his side, stood petrified. "Ladv Jane!" he exclaimed. "Is it possi- ble?" He barely looked at her while she spoke. His eyes wandered guiltily toward the window which led into the garden. The situation was a terri- ble one equally terrible if his wife discovered Lady Jane, or if Lady Jane discovered his wife. For the moment nobody was visible on the lawn. There was time; if the chance only offered there was time for him to get the visitor out of the house. The visitor, innocent of all knowl- edge of the truth, gayly offered him her hand. "I believe in mesmerism for the first time," she said. "This is an instance of magnetic sympathy, Mr. Vanborough. An invalid friend of mine wants a furnished house at Hampstead. I undertake to find one for her, and the day / select to make the discovery is the day you select for dining with a friend. A last house at Hamp- stead is left on my list and in that house I meet you. Astonishing!" She turned to Mr. Dela- mayn. "I presume I am addressing the owner of the house ?" Before a word could be said by either of the gentlemen she noticed the garden. "What pretty grounds ! Do I see a lady in the garden ? I hope I have not driven her away. " She looked round, and appealed to Mr. Vanbor- ough. " Your friend's wife ?" she asked, and, on this occasion, waited for a reply. In Mr. Vanborough's situation what reply was possible ? Mrs. Vanborough was not only visible but audible in the garden ; giving her orders to one of the out-of-door servants with the tone and manner which proclaimed the mistress of the ' house. Suppose he said, " She is not my friend's wife ?" Female curiosity would inevitably put the next question, "Who is she?" Suppose he in- vented an explanation ? The explanation would take time, and time would give his wife an op- portunity of discovering Lady Jane. Seeing all these considerations in one breathless moment, Mr. Vanborough took the shortest and the bold- est way out of the difficulty. He answered silent- ly by an affirmative inclination of the head, which dextrously turned Mrs. Vanborough into Mrs. Delamayn, without allowing Mr. Delamayn the opportunity of hearing it. MAN AND WIFE. 15 But the lawyer's eye was habitually watchful, and the lawyer saw him. Mastering in a moment his first natural aston- ishment at the liberty taken with him, Mr. Dela- mayn drew the inevitable conclusion that there was something wrong, and that there was an at- tempt (not to be permitted for a moment) to mix him up in it. He advanced, resolute to contra- dict his client, to his client's own face. The voluble Lady Jane interrupted him before he could open his lips. "Might I ask one question? Is the aspect south ? Of coifrse it is ! I ought to see by the sun that the aspect is south. These and the other two are, I suppose, the only rooms on the ground-floor ? And is it quiet ? Of course it's quiet ! A charming house. Far more likely to suit my friend than any I have seen yet. Will you give me the refusal of it till to-morrow?'' There she stopped for breath, and gave Mr. De- lamayn his first opportunity of speaking to her. "I beg your ladyship's pardon," he began. " I really can't " Mr. Vanborough passing close behind him, and whispering as he passed stopped the law- yer before he could say a word more. "For God's sake, don't contradict me! My wife is coming this way !" At the same moment (still supposing that Sir. Delamayn was the master of the house) Lady Jane returned to the charge. "You appear to feel some hesitation," she said. ' ' Do you want a reference ?" Sl\p smiled satiric- 'ally, and summoned her friend to her aid. "Mr. Vanborough!" Mr. Vanborough, stealing step by step nearer to the window intent, come what might of it, on keeping his wife out of the room neither heeded nor heard her. Lady Jane followed him, and tapped him briskly on the shoulder with her parasol. At that moment Mrs. Vanborough appeared on the garden side of the window. "Am I in the way?" she asked, addressing her husband, after one steady look at Lady Jane. " This lady appears to be an old friend of yours." There was a tone of sarcasm in that allusion to the parasol, which might develop into a tone of jealousy at a moment's notice. Lady Jane was not in the least* disconcerted. She had her double privilege of familiarity with the men whom she liked her privilege as a wo- man of high rank, and her privilege as a young widow. She bowed to Mrs. Vanborough, with all the highly-finished politeness of the order to which she belonged. " The lady of the house, I presume ?" she said, with a gracious smile. Mrs. Vanborough returned the bow coldly entered the room first and then answered, "Yes." Lady Jane turned to Mr. Vanborough. "Present me!" she said, submitting resigned- ly to the formalities of the middle classes. Mr. Vanborough obeyed, without looking at his wife, and without mentioning his wife's name. "Lady Jane Parnell," he said, passing over the introduction as rapidly as possible. "Let me see you to your carnage.'' he added, offering his arm. " I will take care that you have the re- fusal of the house. You may trust it all to me." No ! Lady Jane was accustomed to leave a favorable impression behind her wherever she went. It was a habit with her to be charming (in widely different ways) to both sexes. The social experience of the upper classes is, in En- gland, an experience of universal welcome. Lady Jane declined to leave until she had thawed the icy reception of the lady of the house. "I must repeat my apologies," she said to Mrs. Vanborough, "for coming at this inconven- ient time. My intrusion appears to have sadly disturbed the two gentlemen. Mr. Vanborough looks as if he wished me a hundred miles away. And as for your husband " She stopped and glanced toward Mr. Delamayn. "Pardon me for speaking in that familiar way. I have not the pleasure of knowing your husband's name." In speechless amazement Mrs. Vanborough's eyes followed the direction of Lady Jane's eyes and rested on the lawyer, personally a total stranger to her. Mr. Delamayn, resolutely waiting his oppor- tunity to speak, seized it once more and held it this time. "I beg your pardon," he said. "There is some misapprehension here, for which I am in no way responsible. I am not that lady's hus- band." It was Lady Jane's turn to be astonished. She looked at the lawyer. Useless ! Mr. Delamayn had set himself right Mr. Delamayn declined to interfere further. He silently took a chair at the other end of the room. Lady Jane addressed Mr. Vanborough. "Whatever the mistake may.be," she said, "you are responsible for it. You certainly told me this lady was your friend's wife. " " What ! ! !" cried Mrs. Vanborough loudly, sternly, incredulously. The inbred pride of the great lady began to appear behind the thin outer veil of politeness that covered it. "I will speak louder if you wish it," she said. " Mr. Vanborough told me you were that gentle- man's wife." Mr. Vanborough whispered fiercely to his wife through his clenched teeth. " The whole thing is a mistake. Go into the garden again ! " Mrs. Vanborough's indignatibn was suspended for the. moment in dread, as she saw the passion and the terror struggling in her husband's face. ' ' How you look at me ! " she said. ' ' How you speak to me!" He only repeated, " Go into the garden !" Lady Jane began to perceive, what the lawyer had discovered some minutes previously that there was something wrong in the villa at Hamp- stead. The lady of the house was a lady in an anomalous position of some kind. And as the house, to all appearance, belonged to Mr. Van- borough's friend, Mr. Vanborongh's friend must (in spite of his recent disclaimer) be in some way responsible for it. Arriving, naturally enough, at this erroneous conclusion, Lady Jane's eyes rested for an instant on Mr*. Vanhorough with a finely contemptuous expression of inquiry which would have roused the spirit of the tamest wo- man in existence. The implied insult stung the wife's sensitive nature to the quick. She turned once more to her husband this time without flinching. "Who is that woman?" she asked. 16 MAN AND WIFE. Lady Jane was equal to the emergency. The manner in which she wrapped herself up in her own virtue, without the slightest pretension on the one hand, and without the slightest .compro- mise on the other, was a sight to see. ' " Mr. Vanborough," she said, "you offered to take me to my carriage just now. I begin to un- derstand that I had better have accepted the offer at once. Give me youf arm." "Stop!" said Mrs. Vanborough, "your lady- ship's looks are looks of contempt ; your lady- ship's words can bear but one interpretation. I am innocently involved in some vile deception which I don't understand. But this I do know I won't submit to be insulted in my own house. After what you have just said I forbid my hus- band to give you his arm. " Her husband.! . Lady Jane looked at Mr. Vanborough at Mr. Vanborough, whom she loved ; whom she had honestly believed to be a single man ; whom she had suspected, up to that moment, of nothing 'worse than of trying to screen the frailties of his friend. She dropped her highly-bred tone ; she lost her highly-bred manners. The sense of her injury (if this was true), the pang of her jealousy (if that woman was his wife), stripped the human nature in her bare of all disguises, raised the an- gry color in her cheeks, and struck the angry fire out of her eyes. "If you can tell the truth,' Sir," she said, haughtily, "be so good as to tell it now. Have you been falsely presenting yourself to the world falsely presenting yourself to me in the char- acter and with the aspirations of a single man ? Is that lady your wife?" "Do you hear her? do you see her?" cried Mrs. Vanborough, appealing to her husband, in her turn. She suddenly drew back from him, shuddering from head to foot. "He hesitates !" she said to herself, faintly. " Good God ! he hes- itates!" Lady Jane sternly repeated her question. "Is that lady your wife?" He roused his scoundrel-courage, and said the fatal word : "No!" Mrs. Vanborough staggered back. She caught at the white curtains of the window to save her- self from falling, and tore them. She looked at her husband, with the torn curtain clenched fast in her hand. She asked herself, "Am I mad? or is he?" Lady Jane drew a deep breath of relief. He was not married ! He was only a profligate single man. A profligate single man is shocking but reclaimable. It is possible to blame him severe- ly, and to insist on his reformation in the most uncompromising terms. It is also possible to forgive him, and marry him. Lady Jane took the necessary position under the circumstances with perfect tact. She inflicted reproof 'in the present without excluding hope in the future. "I have made a very painful discovery," she said, gravely, 'to Mr. Vanborough. "It rests with you to persuade me to forget it ! Good-evening ! " She accompanied the last words by a farewell look which aroused Mrs. Vanborough to frenzy. She sprang forward and prevented Lady Jane from leaving the room. " No !" she said*. " You don't go yet !" . Mr. Vanborough came forward to interfere. His wife eyed him with a terrible look, and turned from him with a terrible contempt. "That man. has lied!" she said. "In justice to myself, I insist on proving it!" She struck a bell on a table near her. The servant came in. " Fetch my writing-desk out of the next room." She waited with her back turned on her hus- band, with her eyes fixed on Lady Jane. De- fenseless and alone she stood on the wreck of her married life, superior to the husband's treachery, the lawyer's indifference, and her rival's con- tempt. At that dreadful moment her beauty shone out again with a gleam 'of its old glory. The grand woman, who in the old stage days had held thousands breathless over the mimic woes of the scene, stood there grander than ever,, in her own woe, and held the three people who looked at her breathless till she spoke again. The servant came in with the desk. She took out a paper and handed it to Lady Jane. " I was a singer on the stage," she said, " when I was a single woman. The slander to which such women are exposed doubted my marriage. I provided myself with the paper in your hand. It speaks for itself. Even the highest society, madam, respects that !" Lady Jane examined the paper. It was a marriage -certificate. She turned deadly pale, and beckoned to Mr. Vanborough. "Are you deceiving me ?" she asked. Mr. Vanborough looked hack into the far corner of the room, in which the lawyer sat, im- penetrably waiting for events. " Oblige me by coming here for a moment," he said. Mr. Delaniayn rose and complied with the re- quest. Mr. Vanborough addressed himself 'to Lady Jane. " I beg to refer you to my man of business. He is not interested in deceiving you." " Am I required simply t> speak to the fact?'' asked Mr. Delamayn. " I decline to do more." " You are not wanted to do more." Listening intently to that interchange of ques- tion and answer, Mrs. Vanborough advanced a step in silence. The high courage that had sus- tained her against outrage which had openly de- clared itself shrank under the sense of something coming which she had not foreseen. A nameless dread throbbed at her heart and crept among the roots of her hair. Lady Jane handed the certificate to the lawyer. %'In two words, Sir," she said, impatiently, "what is this?" *** In two words, madam," answered Mr. Dela- tnayn ; " waste paper." " He is not married ?" " He is not married." After a moment's hesitation Lady Jane looked, round at Mrs. Vanborough, standing silent at her side looked, and started back in terror. ' ' Take me away!" she cried, shrinking from the ghastly face that confronted her with the fixed stare of agony in the great, glittering eyes. "Take me away! That woman will murder me!" Mr. Vanborough gave her his arm and led her to the door. There was dead silence in the room as he did it. Step by step the wife's eyes fol- lowed them with thje same dreadful stare, till the door closed and shut them out. The lawyer, left alone with the disowned and deserted woman, put the useless certificate silently on the table. She looked from him to the paper, and dropped, MAN AND WIFE. 17 "IS THAT LADT TOUR WIFE?" without a cry to warn him, without an effort to save herself, senseless at his feet. fie lifted her from the floor and placed her on the sofa, and waited to see if Mr. Vanborough would come hack. Looking at the beautiful face still beautiful, even in the swoon he owned it was hard on her. Yes ! in his own impenetrable way, the rising lawyer owned it was hard on her. But the law justified it. There was no doubt in this case. The law justified it. The trampling of horses and the grating of wheels sounded outside. Lady Jane's carriage 18 MAN AND WIFE. was driving away. Would the husband come back ? (See what a thing habit is ! Even Mr. Delamayn still mechanically thought of him as the husband in the face of the law ! in the face of the facts !) No. The minutes passed. And no sign of the husband coming back. It was not wise to make a scandal in the house. It was not desirable (on his own sole responsibil- ity) to let the servants see what had happened. Still, there she lay senseless. The cool evening air came in through the open window and lifted the light ribbons in her lace cap, lifted the little lock of hair that had broken loose and drooped over her neck. Still, there she lay the wife who had loved him, the mother of his child there she lay. He stretched out his hand to ring the bell and summon help. At the same moment the quiet of the summer evening was once more disturbed. He held his hand suspended over the bell. The noise outside came nearer. It was again the trampling of horses and the grating of wheels. Advancing rapidly advancing stopping at the house. Was Lady Jane commg back ? Was the husband coming back ? There was a loud ring at the bell a quick opening of the house-door a rustling of a wo- man's dress in the passage. The door of the room opened, and the woman appeared alone. Not Lady Jane. A stranger older, years older, than Lady Jane. A plain woman, perhaps, at other times. A woman almost beautiful, now, with the eager happiness that beamed in her face. She saw the figure on the sofa. She ran to it with a cry a. cry of recognition and a cry of teiTor in one. She dropped on her knees and laid that helpless head on her bosom, and kissed, with a sister's kisses, that cold, white cheek. " Oh, my darling !" she said. " Is it thus we meet again ?" Yes ! After all the years that had passed since the parting in the cabin of the ship, it was thus the two school-friends met again. tjje Second. THE MARCH OF TIME. V.. ADVANCING from time past to time present, the Prologue leaves the date last attained (the summer of eighteen hundred and fifty-five), and travels on through an interval of twelve years tells who lived, who died, who prospered, and who failed among the persons concerned in the tragedy at the Hampstead villa and, this done, leaves the reader at the opening of THE STORY, in the spring of eighteen hundred and sixty- eight. The record begins with a marriage the mar- riage of Mr. Van borough and Lady Jane Parnell. In three months from the memorable day when his solicitor had informed him that he was a free man. Mr. Vanborough possessed the wife he de- sired, to grace the head of. his table and to push his fortunes in the world the Legislature of Great Britain being the humble servant of his treachery, and the respectable accomplice of his crime. He entered Parliament. He gave (thanks to his wife) six of the grandest dinners, and two of the most crowded balls of the season. He made a successful first speech in the House of Com- mons. He endowed a church in a poor neigh- borhood. He wrote an article which attracted attention in a quarterly review. He discovered, denounced, and remedied a crying abuse in the administration of a public charity. He received (thanks once more to his wife) a member of the Royal family among the visitors at his country house in the autumn recess. These were his tri- umphs, and this his rate of progress on the way to the peerage, during the first year of his life as the husband of Lady Jane. There was but one more favor that Fortune could confer on her spoiled child and Fortune bestowed it. There was a spot on Mr. Vanbor- ough 's past life as long as the woman lived whom he had disowned and deserted. At the end of the first year Death took her and the spot was rubbed out. She had met the merciless injury inflicted on her with a rare patience, with an admirable cour- age. It is due to Mr. VanbOrough to admit that he broke her heart, with the strictest attention to propriety. He offered (through his lawyer) a handsome provision for her and for her child. It was rejected, without an instant's hesitation. She repudiated his money she repudiated his name. By the name which she had borne in her maiden days the name which she had made il- lustrious in her Art the mother and daughter were known to all who cared to inquire after them when they had stink in the world. There was no false pride in the resolute atti- tude which she thus assumed after her husband had forsaken her. Mrs. Silvester (as she was now called) gratefully accepted for herself, and for Miss Silvester, the assistance of the dear old friend who hal;tce was purified with air and 24 MAN AND WIFE. light. And when the world saw it, and said, "Now we shall do!" the Owls shut their eyes in pious remembrance of the darkness, and an- swered, ' ' My lords and gentlemen, the Constitu- tion is destroyed !" CHAPTER THE SECOND. THE GUESTS. WHO was responsible for the reform of the summer-house ? The new tenant at Windygates was responsi- ble. And who was the new tenant ? Come, and see. In the spring of eighteen hundred and sixty- eight the summer-house had been the dismal dwelh'ng-place of a pair of owls. In the autumn of the same year the summer-house was the live- ly gathering-place of a crowd of ladies and gen- tlemen, assembled at a lawn party the guests of the tenant who had taken Windygates. The scene at the opening of the party was as pleasant to look at as light and beauty and movement could make it. Inside the summer-house the butterfly-bright- ness of the women in their summer dresses shone radiant out of the gloom shed round it by the dreary modern clothing of the men. Outside the summer-house, seen through three arched openings, the cool green prospect of a lawn led away, in the distance, to flower-beds and shrub- beries, and, farther still, disclosed, through a break in the trees, a grand stone house which closed the view, with a fountain in front of it playing in the sun. They were half of them laughing, they were all of them talking the comfortable hum of the voices was at its loudest ; the cheery pealing of the laughter was soaring to its highest notes when one dominant voice, rising clear and shrill above all the rest, called imperatively for silence. The moment after, a young lady stepped into the vacant space in front of the summer-house, and surveyed the throng of. guests as a general in command surveys a regiment under review. She was young, she was pretty, she was plump, she was fair. She was not the least embarrassed by her prominent position. She was dressed in the height of the fashion. A hat, like a cheese- plate, was tilted over her forehead. A balloon of light brown hair soared, fully inflated, from the crown of her head. A cataract of beads poured over her bosom. A pair of cock-chafers in enamel (frightfully like the living originals) hung at her ears. Her scantjr skirts shone splen- did with the blue of heaven. Her ankles twin- kled in striped stockings. Her shoes were of the sort called " Watteau. " And her heels were of the height at which men shudder, and ask themselves (in contemplating an otherwise lov- able woman), ' ' Can this charming person straight- en her knees ?" The young lady thus presenting herself to the general view was Miss Blanche Lundie once the little rosy Blanche whom the Prologue has introduced to the reader. Age, at the present time, eighteen. Position, excellent. Money, certain. Temper, quick. Disposition, variable. In a word, a child of the modern time with the merits of the age we live in,, and the failings of the age we live in and a substance of sincerity and truth and feeling underlying it all. " Now then, good people, " cried Miss Blanche, " silence, if you please ! We are going to choose sides at croquet. Business, business, business !" Upon this, a second lady among the company assumed a position of prominence, and answered the young person who had just spoken with a look of mild reproof, and in a tone of benevolent protest. The second lady was tall, and solid, and five- and-thirty. She presented to the general observ- ation a cruel aquiline nose, an obstinate straight chin, magnificent dark hair and eyes, a serene splendor of fawn -colored apparel, and a lazy grace of movement which was attractive at first sight, but inexpressibly monotonous and weari- some on a longer acquaintance. This was Lady Lundie the Second, now the widow (after four months only of married life) of Sir Thomas Lun- die, deceased. In other words, the step-mother of Blanche, and the enviable person who had taken the house and lands of Windygates. "My dear," said Lady Lundie, "words have their meanings even on a young lady's lips. Do you call Croquet, ' business ?' " "You don't call it pleasure, surely?" said a gravely ironical voice in the back-ground of the summer-house. The ranks of the visitors parted before the last speaker, and disclosed to view, in the midst of that modern assembly, a gentleman of the by- gone time. The manner of this gentleman was distin- guished by a pliant grace and courtesy unknown to the present generation. The attire of this gentleman was composed of a many-folded white cravat, a close -buttoned blue dress -coat, and nankeen trowsers with gaiters to match, ridicu- lous to the present generation. The talk of this gentleman ran in an easy flow revealing an in- dependent habit of mind, and exhibiting a care- fully-polished capacity for satirical retort dread- ed and disliked by the present generation. Per- sonally, he was little and wiry and slim with a bright white head, and sparkling black eyes, and a wry twist of humor curling sharply at the cor- ners of his lips. At his lower extremities, he exhibited tne deformity which is popularly known as " a club-foot." But he carried his lameness, as he carried his years, gayly. He was socially celebrated for his ivory cane, with a snuft-box artfully let into the knob at the top and he was socially dreaded for a hatred of modem institu- tions, which' expressed itself in season and out of season, and which always showed the same fatal knack of hitting smartly on the weakest place. Such was Sir Patrick Lundie ; brother of the late baronet, Sir Thomas ; and inheritor, at Sir Thomas's death, of the title and estates. Miss Blanche taking no notice of her step- mother's reproof, or of her uncle's commentary on it pointed to a table on which croquet mal- lets and balls were laid ready, and recalled the attention of the company to the matter in hand. " I head one side, ladies and gentlemen," she resumed. " And Lady Lundie heads the other. We choose our players turn and turn about. Mamma has the advantage of me in years. So mamma chooses first. " MAN AND WIFE. 25 With a look at her step-daughter which, be- ing interpreted, meant, "I would send you back to the nursery, miss, if I could !" Lady Lundie turned, ;md ran her eye over her guests. She had evidently made up her mind, beforehand, what player to pick out first. "I choose Miss Silvester," she said with a special emphasis laid on the name. At that there was another parting among the crowd. To us (who know her), it was Anne who now appeared. Strangers, who saw her for the first time, saw a lady in die prime of her life a lady plainly dressed in unorriamented white who advanced slowly, and confronted the mis- tress of the house. A certain proportion and not a small one of the men at the lawn-party had been brought there by friends who were privileged to introduce them. The moment she appeared every one of those men suddenly became interested in the lady who had been chosen first. " That's a very charming woman," whispered one of the strangers at the house to one of the friends of the house. "Who is she?" The friend whispered back . " Miss Lundie's governess that's all." The moment during which the question was put and answered was also the moment which brought Lady Lundie and Miss Silvester face to face, in the presence of the company. The stranger at the house looked at the two women, and whispered again. "Something wrong between the lady and the governess," he said. The friend looked also, and answered, in one emphatic word : "Evidently!" There are certain women whose influence over men is an unfathomable mystery to obsrv- ers of their own sex. The governess was one of those women. She had inherited the charm, but not the beauty, of her unhappy mother. Judge her by the standard set up in the illus- trated gift-books and the print-shop windows and the sentence must have inevitably followed, "She has not a single good feature in her face." There was nothing individually remarkable about Miss Silvester, seen in a state of repose. She was of the average height. She was as well made as most women. In hair and complexion, she was neither light nor dark, but provokingly neutral, just between the two. Worse even than this, there were positive defects in her face, which it was impossible to deny. A nervous contraction at one comer of her mouth drew up the lips out of the symmetrically right line, when they moved. A nervous uncertainty in the eye on the same side narrowly escaped presenting the deformity of a "cast." And yet, with these indisputable drawbacks, here was one of those women the formidable few who have the hearts of men and the peace of families at their mercy. She moved and there was some subtle charm, Sir, in the movement, that made you look back, and suspend your conversation with your friend, and watch her silently while she walked. She sat by you and talked to you and behold, a sensitive something passed into that little twist at the comer of the mouth, and into that nerv- ous uncertainty in the soft gray eye. which turned defect into beauty which enchained your senses which made your nerves thrill if she touched B you by accident, and set your heart beating if you looked at the same book with her, and felt her breath on your face. All this, let it be well understood, only happened if you were a man. If you saw her with the eyes of a woman, the results were of quite another kind. In that case, you merely turned to your nearest female friend, and said, with unaffected pity for the other sex, "What can the men see in her !" The eyes of the lady of the house and the eyes of the governess met, with marked distrust on either side. Few people could have failed to see, what the stranger and the friend had noticed alike that there was something smouldering under the surfaqp here. Miss Silvester spoke first. "Thank you, Lady Lundie," she said. "I would rather not play." Lady Lundie assumed an extreme surprise which passed the limits of good-breeding. " Oh, indeed ?" she rejoined, sharply. " Con- sidering that we are all here for the purpose of playing, that seems rather remarkable. Is any thing wrong, Miss Silvester ?" A flush appeared on the delicate paleness of Miss Silvester's face. But she did her duty as a woman and a governess. She submitted, and so preserved appearances, for that time. " Nothing is the matter," she answered. " I am not very well this morning. But I will play if you wish it. " " I do wish it," answered Lady Lundie. Miss Silvester turned aside toward one of the entrances into the summer-house. She waited for events, looking out over the lawn, with a visible inner disturbance, marked over the bosom by the rise and fall of her white dress. It was Blanche's turn to select the next player. In some preliminary uncertainty as to her choice, she looked about among the guests, and caught the eye of a gentleman in the front ranks. He stood side by side with Sir Patrick a striking representative of the school that is among us as Sir Patrick was a strik- ing representative of the school that has passed away. The modern gentleman was young and florid, tall and strong. The parting of his curly Saxon locks began in the centre of his forehead, traveled over the top of his head, and ended, rigidly-cen- tral, at the ruddy nape of his neck. His features were as perfectly regular and as perfectly unintel- ligent as human features can be. His expression preserved an immovable composure' wonderful to behold. The muscles of his brawny arms showed through the sleeves of his light summer coat. He was deep in the chest, thin in the flanks, firm on the legs in two words, a magnificent human ! animal, wrought up to the highest pitch of phys- I ical development, from head to foot. This was Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn commonly called " the j honorable ;" and meriting that distinction in more ways than one. He was honorable, in the first place, as being the son (second son) of that once- ' rising solicitor, who was now Lord Holchester. He was honorable, in the second place, as hav- i ing won the highest popular distinction which the educational system of modern England can be- stow he had pulled the stroke-oar in a Univers- I ity boat-race. Add to this, that nobody had ever seen him read any thing but a newspaper, and that nobody had ever known him to be backw; rd in settling a bet and the picture of this distin- 26 MAN AND WIFE. guished young Englishman will be, fo the pres- ent, complete. Blanche's eye naturally rested on him. Blanche's voice naturally picked him out as the first player on her side. "I choose Mr. Delamayn," she said. As the name passed her lips the flush on Miss Silvester's face died away, and a deadly paleness took its place. She made a movement to leave the summer-house checked herself abruptly and laid one hand on the back of a rustic seat at her side. A gentleman behind her, looking at the hand, saw it clench itself so suddenly and so fiercely that the glove on it split. The gentle- man made a mental memorandum, and register- ed Miss Silvester in his private books as " the devil's own temper." j Meanwhile Mr. Delamayn, by a strange coin- cidence, took exactly the same course which Miss Silvester had taken before him. He, too, at- tempted to withdraw from the coming game. "Thanks very much," he said. "Could you additionally honor me by choosing somebody else? It's not in my line." Fifty years ago such an answer as this, ad- dressed to a lady, would have been considered inexcusably impertinent. The social code of the present time hailed it as something frankly amus- ing. The company laughed. Blanche lost her temper. " Can't we interest you in any thing but severe muscular exertion, Mr. Delamayn?" she asked, sharply. "Must you always be pulling in a boat-race, or flying over a high jump ? If you had a mind, you would want to relax it. You have got muscles instead. Why not relax them ?" The shafts of Miss Lundie's bitter wit glided off Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn like water off a duck's back. "Just as you please, " he said, with stolid good- humor. " Don't be offended. I came here with ladies and they wouldn't let me smoke. I miss my smoke. I thought I'd slip away a bit and haVe it. All right ! I'll play. " "Oh! smoke by all means ! " retorted Blanche. " I shall choose somebody else. I won't have you!" The honorable young gentleman looked un- affectedly relieved. The petulant young lady turned her back on him, and surveyed the guests at the other extremity of the summer- house. " Who shall I choose?" she said to herself. A dark young man with a face burned gipsy- brown by the sun ; with something in his look and manner suggestive of a roving life, and per- haps of a familiar acquaintance with the sea ad- vanced shyly, and said, in a whisper : "Choose me!" Blanche's face broke prettily into a charming smile. Judging from appearances, the dark young man had a place in her estimation pe- culiarly his own. "You!" she said, coquettishly. "You are going to leave us in an hour's time !" He ventured a step nearer. "I am coming back," he pleaded, "the day after to-morrow." " You play very badly !" "I might improve if you would teach me." "Might you ? Then lu-ill teach you ! "* She turned, bright and rosy, to her step-mother. "I choose Mr. Arnold Brinkworth, " she said. Here, again, there appeared to be something in a name unknown to celebrity, which neverthe- less produced its effect not, this time, on Miss Silvester, but on Sir Patrick. He looked at Mr. Brinkworth with a sudden interest and curiosity. If the lady of the house had not claimed his at- tention at the moment he would evidently have spoken to the dark young man. But it was Lady Lundie's turn to choose a second player on her side. Her brother-in-law was a person of some importance ; and she had her own motives for ingratiating herself with the head of the family. She surprised the whole com- pany by choosing Sir Patrick. " Mamma !" cried Blanche. " What can you be thinking of? Sir Patrick won't play. Cro- quet wasn't discovered in his time." Sir Patrick never allowed "his time" to be made the subject of disparaging remarks by the younger generation without paying the younger generation back in its own coin. "In my time, my dear," he said to his niece, "people were expected to bring some agreeable quality with them to social meetings of this sort. In your time you have dispensed with all that. Here," remarked the old gentleman, taking up a croquet mallet from the table near him, "is one of the qualifications for success in modern society. And here." he added, taking up a ball, "is another. Very good. Live and learn. I'll play! I'll play!" " Lady Lundie (born impervious-to all sense of irony) smiled gracious!}'. "I knew Sir Patrick would play," she said, "to please me." Sir Patrick bowed with satirical politeness. " Lady Lundie," he answered, "you read me like a book." To the astonishment of all per- sons present under forty he emphasized those words' by laying his hand on his heart, and quoting poetry. "I may say with Dryden," added the gallant old gentleman : "'Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.' " Lady Lundie looked unaffectedly shocked. Mr. Delamayn went a step farther. He inter- fered on the spot with the air of a man who feels himself imperatively called upon to perform a public duty. , " Dryden never said that, " he remarked, " I'll answer for it. " Sir Patrick wheeled round with the help of his ivory cane, and looked Mr. Delamayn hard in the face. " Do you know Dryden, Sir, better than I do?" he asked. The Honorable Geoffrey answered, modestly, I should say I did. I have rowed three races with him, and we trained together." Sir Patrick looked round him with a sour smile of triumph. "Then let me tell you, Sir," he said, "that you trained with a man who died nearly two hundred years ago. " Mr. Delamayn appealed, in genuine bewilder- ment, to the company generally : "What does this old gentleman mean?" he asked. "I am speaking of Tom Dryden, of Corpus. Every body in the University knows him. " ; 'I am speaking," echoed Sir Patrick, "of MAN AND WIFE. 27 John Drydcn the Poet. Apparently, every body in the University does not know him!"' Mr. Delamayn answered, with a cordial earn- estness very pleasant to see : " Give you my word of honor, I never heard of him before in my life ! Don't be angry, Sir. Pin not offended with you." He smiled, and took- out his brier-wood pipe. "Got a light?'' he asked, in the friendliest possible manner. Sir Patrick answered, with a total absence of cordiality : " I don't smoke, Sir." Mr. Delamayn looked at him, without taking the slightest offense : " You don't smoke !" he repeated. " I won- der how you get through your spare time?" Sir Patrick closed the conversation : "Sir," he said, with a low bow, "you may wonder." While this little skirmish was proceeding Lady Lundie and her step-daughter had organized the game ; and the company, players and spectators, were beginning to move toward the lawn. Sir Patrick stopped his niece on her way out, with the dark young man in close attendance on her. " Leave Mr. Brinkworth with me," he said. " I want to speak to him." Blanche issued her orders immediately. Mr. Brinkworth was sentenced to stay with Sir Pat- rick until she wanted him for the game. Mr. Brinkworth wondered, and obeyed. During the exercise of this act of authority a circumstance occurred at the other end of the summer-house. Taking advantage of the con- fusion caused by the general movement to the lawn, Miss Silvester suddenly placed herself close to Mr. Delamayn. " In ten minutes," she whispered, "the sum- mer-house will be empty. Meet me here." The Honorable Geoffrey started, and looked furtively at the visitors about him. " Do you think it's safe ?" he whispered back. The governess's sensitive lips trembled, with fear or with anger, it was hard to say which. " I insist on it !" she answered, and left him. Mr. Delamayn knitted his handsome eye- brows as he looked after her, and then left the summer-house in his turn. The rose-garden at the back of the building was solitary for the mo- ment. He took out his pipe and hid himself among the roses. The smoke came from his mouth in hot and hasty puffs. He was usually the gentlest of masters to his pipe. When he hurried that confidential servant, it was a sure sign of disturbance in the inner man. CHAPTER THE THIRD. THE DISCOVERIES. BUT two persons were now left in the sum- mer-house Arnold Brinkworth and Sir Pat- rick Lundie. "Mr. Brinkworth," said the old gentleman, ".I have had no opportunity of speaking to you before this ; and (as I hear that you are to leave us to-day) I may find no opportunity at a later time. I want to introduce myself. Your father was one of my dearest friends let me make a friend of your father's son.'' He held out his hand, and mentioned his name. Arnold recognized it directly. "Oh, Sir Pat- rick!" he said, warmly, "if my poor father had only taken your advice " ' ' He would have thought twice before he gambled away his fortune on the turf; and he might have been alive here among us, instead of dying an exile in a foreign land," said Sir Patrick, finishing the sentence which the other had begun. " No more of that ! Let's talk of something else. Lady Lundie wrote to me about you the other day. She told me your aunt was dead, and had left you heir to her property in Scotland. Is that true ? It is ? I congratulate you with all my heart. Why are you visiting here, instead of looking after your house and lands ? Oh ! it's only three-and-twenty miles from this ; and you're going to look after'it to- day, by the next train? Quite right. And : what? what? coming back again the day aft- er to-morrow? Why should you come back? Some special attraction here, I suppose ? I hope it's the right sort of attraction. You're very young you're exposed to all sorts of tempta- tions. Have you got a solid foundation of good sense at the bottom of you ? It is not inherited from your poor father, if you have. You must have been a mere boy when he ruined his chil- dren's prospects. How have you lived from that time to this ? What were you doing when your aunt's will made an idle man of you for life?" The question was a searching one. Arnold answered it, without the slightest hesitation; speaking with an unaffected modesty and sim- plicity which at once won Sir Patrick's heart. "I was a boy at Eton, Sir," he said, "when my father's losses ruined him. I had to leave school, and get my own living ; and I have got it, in a roughish way, from that time to this. In plain English, I have followed the sea in the merchant-service." "In plainer English still, you met adversity like a brave lad, and you have fairly earned the good luck that has fallen to you," rejoined Sir Patrick. " Give me your hand I have taken a liking to you. You're not like the other young fellows of the present time. I shall call you 'Arnold.' You mus'n't return the compliment, and call me 'Patrick,' mind I'm too old to be treated in that way. Well, and how do you get on here ? What sort of a woman is my sister- in-law ? and what sort of a house is this ?" Arnold burst out laughing. "Those are extraordinary questions for you to put to me," he said. "You talk, Sir, as if you were a stranger here !" Sir Patrick touched a spring in the knob of his ivory cane. A little gold lid flew up, and disclosed the snuff-box hidden inside. He took a pinch, and chuckled satirically over some pass- ing thought, which he did not think it necessary to communicate to his young friend. "I talk as if I was a stranger here, do I ?" he resumed. "That's exactly what I am. Lady Lundie and I correspond on excellent terms; but we run in different grooves, and we see each other as seldom as possible. My story," con- tinued the pleasant old man, with a charming frankness which leveled all differences of age and rank between Arnold and himself, " is not entirely unlike yours ; though I am old enough to be your grandfather. I was getting my living, in my way (as a crusty old Scotch lawyer), when 28 MAN AND WIFE. my brother married again. His death, without leaving a son by either of his wives, gave me a lift in the world,' like you. Here I am (to my own sincere regret) the present baronet. Yes, to my sincere regret ! All sorts of responsibili- ties which I never bargained for are thrust on my shoulders. I am the head of the family ; I am my niece's guardian ; I am compelled to ap- pear at this lawn- party and (between ourselves) I am as completely out of my element as a man can be. Not a single familiar face meets me among all these fine people. Do you know any body here ?" "I have one friend at Windygates," said Ar- nold. "He came here this morning, like you. Geoffrey Delamayn. " Ah* he made the reply, Miss Silvester appeared at the entrance to the summer-house. A shadow of annoyance passed over her face when she saw that the place was occupied. She vanished, un- noticed, and glided back to the game. Sir Patrick looked at the son of his old friend, with every appearance of being disappointed in the young man for the first time. " Your choice of a friend rather surprises me," he said. Arnold artlessly accepted the words as an ap- peal to him for information. " I beg your pardon, Sir there's nothing sur- prising in it," he returned. "We were school- fellows at Eton, in the old times. And I have met Geoffrey since, when he was yachting, and when I was with my ship. Geoffrey saved my life, Sir Patrick," he added, his voice rising, and his eyes brightening with honest admiration of his friend. "But for him, I should have been drowned in a boat-accident. Isn't that a good reason for his being a friend of mine ?" "It depends entirely on the value you set on your life," said Sir Patrick. " The value I set on my life ?" repeated Ar- nold. " I set a high value on it, of course !" "In that case, Mr. Delamayn has laid you under an obligation." "Which I can never repay!" "Which you will repay one of these days, with interest if I know any thing of human nature," answered Sir Patrick. He said the words with the emphasis of strong conviction. They were barely spoken when Mr. Delamayn appeared (exactly as Miss Silvester had appeared) at the entrance to the summer- house. He, too, vanished, unnoticed like Miss Silvester again. But there the parallel stopped. The Honorable Geoffrey's expression, on dis- covering the place to be occupied, was, unmis- takably, an expression of relief. Arnold drew the right inference, this time, from Sir Patrick's language and Sir Patrick's tones. He eagerly took up the defense of his friend. "You said that rather bitterly, Sir," he re- marked. "What has Geoffrey done to offend you?" "He presumes to exist that's what he has done," retorted Sir Patrick. "Don't stare! I am speaking generally. Your friend is the model young Briton of the present time. I don't like the model young Briton. I don't see the sense- of crowing over him as a superb national pro- duction, because he is big and strong, and drinks beer with impunity, and takes a cold shower- bath all the year round. There is far too much glorification in England, just now, of the mere physical qualities which an Englishman shares with the savage and the brute. And the ill re- sults are beginning to show themselves already ! We are readier than we ever were to practice all that is rough in our national customs, and to excuse all that is violent and brutish in our na- tional acts. Read the popular books attend the popular amusements ; and you will find at the bottom of them all a lessening regard for the gentler graces of civilized life, and a growing admiration for the virtues of the aboriginal Britons ! " Arnold listened in blank amazement. He had been the innocent means of relieving Sir Pat- rick's mind of an accumulation of social protest, unprovided with an issue for some time past. " How hot you are over it, Sir!" he exclaimed, in irrepressible astonishment. Sir Patrick instantly recovered himself. The genuine wonder expressed in the young man's face was irresistible. " Almost as hot," he said, " as if I was cheer- ing at a boat-race, or wrangling over a betting- book eh ? Ah, we were so easily heated when I was a young man ! Let's change the subject. I know nothing to the prejudice of your friend, Mr. Delamayn. It's the cant of the day," cried Sir Patrick, relapsing again, "to take these physically-wholesome men for granted as being morally-wholesome men into the bargain. Time will show whether the cant of the day is right. So you are actually coming back to Lady Lun- die's after a mere flying visit to your own prop- erty? I repeat, that is a most extraordinary proceeding on the part of a landed gentleman like you. What's the attraction here eh ?" Before Arnold could reply Blanche called to him from the lawn. His color rose, and he turned eagerly to go out. Sir Patrick nodded his head with the air of a man who had been an- swered to his own entire satisfaction. "Oh!" he said, " that's the attraction, is it?" Arnold's life at sea had left him singularly ig- norant of the ways of the world on shore. * In- stead of taking the joke, he looked confused. A deeper tinge of color reddened his dark cheeks. "I didn't say so," he answered, a little irritably. Sir Patrick lifted two of his white, wrinkled old fingers, and good - humoredly patted the young sailor on the cheek. "Yes you did," he said. "In red let- ters. " The little gold lid in the knob of the ivory cane flew up, and the old gentleman rewarded him- self for that neat retort with a pinch of snuff. At the same moment Blanche made her appearance on the scene. "Mr. Brinkworth," she said, "I shall want you directly. Uncle, it's your turn to play. " " Bless my soul !" cried Sir Patrick, " I forgot the game. " He looked about him, and saw his mallet and ball left waiting on the table. ' ' Where are the modern substitutes for conversation ? Oh, here they are ! " He bowled the ball out before him on to the lawn, and tucked the mallet, as if it was an umbrella, under his arm. " Who was the first mistaken person," he said to himself, as he briskly hobbled out, "who discovered that human life was a serious thing ? Here am I, with one foot in the grave ; and the most seri- MAN AND WIFE. 29 ous question before me at the present moment is, Shall I get through the Hoops ?'' Arnold and Blanche were left together. Among the personal privileges which Nature has accorded to women, there are surely none more enviable than their privilege of always look- ing their best when they look at the man they love. When Blanche's eyes turned on Arnold, after her uncle had gone out, not even the hide- ous fashionable disfigurements of the inflated "chignon" and the tilted hat could destroy the triple charm of youth, beauty, and .tenderness beaming in her face. Arnold looked at her and remembered, as he had never remembered yet, that he was going by the next train, and that he was leaving her in the society of more than one admiring man of his own age. The experience of a whole fortnight passed under the same roof with her had proved Blanche to be the most charming girl in existence. It was possible that she might not be mortally offended with him if he told her so. He determined that he would tell her so at that auspicious moment. But who shall presume to measure the abyss that lies between the Intention and the Execu- tion ? Arnold's resolution to speak was as firm- ly settled as a resolution could be. And what came of it? Alas for human infirmity! No- thing came of it but silence. "You don't look quite at your ease, Mr. Brinkworth," said Blanche. "What has Sir Patrick been saying to you? My uncle sharp- ens his wit on every body. He has been sharp- ening it on you f Arnold began to see his way. At an immeas- urable distance but still he saw it. "Sir Patrick is a terrible old man," he an- swered. "Just before you came in he discov- ered one of my secrets by only looking in my face." He paused, rallied his courage, pushed on at all hazards, and came headlong to the point. " I wonder, " he asked, bluntly, " wheth- er you take after your uncle ?" Blanche instantly understood him. With time at her disposal, she would have taken him light- ly in hand, and led him, by fine gradations, to the object in view. But in two minutes or less it would be Arnold's turn to play. " He is going to make me an otter," thought Blanche ; " and he has about a minute to do it in. He shall do it !" " What!" she exclaimed, "do you think the gift of discover}- runs in the family?" Arnold made a plunge. " I wish it did !" he said. Blanche looked the picture of astonishment. "Why?" she asked. " If you could see in my face what Sir Patrick saw " He had only to finish the sentence, and the thing was done. But the tender passion per- versely delights in raising obstacles to itself. A sudden timidity seized on Arnold exactly at the wrong moment. He stopped short, in the most awkward manner possible. Blanche heard from the lawn the blow of the mallet on the ball, and the laughter of the com- pany at some blunder of Sir Patrick's. The precious seconds wero slipping away. She could have boxed Arnold on both ears for being so un- reasonably afraid of her. "Well," she said, impatiently, "if I did look in your face, what should I see ?" Arnold made another plunge. He answered : " You would see that I want a little encour- agement." "From me?" " Yes if you please." Blanche looked back over her shoulder. The summer-house stood on an eminence, approached by steps. The players on the lawn beneath were audible, but not visible. Any one of them might appear, unexpectedly, at a moment's notice. Blanche listened. There was no sound of ap- proaching footsteps there was a general hush, and then another bang of the mallet on the ball, and then a clapping of hands. Sir Patrick was a privileged person. He had been allowed, in all probability, to try again ; and he was suc- ceeding at the second" effort. This implied a re- prieve of some seconds. Blanche looked back agajn at Arnold. "Consider yourself encouraged," she whis- pered ; and instantly added, with the ineradica- ble female instinct of self-defense, "within lim- its!" Arnold made a last plunge straight to the bottom, this time. "Consider yourself leved," he burst out, "without any limits at all." It was all over the words were spoken he had got her by the hand. Again the perversity of the tender passion showed itself more strong- ly than ever. The confession which Blanche had been longing to hear, had barely escaped her lover's lips before Blanche protested against it! She struggled to release her hand, bhe formally appealed to Arnold to let her go. Arnold only held her the tighter. "Do try to like me a little!" he pleaded. "I am so fond of you!" Who was to resist such wooing as this? when you were privately fond of him yourself, remember ! and when you were certain to be interrupted in another moment ! Blanche left off struggling, and looked up at her young sailor with a smile. "Did you learn this method of making love in the merchant-sen-ice ?" she inquired, saucily. Arnold persisted in contemplating his pros- pects from the serious point of view. "I'll go back to the merchant-service," he said, "if I have made you angry with me." Blanche administered another dose of en- couragement. "Anger, Mr. Brinkworth, is one of the bad passions," she answered, demurely. "A young lady who has been properly brought up has no bad passions." There was a sudden cry from the players on the lawn a cry for " Mr. Brinkworth. " Blanche tried to push him out. Arnold was immovable. "Say something to encourage me before I go, " he pleaded. " One word will do. Say, Yes. " Blanche shook her head. Now she had got him, the temptation to tease him was irresistible. "Quite impossible!" she rejoined. "If you want any more encouragement, you must speak to my uncle." "I'll speak to him," returned Arnold, "be- fore I leave the house." There was another cry for " Mr. Brinkworth." Blanche made another effort to push him out. "Go !" she said. "And mind you get through the hoop ! " 30 MAN AND WIFE. "ARNOLD CAUGHT HER ROUND THE WAIST AND KISSED HER. She had both hands on his shoulders her face was close to his she was simply irresisti- ble. Arnold caught her round the waist and kissed her. Needless to tell him to get through the hoop. He had surely got through it al- ready ! Blanche was speechless. Arnold's last effort in the art of courtship had taken away her breath. Before she could recover herself a sound of approaching footsteps became plainly audible. Arnold gave her a last squeeze, and ran out. She sank on the nearest chair, and closed her eyes in a flutter of delicious confusion. The footsteps ascending to the summer r house came nearer. Blanche opened her eyes, and saw Anne Silvester, standing alone, looking at her. She sprang to* her feet, and threw her arms impulsively round Anne's neck. "You don't know what has happened," she whispered. "Wish me joy, darling. He has said the words. He is mine for life ! " All the sisterly love and sisterly confidence of many years was expressed in that embrace, and in the tone in which the words were spoken. The hearts of the mothers, in the past time, could hardly have been closer to each other as it seemed than the hearts of the daughters were now. And yet, if Blanche had looked up in Anne's face at that moment, she must have seen that Anne's mind was far away from her little love-story. "You know who it is?" she went on, after waiting for a reply. " Mr. Brinkworth ?" ' ' Of course ! Who else should it be ?" ' ' And you are really happy, my love ?" " Happy ?" repeated Blanche. "Mind! this is strictly between ourselves. I am ready to jump out of my skin for joy. I love him ! I love him ! I love him !" she cried, with a child- ish pleasure in repeating the words. They were echoed by a heavy sigh. Blanche instantly look- ed up into Anne's face. "What's the matter?" she asked, with a sudden change of voice and manner. "Nothing." Blanche's observation saw too plainly to be blinded in that way. "There is something the matter," she said. "Is it money?'' she added, after a moment's consideration. "Bills to pay? I have got plenty of money, Anne. I'll lend you what you like." "No, no, my dear!" Blanche drew back, a little hurt. Anne was keeping her at a distance for the first time in Blanche's experience of her. "I tell you all my secrets," she said. " Why are you keeping a secret from me ? Do you know that you have been looking anxious and out of spirits for some time past? Perhaps you don't like Mr. Brinkworth? No? you do like him? Is it my marrying, then ? I believe it is ! You fancy we shall be parted, you goose? As if I could do without you ! Of course, when I am married to Arnold, you will come and live with us. That's quite understood between us isn't it?" Anne drew herself suddenly, almost roughly, away from Blanche, and pointed out to the steps. "There is somebody coming," she said. "Look!'' MAN AND WIFE. 31 The person coming was Arnold. It was Blanche's turn to play, and he had volunteered to fetch her. Blanche's attention easily enough distracted on other occasions remained steadily fixed on Anne. "You are not yourself," she said, "and I must know the reason of it. I will wait till to- night ; and then you will tell me, when you come into my room. Don't look like that ! You shall tell me. And tHere's a kiss for you in the mean time!" She joined Arnold, and recovered her gayety the moment she looked at him. " Well ? Have you got through the hoops ?" "Never mind the hoops. I have broken the ice with Sir Patrick." " What ! before all the company !" "Of course not! I have made an appoint- ment to speak to him here." They went laughing down the steps, and joined the game. Left alone, Anne Silvester walked slowly to the inner and darker part of the summer-house. A glass, in a carved wooden' frame, was fixed against one of the side walls. She stopped and looked into it looked, shuddering, at the re- flection of herself. "Is the time coming," she said, "when even Blanche will see what I am in my face?" She turned aside from the glass. With a sudden cry of despair she flung up her arms and laid them heavily against the wall, and rested her head on them with her back to the light. At the same moment a man's figure appeared standing dark in the flood of sunshine at the en- trance to the summer-house. The man was Geoffrey Delamayn. CHAPTER THE FOURTH. THE TWO. HE advanced a few steps, and. stopped. Ab- sorbed in herself, Anne foiled to hear him. She never moved. "I have come, as you made a point of it," he said, sullenly. "But, mind you, it isn't safe." At the sound of his voice, Anne turned to- ward him. A change of expression appeared in her face, as she slowly advanced from thtf back of the summer-house, which revealed a likeness to her mother, not perceivable at other times. As the mother had looked, in by-gone clays, -at the man who had disowned her, so the daughter looked at Geoffrey Delamayn with the same terrible composure, and the same terrible contempt. " Well ?" he asked. ' ' What have you got to say to me ?" " Mr. Delamayn, "she answered, "you are one of the fortunate people of this world. You are a nobleman's son. You are a handsome man. You are popular at your college. You are free of the best houses in England. Are you something be- sides all this? Are you a coward and a scoun- drel as well ?" He started opened his lips to speak checked himself and made an uneasy attempt to laugh it off". "Come !" he said, "keep your temper." The suppressed passion in her began to force its way to the surface. "Keep my temper?" she repeated. " Do you of all men expect me to control myself? What a memory yours must be ! Have you forgotten the time when I was fool enough to think you were fond of me ? and mad enough to believe you could keep a promise ?" He persisted in trying to laugh it off. " Mad is a strongish word to use, Miss Silvester!" "Mad is the right word ! I look back at my own infatuation and I can't account for it ; I can't understand myself. What was there in you, " she asked, with an outbreak of contempt- uous surprise, "to attract such a woman as I am?" His inexhaustible good-nature was proof even against this. He put his hands in his pockets, and said, "I'm sure I don't know." She turned away from him. The frank bru- tality of the answer had not offended her. It forced her, cruelly forced her, to remember that she had nobody but herself to blame for the po- sition in which she stood at that moment. She was unwilling to let him see how the remem- brance hurt her that was all. A sad, sad sto- ry ; but it must be told. In her mother's time, she had been the sweetest, the most lovable of children. In later days, under the care of her mother's friend, her girlhood had passed so harmlessly and so happily it seemed as if the sleeping passions might sleep forever ! h'he had lived on to the prime of her womanhood and then, when the treasure of her life was at its richest, in one fatal moment she had flung it away on the man in whose presence she now stood. Was she without excuse ? No : not utterly without excuse. She had seen him under other aspects than the aspect which he presented now. She had seen him, the hero of the river-race, the first and fore- most man in a trial of strength and skill which had roused the enthusiasm of all England. She had seen him, the central object of the interest of a nation ; the idol of the popular worship and the popular applause. His were the arms whose muscle was celebrated in the newspapers. He was first among the heroes hailed by ten thou- sand roaring throats as the pride and flower of England. A woman, in an atmosphere of red-hot enthusiasm, witnesses the apotheosis of Physical Strength. Is it reasonable is it just to expect her to ask herself, in cold blood, What (morally and intellectually) is all this worth ? and that, when the man who is the object of the apotheo- sis, notices her, is presented to her, finds her to his taste, and singles her out from the rest ? No. While humanity is humanity, the woman is not utterly without excuse. Has she escaped, without suffering for it ? Look at her as she stands there, tortured by the knowledge of her own secret the hideous secret which she is hiding from the innocent girl, whom she loves with a sister's love. Look at her, bowed down under a humiliation which is unutterable in words. She has seen him be- low the surface now, when it is too late. She rates him at his true value now, when her rep- utation is at his mercy. Ask her the question : What was there to love in a man who can speak 32 MAN AND WIFE. THE MAN WAS GEOFFREY DELAMAYN. to yon as that man has spoken, who can treat you as that man is treating you now ? you so clever, so cultivated, so refined what, in Heav- en's name, could you see in him ? Ask her that, and she will have no answer to give. She will not even remind you that he was once your model of manly beanty, too that you waved your handker- chief till you could wave it no longer, when he took his seat, with the others, in the boat that your heart was like to jump out of your bosom, on that later occasion when he leaped the last hurdle at the foot-race, and won it by a head. MAN AND WIFE. 33 In the bitterness of her remorse, she will not even seek for that excuse for herself. Is there no atoning suffering to be seen here ? I)o your sympathies shrink from such a character as this ? Follow her, good friends of virtue, on the pil- grimage that leads, by steep and thorny ways, to the purer atmosphere and the nobler life. Your fellow-creature, who has sinned and has repented you have the authority of the Divine Teacher for it is your fellow-creature, puri- fied and ennobled. A joy among the angels of heaven oh, my brothers and sisters of the earth, have I not laid my hand on a fit com- panion ,for You ? There was a moment of silence in the summer- house. The cheerful tumult of the lawn-party was pleasantly audible from the distance. Out- side, the hum of voices, the laughter of girls, the thump of the croquet-mallet against the ball. Inside, nothing but a woman forcing back the bitter tears of sorrow and shame and a man who was tired of her. She roused herself. She was her mother's daughter ; and she had a spark of her mother's spirit. Her life depended on the issue of that interview. It was useless without father or brother to take her part to lose the last chance of appealing to him. She dashed away the tears time enough to cry, is time easily found in a woman's existence she dashed away the tears, and spoke to him again, more gently than she had spoken yet. " You have been three weeks, Geoffrey, at your brother Julius's place, not ten miles from here ; and you have never once ridden over to see me. You would not have come to-day, if I had not written to you to insist on it. Is that the treatment I have deserved ?" She paused. There was no answer. "Do you hear me?" she asked, advancing, and speaking in louder tones. He was still silent. It was not in human en- durance to bear his contempt. The warning of a coming outbreak began to show itself in her face. He met it, beforehand, with an impene- trable front. Feeling nervous about the inter- view, while he was waiting in the rose-garden now that he stood committed to it, he was in full possession of himself. He was composed enough to remember that he had not put his pipe in its case composed enough to set that little matter right before other matters went any farther. He took the case out of one pocket, and the pipe out of another. " Go on," he said, quietly. " I hear you." She struck the pipe out of his hand at a blow. If she had had the strength she would have struck him down with it on the floor of the summer- house. "How dare you use me in this way?" she burst out, vehemently. "Your conduct is infa- mous. Defend it if you can !" He made no attempt to defend it. He look- ed, with an expression of genuine anxiety, at the fallen pipe. It was beautifully colored it had cost him ten shillings. " I'll pick up my pipe first," he said. His face brightened pleasantly he looked handsomer than ever as he ex- amined the precious object, and put it back in the case. " All right," he said to himself. " She hasn't broken it. " His attitude, as he looked at her again, was the perfection of easy grace the grace that attends on cultivated strength in a state of repose. "I put it to your own com- mon-sense, " he said, in the most reasonable man- ner, "what's the good of bullying me? You don't want them to hear you, out on the lawn there do you? You women are all alike. There's no beating a little prudence into your heads, try how one may. " There he waited, expecting her to speak. She waited, on her side, and forced him to go on. "Look here," he said, "there's no need to quarrel, you know. I don't want to break my promise ; but what can I do ? I'm not the eld- est son. I'm dependent on my father for every farthing I have ; and I'm on bad terms with him already. Can't you see it yourself? You're a lady, and all that, I know. But you're only a governess. It's your interest as well as mine to wait till my father has provided for me. Here it is in a nut-shell : if I marry you now, I'm a ruined man." The answer came, this time. i " You villain ! if you don't marry me, I am a ruined woman ! " " What do you mean ?" ' ' You know what I mean. Don't look at me in that way. " " How do you expect me to look at a woman who calls me a villain to my face ?" She suddenly changed her tone. The savage element in humanity let the modern optimists who doubt its existence look at any uncultivated man (no matter how muscular), woman (no mat- ter how beautiful), or child (no matter how young) began to show itself furtively in his eyes, to utter itself furtively in his voice. Was he to blame for the manner in which he looked at her and spoke to her? Not he! What had there been in the training of his life (at school or at college) to soften and subdue the savage element in him ? About as much as there had been in the training of his ancestors (without the school or the college) five hundred years since. It was plain that one of them must give way. The woman had the most at stake and the wo- man set the example of submission. "Don't be hard on me," she pleaded. "I don't mean to be hard on you. My temper gets the better of me. You know my temper. I am sorry I forgot myself. Geoffrey, my whole fu- ture is in your hands. Will you do me jus- tice ?" ' She came nearer, and laid her hand persua- sively on his arm. ' ' Haven't you a word to say to me ? No an- swer? Not even a look?" She waited a mo- ment more. A marked change came over her. She turned slowly to leave the summer-house. "I am sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Dela- mayn. I won't detain you any longer." He looked at her. There was a tone in her voice that he had never heard before. There was a light in her eyes that he had never seen in them before. Suddenly and fiercely he reached out his hand, and stopped her. "Where are you going?" he asked. She answered, looking him straight in the face, " Where many a miserable woman has gone be- fore me. Out of the world." He drew her nearer to him, and eyed her close- ly. Even his intelligence discovered that he had 34 MAN AND WIFE. brought her to bay, and that she really meant it! " Do you mean you will destroy yourself?" he said. "Yes. I mean I will destroy myself." He dropped her arm. " By Jupiter, she does mean it!" With that conviction in him, he pushed one of the chairs in the summer-house to her with his foot, and signed to her to take it. "Sit down! "he said, roughly. She had frightened him and fear comes seldom to men of his type. They feel it, when it does come, with an angry distrust ; they grow loud and brutal, in instinct- ive protest against it. "Sit down!" he repeat- ed. She obeyed him. " Haven't you got a word to say to me ?" he asked, with an oath. No ! there she sat, immovable, reckless how it ended as only women can be, when women's minds are made up. He took a turn in the summer- house and came back, and struck his hand an- grily on the Tail of her chair. "What do you want ?" " You know what I want." o He took another turn. There was nothing for it but to give way on his side, or run the risk of something happening which might cause an awk- ward scandal, and come to his father's ears. ' ' Look here, Anne, " he began, abruptly. ' ' I have got something to propose." She looked up at him. ' ' What do you say to a private marriage ?" Without asking a single question, without mak- ing objections, she answered him, speaking as bluntly as he had spoken himself : "I consent to a private marriage." He began to temporize directly. " I own I don't see how it's to be managed " She stopped him there. "I do!" "What!" he cried out, suspiciously. "You have thought of it yourself, have you?" " Yes." ' ' And planned for it ?" " And planned for it!" ' ' Why didn't you tell me so before ?" She answered haughtily ; insisting on the re- spect which is due to women the respect which was doubly due from him, in her position. " Because you owed it to me, Sir, to speak first." "Very well. I've spoken first. Will you wait a little ?" "Not a day!" The tone was positive. There was no mistak- ing it. Her mind was made up. . " Where's the hurry ?" "Have you eyes?" she asked, vehemently. ' ' Have you ears ? Do you see how Lady Lundie looks at me ? Do you hear how Lady Lundie speaks to me ? I am suspected by that woman. My shameful dismissal from this house may be a question of a few hours." Her head sunk on her bosom ; she wrung her clasped hands as they rested on her lap. "And, oh, Blanche!" she moaned to herself, the tears gathering again, and falling, this time, unchecked. "Blanche, who looks up to me ! Blanche, who loves me ! Blanche, who told me, in this very place, that I was to live with her when she was married!" She started up from the chair ; the tears dried suddenly; the hard despair settled again, wan and white, on her face. "Let me go! What is death, compared to such a life as is waiting for me ?" She looked him over, in one disdain- ful glance from head to foot ; her voice rose to its loudest and firmest tones. " Why, even you would have the courage to die if you were in my place ! " Geoffrey glanced round toward the lawn. " Hush !" he said. "They will hear you !" " Let them hear me! When / am past hear- ing them, what does it matter ?" He put her back by main force on the chair. In another moment they must have heard her, through all the noise and laughter of the game. " Say what you want," he resumed, " and I'll do it. Only be reasonable. I cant marry you to-day." ' ' You can ! " "What nonsense you talk! The house and grounds are swarming with companv. It can't be!" "It can ! I have been thinking about it ever since we came to this house. I have got some- thing to propose to you. Will you hear it, or not?" "Speak lower!" " Will you hear it, or not ?" "There's somebody coming!" "Will you hear it, or not?" " The devil take your obstinacy ! Yes !" The answer had been wrung from him. Still, it was the answer she wanted it opened the door to hope. The instant he had consented to hear her her mind awakened to the serious necessity of averting discovery by any third per- son who might stray idly into the summer-house. She held up her hand for silence, and listened to what was going forward on the lawn. The dull thump of the croquet-mallet against the ball was no longer to be heard. The game had stopped. In a moment more she heard her own name called. An interval of another instant passed, and a familiar voice said, ' ' I know where she is. I'll fetch her." She turned to Geoffrey, and pointed to the back of the summer-house. "It's my turn to play," she said. "And Blanche is coming here to look for me. Wait there, and I'll stop her on the steps. " She went out at once. It was a critical mo- ment. Discovery, which meant moral-ruin to the woman, meant money -ruin to the man. Geoffrey had not exaggerated his position with his father. Lord Holchester had twice paid his debts, and had declined to see him since. One more outrage on his father's rigid sense of pro- priety, and he would be left out of the will as well as kept out of the house. He looked for a means of retreat, in case there was no escaping unperceived by the front entrance. A door intended for the use of servants, when picnics i and gipsy tea-parties were given in the summer- house had been made in the back wall. It opened outward, and it was locked. With his strength it was easy to remove that obstacle. He put his shoulder to the door. At the mo- i ment when he burst it open he felt a hand on his arm. Anne was behind him, alone. "You may want it before long," she said, ob- serving the open door, without expressing any surprise. "You don't want it now. Another MAN AND WIFE. 35 person will play for me I have told Blanche I am not well. Sit down. I have secured a re- spite of five minutes, and I must make the most of it. In that time, or less, Lady Lundie's sus- picions will bring her here to see how I am. For the present, shut the door." She seated herself, and pointed to a second chair, lie took it with his eye on the closed door. "Come to the point!" he said, impatiently. "What is it?" "You can marry me privately to-day," she answered. "Listen and I will tell you how!" CHAPTER THE FIFTH. THE PLAN. SHE took his hand, and began with all the art of persuasion that she possessed. " One question, Geoffrey, before I say what I want to say. Lady Lundie has invited you to stay at Windygates. Do you accept her invi- tation? or do you go back to your brother's in the evening ?" "I can't go back in the evening they've put a visitor into my room. I'm obliged to stay here. My brother has done it on purpose. Julius helps me when I'm hard up and bullies me afterward. He has sent me here, on duty for the family. Somebody must be civil to Lady Lundie and I'm the sacrifice." She took him up at his last word. ' ' Don't make the sacrifice," she said. "Apologize to Lady Lundie, and say you are obliged to go back." "Why?" "Because we must both leave this place to- day. " There was a double objection to that. If he left Lady Lundie's, he would fail to establish a future pecuniary claim on his brother's indul- gence. And if he left with Anne, the eyes of the world would see them, and the whispers of the world might come to his father's ears. "If we go away together," he said, "good- by to my prospects, and yours too." "I don't mean that w shall leave together," she explained. ' ' We will leave separately and I will go first." "There will be a hue and cry after you, when you are missed." "There will be a dance when the croquet is over. I don't dance and I shall not be missed. There will be time, and opportunity, to get to my own room. I shall leave a letter there for Lady Lundie, and a letter" her voice trembled for a moment "and a letter for Blanche. Don't in- terrupt me ! I have thought of this, as I have thought of every thing else. The confession I shall make will be the truth in a few hours, if it's not the truth now. My letters will say I am privately married, and called away unexpectedly to join my husband. There will be a scandal in the house, I know. But there will be no excuse for sending after me, when I am under my hus- band's protection. So far as you are personally concerned there are no discoveries to fear and nothing which it is not perfectly safe and perfect- ly easy to do. Wait here an hour after I have gone to save appearances ; and then follow me." ' ' Follow you ?' ' interposed Geoffrey. ' ' Where ?" She drew her chair nearer to him, and whis- pered the next words in her ear. "To a lonely little mountain inn four miles from this." " An inn!" "Why not?" " An inn is a public place. " A movement of natural impatience escaped her but she controlled herself, and went on as quietly as before : ' ' The place I mean is the loneliest place in the neighborhood. You have no prying eyes to dread there. I have picked it out expressly for that reason. It's away from the railway ; it's away from the high-road : it's kept by a decent, respectable Scotchwoman ' " Decent, respectable Scotchwomen who keep inns, "interposed Geoffrey, "don't cotton to young ladies who are traveling alone. The landlady won't receive you. " It was a well-aimed objection but it missed the mark. A woman bent on her marriage is a woman who can meet the objections of the whole world, single-handed, and refute them all. "I have provided for every thing," she said : "and I have provided for that. I shall tell the landlady I am on my wedding-trip. I shall say my husband is sight-seeing, on foot, among the mountains in the neighborhood " " She is sure to believe that !" said Geoffrey. "She is sure to disbelieve it, if you like. Let her ! You have only to appear, and to ask for your wife and there is my story proved to be true ! She may be the most suspicious woman living, as long as I am alone with her. The moment you join me, yon set her suspicions at rest. Leave me to do my part. My part is the hard one. Will you do yours ?" It was impossible to say No : she had fairly cut the ground from under his feet. He shifted his ground. Any thing rather than say Yes ! " I suppose you know how we are to be mar- ried?" he asked. "All I can say is /don't." "You do!" she retorted. "You know that we are in Scotland. You know that there are neither forms, ceremonies, nor delays in rnai-- riage, here. The plan I have proposed to you secures my being received at the inn, and makes it easy and natural for you to join me there aft- erward. The rest is in our own hands. A man and a woman who wish to be married (in Scot- land) have only to secure the necessary witnesses and the thing is done. If the landlady chooses to resent the deception practiced on her, after that, the landlady may do as she pleases. We shall have gained our object in spite of her and, what is more, we shall have gained it without risk to you. " " Don't lay it all on my shoulders," Geoffrey rejoined. "You women go headlong at L'\vry thing. Say we are married. We must separate afterward or how are we to keep it a secret ?" " Certainly. You will go back, of course, to your brother's house, as if nothing had hap- pened." " And what is to become of you?" " I shall go to London." " What are you to do in London ?" " Haven't I already told you that I have thought of every thing ? When I get to London I shall apply to some of my mother's old friends 36 MAN AND WIFE. friends of hers in the time when she was a musician. Every body tells me I have a voice if I had only cultivated it. I will cultivate it ! I can live, and live respectably, as a concert singer. I have saved money enough to support me, while I am learning and my mother's friends will help me, for her sake." So, in the new life that she was marking out, was she now unconsciously reflecting in herself the life of her mother before her. Here was the mother's career as a public singer, chosen (in spite of all efforts to prevent it) by the child! Here (though with other motives, and under other circumstances) was the mother's irregular mar- riage in Ireland, on the point of being followed by the daughter's irregular marriage in Scotland ! And here, stranger still, was the man who was answerable for* it the son of the man who had found the flaw in the Irish marriage, and had shown the way by which her mother was thrown on the world! "My Anne is my second self. She is not called by her father's name; she is called by mine. She is Anne Silvester as I was. Will she end like Me?" The answer to those words the last words that had trembled on the dying mother's lips was coming fast. Through the chances and changes of many years, the fu- ture was pressing near and Anne Silvester stood on the brink of it. " Well ?" she resumed. "Are you at the end of your objections ? Can you give me a plain answer at last ?" No ! He had another objection ready as the words passed her lips. " Suppose the witnesses at the inn happen to know me ?" he said. " Suppose it comes to my father's ears in that way ?" "Suppose you drive me to my death?" she retorted, starting to her feet. ' ' Your father shall know the truth, in that case I swear it !" He rose, on his side, and drew back from her. She followed him up. There was a clapping of hands, at the same moment, on the lawn. Some* body had evidently made a brilliant stroke which promised to decide the game. There was no se- curity now that Blanche might not return again. There was every prospect, the game being over, that Lady Lundie would be free. Anne brought the interview to its crisis, without wasting a mo- ment more. "Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn," she said. "You have bargained for a private marriage, and I have consented. Are you, or are you not, ready to marry me on your own terms ?" " Give me a minute to think !" " Not an instant. Once for all, is it Yes, or No?" He couldn't say "Yes," even then. But he said what was equivalent to it. He asked, sav- agely, " Where is the inn?" She put her arm in his, and whispered, rapidly, "Pass the road on the right that leads to the railway. Follow the path over the moor, and the sheep-track up the hill. The first house you come to after that is the inn. You understand !" He nodded his head, with a sullen frown, and took his pipe out of his pocket again. "Let it alone this time," he said, meeting her eye. " My mind's upset. When a man's mind's upset, a man must smoke. What's the name of the place ?" " Craig Fernie." " Who am I to ask for at the door?" ' ' For your wife. " "Suppose they want you to give your name when you get there ?" "If I must give a name, I shall call myself Mrs., instead of Miss, Silvester. But I shall do my best to avoid giving any name. And you will do your best to avoid making a mistake, by only asking for me as your wife. Is there any thing else you want to know ?" "Yes." " Be quick about it ! What is it ?" " How am I to know you have got away from here?" " If you don't hear from me in half an hour from the time when I have left you, you may be sure I have got away. Hush !" Two voices, in conversation, were audible at the bottom of the steps Lady Lundie's voice and Sir Patrick's. Anne pointed to the door in the back wall of the summer-house. She had just pulled it to again, after Geoffrey had passed through it, when Lady Lundie and Sir Patrick appeared at the top of the steps. CHAPTER THE SIXTH. THE SUITOR. LADY LUNDIE pointed significantly to the door, and addressed herself to Sir Patrick's pri- vate ear. " Observe !" she said. " Miss Silvester has just got rid of somebody. " Sir Patrick deliberately looked in the wrong direction, and (in the politest possible manner) observed nothing. Lady Lundie advanced into the summer- house. Suspicious hatred of the governess was written legibly in every line of her face. Sus- picious distrust of the governess's illness spoke plainly in every tone of her voice. " May I inquire, Miss Silvester, if your suf- ferings are relieved ?" " I am no better, Lady Lundie." " I beg your pardon ?" " I said I was no better." "You appear to be 5ble to stand up. When / am ill, I am not so fortunate. I am obliged to lie down." "I will follow your example, Lady Lundie. If you will be so good as to excuse me, I will leave you, and lie down in my own room." She could say no more. The interview with Geoffrey had worn her out ; there was no spirit left in her to resist the petty malice of the wo- man, after bearing, as she had borne it, the bru- tish indifference of the man. In another moment the hysterical suffering which she was keeping down would have forced its way outward in tears. Without waiting to know whether she was ex- cused or not, without stopping to hear a word more, she left the summer-house. Lady Lundie's magnificent black eyes opened to their utmost width, and blazed with their most dazzling brightness. She appealed to Sir Patrick, poised easily on his iv^ry cane, and look- ing out at the lawn-party, the picture of venera- ble innocence. " After what I have already told you, Sir Pat- rick, of Miss Silvester's conduct, may I ask MAN AND WIFE. 37 whether you consider that proceeding at all ex- , traordinary ?'' The old gentleman touched the spring in the knob of his cane, and answered, in the coxntly manner of the old school : "I consider no proceeding extraordinary, Lady Lundie, which emanates from your enchanting sex." He bowed, and took his pinch. With a little jaunty flourish of the hand, he dusted the stray j grains of snuff oft' his finger and thumb, and looked back again at the lawn-party, and became : more absorbed in the diversions of his young j friends than ever. Lady Lundie stood her ground, plainly de- termined to force a serious expression of opinion from her brother-in-law. Before she could speak ' again, Arnold and Blanche appeared together at the bottom of the steps. "And when does the dancing begin ?" inquired Sir Patrick, hobbling out to meet them, and looking as if he felt the , deepest interest in a speedy settlement of the question. "The very thing I was going to ask mamma," returned Blanche. " Is she in there with Anne ? \ Is Anne better?" Lady Lundie forthwith appeared, and took the answer to that inquiry on herself. " Miss Silvester has retired to her room. Miss Silvester persists in being ill. Have you noticed, Sir Patrick, that these half-bred sort of people are almost invariably rude when they are ill?" Blanche's bright face flushed up. " If you think Anne a half-bred person, Lady Lundie, you stand alone in your opinion. My uncle doesn't agree with you, I'm sure." Sir Patrick's interest in the first quadrille be- came almost painful to see. " L)o tell me, my dear, when is the dancing going to begin ?" "The sooner the better," interposed Lady Lundie; "before Blanche picks another quarrel with me on the subject of Miss Silvester." Blanche looked at her uncle. "Begin! be- gin ! Don't lose time !" cried the ardent Sir Pat- rick, pointing toward the house with his cane. " Certainly, uncle ! Any thing that you wish !" With that parting shot at her step -mother, Blanc-he withdrew. Arnold, who had thus far waited in silence at the foot of the steps, looked appealingly at Sir Patrick. The train which was to take him to his newly inherited property would start in less than an hour ; and he had not pre- sented himself to Blanche's guardian in the char- acter of Blanche's suitor yet ! Sir Patrick's in- difference to all domestic claims on him claims of persons who loved, and claims of persons who hated, it didn't matter which remained perfect- ly unassailable. There he stood, poised on his cane, humming an old Scotch air. And there was Lady Lundie, resolute not to leave him till he had seen the governess with her eyes and judged the governess with her mind. She re- turned to the charge in spite of Sir Patrick, humming at the top of the steps, and of Arnold, waiting at the bottom. (Her enemies said, ' ' No wonder poor Sir Thomas died in a few months after his marriage !" And, oh dear m,e, our en- emies are sometimes right !) "I must once more remind you, Sir Patrick, that I have serious reason to doubt whether Miss Silvester is a fit companion for Blanche. My governess has something on her mind. She has fits of crying in private. She is up and walking about her room when she ought to be asleep. She posts her own letters and, she has lately, been excessively insolent to Me. There is some- thing wrong. I must take some steps in the matter and it is only proper that I should do so with your sanction, as head of the family." " Consider me as abdicating my position, Lady Lundie, in your favor. " " Sir Patrick, I beg you to observe that I am speaking seriously, and that I expect a serious reply." " My good lady, ask me for any thing else and it is at your service. I have not made ' a seri- ous reply' since I gave up practice at the Scottish Bar. At my age," added Sir Patrick, cunning- ly drifting into generalities, "nothing is serious except Indigestion. I say, with the philoso- pher, ' Life is a comedy to those who think, and a tragedy to those who feel.'" He took his sis- ter-in-law's hand, and kissed it. " Dear Lady Lundie, why feel ?" Lady Lundie, who had never " felt" in her life, appeared perversely determined to feel, on this occasion. She was offended and she showed it plainly. " When you are next called on, Sir Patrick, to judge of Miss Silvester's conduct, ' she said, "unless I am entirely mistaken, you will find yourself compelled to consider it as something beyond a joke. " With those words, she walked out of the summer-house and so forwarded Ar- nold's interests by leaving Blanche's guardian alone at last. . It was an excellent opportunity. The guests were safe in the house there was no interruption to be feared. Arnold showed himself. Sir Pat- rick (perfectly undisturbed by Lady Lundie's parting speech) sat down in the summer house, without noticing his young friend, and asked himself a question founded on profound observa- tion of the female sex. "Were there ever two women yet with a quarrel between them, " thought the old gentleman, "who didn't want to drag a man into it ? Let them drag me in, if they can !" Arnold advanced a step, and modestly an- nounced himself. " I hope I am not in the way, Sir Patrick ?" "In the way? of course not! Bless my soul, how serious the boy looks ! Are you going to appeal to me as the head of the family next ?" It was exactly what Arnold was about to do. But it was plain that if he admitted it just then Sir Patrick (for some unintelligible reason) would decline to listen to him. He answered cautious- ly, " I asked leave to consult you in private, Sir ; and you kindly said you would give me the op- portunity before I left Windygates ?" ' ' Ay ! ay ! to be sure. 1 remember. We were both engaged in the serious business of cro- quet at the time and it was doubtful which of us did that business most clumsily. Well, here is the opportunity ; and here am I, with all my worldly experience, at your service. I have only one caution to give you. Don't appeal to me as 'the head of the family.' .vMy resignation is in Lady Lundie's hands." He was, as usual, half in jest, half in earnest. The wry twist of humor showed itself at the cor- ners of his lips. Arnold was at a loss how to approach Sir Patrick on the subject of his niece without reminding him of his domestic responsi- 38 MAN AND \7IFE. bilities on the one hand, and without setting him- self-up as a target for the shafts of Sir Patrick's wit on the other. In this difficulty, he commit- ted a mistake at the outset. He hesitated. "Don't hurry yourself," said Sir Patrick. " Collect your ideas. .lean wait! I can wait!" Arnold collected his ideas and committed a second mistake. He determined on feeling his way cautiously at first. Under the circumstances (and with such a man as he had now to deal with), it was perhaps the rashest resolution at which he could possibly have arrived it was the mouse attempting to outmanoeuvre the cat. " You have been very kind, Sir, in offering me the benefit of your experience," he began. "I want a word of advice." '' Suppose you take it sitting ?" suggested Sir Patrick. "Get a chair." His sharp eyes fol- lowed Arnold with an expression of malicious enjoyment. "Wants my advice?" he thought. "The young humbug wants nothing of the sort he wants my niece/' Arnold sat down under Sir Patrick's eye, with a well-founded suspicion that he was destined to suffer, before he got up again, under Sir Patrick's tongue. " I am only a young man," he went on, mov- ing uneasily in his chair; "and I am beginning a new life " "Any thing wrong with the chair?" asked Sir Patrick. ' ; Begin your new life comfortably, and get another.' "There's nothing wrong with the chair, Sir. Would you " ' ' Would I keep the chair, in that case ? Cer- tainly. " " I mean, would you advise me " " My good fellow, I'm waiting to advise you. (Tm sure there's something wrong with that chair. Why be obstinate about it ? Why not get another?)" " Please don't notice the chair, Sir Patrick you put me out. I want in short perhaps it's a curious question " "I can't say till I have heard it," remarked Sir Patrick. "However, we will admit it, for form's sake, if you like. Say it's a curious ques- tion. Or let us express it more strongly, if that will help you. Say it's the most extraordinary question that ever was put, since the beginning of the world, from one human being to another." "It's this!" Arnold burst out, desperately. " I want to be married !" "That isn't a question," objected Sir Patrick. " It's an assertion. You say, I want to be mar- ried. And I say, Just so ! And there's an end of it," Arnold's head began to whirl. " Would you advise me to get married, Sir?" he said, piteous- ly. "That's what I meant." " Oh ! That's the object of the present inter- view, is it? Would I advise you to marry, eh?" (Having caught the mouse by this time, the cat lifted his paw and let the luckless little creat- ; ure breathe again. Sir Patrick's manner sud- denly freed itself from any slight signs of impa- tience which it might have hitherto shown, and became as pleasantly easy and confidential as a manner could be.. He touched the knob of his cane, and helped himself, with infinite zest and enjoyment, to a pinch of snuff.) "Would I advise you to marry?" repeated Sir Patrick. "Two courses are open to us, Mr. Arnold, in treating that question. We may put it briefly, or we may put it at great length. I am for putting it briefly. What do you say ?" ' ' What you say, Sir Patrick. " "Very good. May I begin by making an in- quiry relating to your past life ?" "Certainly!" "Very good again. When you were in the merchant service, did you ever have any experi- ence in buying provisions ashore ?" Arnold stared. If any relation existed be- tween that question and the subject in hand it was an impenetrable relation to him. He an- swered, in unconcealed bewilderment, "Plenty of experience, Sir." "I'm coming to the point," pursued Sir Pat- rick. ' ' Don't be astonished. I'm coining to the point. What did you think of your moist sugar when you bought it at the grocer's ?'' " Think?'' repeated Arnold. " Why, I thought it was moist sugar, to be sure!" "Marry, by all means!" cried Sir Patrick. " You are one of the few men who can try that experiment with a fair chance of success." The suddenness of the answer fairly took away Arnold's breath. There was something perfect- ly electric in the brevity of his venerable friend. He stared harder than ever. ' ' Don't you understand me ?" asked Sir Pat- rick. ' ' I don't understand what the moist sugar has got to do with it, Sir." " You don't see that ?" "Not a bit!" "Then I'll show you," said Sir Patrick, cross- ing his legs, and setting in comfortably for a good talk. "You go to the tea-shop, and get your moist sugar. You take it on the understanding that it is moist sugar. But it isn't any thing of the sort. It's a compound of adulterations made up to look like sugar. You shut your eyes to that awkward fact, and swallow your adulterated mess in various articles of food; and you and your sugar get on together in that way as well as you can. Do you follow me, so far ?" Yes. Arnold (quite in the dark) followed, so far. "Very good," pursued Sir Patrick. "You go to the marriage-shopj and get a wife. You take her on the understanding let us say that she has lovely yellow hair, that she has an ex- quisite complexion, that her figure is the per- fection of plumpness, and that she is just tall enough to carry the plumpness off. You bring her home, and you discover that it's the old story of the sugar over again. Your wife is an adul- terated article. Her lovely yellow hair is dye. Her exquisite skin is pearl powder. Her plumpness is padding. And three inches of her height are in the boot-maker's heels. Shut your eyes, and swallow your adulterated wife as you swallow your adulterated sugar and, I tell you again, you are one of the few men who can try the marriage experiment with a fair chance of success. " With that he uncrossed his legs again, and looked hard at Arnold. Arnold read the lesson, at last, in the right way. He gave up the hope- less attempt to circumvent Sir Patrick, anil come what might of it dashed at a direct allu- sion to Sir Patrick's niece. MAN AND WIFE. HE TOUCHED THE KNOB OF HIS CANE, AND HELPED HIMSELF, WITH INFINITE ZEST AND ENJOYMENT, TO A PINCH OF SNUFF." " That may be all very true, Sir, of some young ladies/' he said. "There is one I know of, who is nearly related to you, and who doesn't deserve what you have said of the rest of them." This was coming to the point. Sir Patrick showed his approval of Arnold's frankness by coming to the point himself, as readily as his own whimsical humor would let him. "Is this female phenomenon my niece?" he inquired. "Yes, Sir Patrick." ' ' May I ask how you know that my niece is not an adulterated article, like the rest of them ?" Arnold's indignation loosened the last re- straints that tied Arnold's tongue. He exploded in the three words which mean three volumes in every circulating library in the kingdom. "I love her." Sir Patrick sat back in his chair, and stretch- ed out his legs luxuriously. "That's the most convincing answer I ever heard in my life," he said. "I'm in earnest!" cried Arnold, reckless by this time of every consideration but one. "Put me to the test, Sir ! put me to the test ! " " Oh, very well. The test is easily put." He looked at Arnold, with the irrepressible humor twinkling merrily in his eyes, and twitching sharply at the corners of his lips. "My niece has a beautiful complexion. Do you believe in her complexion ?" "There's a beautiful sky above our heads," returned Arnold. "I believe in the sky." " Do vou ?" retorted Sir Patrick. " Youwere evidently never caught in a shower. My niece has an immense quantity of hair. Are you con- vinced that it all grows on her head ?" ' ' I defy any other woman's head to produce the like of it!" "My dear Arnold, you greatly underrate the existing resources of the trade in hair ! Look into the shop-windows. When you next go to London pray look into the shop-windows. In the mean time, what do you think of my niece's figure ?" "Oh, come! there can't be any doubt about that ! Any man, with eyes in his head, can see it's the loveliest figure in the world. " Sir Patrick laughed softly, and crossed his legs again. ' ' My good fellow, of course it is ! The love- liest figure in the world is the commonest thing in the world. At a rough guess, there are forty ladies at this lawn-party. Every one of them possesses a beautiful figure. It varies in price ; and when it's particularly seductive, you may swear it comes from Paris. Why, how you stare ! When I asked you what you thought of my niece's figure, I meant how much of it comes from Nature, and how much of it comes from the Shop ? I don't know, mind ! Do you ?" ' ' I'll take my oath to every inch of it ! " "Shop?" "Nature!" Sir Patrick rose to his feet; his satirical hu- mor was silenced at last. " If ever I have a son," he thought to himself, " that son shall go to sea!" He took Arnold's 40 MAN AND WIFE. arm. as a. preliminary to putting an end to Ar- nold's suspense. " If I can be serious about any thing," he resumed, "it's time to be serious with you. I am convinced of the sincerity of your attachment. All I know of you is in your favor, and your birth and position are beyond dispute. If you have Blanche's consent, you have mine." Arnold attempted to express his gratitude. Sir Patrick, declining to hear him, went on. "And remember this, in the future. When you next want any thing that I can give you, ask for it plainly. Don't attempt to mystify me on the next occasion, and I will promise, on my side, not to mystify you. There, that's understood. Now about this journey of yours to see your es- tate. Property has its duties, Master Arnold, as well as its rights. The time is fast com- ing when its rights will be disputed, if its duties are not performed. I have got a new interest in you, and I mean to see that you do your duty. It's settled you are to leave Windygates to-day. Is it arranged how you are to go ?" "Yes, Sir Patrick. Lady Lundie has kindly ordered the gig to take me to the station, in time for the next train." ' ' When are you to be ready ?" Arnold looked at his watch. -"In a quarter of an hour." "Very good. Mind you are ready. Stop a minute ! you will have plenty of time to speak to Blanche when I have done with you. You don't appear to me to be sufficiently anxious about seeing your own property." " I am not very anxious to leave Blanche, Sir that's the truth of it." "Never mind Blanche. Blanche is not busi- ness. They both begin with a B and that's the only connection between them. I hear you have got one of the finest houses in this part of Scotland. How long are you going to stay in it?" "I have arranged (as I have already told you, Sir) to return to Windygates the day after to- morrow." " What ! Here is a man with a palace wait- ing to receive him and he is only gtring to stop one clear day in it !" " I am not going to stop in it at all, Sir Pat- rick I am going to stay with the steward. I'm only wanted to be present to-morrow at a dinner to my tenants and, when that's over, there's no- thing in the world to prevent my coming back here. The steward himself told me so in his last letter." "Oh, if the steward told you so, of course there is nothing more to be said !" " Don't object to my coming back ! pray don't, Sir Patrick ! I'll promise to live in my new house, when I have got Blanche to live in it with me. If you won't mind, I'll go and tell her at once that it all belongs to her as well as to me." "Gently! gently! you talk as if you were married to her already !" " It's as good as done, Sir ! Where's the dif- ficulty in the way now ?" As he asked the question the shadow of some third person, advancing from the side of the summer-house, was thrown forward on the open sunlit space at the top of the steps. In a mo- ment more the shadow was followed by the sub- stance in the shape of a groom in his riding livery. The man w~as plainly a stranger to the place. He started, and touched his hat, when he saw the two gentlemen in the summer-house. " What do you want?" asked Sir Patrick. "I beg your pardon, Sir; I was 'sent by my master '' . "Who is your master?" "The Honorable Mr. Delamayn, Sir." "Do you mean Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn?" asked Arnold. "No, Sir. Mr. Geoffrey's brother Mr. Ju- lius. I have ridden over from the house, Sir, with a message from my master to Mr. Geof- frey." " Can't you find him ?" " They told me I should find him hereabouts, Sir. But I'm a stranger, and don't rightly know where to look." He stopped, and took a card out of his" pocket. " My master said it was very important I should deliver this immedi- ately. Would you be pleased to tell me, gen- tlemen, if you happen to know where Mr. Geof- frey is ?" Arnold turned to Sir Patrick. "I haven't seen him. Have you ?" "I have smelt him," answered Sir Patrick, "ever since I have been in the summer-house. There is a detestable taint of tobacco in the air suggestive (disagreeably suggestive to my mind) of your friend, Mr. Delamayn." Arnold laughed, and stepped outside the sum- mer-house. "If you are right, Sir Patrick, we will find him at once. " He looked around, and shouted, "Geoffrey!" A voice from the rose-garden shouted back, "Hullo!" "You're wanted. Come here !" Geoffrey appeared, sauntering doggedly, witli his pipe in his mouth, and his hands in his pock- ets. "Who wants me?" "A groom from your brother." That answer appeared to electrify the loung- ing and lazy athlete. Geoffrey hurried, with eager steps, to the summer-house. He ad- dressed the groom before thfc man had time to speak. With horror and dismay in his face, he exclaimed : " By Jupiter! Ratcatcher has relapsed !" Sir Patrick and Arnold looked at each other in blank amazement. "The best horse in my brother's stables!" cried Geoffrey, explaining} and appealing to them, in a breath. "I left written directions with the coachman ; I measured out his physic for three days; I bled him," said Geoffrey, in a voice broken by emotion "I bled him myself, last night." " I beg your pardon, Sir " began the groom. ' ' What's the use of begging my pardon ? You're a pack of infernal fools ! Where's your horse ? I'll ride back, and break every bone in the coachman's skin ! Where's your horse ?" ' ' If you please, Sir, it isn't Ratcatcher. Rat- catcher's all right. " " Ratcatcher's all right ? Then what the devil is it ?" " It's a message, Sir." "About what?" "About my lord." "Oh ! About my father?" He took out his handkerchief, and passed it over his forehead, MAN AND WIFE. 41 with a deep gasp of relief. "I thought it was Ratcatcher," he said, looking at Arnold, with a smile. lie put his pipe into his mouth, and re- kindled the dying ashes of the tobacco. ' ' Well ?" he went on, when the pipe was in working order, and his voice was composed again. " What's up with my father ?" "A telegram from London, Sir. Bad news of my lord." The man produced his master's card. Geoffrey read on it (written in his brother's handwriting) these words : "I have only a moment to scribble a line on my card. Our father is dangerously ill his lawyer has been sent for. Come with me 'to London by the first train. Meet at the junc- tion." Without a word to any one of the three per- sons present, all silently looking at him, Geoffrey consulted his watch. Anne had told him to wait half an hour, and to assume that she had gone if he failed to hear from her in that time. The interval had passed and no communication of any sort had reached him. The flight from the house had been safely accomplished. Anne Sil- vester was, at that moment, on her way to the mountain inn. CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. THE DEBT. ARNOLD was the first who broke the silence. " Is your father seriously ill ?" he asked. Geoffrey answered by handing him the card. Sir Patrick, who had stood apart (while the question of Ratcatcher's relapse was under dis- cussion) sardonically studying the manners and customs of modern English youth, now came for- ward, and took his part in the proceedings. Lady Lundie herself must have acknowledged that he spoke and acted as became the head of the fam- ily, on this occasion. "Am I right in supposing that Mr. Delamayn's father is dangerously ill?" he asked, addressing himself to Arnold. "Dangerously ill, in London," Arnold an- swered. ' ' Geoffrey must leave Windygates with me. The train I ani traveling by meets the train his brother is traveling by, at the junction. I shall leave him at the second station from here. " " Didn't you tell me that Lady Lundie was going to send you to the railway in a gig ?" "Yes." "If the servant drives, there will be three of you and there will be no room." "We had better ask for some other vehicle," suggested Arnold. Sir Patrick looked at his watch. There was no time to change the carriage. He turned to Geoffrey. "Can you drive, Mr. Delamayn ?" Still impenetrably silent, Geoffrey replied by a nod of the head. Without noticing the unceremonious manner in which he had been answered, Sir Patrick went on: " In that case, you can leave the gig in charge of the station-master. I'll tell the servant that he will not be wanted to drive." "Let me save you the trouble, Sir Patrick," said Arnold. Sir Patrick declined, by a gesture. He turned C again, with undiminished courtesy, to Geoffrey. " It is one of the duties of hospitality, Mr. De- lamayn, to hasten your departure, under these sad circumstances. Lady Lundie is engaged with her guests. I will see myself that there is no unnecessary delay in sending you to the sta- tion." He bowed and left the summer-house. Arnold said a word of sympathy to his friend, when they were alone. "I am sorry for this, Geoffrey. I hope and trust you will get to London in time." He stopped. There was something in Geof- frey's face a strange mixture of doubt and be- wilderment, of annoyance and hesitation which was not to be accounted for as the natural result of the news that he had received. His color shifted and changed ; he picked fretfully at his finger-nails ; he looked at Arnold as if he was going to speak and then looked away again, in silence. "Is there something amiss, Geoffrey, besides this bad news about your father ?" asked Arnold. " I'm in the devil's own mess," was the an- swer. "Can I do any thing to help you ?" Instead of making a direct reply, Geoffrey lifted his mighty hand, and gave Arnold a friend- ly slap on the shoulder which shook him from head to foot. Arnold steadied himself, and waited wondering what was coming next. "I say, old fellow!" said Geoffrey. "Yes." "Do you remember when the boat turned keel upward in Lisbon Harbor ?" Arnold started. If he could have called to rnind his first interview in the summer-house with his father's old friend, he might have re- membered Sir Patrick's prediction that he would sooner or later pay, with interest, the ddbt he owed to the man who had saved his life. As it was. his memory reverted at a bound to the time of the boat-accident. In the ardor of his grati- tude and the innocence of his heart, he almost resented his friend's question as a reproach which he had not deserved. "Do you think I can ever forget," he cried, warmly, ' ' that you swam ashore with me and saved my life ?" Geoffrey ventured a step nearer to the object that he had in view. "One good turn deserves another," he said, "don't it?" Arnold took his hand. "Only tell me!" he eagerly rejoined " only tell me what I can do !" ' ' You are going to-day to see your new place, ain't you ?" "Yes." " Can you put off going till to-morrow?" " If it's any thing serious of course I can !" Geoffrey looked round at the entrance to the summer-house, to make sure that they were alone. "You know the governess here, don't you?" he said, in a whisper. " Miss Silvester ?" "Yes. I've got into a little difficulty with Miss Silvester. And there isn't a living soul I can ask to help me but you. " "You know I will help you. What is it?" " It isn't so easy to say. Never mind you're no saint either, are you ? You'll keep it a secret, of course ? Look here ! I've acted like an in- 42 MAN AND WIFE. fernal fool. I've gone and got the girl into a scrape " Arnold drew back, suddenly understanding him. " Good heavens, Geoffrey ! You don't mean " "I do ! Wait a bit that's not the worst of it. She has left the house. " "Left the house?" ' ' Left, for good and all. She can't come back again." "Why not?" " Because she's written to her missus. Wo- men (hang 'em ! ) never do these things by halves. She's left a letter to say she's privately married, and gone off to her husband. Her husband is Me. Not that I'm married to her yet, you un- derstand. I have only promised to marry her. She has gone on first (on the sly) to a place four miles from this. And we settled I was to follow, and marry her privately this afternoon. That's out of the question now. While she's expecting me at the inn I shall be bowling along to Lon- don. Somebody must tell her what has hap- pened or she'll play the devil, and the whole business will burst up. I can't trust any of the people here. I'm done for, old chap, unless you help me." Arnold lifted his hands in dismay. "It's the most dreadful situation, Geoffrey, I ever heard of in my life!" Geoffrey thoroughly agreed with him. "Enough to knock a man over," he said, "isn't it? I'd give something for a drink of beer." He produced his everlasting pipe, from sheer force of habit. " Got a match?" he asked. Arnold's mind was too preoccupied to notice the question. " I hope you won't think I'm making light of your*father's illness," he said, earnestly. "But it seems to me I must say it it seems to me that the poor girl has the first claim on you." Geoffrey looked at him in surly amazement. "The first claim on me? Do you think I'm going to risk being cut out of my father's will? Not for the best woman that ever put on a petti- coat!" Arnold's admiration of his friend was the sol- idly-founded admiration of many years ; admira- tion for- a man who could row, box, wrestle, jump above all, who could swim as few other men could perform those exercises in contempo- rary England. But that answer shook his faith. Only for the moment unhappily for Arnold, only for the moment. " You know best," he returned, a little coldly. "What can I do?" Geoffrey took his arm roughly, as he took every thing ; but in a companionable and confi- dential way. " Go, like a good fellow, and tell her what has happened. We'll start from here as if we were both going to the railway ; and I'll drop you at the foot-path, in the gig. You can get on to your own place afterward by the evening train. It puts you to no inconvenience ; and it's doing the kind thing by an old friend. There's no risk of being found out. I'm to drive, re- member ! There's no servant with us, old boy, to notice, and tell tales." Even Arnold began to see dimly by this time that he was likely to pay his debt of obligation with interest as Sir Patrick had foretold. " What am I to say to her?" he asked. " I'm bound to do all I can do to help you, and I will. But what am I to say ?" It was a natural question to put. Itwas not an easy question to answer. What a man, un- der given muscular circumstances, could do, no person living knew better than Geoffrey Dela- mayn. Of what a man, under given social cir- cumstances, could say, no person living knew less. "Say?" he repeated. "Look here! say I'm half distracted, and all that. And wait a bit tell her to stop where she is till I write to her." Arnold hesitated. Absolutely ignorant of that low and limited form of knowledge which is call- ed "knowledge of the world," his inbred deli- cacy of mind revealed to him the serious diffi- culty of the position which his friend was asking him to occupy as plainly as if he was looking at it through the warily-gathered experience of so- ciety of a man of twice his age. "Can't you write to her now, Geoffrey?" he asked. ' ' What's the good of that ?" "Consider for a minute, and you will see. You have trusted me with a very awkward se- cret. I may be wrong I never was mixed up in s::ch a matter before but to present myself to this lady as your messenger seems exposing her to a dreadful humiliation. Am I to go and tell her to her face : ' I know what you are hid- ing from the knowledge of all the world ; ' and is she to be expected to endure it ?" "Bosh!" said Geoffrey. "They can endure a deal more than you think for. I wish you had heard how she bullied me, in this very place. My good fellow, you don't understand women. The grand secret, in dealing with a woman, is to take her as you take a cat, by the scruff of the neck " " I can't face her unless you will help me by breaking the thing to her first. I'll stick at no sacrifice to serve you ; but hang it ! make al- lowances, Geoffrey, for the difficulty you are putting me in. I am almost a stranger ; I don't know how Miss Silvester may receive me, before I can open my lips." Those last words touched the question on its practical side. The matter-of-fact view of the difficulty was a view which Geoffrey instantly recognized and understood. "She has the devil's own temper," he said. "There's no denying that. Perhaps I'd better write. Have we time to go into the house ?" "No. The house is full of people, and we haven't a minute to spare. Write at once, and write here. I have got a pencil. " " What am I to write on ?" "Any thing your brother's card." Geoffrey took the pencil which Arnold offered to him, and looked at the card. The lines his brother had written covered it. There was no room left. He felt in his pocket, and produced a letter the letter which Anne had referred to at the interview between them ; the letter which she had written to insist on his attending the lawn-party at Windygates. " This will do," be said. " It's one of Anne's own letters to me. There's room on the fourth page. If i write," he added, turning suddenly on Arnold, "you promise to take it to her? Your hand on the bargain!" MAN AND WIFE. "THAT WILL DO THE BUSINESS! READ IT YOURSELF, ARNOLD IT'S NOT so BADLT WRITTEN." He held out the hand which had saved Ar- nold's life in Lisbon Harbor, and received Ar- nold's promise, in remembrance of that time. " All right, old fellow. I can tell you how to find the place as we go along in the gig. By- the-by, there's one thing that's rather important. I'd better mention it while I think of it." "What is that?" " You mustn't present yourself at the inn in your own name ; and you mustn't ask for her by her name." "Who am I to ask for?" " It's a little awkward. She has gone there as a married woman, in case they're particular about taking her in " " I understand. Go on." "And she has planned to tell them (by way of making it all right and straight for both of us, you know) that she expects her husband to join her. If I had been able to go I should have asked at the door for ' my wife. ' You are going in my place " " And I must ask at the door for ' my wife,' or I shall expose Miss Silvester to unpleasant consequences ? " You don't object ?" " Not I ! I don't care what I say to the peo- ple of the inn. It's the meeting with Miss Sil- vester that I'm afraid of." " I'll put that right for you never fear!" He went at once to the table and rapidly scrib- bled a few lines then stopped and considered. " Will that -do ?" he asked himself. " No ; I'd better say something spooney to quiet her." lie considered again, added a line, and brought his hand down on the table with a cheery smack. "That will do the business! Read it yourself, Arnold it's not so badly written." Arnold read the note without appearing to share his friend's favorable opinion of it. "This is rather short," he said. " Have I time to make it longer?" " Perhaps not. But let Miss Silvester see for herself that you have no time to make it longer. The train starts in less than half an hour. Put the time." "Oh, all right! and the date too, if you like." He had just added the desired words and fig- ares, and had given the revised letter to Arnold, when Sir Patrick returned to announce that the gig was waiting. MAN AND WIFE. " Come !" he said. "You haven't a moment to lose!" Geoffrey started to his feet. Arnold hesitated. " I must see Blanche !" he pleaded. ' ' I can't leave Blanche without saying good-by. Where is she?" Sir Patrick pointed to the steps, with a smile. Blanche had followed him from the house. Ar- nold ran out to her instantly. "Going?" she said, a little sadly. "I shall be back in two days," Arnold whis- pered. "It's all right! Sir Patrick consents." She freld him fast by the arm. The hurried parting before other people seemed to be not a parting to Blanche's taste. " You will lose the train !" cried Sir Patrick. Geoffrey seized Arnold by Uie arm which Blanche was holding, and tore him literally tore him away. The two were out of sight, in the shrubbery, before Blanche's indignation found words, and addressed itself to her uncle. "Why is that brute going away with Mr. Brinkworth ?" she asked. "Mr. Delamayn is called to London by his fa- ther's illness," replied Sir Patrick. " You don't like him?" "I hate him!" Sir Patrick reflected a little. " She is a young girl of eighteen," he thought to himself. " And I am an old man of seventy. Curious, that we Jhould agree about any thing. More than curious that we should agree in dis- liking Mr. Delamayn." He roused himself, and looked again at Blanche. She was seated at the table, with her head on her hand; absent, and out of spirits thinking of Arnold, and yet, with the fu- ture all smooth before them, not thinking happily. "Why, Blanche! Blanche!" cried Sir Pat- rick, "one would think he had gone for a voy- age round the world. You silly child ! he will be back again the day after to-morrow. " "I wish he hadn't gone with that man !" said Blanche. "I wish he hadn't got that man for a friend!" "There ! there ! the man was rude enough, I own. Never mind ! he will leave the man at the second station. Come back to the ball-room with me. Dance it off, my dear dance it off!" " No," returned Blanche. "I'm in no humor for dancing. I shall go up stairs, and talk about it to Anne." " You will do nothing of the sort !" said a third voice, suddenly joining in the conversation. Both uncle and niece looked up, and found Lady Lundie at the top of the summer-house steps. " I forbid you to mention that woman's name again in my hearing," pursued her ladyship. "Sir Patrick! 1 warned you (if you remem- ber ?) that the matter of the governess was not a matter to be trifled with. My worst anticipa- tions are realized. Miss Silvester has left the house !" CHAPTER THE^ EIGHTH. THE SCANDAL. IT was still early in the afternoon when the guests at Lady Lundie's lawn-party began to compare notes together in corners, and to agree in arriving at a general conviction that " some- thing was wrong. " Blanche had mysteriously disappeared from her partners in the dance. Lady Lundie had mysteriously abandoned her guests. Blanche had not come back. Lady Lundie had re- turned with an artificial smile, and a preoc- cupied manner. She acknowledged that she was "not veiy well." The same excuse had been given to account for Blanche's absence and, again (some time previously), to explain Miss Silvester's withdrawal from the croquet! A wit among the gentlemen declared it remind- ed him of declining a verb. "I am not very well ; thou art not very well ; she is not very well" and so on. Sir Patrick too ! Only think of the sociable Sir Patrick being in a state of seclusion hobbling up and down by himself in the loneliest part of the garden. And the servants again ! it had even spread to the servants ! They were presuming to whisper in corners, like their betters. The house-maids appeared, spasmodically, where house-maids had no business to be. Doors banged and petticoats whisked in the upper regions. Something wrong depend upon it, something wrong ! ' ' We had much better go away. My dear, order the car- riage." "Louisa, love, no more dancing; your papa is going." " G-'oorf-afternoon, Lady Lun- die ! " " Haw ! thanks very much ! " ' ' So sorry for dear Blanche!" "Oh, it's been too charm- ing !" So Society jabbered its poor, nonsensical little jargon, and got itself politely out of the way before the storm came. This was exactly the consummation of events for which Sir Patrick had been waiting in the seclusion of the garden. There was no evading the responsibility which was now thrust upon him. Lady Lundie had an- nounced it as a settled resolution, on her part, to trace Anne to the place in which she had taken refuge, and discover (purely in the interests of virtue) whether she actually was married or not. Blanche (already overwrought by the excitement of the day) had broken into an hysterical passion of tears on hearing the news, and had then, on recovering, taken a view of her own of Anne's flight from the house. Anne would never have kept her marriage a secret from Blanche ; Anne would never have written such a formal farewell letter as she had written to Blanche if things were going as smoothly with her as she was try- ing to make them believe at Windygates. Some dreadful trouble had fallen on Anne and Blanche was determined (as Lady Lundie was determined) to find out where she had gone, and to follow, and help her. It was plain to Sir Patrick (to whom both la- dies had opened their hearts, at separate inter- views) that his sister-in-law, in one way, and his niece in another, were equally likely if not duly restrained to plunge headlong into acts of in- discretion which might lead to very undesirable results. A man in authority was sorely needed at Windygates that afternoon and ISir Patrick was fain to acknowledge that he was the man. "Much is to be said for, and much is to be said against, a single life," thought the old gen- tleman, hobbling up and down the sequestered garden-path to which he had retired, and apply- ing himself at shorter intervals than usual to the knob of his ivory cane. ' ' This, however, is, I MAN AND WIFE. 45 take it, certain. A man's married friends can't prevent him from leading the life of a bachelor, if he pleases. But they can, and do, take devil- ish good care that he sha'n't enjoy it !" Sir Patrick's meditations were interrupted by the appearance of a sen-ant, previously instruct- ed to keep him informed of the progress of events at the house. " They're all gone, Sir Patrick," said the man. "That's a comfort, Simpson. \Ve have no visitors to deal with now, except the visitors who are staying in the house?'' "None, Sir Patrick." "They're all gentlemen, are they not?" "Yes," Sir Patrick." "That's another comfort, Simpson. Very good. I'll see Lady Lundie first." Does any other form of human resolution ap- proach the firmness of a woman who is bent on discovering the frailties of another woman whom she hates ? You may move rocks, under a given set of circumstances. But here is a delicate being in petticoats, who shrieks if a spider drops on her neck, and shudders if you approach her after hav- ing eaten an onion. Can you move her, under a given set of circumstances, as set forth above ? Not you ! Sir Patrick found her ladyship instituting her inquiries on the same admirably exhaustive sys- tem which is pursued, in cases of disappearance, by the police. Who was the last witness who had seen the missing person? Who was the last servant who had seen Anne Silvester ? Be- gin with the men-servants, from the butler at the top to the stable-boy at the bottom. Go on with the women-servants, from the cook in all her glory to the small female child who weeds the garden. Lady Lundie had cross-examined her way downward as far as the page, when Sir Pat- rick joined her. "My dear lady! pardon me for reminding yon again, that this is a free country, and that you have no claim whatever to investigate Miss Silvester's proceedings after she has left your house." Lady Lundie raised her eyes, devotionally, to the ceiling. She looked like a martyr to duty. If you had seen her ladyship at that moment, you would have said yourself, "A martyr to duty.'' " No, Sir Patrick ! As a Christian woman, that is not my way of looking at it. This un- happy per^h has lived under my roof. This unhappy person has been the companion of Blanche. I am responsible I am, in a man- ner, morally responsible. I would give the world to be able to dismiss it as you do. But no ! I must be satisfied that she is married. In the interests of propriety. For the quieting of my own conscience. Before I lay my head on my pillow to-night, Sir Patrick before I lay my head on my pillow to-night!" "One word, Lady Lundie " "No!" repeated her ladyship, with the most pathetic gentleness. "You are right, I dare say, from the worldly point of view. I can't take the worldly point of view. The worldly point of view hurts me." She turned, with im- pressive gravity, to the page. " You know where you will go, Jonathan, if you tell lies!" Jonathan was lazy, Jonathan was pimply, Jonathan was fat but Jonathan was orthodox. He answered that he did know; and, what is more, he mentioned the place. Sir Patrick saw that further opposition on his part, at that moment, would be worse than use- less. He wisely determined to wait, before he interfered again, until Lady Lundie had thor- oughly exhausted herself and her inquiries. At the same time as it was impossible, in the pres- ent state of her ladyship's temper, to provide against what might happen if the inquiries after Anne unluckily proved successful he decided on taking measures to clear the house of the guests (in the interests of all parties) for the next four-and-twenty hours. "I only want to ask yon a question, Lady Lundie," he resumed. "The position of the gentlemen who are staying here is not a very pleasant one while all this is going on. If you had been content to let the matter pass without notice, we should have done very well. As things are, don't you think it will be more convenient to every body if I relieve you of the responsibili- ty of entertaining your guests ?" "As head' of the family?" stipulated Lady Lundie. "As head of the family !" answered Sir Pat- rick. " I gratefully accept the proposal," said Lady Lundie. "I beg you won't mention it," rejoined Sir Patrick. He quitted the room, leaving Jonathan under examination. He and his brother (the late Sir Thomas) had chosen widely different paths in life, and had seen but little of each other since the time when they had been boys. Sir Patrick's recollections (on leaving Lady Lundie) appeared to have taken him back to that time, and to have inspired him with a certain tenderness for his brother's memory. He shook his head, and sigh- ed a sad little sigh. ' ' Poor Tom ! " he said to himself, softly, after he had shut the door on his brother's widow. "Poor Tom !" On crossing the hall, he stopped the first serv- ant he met, to inquire after Blanche. Miss Blanche was quiet, up stairs, closeted with her maid in her own room. " Quiet ?" thought Sir Patrick. "That's a bad sign. I shall hear more of my niece. " Pending that event, the next thing to do was to find the guests. Unerring instinct led Sir Patrick to the billiard-room. There he found them, in solemn conclave assembled, wondering what they had better do. Sir Patrick put them all at their ease in two minutes. "What do you say to a day's shooting to-mor- row ?" he asked. Every man present sportsman or not said- yes. " You can start from this house," pursued Sir Patrick; "or you can start from a shooting- cottage which is on the Windygates property among the woods, on the other side of the moor. The weather looks pretty well settled (for Scot- land), and there are plenty of horses in the sta- bles. It is useless to conceal from you, gentle- men, that events have taken a certain unexpect- ed turn in my sister-in-law's family circle. You will be equally Lady Lundie's guests, whether you choose the cottage or the house. For the next twenty-four hours (let us say) wnich shall it be?" 46 MAN AND WIFE. Every body with er without rheumatism answered "the cottage!" "Very good," pursued Sir Patrick. "It is arranged to ride over to the shooting -cottage this evening, and to try the moor, on that side, the first thing in the morning. If events here will allow me, I shall be delighted 'to accompany you, and do the honors as well as I can. If not, I am sure you will accept my apologies for to- night, and permit Lady Lundie's steward to see to your comfort in my place. " Adopted unanimously. Sir Patrick left the guests to their billiards, and went out to give the necessary orders at the stables. In the mean time Blanche remained portent- ously quiet in the upper regions of the house ; while Lady Lundie steadily pursued her inqui- ries down stairs. She got on from Jonathan (last of the males, indoors) to the coachman (first of the males, out-of-doors), and dug down, man by man, through that new stratum, until she struck the stable-boy at the bottom. Not an atom of information having been extracted, .in the house or out of the house, from man or boy, her lady- ship fell back on the women next. She pulled the bell, and summoned the cook Hester Deth- ridge. A very remarkable-looking person entered the room. Elderly and quiet ; scrupulously clean ; emi- nently respectable; her gray hair neat and smooth under her modest white cap ; her eyes, set deep in their orbits, looking straight at any person who spoke to her here, at a first view, was a steady, trust-worthy woman. Here also, on closer inspection, was a woman with the seal of some terrible past suffering set on her for the rest of her life. You felt it, rather than saw it, in the look of immovable endurance which un- derlaid her expression in the deathlike tran- quillity which never disappeared from her man- ner. , Her story was a sad one so far as it was known. She had entered Lady Lundie's service at the period of Lady Lundie's marriage to Sir Thomas. Her character (given by the clergy- man of her parish) described her as having been married to an inveterate drunkard, and as hav- ing suffered unutterably during her husband's lifetime. There were drawbacks to engaging her, now that she was a widow. On one of the many occasions, on which her husband had per- sonally ill-treated her, he had struck her a blow which had produced very remarkable nervous results. She had lain insensible many days to- gether, and had recovered with the total loss of her speech. In addition to this objection, she was odd, at times, in her manner ; and she made it a condition of accepting any situation, that she should be privileged to sleep in a room by her- self. As a set-off against all this, it was to be said, on the other side of the question, that she was sober ; rigidly honest in all her dealings ; and one of the best cooks in England. In con- sideration of this last merit, the late Sir Thomas had decided on giving her a trial, and had dis- covered that he had never dined in his life as he dined when Hester Dethridge was at the head of his kitchen. She remained, after his death, in his widow's service. Lady Lundie was far from liking her, An unpleasant suspicion at- tached to the cook, which Sir Thomas had over- looked, but which persons less sensible of the immense importance of dining well could not fail to regard as a serious objection to her. Medi- cal men, consulted about her case, discovered certain physiological anomalies in it which led them to suspect the woman of feigning dumb- ness, for some reason best known to herself. She obstinately declined to learn the deaf and dumb alphabet on the ground that dumbness was not associated *vith deafness in her case. Strata- gems were invented (seeing that she really did possess the use of her ears) to entrap her into also using her speech, and failed. Efforts were made to induce her to answer questions relating to her past life in her husband's time. She flatly declined to reply to them, one and all. At cer- tain intervals, strange impulses to get a holiday away ffom the house appeared to seize her. If she was resisted, she passively declined to do her work. If she was threatened with dismissal, she impenetrably bowed her head, as much, as to say, " Give me the word, and I go." Over and over again, Lady Lundie had decided, naturally enough, on no longer keeping such a servant as this ; but she had never yet carried the decision to execution. A cook who is a perfect mistress of her art, who asks for no perquisites, who al- lows no waste, who never quarrels with the other servants, who drinks nothing stronger than tea, who is to be trusted with untold gold is not a cook easily replaced. In this mortal life we put up with many persons and things, as Lady Lun- die put up with her cook. The woman lived, as it were, on the brink of dismissal ; but thus far the woman kept her place getting her holidays when she asked for them (which, to do her jus- tice, was not often), and sleeping always (go where she might with the family) with a locked door, in a room by herself. Hester Dethridge advanced slowly to the table at which Lady Lundie was sitting. A slate and pencil hung at her side, which she used for mak- ing such replies as were not to be expressed by a gesture or by a motion of the head. She took up the slate and pencil, and waited with stony submission for her mistress to begin. Lady Lundie opened the proceedings with the regular formula of inquiry which she had used with all the other servants. "Do you know that Miss Silvester has left the house ?" The cook nodded her head affirmatively. " Do you knpw at what time she Wt it?" Another affirmative reply. The first which Lady Lundie had received to that question yet. She eagerly went on to the next inquiry. " Have you seen her since she left the house ?" A third affirmative reply. "Where?" Hester Dethridge wrote slowly on the slate, in singularly firm upright characters for a woman in her position of life, these words : ' ' On the road that leads to the railway. Nigh to Mistress Chew's Farm." " What did you want at Chew's Farm ?" Hester Dethridge wrote : "I wanted eggs for the kitchen, and a breath of fresh air for myself. " " Did Miss Silvester see you ?" A negative shake of the head. "Did she take the turning that leads to the railway ?" Another negative shake of the head. MAN AND WIFE. 47 It ' SHE TOOK UP THE SLATE AND PENCIL, AN'D WAITED WITH STONY SUBMISSION FOR HER MISTRESS TO BEGIN." " She went on, toward the moor?" An affirmative reply. " What did she do when she got to the moor?" Hester Dethridge wrote : ' ' She took the foot- path which leads to Craig Fernie. " Lady Lundie rose excitedly to her feet. There was but one place that a stranger could go to at Craig Fernie. "The inn!" exclaimed her lady- ship. ' ' She has gone to the inn ! " Hester Dethridge waited immovably. Lady Lundie put a last precautionary question, in these words : " Have you reported what you have seen to any body else ?" An affirmative reply. Lady Lundie had not bar- gained for that. Hester Dethridge (she thought) must surely have misunderstood her. "Do you mean that you have told somebody else what you have just told me ?" Another affirmative reply. "A person who questioned you, as I have done ?" A third affirmative reply. "Who was it?" Hester Dethridge wrote on her slate: "Miss Blanche. " Lady Lundie stepped back, staggered by the discovery that Blanche's resolution to trace Anne Silvester was, to all appearance, as firmly settled as her own. Her step-daughter was keeping her own counsel, and acting on her own responsibil- ity her step-daughter might be an awkward ob- stacle in the way. The manner in which Anne had left the house had mortally offended Lady Lundie. An inveterately vindictive woman, she had resolved to discover whatever compromising elements might exist in the governess's secret, and to make them public property (from a para- mount sense of duty, of course) among her own circle of friends. But to do this with Blanche acting (as might certainly be anticipated) in di- rect opposition to her, and openly espousing Miss Silvester's interests was manifestly im- possible. The first thing to be done and that instant- ly was- to inform Blanche that she was discov- ered, and to forbid her to stir in the matter. Lady Lundie rang the bell twice thus inti- mating, according to the laws of the household, that she required the attendance of her own "maid. She then turned to the cook still wait- ing her pleasure, with stony composure, slate in hand. "You have done wrong," said her ladyship, severely. " I am your mistress. You are bound to answer your mistress " Hester Dethridge bowed her head, in icy ac- knowledgment of the principle laid down so far. The bow was an interruption. Lady Lundie resented it. " But Miss Blanche is not your mistress," she went on, sternly. " You are very much to blame for answering Miss Blanche's inquiries about Miss Silvester." Hester Dethridge, perfectly unmoved, wrote her justification on her slate, in two stiff sen- tences : "I had ho orders not to answer. I keep nobody's secrets but my own." 48 MAN AND WIFE. That reply settled the question of the cook's dismissal the question which had been pending for months past. "You are an insolent woman ! I have borne with you long enough I will bear with you no longer. When your month is up, you go ! " In those words Lady Lundie dismissed Hester Dethridge from her service. Not the slightest change passed over the sin- ister tranquillity of the cook. She bowed her head again, in acknowledgment of the sentence pronounced on her dropped her slate at her side turned about and left the room. The woman was alive in the world, and working in the world ; and yet (so far as all human inter- ests were concerned) she was as completely out of the world as if she had been screwed down in her coffin, and laid in her grave. Lady Lundie's maid came into the room as Hester left it. " Go up stairs to Miss Blanche," said her mis- tress, "and say I want her here. Wait a min- ute!" She paused, and considered. Blanche might decline to submit to her step-mother's interference with her. It might be necessary to appeal to the higher authority of her guardian. "Do you know where Sir Patrick is?" asked Lady Lundie. " I heard Simpson say, my lady, that Sir Pat- rick was at the stables." " Send Simpson with a message. My compli- ments to Sir Patrick and I wish to see him im- mediately. " The preparations for the departure to the shooting-cottage were just completed ; and the one question that remained to be settled was, whether Sir Patrick could accompany the par- ty when the man-servant appeared with the message from his mistress. " Will you give me a quarter of an hour, gen- tlemen?" asked Sir Patrick. "In that time I shall know for certain whether I can go with you or not." As a matter of course, the guests decided to wait. The younger men among them (being Englishmen) naturally occupied their leisure time in betting. Would Sir Patrick get the bet- ter of the domestic crisis ? of would the domes- tic crisis get the better of Sir Patrick ? The do- mestic crisis was backed, at two to one, to win. Punctually at the expiration of the quarter of an hour, Sir Patrick reappeared. The do- mestic crisis had betrayed the blind confidence which youth and inexperience had placed in it. Sir Patrick had won the day. "Things are settled and quiet, gentlemen; and I am able to accompany you," he said. "There are two ways to the shooting-cottage. One the longest passes by the inn at Craig Fernie. I am compelled to ask you to go with me by that way. While you push on to the cot- tage, I must drop behind, and say a word to a person who is staying at the inn." He had quieted Lady Lundie he had even quieted Blanche. But it was evidently on the condition that he was to go to Craig Fernie in their places, and to see Anne Silvester himself. Without a word more of explanation he mount- ed his horse, and led the way out. The shoot- ing-party left Windygates. SECOND SCENE. THE INN. CHAPTER THE NINTH. ANNE. "YE'LL just permit me to remind ye again, young leddy, that the bottle's full exceptin' only this settin'-room, and the bedchamber yon- der belonging to it." So spoke "Mistress Inchbare," landlady of the Craig Fernie Inn, to Anne Silvester, stand- ing in the parlor, purse in hand, and ottering the price* of the two rooms before she claimed permission to occupy them. The time of the afternoon was about the time when Geoffrey Delamayn had started in the train, on his journey to London. About the time also, when Arnold Brinkworth had crossed the moor, and was mounting the first rising ground which led to the inn. Mistress Inchbare was tall and thin, and de- cent and dry. Mistress Inchbare's unlovable hair clung fast round her head in wiry little yellow curls. Mistress Inchbare's hard bones showed themselves, like Mistress Inchbare's hard Pres- byterianism, without any concealment or compro- mise. In short, a savagely-respectable woman, who plumed herself on presiding over a savage- ly-respectable inn. There was no- competition to interfere with Mistress Inchbare. She regulated her own prices, and made her own rules. If you objected to her prices, and revolted from her rules, you were free to go. In other words, you were free to cast yourself, in 'the capacity of houseless wanderer, on the scanty mercy of a Scotch wilderness. The village of Craig Fernie was a collection of hovels. The country about Craig Fernie, mount- ain on one side and moor on the other, held no second house of public entertainment, for miles and miles round, at any point of the compass. No rambling individual but the helpless British Tourist wanted food and shelter from strangers, in that part of Scotland; and nobody but Mis- tress Inchbare had food and shelter to sell. A more thoroughly independent person than this was not to be found on the face of the hotel- keeping earth. The most universal of all civil- ized terrors the terror of appearing unfavorably in the newspapers was a sensation absolutely unknown to the Empress of the Inn. You lost your temper, and threatened to send her bill for exhibition in the public journals. Mistress Inch- bare raised no objection to your taking any course you pleased with it. "Eh, man! send the bill whar' ye like, as long as ye pay it first. There's nae such thing as a newspaper ever darkens my doors. Ye've got the Auld and New Testaments in your bedchambers, and the natural history o' Pairthshire on the coffee-room table and if that's no' reading eneugh for ye, ye may een gae back South again, and get the rest of it there. " This was the inn at which Anne Silvester had appeared alone, with nothing but a little bag in her hand. This was the woman whose reluct- ance to receive her she innocently expected to overcome by showing her purse. "Mention your charge for the rooms," she said. "I am willing to pay for them before- hand. " Her majesty, Mrs. Inchbare, never even looked at her subject's poor little purse. "It just comes to this, mistress," she an- MAN AND WIFE. swered. "I'm no' free to tak' your money, if I'm no' free to let ye the last rooms left in the hoose. The Craig Fernie hottle is a faimily hot- tie and has its ain gude name to keep up. Ye're ower-well-looking, my young leddy, to be traveling alone." The time had been when Anne would have answered sharply enough. The hard necessities of her position made her patient now. "I have already told you," she said, "my| husband is coming here to join me." She sighed j wearily as she repeated her ready-made story j and dropped into the nearest chair, from sheer inability to stand any longer. Mistress Inchbare looked at her, with the ex- act measure of compassionate interest which she might have shown if she had been looking at a stray dog who had fallen footsore at the door of the inn. "We. j l! weel! sae let it be. Bide awhile, and rest ye. We'll, no' chairge ye for that and we'll see if your husband comes. I'll just let the rooms, mistress, to him, instead o' lettin' them to you. And, sae, good-morrow t' ye." With that final announcement of her royal will and pleasure, the Empress of the Inn withdrew. Anne made no reply. She watched the land- lady out of the room and then struggled to control herself no longer. In her position, sus- picion was doubly insult. The hot tears of shame gathered in her eyes; and the heart- ache wrung her, poor soul wrung her without mercy. A trifling noise in the room startled her. She looked up, and detected a man in a corner, dust- ing the furniture, and apparently acting in the capacity of attendant at the inn. He had shown her into the parlor on her arrival ; but he had remained so quietly in the room that she had never noticed him since, until that moment. He was an ancient man with one eye filmy and blind, and one eye moist and merry. His head was bald ; his feet were gouty ; his nose was justly celebrated as the largest nose and the reddest nose in that part of Scotland. The mild wisdom of years was expressed mysteriously in his mellow smile. In contact with this wicked world, his manner revealed that happy mixture of two extremes the servility which just touches independence, and the independence which just touches servility attained by no men in exist- ence but Scotchmen. Enormous native impu- dence, which amused but never offended ; im- measurable cunning, masquerading habitually under the double disguise of quaint prejudice and dry humor, were the solid moral founda- tions on which the character of this elderly per- son was built. No amount of whisky ever made him drunk ; and no violence of bell-ringing ever j hurried his movements. Such was the head- waiter at the Craig Fernie Inn ; known, far and wide, to local fame, as " Maister Bishopriggs, Mistress Inchbare's right-hand man." "What are you doing there?" Anne asked, sharply. Mr. Bishopriggs turned himself about on his gouty feet ; waved his duster gently in the air ; and looked at Anne, with a mild, paternal smile. " Eh ! Am just doostin' the things ; and set- tin' the room in decent order for ye. " "For me? Did you hear what the landlady said?" Mr. Bishopriggs advanced confidentially, and pointed with a very unsteady forefinger to the purse which Anne still held in her hand. "Never fash yourseF aboot the landleddy!" said the sage chief of the Craig Fernie waiters. " Your purse speaks for you, my lassie. Pet it up!" cried Mr. Bishopriggs, waving temptation away from him with the duster. " In wi' it into yer pocket! Sae long as the warld's the warld, I'll uphaud it any where while there's siller in the purse, there's gude in the woman !" Anne's patience, which had resisted harder trials, gave way at this. "What do you mean by speaking to me in that familiar manner ?" she asked, rising angrily to her feet again. Mr. Bishopriggs tucked his duster under his arm, and proceeded to satisfy Anne that he shared the landlady's view of her position, with- out sharing the severity of the landlady's princi- ples. "There's nae man livin'," said Mr. Bish- opriggs, "looks with mair indulgence at human frailty than my ain sel'. Am I no' to be familiar wi' ye when I'm auld eneugh to be a fether to ye, and ready to be a fether to ye till further notice ? Hech ! hech ! Order your bit dinner, lassie. Husband or no husband, ye've got a stomach, and ye must een .eat. There's fesh and there's fowl or, maybe, ye'll be for the sheep's head singit, when they've done with it at the tabble dot ?" There was but one way of getting rid of him : " Order what you like,'' Anne said, " and leave the room. " Mr. Bishopriggs highly approved of the first half of the sentence, and totally over- looked the second. " Ay, ay just pet a' yer little interests in my hands ; it's the wisest thing ye can do. Ask for Maister Bishopriggs (that's me) when ye want a decent 'sponsible man to gi' ye a word of advice. Set ye doon again set ye doon. And don't tak' the arm-chair. Hech ! hech ! yer husband will be coming, ye know, and he's sure to want it !" With that seasonable pleasantry the venerable Bishopriggs winked, and went out. Anne looked at her watch. By her calcula- tion it was not far from the hour when Geoffrey might be expected to arrive at the inn, assum- ing Geoffrey to have left Windygates at the time agreed on. A little more patience, and the land- lady's scruples would be satisfied, and the ordeal would be at an end. Could she have met him nowhere else than at this barbarous house, and among these barbar- ous people ? No. Outside the doors of Windygates she had not a friend to help her in all Scotland. There was no place at her disposal but the inn ; and she had only to be thankful that it occupied a sequestered situation, and was not likely to be visited by any of Lady Lundie's friends. What- ever the risk might be, the end in view justified her in confronting it. Her whole future de- pended on Geoffrey's making an honest woman of her. Not her future with him that way there was no hope; that way her life was wasted. Her future with Blanche she looked forward to nothing now but her future with Blanche. Her spirits sank lower and lower. The tears rose again. It would only irritate him if he came and found her crying. She tried to divert her mind by looking about the room. 50 MAN AND WIFE. There was very little to see. Except that it was solidly built of good sound stone, the Craig Fernie hotel differed in no other important re- spect from the average of second-rate English inns. There was the usual slippery black sofa constructed to let you slide when you wanted to rest. There was the usual highly-varnished arm- chair, expressly manufactured to test the en- durance of the human spine. There was the usual paper on the walls, of the pattern designed to make your eyes ache and your head giddy. There were the usual engravings, which humanity never tires of contemplating. The Royal Portrait, in the first place of honor. The next greatest of all human beings the Duke of Wellington in the second place of honor. The third greatest of all human beings the local member of par- liament in the third place of honor; and a hunting scene, in the dark. A door opposite the door of admission from the passage opened into the bedroom ; and a window at the side looked out on the open space in front of the ho- tel, and commanded a view of the vast expanse of the Craig Fernie moor, stretching away below the rising ground on which the house was built. Anne turned in despair from the view in the room to the view from the window. Within the last half hour it had changed for the worse. The clouds had gathered ; the sun was hidden ; the light on the landscape was gray and dull. Anne turned from the window, as she had turned from the room. She was just making the hopeless at- tempt to rest her weary limbs on the sofa, when the sound of voices and footsteps in the passage caught her ear. Was Geoffrey's voice among them? No. Were the strangers coming in ? The landlady had declined to let her have the rooms : it was quite possible that the strangers might be coming to look at them. There was no knowing who they might be. In the impulse of the moment she flew to the bedchamber and locked herself in. The door from the passage opened, and Arnold Brinkworth shown in by Mr. Bishopriggs en- tered the sitting-room. "Nobody here!" exclaimed Arnold, looking round. " Where is she?" Mr. Bishopriggs pointed to the bedroom door. "Eh! yer good leddy's joost in the bedcham- ber, nae doot !" Arnold started. He had felt no difficulty (when he and Geoffrey had discussed the ques- tion at Windygates) about presenting himself at the inn in the assumed character of Anne's hus- band. But the result of putting the deception in practice was, to say the least of it, a little em- barrassing at first. Here was the waiter de- scribing Miss Silvester as his "good lady;" and leaving it (most naturally and properly) to the "good lady's" husband to knock at her bedroom door, and tell her that he was there. In despair of knowing what else to do at the moment, Ar- nold asked for the landlady, whom he had not seen on arriving at the inn. " The landleddy's just tottin' up the ledgers o' the hottle in her ain room," answered Mr. Bish- opriggs. " She'll be here anon the wearyful woman ! speerin' who ye are and what ye are, and takin' a' the business o' the hoose on her ain pair o' shouthers." He dropped the subject of the landlady, and put in a plea for himself. " I ! ha' lookit after a' the leddy's little comforts, Sir," he whispered. " Trust in me ! trust in me !" Arnold's attention was absorbed in the very serious difficulty of announcing his arrival to Anne. " How am I to get her out?" he said to himself, with a look of perplexity directed at the bedroom door. He had spoken loud enough for the waiter i to hear him. Arnold's look of perplexity was instantly reflected on the face of Mr. Bishopriggs. The head-waiter at Craig Fernie possessed an immense experience of the manners and customs of newly-married people on their honey-moon trip. He had been a second father (with excellent pe- cuniary results) to innumerable brides and bride- grooms^ He knew young married couples in all their varieties : The couples who try to behave as if they had been married for many years ; the couples who attempt no concealment, and take advice from competent authorities about them. The couples who are bashfully talkative before third persons ; the couples who are bashfully si- lent under similar circumstances. The couples who don't know what to do ; the couples who wish it was over ; the couples who must never be intruded upon without careful preliminary knock- ing at the door; the couples who can eat and drink in the intervals of "bliss," and the other couples who can't. But the bridegroom who stood helpless on one side of the door, and the bride who remained locked in on the other, were new varieties of the nuptial species, even in the vast experience of Mr. Bishopriggs himself. "Hoo are ye to get her oot?" he repeated. " I'll show ye hoo !" He advanced as rapidly as his gouty feet would let him, and knocked at the bedroom door. " Eh, my leddy ! here he is in flesh and bluid. Mercy preserve us ! do ye lock the door of the nuptial chamber in your hus- band's face ?" At that unanswerable appeal the lock was heard turning in the door. Mr. Bishopriggs winked at Arnold with his one available eye. and laid his forefinger knowingly along his enormous nose. "I'm away before she falls into your arms ! Rely on it I'll no come in again without knocking first!" He left Arnold alone in the room. The bed- room door opened slowly by a few inches at a time. Anne's voice was just audible, speaking cautiously behind it. " Is that you, Geoffrey?" Arnold's heart began to beat fast, in anticipa- tion of the disclosure which was now close at hand. He knew neither what to say or do he remained silent. Anne repeated the question in louder tones : "Is that you?" There was the certain prospect of alarming her, if some reply was not given. There was no help for it. Come what come might, Ar- nold answered, in a whisper : "Yes." The door was flung wide open. Anne Sil- vester appeared on the threshold, confronting him. "Mr. Brinkworth!!!" she exclaimed, stand- ing petrified with astonishment. For a moment more neither of them spoke. Anne advanced one step into the sitting-room, and put the next inevitable question, with an in- stantaneous change from surprise to suspicion. MAN AND WIFE. "EH, MY LKDDY! HERE HE is IN FLESH AND BLTJID." " What do you waut here ?'' Geoffrey's letter represented the only possible excuse for Arnold's appearance in that place, and at that time. "I have got a letter for you," he said and offered it to her. She was instantly on her guard. They were little better than strangers to each other, as Ar- nold had said. A sickening presentiment of some treachery on Geoffrey's part struck cold to her heart. She refused to take the letter. "I expect no letter," she said. "Who told you I was here?" She put the question, not only with a tone of suspicion, but with a look of contempt. The look was not an easy one for a man to bear. It required a momentary ex- ertion of self-control on Arnold's part, before he could trust himself to answer with due consider- ation for her. " Is there a watch set on my ac- tions?" she went on, with rising anger. "And are ynu the spy?" " You haven't known me very long, Miss Sil- vester," Arnold answered, quietly. "But you ought to know me better than to say that. I am the bearer of a letter from Geoffrey." She was on the point of following his example, and of speaking of Geoffrey by his Christian name, on her side. But she checked herself, before the word had passed her lips. "Do you mean Mr. Delamayn?" she asked, coldly. "Yes." " What occasion have I for a letter from Mr. Delamayn ?" She was determined to acknowledge nothing she kept him obstinately at arm's-length. Ar- nold did, as a matter of instinct, what a man of larger experience would have done, as a matter of calculation he closed with her boldly, then and there. " Miss Silvester ! it's no use beating about the bush. If you won't take the letter, you force me to speak out. I am here on a very unpleas- ant errand. I begin to wish, from the bottom of my heart, I had never undertaken it." A quick spasm of pain passed across her face. She was beginning, dimly beginning, to under- stand him. He hesitated. His generous nature shrank from hurting her. " Go on," she said, with an effort. "Try not to be angry with me, Miss Silvester. Geoffrey and I are old friends. Geoffrey knows he can trust me " " Trust you ?" she interposed. " Stop !" Arnold waited. She went on, speaking to her- self, not to him. "Wlien I was in the other room I asked if Geoffrey was there. And this man answered for him." She sprang forward with a cry of horror. " Has he told you " "For God's sake, read his letter!" She violently pushed back the hand with which Arnold once more offered the letter. " You don't look at me ! He has told yon !" "Read his letter," persisted Arnold. "In justice to him, if you won't in justice to me." The situation was too painful to be endured. Arnold looked at her, this time, with a man's resolution in his eyes spoke to her, this time, with a man's resolution in his voice. Sha took the letter. 52 MAN AND WIFE. "I beg your pardon, Sir," she said, with a sudden humiliation of tone and manner, inex- pressibly shocking, inexpressibly pitiable to see. " I understand my position at last. I am a wo- man doubly betrayed. Please to excuse what I said to ~you just now, when I supposed myself to have some claim on your respect. Perhaps you will grant me your pity ? I can ask for nothing more. " Arnold was silent. Words were useless in the face of such utter self-abandonment as this. Any man living even Geoffrey himself must have felt for her at that moment. She looked "for the first time at the letter. She opened it on the wrong side. "My own letter!" she said to herself. "In the hands of another man !" "Look at the last page," said Arnold. She turned to the last page, and read the hur- ried penciled lines. "Villain! villain! villain!" At the third repetition of the word, she crushed the letter in the palm of her hand, and flung it from her to the other end of the room. The instant after, the fire that had flamed up in her died out. Feebly and slowly she reached out her hand to the nearest chair, and sat down in it with her back to Arnold. " He has deserted me!" was all she said. The words fell low and quiet on the silence : they were the utter- ance of an immeasurable despair. "You are wrong !" exclaimed Arnold. " In- deed, indeed you are wrong ! It's no excuse it's the truth. I was present when the message came about his father." She never heeded him, and never moved. She only repeated the words : "He has deserted me!" ' ' Don't take it in that way ! " pleaded Arnold " pray don't ! It's dreadful to hear you ; it is in- deed. I am sure he has not deserted you." There was no answer ; no sign that she heard him ; she sat there, struck to stone. It was impossible to call the landlady in at such a mo- ment as this. In despair of knowing how else to rouse her, Arnold drew a chair to her side, and patted her timidly on the shoulder. ' ' Come ! " he said, in his single-hearted, boyish way. " Cheer up a little!" She slowly turned her head, and looked at him with a dull surprise. " Didn't you say he had told you every thing ?" she asked. "Yes." " Don't you despise a woman like me ?" Arnold's heart went back, at that dreadful question, to the one woman who was eternally sacred to him to the woman from whose bosom he had drawn the breath of life. " Does the man live," he said, "who can think of his mother and despise women ?" That answer set the prisoned misery in her free. She gave him her hand she faintly thanked him. The merciful tears came to her at last. Arnold rose, and turned away to the window in despair. "I mean well," he said. "And yet I only distress her !" She heard him, and struggled to compose her- self. "No," she answered, "you comfort me. Don't mind my crying I'm the better for it." She looked round at him gratefully. "I won't distress you, Mr. Brinkworth. I ought to thank you and I do. Come back, or I shall think you are angry with me." Arnold went back to her. She gave him her hand once more. "One doesn't understand people all at once," she said, simply. " I thought you were like other men I didn't know till to-day how kind you could be. Did you walk here ?" she added, suddenly, with an effort to change the subject. " Are you tired? I have not been kindly received at this place but I'm sure I may offer you whatever the inn affords." It was impossible not to feel for her it was impossible not to be interested in her. Arnold's honest longing to help her expressed itself a little too openly when he spoke next. ' ' All I want, Miss Silvester, is to be of some sen-ice to you, if I can," he said. "Is there any thing I can do to make your position here more comfortable ? You will stay at this place, won't you ? Geoffrey wishes it." She shuddered, and looked away. "Yes! yes!" she answered, hurriedly. "You will hear from Geoffrey," Arnold went on, ' ' to-morrow or next day. I know he means to write." " For Heaven's sake, don't speak of him any more!" she cried out. "How do you think I can look you in the face " Her cheeks flushed deep, and* her eyes rested on him with a moment- ary firmness. ' ' Mind this ! I am his wife, if promises can make me his wife ! He has pledged his word to me by all that is sacred!" She checked herself impatiently. " What am I say- ing ? What interest can you have in this miser- able state of things ? Don't let us talk of it ! I have something else to say to you. Let us go back to my troubles here. Did you see the land- lady when you came in ?" " No. I only saw the waiter." "The laifdlady has made some absurd diffi- culty about letting me have these rooms because I came here alone. " " She won't make any difficulty now," said Arnold. "I have settled that." "You!" Arnold smiled. After what had passed, it was an indescribable relief to him to see the humor- ous side of his own position at the inn. "Certainly," he answered. "When I asked for the lady who had arrived here alone this aft- ernoon " "Yes." " I was told, in your interests, to ask for her as my wife." Anne looked at him in alarm as well as in surprise. " You asked forme as your wife?" she repeated. "Yes. I haven't done wrong have 1? As I understood it, there was no alternative. Geof- frey told me you had settled with him to present yourself here as a married lady, whose husband was coming to join her. " "I thought of him when I said that. I never thought of you." " Natural enough. Still, it comes to the same thing (doesn't it ?) with the people of this house." "I don't understand you." "I will try and explain myself a little better. Geoffrey said your position here depended on my asking for you at the door (as he would have asked for you if he had come) in -the character of your husband. " MAN AND WIFE. 53 "He had no right to say that." "No right? After what you have told me of the landlady, just think what might have hap- pened if he had not said it ! I haven't had much experience myself of these things. But allow me to ask wouldn't it have been a little awk- ward (at my age) if I had come here and in- quired for you as a friend ? Don't you think, in that case, the landlady might have made some additional difficulty about letting you have the rooms ?" It was beyond dispute that the landlady would have refused to let the rooms at all. It was equally plain that the deception which Arnold had practiced on the people of the inn was a de- ception which Anne had herself rendered neces- sary, in her own interests. She was not to blame ; it was clearly impossible for her to have foreseen such an event as Geoffrey's departure for Lon- don. Still, she felt an uneasy sense of responsi- bility a vague dread of what might happen next. She sat nervously twisting her handkerchief in her lap, and made no answer. "Don't suppose I object to this little strata- gem," Arnold went on. "I am serving my old friend, and I am helping the lady who is soon to be his wife." Anne rose abruptly to her feet, and amazed him by a very unexpected question. "Mr. Brinkworth," she said, "forgive me the rudeness of something I am about to say to you. When are you going away ?" Arnold burst out laughing. " When I am quite sure I can do nothing more to assist you," he answered. "Pray don't think of me any longer." " In your situation ! who else am I to think of?" Anne laid her hand earnestly on his arm, and answered : "Blanche!" " Blanche ?" repeated Arnold, utterly at a loss to understand her. ' ' Yes Blanche. She found time to tell me what had passed between you this morning be- fore I left Windygates. I know you have made her an offer. I know you are engaged to be married to her." Arnold was delighted to hear it. He had been merely unwilling to leave her thus far. He was absolutely determined to stay with her now. " Don't expect me to go after that !" he said. "Comeand sit down again, and let's talk about Blanche. " Anne declined impatiently, by a gesture. Ar- nold was too deeply interested in the new topic to take any notice of it. "You know all about her habits and her tastes,'' he went on, "and what she likes, and what she dislikes. It's most important that I should talk to you about her. When we are husband and wife, Blanche is to have all her own way in every thing. That's my idea of the Whole Duty of Man when Man is married. You are still standing ? Let me give you a chair. " It was cruel under other circumstances it would have been impossible to disappoint him. But the vague fear of consequences which had taken possession of Anne was not to be trifled with. She had no clear conception of the risk (and it is to be added, injustice to Geoffrey, that he had no clear conception of the risk) on which Arnold had unconsciously ventured, in undertaking his errand to the inn. Neither of them had any adequate idea (few people have) of the infamous absence of all needful warning, of all decent pre- caution and restraint, which makes the marriage law of Scotland a trap to catch unmarried men and women, to this day. But, while Geof- frey's mind was incapable of looking beyond the present emergency, Anne's finer intelligence told her that a country which offered such facilities for private marriage as the facilities of which she had proposed to take advantage in her own case, | was not a country in which a man could act as | Arnold had acted, without danger of some serious embarrassment following as the possible result.' With this motive to animate her, she resolutely declined to take the offered chair, or to enter into the proposed conversation. "Whatever we have to say about Blanche, Mr. Brinkworth, must be said at some fitter time. I beg you will leave me. " "Leave you!" " Yes. Leave me to the solitude that is best for me, and to the sorrow that I have deserved. Thank you and good-by." Arnold made no attempt to disguise his dis- appointment and surprise. " If I must go, I must," he said. " But why are you in such a hurry ?" " I don't want you to call me your wife again before the people of this inn." "Is that all? What on earth are you afraid of?" She was unable fully to realize her own appre- hensions. She was doubly unable to express them in words. In her anxiety to produce some reason which might prevail on him to go, she drifted back into that very conversation about Blanche into which she had declined to enter but the moment before. "I have reasons for being afraid," she said. "One that I can't give; and one that I can. Suppose Blanche heard of what you have done? The longer you stay here the more people you see the more chance there is that she might hear of it. " " And what if she did ?" asked Arnold, in his own straightforward way. "Do you think she would be angry with me for making myself use- ful to you ?" "Yes," rejoined Anne, sharply, "if she was jealous of me." Arnold's unlimited belief in Blanche expressed itself, without the slightest compromise, in two words : " That's impossible !" Anxious as she was, miserable as she was, a faint smile flitted over Anne's face. " Sir Patrick would tell you, Mr. Brinkworth, that nothing is impossible where women are con- \ cerned. " She dropped her momentary lightness [ of tone, and went on as earnestly as ever. ' ' Yon ; can't put yourself in Blanche's place I can. Once more, I beg you to go. I don't like your coming here, in this way! I don't like it at all!" She held out her hand to take leave. At the same moment there was a loud knock at the door of the room. Anne sank into the chair at her side, and ut- tered a faint cry of alarm. Arnold, perfectly impenetrable to all sense of his position, asked MAN AND WIFE. what there was to frighten her and answered the knock in the two customary words : "Come in!" CHAPTER THE TENTH. ME. BISHOPRIGGS. THE knock at the door was repeated a loud- er knock than before. "Are you deaf?" shouted Arnold. The door opened, little by little, an inch at a time. Mr. Bishopriggs appeared mysteriously, with the cloth for dinner over his arm, and with his second in command behind him, bearing " the furnishing of the table" (as it was called at Craig Fernie) on a tray. "What the deuce were you waiting for?" . asked Arnold. " I told you to come in." "And / tauld you," answered Mr. Bishop- riggs, "that I wadna come in without knocking first. Eh, man!" he went on, dismissing his second in command, and laying the cloth with- his own venerable hands, "d'ye think I've lived in this hottle in blinded eegnorance of hoo young married couples pass the time when they're left to themselves? Twa knocks at the door and an unco trouble in opening it, after that is joost the least ye can do for them! Whar' do ye think, noe, I'll set the places for you and your ledd^r there ?" Anne walked away to the window, in undis- guised disgust. Arnold found Mr. Bishopriggs to be quite irresistible. He answered, humoring the joke, "One at the top and one at the bottom of the table, I suppose ?" "One at tap and one at bottom?" repeated Mr. Bishopriggs, in high disdain. "De'il a bit of it! Baith yer chairs as close together as chairs can be. Hech ! hech ! haven't I caught 'em, after goodness knows hoo many preleemina- ry knocks at the door, dining on their husbands' knees, and steemulating a man's appetite by feed- ing him at the fork's end like a child? Eh!" sighed the sage of Craig Fernie, " it's a short life wi' that nuptial business, and a merry one ! A month for yer billin' and cooin' ; and a' the rest o' yer days for wondering ye were ever such a fule, and wishing it was a' to be done ower again. Yell be for a bottle o' sherry wine, nae doot ? and a drap toddy afterwards, to do yer digestin' on ?" Arnold nodded and then, in obedience to a signal from Anne, joined her at the window. Mr. Bishopriggs looked after them attentively observed that they were talking in whispers and approved of that proceeding, as representing an- other of the established customs of young mar- ried couples at inns, in the presence of third per- sons appointed to wait on them. "Ay! ay!" he said, looking over his shoulder at Arnold, " gae to your deerie ! gae to your dee- rie ! and leave a' the solid business o' life to Me. Ye've Screepture warrant for it. A man maun leave fether and mother (I'm yer fether), and cleave to his wife. My certie! 'cleave' is a strong word there's nne sort o' doot aboot it, when it comes to 'cleaving!'" He wagged his head thoughtfully, and walked to the side-table in a corner, to cut the bread. As he took up the knife, his one wary eye de- tected a morsel of crumpled paper, lying lost be- tween the table and the wall. It was the letter from Geoffrey, which Anne had flung from her, in the first indignation of reading it and which neither she nor Arnold had thought of since. "What's that I see yonder?" muttered Mr. Bishopriggs, under his breath. " Mail- litter in the room, after I've doosted and tidied it wi' my ain hands!'' He picked up the crumpled paper, and partly opened it. "Eh! what's here? Writing on it in ink ? and writing on it in pencil ? Who may this belong to?" He looked round cautiously toward Arnold and Anne. They were both still talking in whispers, and both standing with their backs to him, looking out of the window. "Here it is, clean forgotten and dune with !" thought Mr. Bishopriggs. " Noo what would a fule do, if he fund this ? A fule wad .light his pipe wi' it, and then wonder whether he wadna ha' dune better to read it first. And what wad a wise man do, in a seemilar position ?" He practical- ly answered that question by putting the letter into his pocket. It might be worth keeping, or it might not ; five minutes' private examination of it would decide the alternative, at the first convenient opportunity. "Am gaun' to breeng the dinner in !" he called out to Arnold. "And, mind ye, there's nae knocking at the door pos- sible, when I've got the tray in baith my hands, and, mairs the pity, the gout in baith my feet." With that friendly warning, Mr. Bishopriggs went his way to the regions of the kitchen. Arnold continued his conversation with Anne, in terms which showed that the question of his leaving the inn had been the question once more discussed between them while tl^gy were standing at the window. " You see we can't help it," he said. " The waiter has gone to bring the dinner in. What will they think in the house, if I go away already, and leave ' my wife' to dine alone ?" It was so plainly necessary to keep up appear- ances for the present, that there was nothing more to be said. Arnold was committing a se- rious imprudence and yet, on this occasion, Arnold was right. Anne's annoyance at feeling that conclusion forced on her produced the first betrayal of impatience which she had shown yet. . She left Arnold at the window, and flung herself on the sofa. "A curse seems to follow me!" she thought, bitterly. "This will end ill and I shall be answerable for it!" In the mean time Mr. Bishopriggs had found the dinner in the kitchen, ready, and waiting for him. Instead of at once taking the tray on which it was placed into the sitting-room, he conveyed it privately into his own pantry, and shut the door. " Lie ye there, my freend, till the spare mo- ment comes and I'll look at ye again," he said, putting the letter away carefully in the dresser- drawer. " Noo aboot the dinner o' they twa turtle-doves in the parlor?" he continued, di- recting his attention to the dinner-tray. "I maun joost see that the cook's dune her duty the creatures are no' capable o' decidin' that knotty point for their ain selves. " He took off one of the covers, and picked bits, here and there, out of the dish with the fork. " Eh ! eh ! the collops are no' that bad !" He took off an- other cover, and shook his head in solemn doubt. MAN AND WIFE. 55 "Here's the green meat. I doot green meat's windy diet for a man at my time o' life!" He put the cover on again, and tried the next dish. " The fesh ? What the de'il does the woman fry the trout for? Boil it next time, ye betch, wi' a pinch o' saut and a spunefu' o' vinegar. " He drew the cork from a bottle of sherry, and de- canted the wine. "The sherry wine? he said, in tones of deep feeling, holding the decanter up to the light. " Hoo do I know but what it may be corkit ? I maun taste and try. It's o*n my conscience, as an honest man, to taste and try. " He forthwith relieved his conscience copiously. There was a vacant space, of no inconsiderable dimensions, left in the decanter. Mr. Bishop- riggs gravely filled it up from the water-bottle. " Eh ! it's joost addin* ten years to the age o' the wine. 'The turtle-doves will be nane the waur and I mysel' am a glass o' sherry the better. Praise Providence for a' its maircies !" Having relieved himself of that devout aspiration, he took up the tray again, and decided on letting the turtle-doves have their dinner. The conversation in the parlor (dropped for the moment) had been renewed, in the absence of Mr. Bishopriggs. Too restless to remain long in one place, Anne had risen again from the sofa, and had rejoined Arnold at the win- dow. "Where do your friends at Lady Lundie's believe you to be now ?" she asked, abruptly. "I am believed," replied Arnold, "to be meeting my tenants, and taking possession of my estate." " How are you to get to your estate to-night?" "By railway, I suppose. By-the-by, what excuse am I to make for going away after din- ner ? We are sure to have the landlady in here before long. What will she say to my going off by myself to the train, and leaving 'my wife' behind me?" " Mr. Brinkworth ! that joke if it is a joke is worn out !" " I beg your pardon," said Arnold. "You may leave your excuse to me, "pursued Anne. "Do you go by the up train, or the down ?" "By the up train." The door opened suddenly; and Mr. Bishop- riggs appeared with the dinner. Anne nervous- ly separated herself from Arnold. The one avail- able eye of Mr. Bishopriggs followed her re- proachfully, as he put the dishes on the table. " I warned ye baith, it was a clean impossi- bility to knock at the door this time. Don't blame me, young madam don't blame me /" " Where will you sit ?" asked Arnold, by way of diverting Anne's attention from the familiar- ities of Father Bishopriggs. "Any where!" she answered, impatiently; snatching up a chair, and placing it at the bot- tom of the table. Mr. Bishopriggs politely, but firmly, put the chair back again in its place. ' ' Lord's sake ! what are ye doin' ? It's clean contrary to a' the laws and customs o' the hon- ey-mune, to sit as far away from your husband as that!" He waved his persuasive napkin to one of the two chairs placed close together at the table. Arnold interfered once more, and prevented an- other outbreak of impatience from Anne. "What does it matter?" he said. "Let the man have his wav." " Get it over as soon as you can," she return- ed. "I can't, and won't, bear it much longer." They took their places at the table, with Father Bishopriggs behind them, in the mixed character of major domo and guardian angel. " Here's the trout !" he cried, taking the cov- er off with a flourish. " Half an hour since, he was loupin' in the water. There he lies noo, fried in the dish. An emblem o' human life for ye ! When ye can spare any leisure time from yer twa selves, meditate on that." Arnold took up the spoon, to give Anne one of the trout. Mr. Bishopriggs clapped the cov- er on the dish again, with a countenance express- ive of devout horror. "Is there naebody gann' to say grace?" he asked. "Come! come!" said Arnold. "The fish is getting cold. " Mr. Bishopriggs piously closed his available eye, and held the cover firmly on the dish. " For what ye 're gaun' to receive, may ye baith be truly thankful !" He opened his available eye, and whipped the cover oft' again. "My con- science is easy noo. Fall to ! Fall to !" "Send him away !" said Anne. " His famil- iarity is beyond all endurance." "You needn't wait," said Arnold. "Eh! but I'm here to wait," objected Mr. Bishopriggs. "What's the use o' my gaun' away, when ye'll want me anon to change the plates for ye?" He considered for a moment (privately consulting his experience) ; and ar- rived at a satisfactory conclusion as to Arnold's motive for wanting to get rid of him. "Tak 1 her on yer knee," he whispered in Arnold's ear, "as soon as ye like! Feed him at the fork's end," he added to Anne, "whenever ye please! I'll think of something else, and look out at the proaspect." He winked and went to the window. "Come! come!" said Arnold to Anne. "There's a comic side to all this. Try and see it as I do." Mr. Bishopriggs returned from the window, and announced the appearance of a new element of embarrassment in the situation at the inn. "My certie!" he said, "it's weel ye cam' when ye did. It's ill getting to this bottle in a storm. " Anne started, and looked round at him. " A storm coming!" she exclaimed. "Eh! ye're well hoosed here ye needn't mind it. There's the cloud down the valley," he added, pointing out of the window, "coming up one way, when the wind's blawing the other. The storm's brewing, my leddyj when ye see that!" There was another knock at the door. As Arnold had predicted, the landlady made her appearance on the scene. "I ha' just lookit in, Sir," said Mrs. Inch- bare, addressing herself exclusively to Arnold, '*to see ye've got what ye want." "Oh! you are the 'landlady ? Very nice, ma'am very nice." Mistress Inchbare had her own private motive for entering the room, and came to it without further preface. "Yell excuse me, Sir," she proceeded. "I wasna in the way when ye cam' here, or I suld 56 MAN AND WIFE. 'FOR WHAT YE'RE GAUS' TO RECEIVE, MAY YE BAITH BE TRULY THANKFUL!" ha' made bauld to ask ye the question which I maun e'en ask noo. Am I to understand that ye hire these rooms for yersel', and this leddy here yer wife ?" Anne raised her head to speak. Arnold pressed her hand warningly, under the table, and silenced her. " Certainly," he said. " I take the rooms for myself, and this lady here my wife!" Anne made a second attempt to speak. "This gentleman " she began. Arnold stopped her for the second time. "This gentleman?" repeated Mrs. Inchbare, with a broad stare of surprise. " I'm only a puir woman, my leddy d'ye mean yer husband here?" Arnold's warning hand touched Anne's, for the third time. Mistress Inchbare's eyes re- mained fixed on her in merciless inquiry. To have given utterance to the contradiction which trembled on her lips would have been to involve Arnold (after all that he had sacrificed for her) in the scandal which would inevitably follow a scandal which would be talked of in the neigh- borhood, and which might find its way to Blanche's ears. White and cold, her eyes nev- er moving from the table, she accepted the land- lady's implied correction, and faintly repeated the words : " My husband." Mistress Inchbare drew a breath of virtuous relief, and waited for what Anne had to s^y next. Arnold came considerately to the rescue, and got her out of the room. "Never mind," he said to Anne; "I know what it is, and I'll see about it. She's always like this, ma'am, when a storm's coming," he went on, turning to the landlady. " No, thank you I know how to manage her. We'll send to. you, if we want your assistance." "At yer ain pleasure, Sir," answered Mistress Inchbare. She turned, and apologized to Anne (under protest), with a stiff courtesy. "No of- fense, my leddy! Ye'll remember that ye cam' here alane, and that the bottle has its ain gude name to keep up." Having once more vindi- cated "the hottlej" she made the long-desired move to the door, and left the room. "I'm faint!" Anne whispered. "Give me some water." There was no water on the table. Arnold ordered it of Mr. Bishopriggs who had re- mained passive in the back-ground (a model of discreet attention) as long as the mistress was in the room. "Mr. Brinkworth!" said Anne, when they were alone, "you are acting with inexcusable rashness. That woman's question was an im- pertinence. Why did you answer it? Why did you force me ?" She stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Arnold insisted on her drinking a glass of wine and then defended himself with the patient consideration for her which he had shown from the first. " Why didn't I have the inn door shut in your face'' he asked, good - humoredly "with a storm coming on, and without a place in which you can take refuge? No, no, Miss Silvester! I don't presume to blame you for any scruples you may feel but scruples are sadly out of place with such a woman as that landlady. I am responsible for your safety to Geoffrey ; and Geoffrey expects to find you here. Let's change MAN AND WIFE. 67 the subject. The water is a long time coming. Try another glass of wine. No ? Well here is Blanche's health"' (he took some of the wine himself), "in the weakest sherry 1 ever drank in my life." As he set down his glass, Mr. Bish- opriggs came in with the water. Arnold hailed him satirically. "Well? have you got the wa- ter? or have you used it all for the sherry?" Mr. Bishopriggs stopped in the middle of the room, thunder-struck at the aspersion cast on the wine. "Is that the way ye talk of the auldest bottle o' sherry wine in Scotland ?" he asked, gravely. "What's the warld coming to? The new gen- eration's a foot beyond my fathoming. The maircies o' Providence, as shown to man in the choicest veentages o' Spain, are clean thrown away on 'em." " Have you brought the water?" " I ha' brought the water and mair than the water. I ha' brought ye news from ootside. There's a company o' gentlemen on horseback, joost cantering by to what they ca' the shootin' cottage, a mile from this. " " Well and what have we got to do with it ?" " Bide a wee ! There's ane o' them has drawn bridle at the hottle, and he's speerin' after the leddy that cam' here alane. The leddy's your leddy, as sure as saxpence. I doot," said Mr. Bishopriggs, walking away to the window, "that's what ye've got to do with it. " Arnold looked at Anne. " Do you expect any body ?" "Is it Geoffrey?" " Impossible. Geoffrey is jon his way to Lon- don." "There he is, any way," resumed Mr. Bish- opriggs, at the window. "He's loupin' down from his horse. He's turning this way. Lord save us!" he exclaimed, with a start of con- sternation, "what do I see? That incarnate deevil, Sir Paitrick himself!" Arnold sprang to his feet. " Do you mean Sir Patrick Lundie ?" Anne ran to the window. " It is Sir Patrick !" she said. " Hide your- self before he comes in ! " " Hide myself?" " What will he think if he sees you with me ?" He was Blanche's guardian, and he believed Arnold to be at that moment visiting his new property. What he would think was not diffi- cult to foresee. Arnold turned for help to Mr. Bishopriggs. " Where can I go ?" Mr. Bishopriggs pointed to the bedroom door. " Whar' can ye go? There's the nuptial chamber !" "Impossible!" Mr. Bishopriggs expressed the utmost ex- tremity of human amazement by a long whistle, on one note. " Whew ! Is that the way ye talk o' the nup- tial chamber already ?" "Find me some other place I'll make it worth your while." "Eh! there's my paintry ! I trow that's some other place; and the door's at the end o' the Arnold hurried out. Mr. Bishopriggs evi- dently under the impression that the case before him was a case of elopement, with Sir Patrick D mixed up in it in the capacity of guardian ad- dressed himself, in friendly confidence, to Anne. ' ' My certie, mistress ! it's ill wark deceivin' Sir Paitrick, if that's what ye've dune. Ye must know, I was ance a bit clerk body in his cham- bers at Embro " The voice of Mistress Inchbare, calling for the head-waiter, rose shrill and imperative from the regions of the bar. Mr. Bishopriggs disappeared. Anne remained, standing helpless by*the window. It was plain by this time that the place of her retreat had been discovered at Windygates. The one doubt to decide, now, was whether it would be wise or not to receive Sir Patrick, for the purpose of discovering whether he came as friend or enemy to the inn. CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. SIR PATRICK. THE doubt was practically decided before Anne had determined what to do. She was still at the window when the sitting-room door was thrown open, and Sir Patrick appeared, obsequiously shown in by Mr. Bishopriggs. " Ye're kindly welcome, Sir Paitrick. Hech, Sirs ! the sight of you is gude for sair eyne. " Sir Patrick turned and looked at Mr. Bishop- riggs as he might have looked at some trouble- some insect which he had driven out of the win- dow, and which had returned on him again. " What, you scoundrel ! have you drifted into an honest employment at last ?" Mr. Bishopriggs rubbed his hands cheerfully, and took his tone from his superior, with supple readiness. "Ye're always in the right of it, Sir Paitrick ! Wut, raal wut in that aboot the honest employ- ment, and me drifting into it. Lord's sake, Sir, hoo well ye wear !" Dismissing Mr. Bishopriggs by a sign, Sir Patrick advanced to Anne. "I am committing an intrusion, madam, which must, I am afraid, appear unpardonable in your eyes," he said. " May I hope you will excuse me when I have made you acquainted with my motive ?" He spoke with scrupulous politeness. His knowledge of Anne was of the slightest possible kind. Like other men, he had felt the attraction of her unaffected grace and gentleness on the few occasions when he had been in her company and that was all. If he had belonged to the present generation he would, under the circum- stances, have fallen into one of the besetting sins of England in these days the tendency (to bor- row an illustration from the stage) to " strike an attitude" in the presence of a social emergency. A man of the present period, in Sir Patrick's po- sition, would have struck an attitude of (what is called) chivalrous respect ; and would have ad- dressed Anne in a tone of ready-made sympathy, which it was simply impossible for a stranger really to feel. Sir Patrick affected nothing of the sort. One of the besetting sins of his time was the habitual concealment of our better selves upon the whole, a far less dangerous national error than the habitual advertisement of our bet- ter selves, which has become the practice, pub- licly and privately, of society in this age. Sir 58 MAN AND WIFE. Patrick assumed, if any thing, less sympathy on this occasion than he really felt. Courteous to all women, he was as courteous as usual to Anne and no'more. " I am quite at a loss, Sir, to know what brings you to this place. The servant here informs me that you are one of a party of gentlemen who have just passed by the inn, and who have all gone on except yourself." In those guarded terms Anne' opened the interview with the un- welcome visitor, on her side. Sir Patrick admitted the fact, without betray- ing the slightest embarrassment. " The servant is quite right, " he said. " I am one of the party. And I have purposely allowed them to go on to the keeper's cottage without me. Having admitted this, may I count on re- ceiving your permission to explain the motive of my visit ?" Necessarily suspicious of him, as coming from Windygates, Anne answered in few and formal words, as coldly as before. "Explain it, Sir Patrick, if you please, as briefly as possible. " Sir Patrick bowed. He was not in the least offended ; he was even (if the confession may be made without degrading him in the public esti- mation) privately amused. Conscious of having honestly presented himself at the inn in Anne's interests, as well as in the interests of the ladies at Windygates, it appealed to his sense of humor to find himself kept at arm's-length by the very woman whom he had come to benefit. The temptation was strong on him to treat his errand from his own whimsical point of view. He grave- ly took out his watch, and noted the time to a second, before he spoke again. " I have an event to relate in which you are interested," he said. " And I have two messages to deliver, which I hope you will not object to receive. The event I undertake to describe in one minute. The messages I promise to dispose of in two minutes more. Total duration of this intrusion on your time three minutes." He placed a chair for Anne, and waited until she bad permitted him, by a sign, to take a sec- ond chair for himself. "We will begin with the event," he resumed. " Your arrival at this place is no secret at Windy- gates. You were seen on the foot-road to Craig" Fernie by one of the female servants. And the inference naturally drawn is, that you were on your way to the inn. It may be important for you to know this ; and I have taken the liberty of mentioning it accordingly. " He consulted his watch. " Event related. Time, one minute." He had excited her curiosity, to begin with. " Which of the women saw me ?" she asked, im- pulsively. Sir Patrick (watch in hand) declined to pro- long the interview by answering any incidental inquiries which might arise in the course of it. "Pardon me," he rejoined; "I am pledged to occupy three minutes only. I have no room for the woman. With your kind permission, I will get on to the messages next." Anne remained silent. Sir Patrick went on. , ' ' First message : ' Lady Lundie's compliments to her step-daughter's late governess with whose married name she is not acquainted. Lady Lun- to order her pony-chaise and drive full gallop to the inn. Yields, under irresistible pressure, to the exertion of her guardian's au- thority, and commits the expression of her feel- ings to Sir Patrick, who is a born tyrant, and doesn't in the least mind breaking other people's hearts.' Sir Patrick (speaking for himself) places his sister-in-law's view and his niece's view, side by side, before the lady whom he has now the honor of addressing, and on whose confidence he is especially careful not to intrude. Reminds the lady that his influence at Windygates, however strenuously he may exert it, is not likely to last forever. Requests her to consider whether his sister-in-law's view and his niece's view, in col- lision, may not lead to very undesirable domestic results ; and leaves her to take the course which seems best to herself under those circumstances. Second message delivered textually. Time, three minutes. A storm coming on. A quar- ter of an hour's ride from here to the shooting- cottage. Madam, I wish you good-evening. " He bowed lower than ever and, without a word more, quietly hobbled out of the room. Anne's first impulse was (excusably enough, poor soul) an impulse of resentment. "Thank you, Sir Patrick!" she said, with a bitter look at the closing door. " The sympathy of society with a friendless woman could hardly have been expressed in a more amusing way !" The little irritation of the moment passed off with the moment. Anne's own intelligence and good sense showed her the position in its truer light. ' She recognized in Sir Patrick's abrupt de- parture Sir Patrick's considerate resolution to spare her from entering into any details on the subject of her position at the inn. He had given her a friendly warning ; and he had delicately left her to decide for herself as to the assistance which she might render him in maintaining tran- quillity at Windygates. She went at once to a side- MAN AND WIFE. table in the room, on which writing materials were placed, and sat down to write to Blanche. "1 can do nothing with Lady Lundie," she thought. " But I have more influence than any body else over Blanche ; and I can prevent the collision between them which Sir Patrick dreads. " She began the letter. " My dearest Blanche, I have seen Sir Patrick, and he has given me your message. I will set your mind at ease about me as soon as I can. But, before I say any thing else, let me entreat you, as the greatest favor you can do to your sister and your friend, not to enter into any disputes about me with Lady Lundie, and not to commit the imprudence the useless imprudence, my love of coming here." She' stopped the paper swam before her eyes. " My own darling!" she thought, "who could have foreseen that I should ever shrink from the thought of seeing you ?" She sighed, and dipped the pen in the ink, and went on with the letter. The sky darkened rapidly as the evening fell. The wind swept in fainter and fainter gusts across the dreary moor. Far and wide over the face of Nature the stillness was fast falling which tells of a coming storm. CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. ARNOLD. MEANWHILE Arnold remained shut up in the head-waiter's pantry chafing secretly at the po- sition forced upon him. He was, for the first time in his life, in hiding from another person, and that person a man. Twice stung to it by the inevitable loss of self- respect which his situation occasioned he had gone to the door, determined to face Sir Patrick boldly ; and twice he had abandoned the idea, in mercy to Anne. It would have been impossible for him to set himself right with Blanche's guard- ian without betraying the unhappy woman whose secret he was bound in honor to keep. " I wish to Heaven I had never come here ! " was the use- less aspiration that escaped him, as he doggedly seated himself on the dresser to wait till Sir Patrick's departure set him free. After an interval not by any means the long interval which he had anticipated his solitude was enlivened by the appearance of Father Bish- opriggs. " Well ?" cried Arnold, jumping off the dress- er, "is the coast clear?" There were occasions when Mr. Bishopriggs became, on a sudden, unexpectedly hard of hear- ing. This was one of them. " Hoo do ye find the paintry ?" he asked, with- out paying the slightest attention to Arnold's question. "Snug and private? A Patmos in the weelderness, as ye may say ! " His one available eye, which had begun by looking at Arnold's face, dropped slowly down- ward, and fixed itself, in mute but eloquent ex- pectation, on Arnold's waistcoat pocket. "I understand!" said Arnold. "I promised to pay you for the Patmos eh? There you are!" Mr. Bishopriggs pocketed the money with a dreaiy smile and a sympathetic shake of the head. Other waiters would have returned thanks. The sage of Craig Fernie returned a few brief remarks instead. Admirable in many things, Father Bishopriggs was especially great at drawing a moral. He drew a moral on this occasion from his own gratuity. "There I am as ye say. Mercy presairve us ! ye need the siller at every turn, when there's a woman at yer heels. It's an awfu' reflection ye canna hae any thing to do wi' the sex they ca' the opposite sex without its being an expense to ye. There's this young leddy o' yours, I doot she 11 ha' been an expense to ye from the first. When you were coortin' her, ye did it, I'll go bail, wi' the open hand. Presents and keep- sakes, flowers and jewelery, and litfle dogues. Sair expenses all of them !" ' ' Hang your reflections ! Has Sir Patrick left the inn ?" The reflections of Mr. Bishopriggs declined to he disposed of in any thing approaching to a summary way. On they flowed from their pa- rent source, as slowly and as smoothly as ever ! " Noo ye're married to her, there's her bonnets and goons and underjfclothin' her ribbons, laces, furbelows, and fallals. A sair expense again ! " " What is the expense of cutting your reflec- tions short, Mr. Bishopriggs ?" " Thirdly, and lastly, if ye canna agree wi'her as time gaes on if there's incompaitibeelity of temper betwixt ye in short, if ye want a wee bit separation, hech, Sirs ! ye pet yer band in yer poaket, and come to an aimicable understandin' wi' her in that way. Or, maybe she takes ye into Court, and pets her hand in your poaket, and comes to a hoastile understandin' wi' ye there. Show me a woman and I'll show ye a man not far off wha' has mair expenses on his back than he ever bairgained for." Arnold's patience would last no longer he turned to the door. Mr. Bish- opriggs, with equal alacrity on his side, turned to the matter in hand. "Yes, Sir! The room is e'en clear o' Sir Paitrick, and the leddy's alane, and waitin' for ye." In a moment more Arnold was back in the sitting-room. " Well ?" he asked, anxiously. "What is it ? Bad news from Lady Lundie's ?" Anne closed and directed the letter to Blanche, which she had just completed. "No," she' re- plied. "Nothing to interest you." " What did Sir Patrick want?" " Only to warn me. They have found out at Windy gates that I am here." "That's awkward, isn't it?" " Not in the least. I can manage perfectly ; I have nothing to fear. Don't think of me think of yourself." "I am not suspected, am I?" ' ' Thank heaven no ! But there is no know- ing what may happen if you stay here. Ring the bell at once, and ask the waiter about the trains. " Struck by the unusual obscurity of the sky at that hour of the evening, Arnold went to the window. The rain had come and was falling heavily. The view on the moor was fast disap- pearing in mist and darkness. " Pleasant weather to travel in !" he said. " The railway !" Anne exclaimed, impatiently. " It's getting late. See about the railway !" Arnold walked to the fire-place to ring the bell. The railway time-table hanging over it met his eye. 60 MAN AND WIFE. " Here's the information I want," he said to ' Anne ; " if I only knew how to get at it. ' Down' j ' Up' ' A.M.' ' P.M. ' What a cursed confu- sion ! I believe they do it on purpose. " Anne joined him at the fire-place. " I understand it I'll help you. Did you say it was the up train you wanted?" "Yes." " What is the name of the station you stop at ?" Arnold told her. She followed the intricate net-work of lines and figures with her finger suddenly stopped looked again to make sure and turned from the time-table with a face of blank despair. The last train for the day had gone an hour since. In the silence which followed that discovery, a first flash of lightning passed across the window, and the low roll of thunder sounded the outbreak of the storm. "What's to be done now?" asked Arnold. In the face of the storm, Anne answered with- out hesitation, "You must take a carriage, and drive. " "Drive? They told me it was three-and- twenty miles, by railway, from the station to my place let alone the distance from this inn to the station." " What does the distance matter? Mr. Brink- worth, you can't possibly stay here !" A second flash of lightning crossed the win- dow ; the roll of the thunder came nearer. Even Arnold's good temper began to be a little ruffled ! by Anne's determination to get rid of him. He ! sat down with the air of a man who had made up his mind not to leave the house. "Do you hear that?" he asked, as the sound of the thunder died away grandly, and the hard pattering of the rain on the window became audi- ble once more. " If I ordered horses, do y%u think they would let me have them, in such weather as this ? And, if they did, do you sup'- pose the horses could face it on the moor ? No, no, Miss Silvester I am sorry to be in the way ; but the train has gone, and the night and the storm have come. I have no choice but to stay here ! " Anne still maintained her own view, but less resolutely than before. " After what you have told the landlady," she said, "think of the em- barrassment, the cruel embarrassment of our position, if you stop at the inn till to-morrow morning!" "Is that all?" returned Arnold. Anne looked up at him, quickly and angrily. No ! he was quite unconscious of having said any thing that could offend her. His' rough mascu- line sense broke its way unconsciously th'rough all the little* feminine subtleties and delicacies of his companion, and looked the position 'practi- cally in the face for what it was worth, and no more. ' ' Where's the embarrassment ?" he ask- ed, pointing to the bedroom door. "There's your room, all ready for yon. And here's the sofa, in this room, all ready for me. If you had seen the places I have slept in at sea !" She interrupted him, without ceremony. The places he had slept in, at sea, were of no earth- ly importance. The one question to consider, was the place he was to sleep in that night. " If you must stay," she rejoined, " can't you get a room in some other part of the house ?" But one last mistake in dealing with her, in her present nervous condition, was left to make and the innocent Arnold made it. "In some other part of the house ?" he repeated, jesting- ly. " The landlady would be scandalized. Mr. Bishopriggs would never allow it !" She rose, and stamped her foot impatiently on the floor. "Don't joke!" she exclaimed. "This is no laughing matter." She paced the room excitedly. "I don't like it! I don't like it!" Arnold looked after her, with a stare of boyish wonder. "What puts you out so ?" he asked. " Is it the storm ?" She threw herself on the sofa again. " Yes," she said, shortly. "It's the storm." Arnold's inexhaustible good -nature was at once roused to activity again. " Shall we have the candles," he suggested, "and shut the weather out?" She turned irri- tably on the sofa, without replying. "I'll prom- ise to go away the first thing in the morning!' 1 he went on. "Do try and take it easy and don't be angry with me. Come ! come ! you wouldn't turn a dog out, Miss Silvester, on such a night as this!" He was irresistible. The most sensitive wo- man breathing could not have accused him of failing toward her in any single essential of con- sideration and respect. He wanted tact, poor fellow but who could expect him to have learn- ed that always superficial (and sometimes dan- gerous) accomplishment, in the life he had led at sea ? At the sight of his honest, pleading face, Anne recovered possession of her gentler and sweeter self. She made her excuses for her ir- ritability with a grace that enchanted him. "Well have a pleasant evening of it yet!" cried Arnold, in his hearty way and rang the bell. The bell was hung outside the door of that Patmos in the wilderness otherwise known as the head-waiter's pantry. Mr. Bishopriggs (em- ploying his brief leisure in the seclusion of his own apartment) had just mixed a glass of the hot and comforting liquor called " toddy" in the language of North Britain, and was just lifting it to his lips, when the summons from Arnold in- vited him to leave his grog. ' ' Hand yer screechin' tongue ! " cried Mr. Bish- opriggs, addressing the bell through the door. ' ' Ye're waur than a woman when ye aince begin !" The bell like the woman went on again. Mr. Bishopriggs, equally pertinacious, went on with his toddy. "Ay! ay! ye may e'en ring yer heart out but ye won't part a Scotchman from his glass. It's maybe the end of their dinner they'll be wantin'. Sir Paitrick cam' in at the fair begin- ning of it, and spoilt the collops, like the dour deevil he is !" The bell rang for the third time. "Ay! ay! ring awa'! I doot yon young gen- tleman's little better than a belly-god there's a scandalous haste to comfort the carnal part o' him in a' this ringin' ! He knows naething o' wine," added Mr. Bishopriggs, on whose mind Arnold's discovery of the watered sherry still dwelt unpleasantly. The lightning quickened, and lit the sitting- room horribly with its lurid glare ; the thunder rolled nearer and nearer over the black gulf of MAN AND WIFE. 61 the moor. Arnold had just raised his hand to ring for the fourth time, when the inevitable knock was heard at the door. It was useless to say "come in." The immutable laws of Bish- opriggs had decided that a second knock was necessary. Storm or no storm, the second knock came and then, and not till then, the sage ap- peared, with the dish of untasted "collops" in his hand. "Candles!" said Arnold. Mr. Bishopriggs set the " collops'' (in the lan- guage of England, minced meat) upon the table, lit the candles on the mantle-piece, faced about, with the fire of recent toddy flaming in his nose, and waited for further orders, before he went back to his second glass. Anne declined to re- turn to the dinner. Arnold ordered Mr. Bish- opriggs to close the shutters, and sat down to dine by himself. "It looks greasy, and smells greasy," he said to Anne, turning over the collops with a spoon. "I won't be ten minutes dining. t Will you have some tea ?" Anne declined again. Arnold tried her once more. "What shall we do to get through the evening?" " Do what you like," she answered, resignedly. Arnold's mind was suddenly illuminated by an idea. " I have got it !" he exclaimed. " We'll kill the time as our cabin-passengers used to kill it at sea." He looked over his shoulder at Mr. Bishopriggs. "Waiter! bring a pack of cards. " "What's that ye're wantin'?" asked Mr. Bishopriggs, doubting the evidence of his own senses. "A pack of cards," repeated Arnold. " Cairds ?" echoed Mr. Bishopriggs. "A pack o' cairds? The deevil's allegories in the deevil's own colors red and black ! I wunna execute yer order. For yer ain saul's sake, I wunna do it. Ha' ye lived to your time o' life, and are ye no' awakened yet to the awfu' seenfulness o' gam- blin' wi' the cairds ?" " Just as you please," returned Arnold. "You will find me awakened when I go away to the awful folly of feeing a waiter." " Does that mean that ye're bent on the cairds?" aked Mr. Bishopriggs, suddenly betraying signs of worldly anxiety in his look and manner. "Yes that means I am bent on the cards." " I tak' up my testimony against 'em but I'm no' telling ye that I canna lay my hand on 'em if I like. What do they say in my country? 'Him that will to Coupar, maun to Coupar.' And what do they say in your country ? ' Needs must when the deevil drives. ' " With that ex- cellent reason for turning his back on his own principles, Mr. Bishopriggs shuffled out of the room to fetch the cards. The dresser-drawer in the pantry contained a choice selection of miscellaneous objects a pack of cards being among them. In searching for the cards, the wary hand of the head-waiter came in contact with a morsel of crumpled-up paper. He drew it out, and recognized the letter which he had picked up in the sitting- room some hours since. " Ay ! ay ! I'll do weel, I trow, to look at this while my mind's runnin' on it," said Mr. Bish- opriggs. " The cairds may e'en find their way to the parlor by other hands than mine." He forthwith sent the cards to Arnold by his second in command, closed the pantry door, and carefully smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper on which the two letters were written. This done, he trimmed his candle, and began with the letter in ink, which occupied the first three pages of the sheet of note-paper. It ran thus : " WINDYQATES HOUSE, August 12, 1868. "GEOFFREY DELAMAYN, I have waited in the hope that you would ride over from your brother's place, and see me and I have waited in vain. Your conduct to me is cruelty itself; I will bear it no longer. Consider ! in your own interests, consider before you drive the miser- able woman who has trusted you to despair. You have promised me marriage by all that is sacred. I claim your promise. I insist on no- thing less than to be what you vowed I should be what I have waited all this weary time to be what I am, in the sight of Heaven, your wedded wife. Lady Lundie gives a lawn-party here on the 14th. I know you have been asked. I expect you to accept her invitation. If I don't see you, I won't answer for what may happen. My mind is made up to endure this suspense no longer. Oh, Geoffrey, remember the past ! Be faithful be just to your loving wife, "ANNE SILVESTER." Mr. Bishopriggs paused. His commentary on the correspondence, so far, was simple enough. " Hot words (in ink) from the leddy to the gen- tleman !" He ran his eye over the second letter, on the fourth page of the paper, and added, cyn- ically, "A trifle caulder (in pencil) from the gen- tleman to the leddy! The way o' the warld, Sirs ! From the time o' Adam downwards, the way o' the warld !" The second letter ran thus : " DEAR ANNE, Just called to London to my father. They have telegraphed him in a bad way. Stop where you are, and I will write you. Trust the bearer. Upon my soul, I'll keep my prom- ise. Your loving husband that is to be, " GEOFFREY DELAMAYN. "WlNDYOATES HOUSE, AlUft. 14. ( P.M. " In a mortal hurry. Train starts at 4.30. " There it ended ! "Who are the pairties in the parlor? Is ane o' them 'Silvester?' and t'other 'Delamayn?'" pondered Mr. Bishopriggs, slowly folding the letter up again in its original form. "Hech, Sirs! what, being intairpreted, may a' this mean ?" He mixed himself a second glass of toddy, as an aid to reflection, and sat sipping the liquor, and twisting and turning the letter in his gouty fingers. It was not easy to see his way to the true connection between the lady and gentleman in the parlor and the two letters now in his own possession. They might be themselves the writ- ers of the letters, or they might be only friends of the writers. Who was to decide ? In the first case, the lady's object would ap- pear to have been as good as gained; for the two had certainly asserted themselves to be man and wife, in his own presence, and in the pres- ence of the landlady. In the second case, the G2 MAN AND WIFE. correspondence so carelessly thrown aside might, for all a stranger knew to the contrary, prove to be of some importance in the future. Acting on this latter view, Mr. Bishopriggs whose past experience as "a bit clerk body," in Sir Pat- rick's chambers, had made a man of business of him produced his pen and ink, and indorsed the letter with a brief dated statement of the circumstances under which he had found it. ' ' I'll do weel to keep the Doecument, " he thought to himself. "Wha knows but there'll be a re- ward ottered for it ane o' these days ? Eh ! eh ! there may be the warth o' a fi' puu' note in this, to a puir lad like me !" With that comforting reflection, he drew out a battered tin cash-box from the inner recesses of the drawer, and locked up the stolen corre- spondence to bide its time. The storm rose higher and higher as the even- ing advanced. In the sitting-room, the state of affairs, per- petually changing, now presented itself under another new aspect. Arnold had finished his dinner, and had sent it away. He had next drawn a side-table up to the sofa on which Anne lay had shuffled the pack of cards and was now using all his powers of persuasion to induce her to try one game at Ecart6 with him, by way of diverting her atten- tion from the tumult of the storm. In sheer weariness, she gave up contesting the matter; and, raising herself languidly on the sofa, said she would try to play. "Nothing can make matters worse than they are," she thought, de- spairingly, as Arnold dealt the cards for her. "Nothing can justify my inflicting my own wretchedness on this kind-hearted boy !" Two worse players never probably sat down to a game. Anne's attention perpetually wan- dered ; and Anne's companion was, in all hu- man probability, the most incapable card-player in Europe. Anne turned up the trump the nine of Dia- monds. Arnold looked at his hand and "pro- posed." Anne declined to change the cards. Arnold announced, with undiminished good-hu- mor, that he saw his way clearly, now, to losing the game, and then played his first card the Queen of Trumps ! Anne took it with the King, and forgot to de- clare the King. She played the ten of Trumps. Arnold unexpectedly discovered the eight of Trumps in his hand. " What a pity !" he said, as he played it. "Hullo! you haven't marked the King ! I'll do it for you. That's two no, three to you. I said I should lose the game. Couldn't be expected to do any thing (could I ?) with such a hand as mine. I've lost every thing, now I've lost my trumps. You to play." Anne looked at her hand. At the same mo- ment the lightning flashed into the room through the ill-closed shutters; the roar of the thunder burst over the house, and shook it to its foun- dation. The screaming of some hysterical fe- male tourist, and the barking of a dog, rose shrill from the upper floor of the inn. Anne's nerves could support it no longer. She flung her cards on the table, and sprang to her feet. "I can play no more," she said. "Forgive me I am quite unequal to it. My head burns! my heart stifles me! She began to pace the room again. Aggra- vated by the effect of the storm on her nerves, her first vague distrust of the false position into which she and Arnold had allowed themselves to drift had strengthened, by this time, into a downright horror of their situation which was not to be endured. Nothing could justify such a risk as the risk they were now running ! They had dined together like married people and there they were, at that moment, shut in together, and passing the evening like man and wife ! "Oh, Mr. Brinkworth !" she pleaded. " Think for Blanche's sake, think is there no way out of this?" Arnold was quietly collecting the scattered cards. "Blanche, again?" he said, with the most exasperating composure. "I wonder how she feels, in this storm ?" In Anne's excited state, the reply almost mad- dened her. She turned from Arnold, and hur- ried to the door. "I don't care!" she cried, wildly. "I won't let this deception go on. " I'll do what I ought to have done before. Come what may of it, I'll tell the landlady the truth !" She had opened the door, and was on the point of stepping into the passage when she stopped, and started violently. Was it possible, in that dreadful weather, that she had actually heard the sound of carriage wheels on the strip of paved road outside the inn ? Yes ! others had heard the sound too. The hobbling figure of Mr. Bishopriggs passed her in the passage, making for the house door. The hard voice of the landlady rang through the inn, ejaculating astonishment in broad Scotch. Anne closed the sitting-room door again, and turned to Arnold who had risen, in surprise, to his feet. ' ' Travelers ! " she exclaimed. " At this time ! " " And in this weather!" added Arnold. " Can it be Geoffrey ?" she asked going back to the old vain delusion that he might yet feel for her, and return. Arnold shook his head. "Not Geoffrey. Whoever else it may be not Geoffrey!" Mrs. Inchbare suddenly entered the room with her .cap-ribbons flying, her eyes staring, and her bones looking harder than ever. "Eh, mistress!" she said to Anne. "Wha do ye think has driven here to see ye, from Windygates Hoose, and been owertaken in the storm ?" Anne was speechless. Arnold put the ques- tion: "Who is it?" " Wha is't ?" repeated Mrs. Inchbare. " It's joost the bonny young leddy Miss Blanche hersel'. " An irrepressible cry of horror burst from Anne. The landlady set it down to the light- ning, which flashed into the room again at the same moment. "Eh, mistress! ye'll find Miss Blanche a bit baulder than to skirl at n flash o' lightning, that gait ! Here she is, the bonny birdie !" exclaim- ed Mrs. Inchbare, deferentially backing out into the passage again. Blanche's voice reached them, calling for Anne. * Anne caught Arnold by the hand and wrung it hard. " Go !" she whispered. The next iu- MAN AND WIFE. 63 stant she was at the mantle-piece, and had blown out both the candles. Another flash of lightning came through the darkness, and showed Blanche's figure standing at the door. CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. BLANCHE. MRS. INCHBARE was the first person who act- ed in the emergency. She called for lights ; and sternly rebuked the house-maid, who brought them, for not having closed the house door. "Ye feckless ne r er-do-weel !" cried the land- lady; "the wind's blawn the candles oot." The woman declared (with perfect truth) that the door had been closed. An awkward dispute might have ensued if Blanche had not diverted Mrs. Inchbares attention to herself. The ap- pearance of the lights disclosed her, wet through, with her arms round Anne's neck. Mrs. Inch- bare digressed at once to the pressing question of changing the young lady's clothes, and gave Anne the opportunity of looking round her, un- observed. Arnold had made his escape before the candles had been brought in. In the mean time Blanche's attention was ab- sorbed in her own dripping skirts. "Good gracious! I'm absolutely distilling rain from every part of me. And I'm making you, Anne, as wet as I am ! Lend me some dry things. You can't? Mrs. Inchbare, what does your experience suggest? Which had I better do? Go to bed while my clothes are being dried? or borrow from your wardrobe though you are a head and shoulders taller than I am ?" Mrs. Inchbare instantly bustled out to fetch the choicest garments that her wardrobe could produce. The moment the door had closed on her Blanche looked round the room in her turn. The rights of affection having been already as- serted, the claims of curiosity naturally pressed for satisfaction next. "Somebody passed me in the ddrk," she whispered. "Was it your husband? I'm dy- ing to be introduced to him. And, oh my dear ! what is your married name ?" Anne answered, coldly, "Wait a little. I can't speak about it yet." "Are you 111?" asked Blanche. "I am a little nervous." " Has any thing unpleasant happened between you and my uncle ? You have seen him, haven't you?" "Yes." "Did he give you my message?" "He gave me your message. Blanche! you promised him to stay at Windygates. Why, in the name of heaven, did you come here to-night ?" "If you were half as fond of me as I am of you," returned Blanche, "you wouldn't ask that. I tried hard to keep my promise, but I couldn't do it. It was all very well, while my uncle was laying down the law with Lady Lundie in a rage, and the dogs barking, and the doors bang- ing, and all that. The excitement kept me up. But when my uncle had gone, and the dreadful gray, quiet, rainy evening came, and it had all calmed down again, there was no bearing it. The house without you was like a tomb. If I had had Arnold with me I might have done very well.' But I was all by myself. Think of that ! Not a soul to speak to ! There wasn't a horrible thing that could possibly happen to you that I didn't fancy was going to happen. I went into your empty room and looked at your things. That settled it, my darling! I rushed down stairs carried away, positively carried away, by an Impulse beyond human resistance. How could 1 help it? I ask any reasonable person how could I help it? I ran to the stables and found Jacob. Impulse all impulse! I said, ' Get the pony-chaise I must have a drive I don't care if it rains you come with me.' All in a breiith, and all impulse! Jacob behaved like an angel. He said, C A11 right, miss.' I am perfectly certain Jacob would die for me if I asked him. He is drinking hot grog at this mo- ment, to prevent him from catching cold, by my express orders. He had the pony-chaise out in two minutes ; and off we went. Lady Lundie, my dear, prostrate in her own room too much sal volatile. I hate her. The rain got worse. I didn't mind it. Jacob didn't mind it. The pony didn't mind it. They had both caught my impulse especially the pony. It didn't come on to thunder till some time afterward; and then we were nearer Craig Fernie than Windy- gates to say nothing of your being at one place and not at the other. The lightning was quite awful on the moor. If I had had one of the horses, he would have been frightened. The pony shook his darling little head, and dashed through it. He is to have beer. A mash with beer in it by my express orders. When he has done we'll borrow a lantern, and go into the stable, and kiss him. In the mean time, my dear, here I am wet through in a thunder- storm, which doesn't in the least matter and determined to satisfy my own mind about you, which matters a great deal, and must and shall be done before I rest to-night ! " She turned Anne, by main force, as she spoke, toward the light of the candles. Her tone changed the moment she looked at Anne's face. "I knew it!" she said. "Yon would never have kept the most interesting event in your life a secret from me you would never have written me such a cold formal letter as the letter you left in your room if there had not been some- thing wrong. I said so at the time. I know it now! Why has your husband forced you to leave Windygates at a moment's notice ? Why does he slip out of the room in the dark, as if he was afraid of being seen ? Anne ! Anne ! what has come to you ? Why do you receive me in this way ?" At that critical moment Mrs. Inchbare re- appeared, with the choicest selection of wear- ing apparel which her wardrobe could furnish. Anne hailed the welcome interruption. She took the candles, and led the way into the bed- room immediately. "Change your wet clothes first," she said. "We can talk after that." The bedroom door had hardly been closed a minute before there was a tap at it. Signing to Mrs. Inchbare not to interrupt the services she was rendering to Blanche, Anne passed quickly into the sitting-room, and closed the door behind her. To her infinite relief, she MAN AND WIFE. "THE PONY SHOOK HIS DARLING LITTLE HEAD, AND DASHED THROUGH IT." only found herself face to face with the discreet Mr. Bishopriggs. "What do you want?" she asked. The eye of Mr. Bishopriggs announced, by a wink, that his mission was of a confidential na- ture. The hand of Mr. Bishopriggs wavered ; the breath of Mr. Bishopriggs exhaled a spiritu- ous fume. He slowly produced a slip of paper, with some lines of writing on it. " From ye ken who," he explained, jocosely. "A bit love-letter, I trow, from him that's dear to ye. Eh ! he's an awfu' reprobate is him that's dear to ye. Miss, in the bedchamber there, will nae doot be the one he's jilted for you? I see it all ye can't blind Me I ha' been a frail person my ain self, in my time. Hech ! he's safe and sound, is the reprobate. I ha' lookit after a' his little creature-comforts I'm joost a fether to him, as well as a fether to you. Trust Bishopriggs when puir human na- ture wants a bit pat on the back, trust Bishop- riggs." While the sage was speaking these comforta- ble words, Anne was reading the lines traced on the paper. They were signed by Arnold ; and they ran thus : "I am in the smoking-room of the inn. It rests with you to say whether I must stop there. I don't believe Blanche would be jealous. If I knew how to explain my being at the inn with- out betraying the confidence which you and Geoffrey have placed in me, I wouldn't be away from her another moment. It does grate on me so ! At the same time, I don't want to make your position harder than it is. Think of your- self first. I leave it in your hands. You have only to say, Wait, by the bearer and I shall understand that I am to stay where I am till I hear from you again." Anne looked up from the message. "Ask him to wait," she said; "and I will send word to him again." " Wi' mony loves and kisses," suggested Mr. Bishopriggs, as a necessary supplement to the message. "Eh! it comes as easy as A. B. C. to a man o' my experience. Ye can ha' nae better gae-between than yer puir servant to command, Sawmuel Bishopriggs. I understand ye baith pairfeckly. " He laid his forefinger along his flaming nose, and withdrew. Without allowing herself to hesitate for an instant, Anne opened the bedroom door with the resolution of relieving Arnold from the new sacrifice imposed on him by owning the truth. " Is that you?" asked Blanche. At the sound of her voice, Anne started back guiltily. "I'll be with you in a moment," she answered, and closed the door again between them. No! it was not to be done. Something in Blanche's trivial question or something, per- haps, in the sight of Blanche's face roused the warning instinct in Anne, which silenced her on the very brink of the disclosure. At the last moment, the iron chain of circumstances made itself felt, binding her without mercy to the hateful, the degrading deceit. Could she own the truth, about Geoffrey and herself, to Blanche? and, without owning it, could she explain and justify Arnold's conduct in joining her privately at Craig Fernie ? A shameful confession made to an innocent girl; a risk of fatally shaking MAN AND WIFE. 65 Arnold's place in Blanche's estimation ; a scan- dal at the inn, in the disgrace of which the others would he involved with herself this was tiie price at which she must speak, if she fol- lowed her first impulse, and said, in so many words, "Arnold is here." It was not to be thought of. Cost what it might in present wretchedness end how it might, if the deception was discovered in the future Blanche must be kept in ignorance of the truth ; Arnold must be kept in hiding until she had gone. Anne opened the door for the second time, and went in. The business of the toilet was standing still. Blanche was in confidential communication with Mrs. Inchbare. At the moment when Anne entered the room she was eagerly questioning the landlady about her friend's "invisible hus- band" she was just saying, " Do tell me ! what is he like ?" The capacity for accurate observation is a ca- pacity so uncommon, and is so seldom associa- ted, even where it does exist, with the equally rare gift of accurately describing the thing or the person observed, that Anne's dread of the consequences if Mrs. Inchbare was allowed time to comply with Blanche's request, was, in all probability, a dread misplaced. Right or wrong, however, the alarm that she felt hurried her into taking measures for dismissing the landlady on the spot. "We mustn't keep you from your occupations any longer," she said to Mrs. Inch- bare. " I will give Miss Lundie all the help she needs." Barred from advancing in one direction, Blanche's curiosity turned back, and tried in another. She boldly addressed herself to Anne. "I must know something about him," she said. "Is he shy before strangers? I heard you whispering with him on the other side of the door. Are you jealous, Anne ? Are you afraid I shall fascinate him in this dress ?" Blanche, in Mrs. Inchbare's best gown an ancient and high-waisted silk garment, of the 1 hue called "bottle-green," pinned up in front, and trailing far behind her with a short, or- ange-colored shawl over her shoulders, and a j towel tied turban fashion round her head, to dry her wet hair, looked at once the strangest and the prettiest human anomaly that ever was seen. " For heaven's sake," she said, gayly, " don't tell your husband I am in Mrs' Inchbare's clothes ! I want to appear suddenly, without a word to warn him of what a figure I am ! I should have nothing left to wish for in this world," she add- ed, " if Arnold could only see me now !" Looking in the glass, she noticed Anne's face reflected behind her, and started at the sight of it. "What is the matter?" she asked. "Your face frightens me." It was useless to prolong the pain of the in- evitable misunderstanding between them. The one course to take was to silence all further in- quiries then and there. Strongly as she felt this, Anne's inbred loyalty to Blanche still shrank from deceiving her to her face. "I might write it," she thought. "I can't say it, with Arnold Brinkworth in the same house with her ! " Write it ? As she reconsidered the word, a sudden idea struck her. She opened the bed- room door, and led the way back into the sit- ting-room. "Gone again!" exclaimed Blanche, looking uneasily round the empty room. "Anne! there's something so strange in all this, that I neither can, nor will, put up with your silence any longer. It's not just, it's not kind, to shut me out of your confidence, after we have lived together like sisters all our lives !" Anne sighed bitterly, and kissed her on the forehead. ' ' You shall know all I can tell you all I dare tell you," she said, gently. " Don't reproach me. It hurts me more than you think." She turned away to the side-table, and came back with a letter in her hand. "Read that," she said, and handed it to Blanche. Blanche saw her own name, on the address, in the handwriting of Anne. "What does this mean?" she asked. "I wrote to you, after Sir Patrick had left me, " Anne replied. " I meant you to have received my letter to-morrow, in time to prevent any lit- tle imprudence into which your anxiety might hurry you. All that I can say to you is said there. Spare me the distress of speaking. Read it, Blanche." Blanche still held the letter, unopened. " A letter from you to me ! when we are both together, and both alone in the same room ! It's worse than formal, Anne ! It's as if there was a quarrel between us. Why should it distress you to speak to me ?" Anne's eyes dropped to the ground. She pointed to the letter for the second time. Blanche broke the seal. She passed rapidly over the opening sentences, and devoted all her attention to the second para- graph. "And now, my love, you will expect me to atone for the surprise and distress that I have caused you, by explaining what my situation really is, and by telling you all my plans for the future. Dearest Blanche ! don't think me un- true to the affection we bear toward each other don't think there is any change in my heart toward you believe only that I am a very un- happy woman, and that I am in a position which forces me, against my own will, to be silent about myself. Silent even to you, the sister of my love the one person in the world who is dearest to me ! A time may come when I shall be able to open my heart to you. Oh, what good it will do me ! what a relief it will be ! For the present, I must be silent. For the present, we must be parted. God knows what it costs me to write this. I think of the dear old days that are gone ; I remember how I promised your mother to be a sister to you, when her kind eyes looked at me, for the last time your mother, who was an angel from heaven to mine! All this comes back on me now, and breaks my heart. But it must be ! my own Blanche, for the present, it must be ! I will write often I will think of you, my darling, night and day, till a happier future unites us again. God bless you, my dear one ! And God help me/" Blanche silently crossed the room to the sofa on which Anne was sitting, and stood there for a moment, looking at her. She sat down, and laid her head on Anne's shoulder. Sorrowfully and quietly, she put the letter into her bosom and took Anne's hand, and kissed it. C6 MAN AND WIFE. " All my questions are answered, dear. I will wait your time." It was simply, sweetly, generously said. Anne burst into tears. ****** The rain still fell, but the storm was dying away. Blanche left the sofa, and, going to the win- dow, opened the shutters to look out at the night. She suddenly came back to Anne. "I see lights," she said "the lights of a car- riage coming up out of the darkness of the moor. They are sending after me, from Windygates. Go into the bedroom. It's just possible Lady Lundie may have come for me herself." The ordinary relations of the two toward each other were completely reversed. Anne was like a child in JBlanhe's hands. She rose, and with- drew. Left alone, Blanche took the letter out of her bosom, and read it again, in the interval of wait- ing for the carriage. The second reading confirmed her in a resolu- tion which she had privately taken, while she had been sitting by Anne on the sofa a resolu- tion destined to lead to far more serious results in the future than any previsions of hers could anticipate. Sir Patrick was the one person she knew on whose discretion and experience she could implicitly rely. She determined, in Anne's own interests, to take her uncle into her confi- dence, and to tell him all that had happened at the inn. "I'll first make him forgive me," thought Blanche. " And then I'll see if he thinks as I do, when I tell him about Anne." The carriage drew up at the door ; and Mrs. Inchbare showed in not Lady Lundie, but Lady Lundie's maid. The woman's account of what had happened at Windygates was simple enough. Lady Lun- die had, as a matter of course, placed the right interpretation on Blanche's abrupt departure in the pony-chaise, and had ordered the carriage, with the firm determination of following her step- daughter herself. But the agitations and anx- ieties of the day had proved too much for her. She had been seized by one of the attacks of gid- diness to which she was always subject after excessive mental irritation ; and, eager as she was (on more accounts than one) to go to the inn herself; she had been compelled, in Sir Pat- rick's absence, to commit the pursuit of Blanche to her own maid, in whose age and good sense she could place every confidence. The woman seeing the state of the weather had thought- fully brought a box with her, containing a change of wearing apparel. In offering it to Blanche, she added, with all due respect, that she had full powers from her mistress to go on, if necessary, to the shooting-cottage, and to place the matter in Sir Patrick's hands. This said, she left it to her young lady to decide for herself, whether she 'would return to Windygates, under present cir- cumstances, or not. Blanche took the box from the woman's hands, and joined Anne in the bedroom, to dress herself for the drive home. "I am going back to a good scolding," she said. "But a scolding is no novelty in my ex- perience of Lady Lundie. I'm not uneasy about that, Anne I'm uneasy about you. Can I be sure of one thing do you stay here for the present?" The worst that could happen at the inn had happened. Nothing was to be gained now and every thing might be lost by leaving the place at which Geoffrey had promised to write to her. Anne answered that she proposed remaining at the inn for the present. ' You promise to write to me ?" 'Yes." ' If there is any thing I can do for you ?" ' There is nothing, my love. " ' There may be. If you want to see me, we can meet at Windygates without being discov- ered. Come at luncheon-time go round by the shrubbery and step in at the library win- dow. You know as well as I do there is nobody in the library at that hour. Don't say it's im- possible you don't know what may happen. I shall wait ten minutes every day on the chance of seeing you. That's settled and it's settled that you write. Before I go, darling, is there any thing else we can think of for the future ?" At those words Anne suddenly shook off the depression that weighed on her. She caught Blanche in her arms ; she held Blanche to her bosom with a fierce energy. "Will you always be to me, in the future, what you are now ?" she asked, abruptly. " Or is the time coming when you will hate me ?" She prevented any reply by a kiss and pushed Blanche toward the door. " We have had a happy time together in the years that are gone, " she said, with a farewell wave of her hand. " Thank God for that ! And never mind the rest." She threw open the bedroom door, and called to the maid, in the sitting-room. " Miss Lundie is waiting for you. " Blanche pressed her hand, and left her. Anne waited a while in the bedroom, listening to the sound made by the departure of the car- riage from the inn door. Little by little, the tramp of the horses and the noise of the rolling wheels lessened and lessened. When the last faint sounds were lost in silence she stood for a moment thinking then, rousing herself on a sudden, hurried into the sitting-room, and rang the bell. "I shall go mad," she said to herself, "if I stay here alone." Even Mr. Bishopriggs felt the necessity of be- ing silent when he stood face to face with her on answering the bell. " I want to speak to him. Send him here in- stantly." Mr. Bishopriggs understood her, and with- drew. Arnold came in. " Has she gone ?" were the first words he said. " She has gone. She won't suspect you when you see her again. I have told her nothing. Don't ask me for my reasons !" " I have no wish to ask you." "Be angry with me, if you like!" "I have no wish to be angry with you." He spoke and looked like an altered man. Quietly seating himself at the table, he rested his head on his hand and so remained silent. Anne was taken completely by surprise. She drew near, and looked at him curiously. Let a woman's mood be what it may, it is certain to feel the influence of any change for which she is unprepared in the manner of a man when that man interests her. The cause of this, is not to MAN AND WIFE. 67 be found in the variableness of her humor. It is far more probably to be traced to the noble ab- negation of Self, which is one of the grandest and to the credit of woman be it said one of the commonest virtues of the sex. Little by lit- tle, the sweet feminine charm of Anne's face came softly and sadly back. The inbred nobil- ity of the woman's nature answered the call which the man had unconsciously made on it. She touched Arnold on the shoulder. "This has been hard on you," she said. "And I am to blame for it. Try and forgive me, Mr. Brinkworth. I am sincerely sorry. I wish with all my heart I could comfort you !" "Thank you, Miss Silvester. It was not a very pleasant feeling, to be hiding from Blanche as if I was afraid of her and it's set me think- ing, I suppose, for the first time in my hfe. Never mind. It's all over now. Can I do any thing for you?" li What do you propose doing to-night?" "What 1 have proposed doing all along my duty by Geoffrey. I have promised him to see you through your difficulties here, and to pro- vide for your safety till he comes back. I can only make sure of doing that by keeping up appear- ances, and staying in the sitting-room to-night. When we next meet it will be under pleasanter circumstances, I hope. I shall always be glad to think that I was of some service to you. In the mean time I shall be most likely away to- morrow morning before you are up. " Anne held out her hand to take leave. No- thing could undo what had been done. The time for warning and remonstrance had passed away. "You have not befriended in ungrateful wo- man," she said. " The day may yet come, Mr. Brinkworth, when I shall prove it." "I hope not, Miss Silvester. Good-by, and good luck ! " She withdrew into her own room. Arnold locked the sitting-room door, and stretched him- self on the sofa for the night. ****** The morning was bright, the air was delicious after the storm. Arnold had gone, as he had promised, before Anne was out of her room. It was understood at the inn that important business had unex- pectedly called him south. Mr. Bishopriggs had been presented with a handsome gratuity ; and Mrs. Inchbare had been informed that the rooms were taken for a week certain. In every quarter but one the march of events had now, to all appearance, fallen back into a qui- et course. Arnold was on his way to his estate ; Blanche was safe at Windygates ; Anne's resi- dence at the inn was assured for a week to come. The one present doubt was the doubt which hung over Geoffrey's movements. The one event still involved in darkness turned on the question of life or death waiting for solution in London otherwise, the question of Lord Holchester's health. Taken by itself, the alternative, either way, was plain enough. If my lord lived Geoffrey would be free to come back, and marry her privately in Scotland. If my lord died Geoffrey would be free to send for her, and mar- ry her publicly in London. But could Jeoffrey be relied on ? Anne went out on to the terrace-ground in front of the inn. The cool morning breeze blew steadily. Towering white clouds sailed in grand procession over the heavens, now obscuring, and now revealing the sun. Yellow light and purple shadow chased each other over the broad brown surface of the moor even as hope and fear chased each other over Anne's mind, brooding on what might come to her with the coming time. She turned away, weary of questioning the impenetrable future, and went back to the inn. Crossing the hall she looked at the clock. It was past the hour when the train from Perth- shire was due in London. Geoffrey and his brother were, at that moment, on their way to Lord Holchester's house. THIRD SCENE. LONDON. CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. GEOFFREY AS- A LETTER-WRITER. LORD HOLCHESTER'S servants with the but- ler at their head were on the look-out for Mr. Julius Delamayn's arrival from Scotland. The appearance of the two brothers together took the whole domestic establishment by surprise. All inquiries were addressed to the butler by Julius; Geoffrey standing by, and taking no other than a listener's part in the proceedings. " Is my father alive ?" " His lordship, I am rejoiced to say, has aston- ished the doctors, Sir. He rallied last night in the most wonderful way. If things go on for the next eight-and-forty hours as they are going now, my lord's recovery is considered certain." " What was the illness ?"' , " A paralytic stroke, Sir. When her ladyship telegraphed to you in Scotland the doctors had given his lordship up." "Is my mother at home?" " Her ladyship is at home to you, Sir." The butler laid a special emphasis on the per- sonal pronoun. Julius turned to his brother. The change for the better in the state of Lord Holchester's health made Geoffrey's position, at that moment, an embarrassing one. He had been positively forbidden to enter the house. His one excuse for setting that prohibitory sn- tence at defiance rested on the assumption that his father was actually dying. As matters now stood, Lord Holchester's order remained in full force. The under-servants in the hall (charged to obey that order as they valued their places) looked from ' ' Mr. Geoffrey" to the butler. The butler looked from " Mr. Geoffrey" to " Mr. Ju- lius." Julius looked at his brother. There was an awkward pause. The position of the second son was the position of a wild beast in the house a creature to be got rid of, without risk to yourself, if yon only knew how. Geoffrey spoke, and solved the problem. " Open the door, one of you fellows," he said to the footmen. " I'm off." "Wait a minute," interposed his brother. " It will be a sad disappointment to my mother to know that you have been here, and gone away again without seeing her. These are no ordi- nary circumstances, Geoffrey. Come up stairs with me I'll take it on myself." " I'm blessed if I take it on myself !" returned Geoffrey. ' ' Open the door !" MAN AND WIFE. " Wait here, at any rate," pleaded Julius, "till I can send you down a message." "Send your message to Nagle's Hotel. I'm at home at Nagle's I'm- not at home here." At that point the discussion was interrupted by the appearance of a little terrier in the hall. Seeing strangers, the dog began to bark. Per- fect tranquillity in the house had been absolutely insisted on by the doctors ; and the servants, all trying together to catch the animal and quiet him, simply aggravated the noise he was mak- ing. Geoffrey solved this problem also in his own decisive way. He swung round as the dog was passing him, and kicked it with his heavy boot. The little creature fell on the spot, whin- ing piteously. "My lady's pet dog!" exclaim- ed the butler. "You've broken its ribs, Sir." " I've broken it of barking, you mean," retorted Geoffrey. "Ribs be hanged!" He turned to his brother. "That settles it," he said, jocosely. " I'd better defer the pleasure of calling on dear mamma till the next opportunity. Ta-ta, Juli- us. You know where to find me. Come, and dine. We'll give you a steak at Nagle's that will make a man of you. " He went out. The tall footmen eyed his lord- ship's second son with unaffected respect. They had seen him, in public, at the annual festival of the Christian-PugilLstic-Association, with "the gloves" on. He could have beaten the biggest man in the hall within an inch of his life in three minutes. The porter bowed as he threw open the door. The whole interest and attention of the domestic establishment then present was concentrated on Geoffrey. Julius went up stairs to his mother without attracting the slightest notice. The month was August. The streets were empty. The vilest breeze that blows a hot east wind in London was the breeze abroad on that day. Even Geoffrey appeared to feel the influ- ence of the weather as the cab carried him from his father's door to the hotel. He took off his hat, and unbuttoned his waistcoat, and lit his everlasting pipe, and growled and grumbled be- tween his teeth in the intervals of smoking. Was it only the hot wind that wrung from him these demonstrations of discomfort? Or was there some secret anxiety in his mind which assisted the depressing influences of the day? There was a secret anxiety in his mind. And the name of it was Anne. As things actually were at that moment, what course was he to take with the unhappy woman who was waiting to hear from him at the Scotch inn? To write? or not to write? That was the question with Geoffrey. The preliminary difficulty, relating to address- ing a letter to Anne at the inn, had been already provided for. She had decided if it proved necessary to give her name, before Geoffrey joined her to call herself Mrs., instead of Miss, Silvester. A letter addressed to "Mrs. Silvester" might be trusted to find its way to her, without causing any embarrassment. The doubt was not here. The doubt lay, as usual, between two alternatives. Which course would it be wisest to take? to inform Anne, by that day's post, that an interval of forty-eight hours must elapse before his father's recovery could be con- sidered certain ? Or to wait till the interval was over, and be guided by the result ? Considering the alternatives in the cab, he decided that the wise course was to temporize with Anne, by re- porting matters as they then stood. Arrived at the hotel, he sat down to write the letter doubted and tore it up doubted again and began again doubted once more and tore up the second letter rose to his feet and owned to himself (in unprintable language) that he couldn't for the life of him decide which was safest to write or to wait. In this difficulty, his healthy physical instincts sent him to healthy physical remedies for relief. " My mind's in a muddle," said Geoffrey. " I'll try a bath. " It was an elaborate bath, proceeding through many rooms, and combining many postures and applications. He steamed. He plunged. He simmered. He stood under a pipe, and received a cataract of cold water on his head. He was laid on his back ; he was laid on his stomach ; he was respectfully pounded and kneaded, from head to foot, by the knuckles of accomplished practitioners. He came out of it all, sleek, clear, rosy, beautiful. He returned to the hotel, and took up the writing materials and behold the intolerable indecision seized him again, declin- ing to lie washed out ! This time he laid it all to Anne. "That infernal woman will be the ruin of me," said Geoffrey, taking up his hat. "I must try the dumb-bells." The pursuit of the new remedy for stimulating a sluggish brain took him to a public house, kept by the professional pedestrian who had the honor of training him when lie contended at Athletic Sports. "A private room and the dumb-bells!" cried Geoffrey. "The heaviest you have got." He stripped himself of his upper clothing, and set to work, with the heavy weights in each hand, waving them up and down, and backward and forward, in every attainable variety of movement, till his magnificent muscles seemed on the point of starting through his sleek skin. Little by lit- tle his animal spirits roused themselves. The strong exertion intoxicated the strong man. In sheer excitement he swore cheerfully invoking thunder and lightning, explosion and blood, in return for the compliments profusely paid to him by the pedestrian and the pedestrian's son. "Pen, ink, and paper!" he roared, when he could use the dumb-bells no longer. "My mind's made up ; I'll write, and have done with it!" He sat down to his writing on the spot; he actually finished the letter ; another minute would have dispatched it to the post and, in that minute, the maddening indecision took pos- session of him once more. He opened the let- ter again, read it over again, and tore it up again. "I'm out of my mind!" cried Geoffrey, fixing his big bewildered blue eyes fiercely on the pro- fessor who trained him. "Thunder and lightning! Explosion and blood ! Send for Crouch." Crouch (known and respected wherever En- glish manhood is known and respected) was a retired prize-fighter. He appeared with the third and last remedy for clearing the mind known to the Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn namely, two pair of boxing-gloves in a carpet-bag. The gentleman and the prize-fighter put on the gloves, and faced each other in the classically- correct posture of pugilistic defense. " None of MAN AND WIFE. GO your play, mind!" growled Geoffrey. "Fight, you beggar, as if you were in the King again, with orders to win." No man knew better than the great and terrible Crouch what real fighting meant, and what heavy blows might be given even with such apparently haimless weapons as stuffed and padded gloves. He pretended, and only pretended, to comply with his patron's re- quest. Geoffrey rewarded him for his polite for- bearance by knocking him down. The great and terrible rose with unruffled composure. ''Well hit, Sir !" he said. " Try it with the other hand now. " Geoffrey's temper was not under similar control. Invoking everlasting destruction on the frequently-blackened eyes of Crouch, he threat- ened instant withdrawal of his patronage and support unless the polite pugilist hit, then and there, as hard as he could. The hero of a hun- dred fights quailed at the dreadful prospect. " I've got a family to support, " remarked Crouch. " If you will have it, Sir there it is !" The fall of Geoffrey followed, and shook the house. He was on his legs again in an instant not satis- fied even yet. * "None of your body-hitting!" he roared. "Stick to my head. Thunder and lightning ! explosion and blood ! Knock it out of me! Stick to the head!" Obedient Crouch stuck to the head. The two gave and took blows which would have stunned possibly have killed any civilized member of the community. Now on one side of his patron's iron skull, and now on the other, the hammering of the prize- fighter's gloves fell, thump upon thump, horrible to hear until even Geoffrey himself had had enough of it. "Thank you, Crouch," he said, speaking civilly to the man for the first time. "That will do. I feel nice and clear again." He shook his head two or three times ; he was nibbed down like a horse by the professional runner; he drank a mighty draught of malt liquor; he recovered his good-humor as if by magic. "Want the pen and ink, Sir?" inquired his pedestrian host. "Not I !'' answered Geof- frey. " The muddle's out of me now. Pen and ink be hanged ! I shall look up some of our fel- lows, and go to the play." He left the public house in the happiest condition of mental calm. Inspired by the stimulant application of Crouch's gloves, his torpid cunning had been shaken up into excellent working order at last. Write to Anne ? Who but a fool would write to such a woman as that until he was forced to it ? W T ait and see what the chances of the next eight-and- forty hours might bring forth, and then write to her, or desert her, as the event might decide. It lay in a nut-shell, if you could only see it. Thanks to Crouch, he did see it and so away, in a pleasant temper for a dinner with "our fel- lows" and an evening at the play ! CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. i GEOFFREY IN THE MARRIAGE MARKET. THE interval of eight-and-forty hours passed without the occurrence of any personal communi- cation between the two brothers in that time. Julius, remaining at his father's house, sent brief written bulletins of Lord Holchester's health to his brother at the hotel. The first bulletin said, " Going on well. Doctors satisfied," The second was firmer in tone. "Going on excel- lently. Doctors ver\ sanguine. " The third was the most explicit of all. " I am to see my father in an hour from this. The doctors answer for his recovery. Depend on my putting in a good word for you, if I can ; and wait to hear from me further at the hotel." Geoffrey's face darkened as he read the third bulletin. He called once more for the hated writing materials. There could he no doubt now as to the necessity of communicating with Anne. Lord Holchester's recovery had put him back again in the same critical position which he had occupied at Windygates. To keep Anne from committing some final act of despair, which would connect him with a public scandal, and ruin him so far as his expectations from his fa- ther were concerned, was, once more, the only safe policy that Geoffrey could pursue. His let- ter began and ended in twenty words : "DEAR ANNE, Have only just heard that my father is turning the corner. Stay where you are. Will write again." Having dispatched this Spartan composition by the post, Geoffrey lit his pipe, and waited the event of the interview between Lord Holchester and his eldest son. Julius found his father alarmingly altered in personal appearance, but in full possession of his faculties nevertheless. Unable to return the pressure of his son's hand unable even to turn in the bed without help the hard eye of the old lawyer was as keen, the hard mind of the old lawyer was as clear, as ever. His grand am- bition was to see Julius in Parliament. Julius was offering himself for election in Perthshire, by his father's express desire, at that moment. Lord Holchester entered eagerly into politics be- fore his eldest son had been two minutes by his bedside. "Much obliged, Julius, for your congratula- tions. Men of my sort are not easily killed. (Look at Brougham and Lyndhurst!) You won't be called to the Upper House yet. You will begin in the House of Commons precisely as I wished. What are your prospects with the constituency ? Tell me exactly how you stand, and where I can be of use to you." " Surely, Sir, you are hardly recovered enough to enter on matters of business yet ?" " I am quite recovered enough. I want some present interest to occupy me. My thoughts are beginning to drift back to past times, and to things which are better forgotten.' 1 A sudden contraction crossed his livid flfce. He looked hard at his son, and entered abruptly on a new question. "Julius!" he resumed, "have you ever heard of a young woman named Anne feil- vester ?" Julius answered in the negative. He and his wife had exchanged cards with Lady Lundie, and had excused themselves from accepting her invitation to the lawn-party. With the excep- tion of Blanche, they were both quite ignorant of the persons who composed the family circle at Windygates. "Make a memorandum of the name," Lord Holchester went on. "Anne Silvester. Her father and mother are dead. I knew her father in former times. Her mother was ill-used. It 70 MAN AND WIFE. "MEN OF MY SORT ARE NOT EASILY KILLED." was a bad business. I have been thinking of it again, for the first time for many years. If the girl is alive and about the world she may re- member our family name. Help her, Julius, if she ever wants help, and applies to you." The painful contraction passed across his face once more. Were his thoughts taking him back to the memorable summer evening at the Hamp- stead villa? Did he see the deserted woman swooning at his feet again ? " About your elec- tion ?" he asked, impatiently. ' ' My mind is not used to be idle. Give it something to do." Julius stated his position as plainly and as briefly as he could. The father found nothing to object to in the report except the son's ab- sence from the field of action. He blamed Lady Holchester for summoning Julius to London. He was annoyed at his son's being there, at the bedside, when he ought to have been addressing the electors. "It's inconvenient, Julius," he said, petulantly. " Don't you see it yourself?" Having previously arranged with his mother to take the first Opportunity that offered of risk- ing a reference to Geoffrey, Julius decided to "see it" in a light for which his father was not prepared. The opportunity was before him. He took it on the spot. "It is no inconvenience to me, Sir," he re- plied, " and it is no inconvenience to my brother either. Geoffrey was anxious about you too. Geoffrey has come to London with me." Lord Holchester looked at his eldest son with a grimly-satirical expression of surprise. "Have I not already told yon," he rejoined, " that my mind is not affected by my illness ? Geoffrey anxious about me ! Anxiety is one of the civilized emotions. Man in his savage state is incapable of feeling it." " My brother is not a savage, Sir." "His stomach is generally full, and his skin is covered with linen and cloth, instead of red ochre and oil. So far, certainly, your brother is civilized. In all other respects your brother is a savage. " "I know what you mean, Sir. But there is something to be said for Geoffrey's way of life. He cultivates his courage and his strength. Courage and strength are fine qualities, surely, in their way ?" "Excellent qualities, as far as they go. If you want to know how far that is, challenge Geof- frey to write a sentence of decent English, and see if his courage doesn't fail him there. Give him his books to read for his degree, and, strong as he is, he will be taken ill at the sight of them. You wish me to see your brother. Nothing will induce me to see him, until his way of life (as you call it) is altered altogether. I have but one hope of its ever being altered now. It is barely possible that the influence of a sensible woman possessed of such advantages of birth and fortune as may compel respect, even from a savage might produce its effect on Geoffrey. If he wishes to find his way back into this house, let him find his way back into good society first, and bring me a daughter-in-law to plead his cause for him whom his mother and I can respect and receive. When that happens, I shall begin to have some belief in Geoffrey. Until it does, hap- pen, don't introduce your brother into any future conversations which you may have with Me. To return to your election. I have some advice to give you before you go back. You will do well to go back to-night. Lift me up on the pil- low. I shall speak more easily with my head high." MAN AND WIFE. 71 His son lifted him on the pillows, and once more entreated him to spare himself. It was useless. No remonstrances shook the iron resolution of the man who had hewed his way through the rank and file of political hu- manity to his own high place apart from the rest. Helpless, ghastly, snatched out of the very jaws of Death, there he lay, steadily distilling the ctear common-sense whieh had won him all. his worldly rewards into the mind of his son. Not a hint was missed, not a caution was forgotten, that could guide Julius safely through the miry political ways which he had trodden so safely and so dextrously himself. An hour more had passed before the impenetrable old man closed his weary eyes, and consented to take his nourishment and compose himself to rest. His last words, ren- dered barely articulate by exhaustion, still sang the praises of party manoeuvres and political strife. " It's a grand career ! I miss the House of Commons, Julius, as I miss nothing else!" Left free to pursue his own thoughts, and to guide his own movements, Julius went straight from Lord Holchester's bedside to Lady Hol- chester's boudoir. "Has your father said any thing about Geof- frey ?" was his mother's first question as soon as he entered the room. "My father gives Geoffrey a last chance, if Geoifrey will only take it. " Lady Holchester's face clouded. "I know," she said, with a look of disappointment. "His last chance is to read for his degree. Hopeless, my dear. Quite hopeless ! If it had only been something easier than that ; something that rest- ed with me " "It does rest with you," interposed Julius. " My dear mother ! can you believe it ? Geof- frey's last chance is (in one word) Marriage ! " " Oh, Julius ! it's too good to* be true !" Julius repeated his father's own words. Lady Holehester looked twenty years younger as she listened. When he had done she rang the bell. "No matter who calls," she said to the serv- ant, " I am not at home." She turned to Julius, kissed him, and made a place for him on the sofa by her side. " Geoffrey shall take that chance," she said, gayly "I will answer for it! I have three women in my mind, any one of whom would suit him. Sit down, my dear, and let us consider carefully which of the three will be most likely to attract Geoffrey, and to come up to your father's standard of what his daughter-in-law ought to be. W T hen we have decided, don't trust to writing. Go yourself and see Geoffrey at his hotel. " Mother and son entered on their consultation and innocently sowed the seeds of a terrible harvest to come. CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. GEOFFREY AS A PUBLIC CHARACTER. TIME had advanced to after noon before the selection of Geotfrey's future wife Was accom- plished, and before the instructions of Geoffrey's brother were complete enough to justify the open- ing of the matrimonial negotiation at Nagle's Ho- tel. "Don't leave him till you have got his prom- ise," were Lady Holchester's last words when her son started on his mission. " If Geoffrey doesn't jump at what I am going to offer him," was the son's reply, " I shall agree with my father that the case is hopeless ; and I shall end, like my father, in giving Geoffrey up." This was strong language for Julius to use. It was not easy to rouse the disciplined and eq*ua- ble temperament of Lord Holchester's eldest son. No two men were ever more thoroughly unlike each other than these two brothers. It is mel- ancholy to acknowledge it of the blood-relation of a " stroke oar," but it must be owned, in the interests of truth, that Julius cultivated his intel- ligence. This degenerate Briton could digest books and couldn't digest beer. Could learn languages and couldn't learn to row. Prac- ticed the foreign vice of perfecting himself in the art of playing on a musical instrument and couldn't learn the English virtue of knowing a good horse when he saw him. Got through life (Heaven only knows how!) without either a bi- ceps or a betting-book. Had openly acknowl- edged, in English society, that he didn't think the barking of a pack of hounds the finest music in the world. Could go to foreign parts, and see a mountain which nobody had ever got to the top of yet and didn't instantly feel his honor as an Englishman involved in getting to the top of it himself. Such people may, and do, exist among the inferior races of the Continent. Let us thank Heaven, Sir, that England never has been, and never will be, the right place for them! Arrived at Nagle's Hotel,' and finding nobody to inquire of in the hall, Julius applied to the young lady who sat behind the window of " the bar." The young lady was reading something so deeply interesting in the evening newspaper that she never even heard him. Julius went into the coffee-room. The waiter, in his corner, was absorbed over a second newspaper. Three gentlemen, at three different tables, were absorbed in a third, fourth, and fifth newspaper. They all alike went on with their reading without noticing the entrance of the stranger. Julius ventured on disturbing the waiter by asking for Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn. At the sound of that illustrious name the waiter looked up with a start. "Are you Mr. Dela- mayn 's brother, Sir ?" "Yes." The three gentlemen at the tables looked up with a start. The light of Geoffrey's celebrity fell, reflected, on Geoffrey's brother, and made a public character of him. " You'll find Mr. Geoffrey, Sir," said the wait- er, in a flurried, excited manner, "at the Cock and Bottle, Putney." "I expected to find him here. I had an ap- pointment with him at this hotel." The waiter opened his eyes on Julius with an expression of blank astonishment. "Haven't you heard the news, Sir ?" "No." "God bless my soul !" exclaimed the waiter and offered the newspaper. "God bless my soul!" exclaimed the three gentlemen and offered the three newspapers. " What is it?" asked Julius. "What is it?" repeated the waiter, in a hol- low voice. "The most dreadful thing that's 72 MAN AND WIFE. happened in my time. It's all up, Sir, with the Great Foot-Kace at Fulham. Tinkler has gone stale. " The three gentlemen dropped solemnly back into their three chairs, and repeated the dread- ful intelligence, in chorus " Tinkler has gone stale." A man who stands face to face with a great national disaster, and who doesn't understand it, is a man who will do wisely to hold his tongue, and enlighten his mind without asking other people to help him. Julius accepted the wait- er's newspaper, and sat down to make (if pos- sible) two discoveries : First, as to whether " Tinkler" did, or did not, mean a man. Sec- ond, as to what particular form of human afflic- tion you implied when you described that man as "gone stale." There was no difficulty in finding the news. It was printed in the largest type, and was fol- lowed by a personal statement of the facts, taken one way which was followed, in its turn, by another personal statement of the facts, taken in another way. More particulars, and further personal statements, were promised in later" edi- tions. The royal salute of British journalism thundered the announcement of Tinkler's stale- ness before a people prostrate on the national betting-book. Divested of exaggeration, the facts were few enough and simple enough. A famous Athletic Association of the North had challenged a fa- mous Athletic Association of the South. The usual " Sports" were to take place such as run- ning, jumping, "putting" the hammer, throw- ing cricket-Jmlls, and the like and the whole was to wind up with a Foot-Kace of unexampled length and difficulty in the annals of human achievement between the two best men on either side. "Tinkler" was the best man on the side of the South. "Tinkler" was backed in in- numerable betting-books to win. And Tinkler's lungs had suddenly given way under stress of training ! A prospect of witnessing a prodigious achievement in foot-racing, and (more important still) a prospect of winning and losing large sums of money, was suddenly withdrawn from the eyes of the British people. The "South" could produce no second opponent worthy of the North out of its own associated resources. Surveying the athletic world in general, but one man ex- isted who might possibly replace "Tinkler" and it was doubtful, in the last degree, whether he would consent to come forward under the cir- cumstances. The name of that man Julius read it with horror was Geoffrey Delamayn. Profound silence reigned in the coffee-room. Julius laid down the newspaper, and looked about him. The waiter was busy, in his corner, with a pencil and a betting-book. The three gentle- men were busy, at the three tables, with pencils and betting-books. "Try and persuade him!" said the waiter, piteously, as Delamayn's brother rose to leave the room. "Try and persuade him!" echoed the three gentlemen, as Delamayn's brother opened the door and went out. Julius called a cab, and told the driver (busy with a pencil and a betting-book) to go to the Cock and Bottle, Putney. The man brightened into a new being at the' prospect. No need to 'hurry him ; he drove, unasked, at the top of his horse's speed. As the cab drew near to its destination the signs of a great national excitement appeared, and multiplied. The lips of a people pronounced, with a grand unanimity, the name of " Tinkler." The heart of a people hung suspended (mostly in the public houses) on the chances for and against the possibility of replacing "Tinkler" by another man. The scene in front of the inn was impressive in the highest degree. Even the London blackguard stood awed and quiet in the presence of the national calamity. Even the ir- repressible man with the apron, who always turns up to sell nuts and sweetmeats in a crowd, plied his trade in silence, and found few indeed (to the credit of the nation be it spoken) who had the heart to crack a nut at such a time as this. The police were on the spot, in large numbers, and in mute sympathy with the people, touching to see. Julius, on being stopped at the door, mentioned his name and received an ovation. His brother ! oh, heavens, his brother ! The people closed round him, the people shook hands with him, the people invoked blessings on his head. Julius was half suffocated, when the po- lice rescued him, and landed him safe in the privileged haven on the inner side of the public house door. A deafening tumult broke out, as he entered, from the regions above stairs. A distant voice screamed, "Mind yourselves !" A hatless shouting man tore down through the peo- ple congregated on the stairs. "Hooray ! Hoo- ray ! He's promised to do it ! He's entered for the race!" Hundreds on hundreds of voices took up the cry. A roar of cheering burst from, the people outside. Reporters for the newspa- pers raced, in frantic procession, out of the inn, and rushed into cabs to put the news in print. The hand of the landlord, leading Julius care- fully up stairs by the arm, trembled with excite- ment. " His brother, gentlemen ! his brother!" At those magic words a lane was made through the throng. At those magic words the closed door of the council-chamber flew open ; and Julius found himself among the Athletes of his native country, in full parliament assembled. Is any description of them needed ? The de- scription of Geoffrey applies to them all. The manhood and muscle of England resemble the wool and mutton of England, in this .respect, that there is about as much variety in a flock of athletes as in a flock of sheep. Julius looked about him, and saw the same man in the same dress, with the same health, strength, tone, tastes, ' habits, conversation, and pursuits, re- peated infinitely in every part of the room. The din was deafening ; the enthusiasm (to an unin- itiated stranger) something at once hideous and terrifying to behold. Geoffrey had been lifted bodily on to the table, in his chair, so as to be vis- ible to the whole room. They sang round him, they danced round him, they cheered round him, they swore round him. He was hailed, in maud- lin terms of endearment, by grateful giants with tears in their eyes. " Dear old man !" " Glo- rious, noble, splendid, beautiful fellow!" They hugged him. They patted him on the back. They wrung his hands. They prodded and punched his muscles. They embraced the noble legs that were going to run the unexampled race. At the opposite end of the room, where it was MAN AND WIFE. physically impossible to get near the hero, the eiithuMasm vented itself in feats of strength and acts of destruction. Hercules I. cleared a space with his elbows, and laid down and Hercules II. took him up in his teeth. Hercules III. seized the poker from the fire-place, and broke it on his arm. Hercules IV. followed with the tongs, and shattered them on his neck. The smashing of the furniture and the pulling down of the house seemed likely to succeed when Geoffrey's eye lighted by accident on Julius, and Geoffrey's voice, calling fiercely for his brother, hushed the wild assembly into sudden attention, and turned the fiery enthusiasm into a new course. Hooray for his brother ! One, two, three and up with his brother on our shoulders! Four, five, six and on with his brother, over our heads, to the other end of the room ! See, boys see! the hero has got him by the collar! the hero has lifted him on the table! The hero, heated red-hot with his own triumph, welcomes the poor little snob cheerfully, with a volley of oaths. "Thunder and lightning! Explosion and blood! What's up now, Julius? What's up now?'' Julius recovered his breath, and arranged his coat. The quiet little man, who had just muscle enough to lift a Dictionary from the shelf, and just training enough to play the fiddle, so far from being daunted by the rough reception ac- corded to him, appeared to feel no other senti- ment in relation to it than a sentiment of unmit- igated contempt. " You're not frightened, are you ?" said Geof- frey. "Our fellows are a roughish lot, but they mean well." " I am not frightened, " answered Julius. " I am only wondering when the Schools and Uni- versities of England turn out such a set of ruf- fians as these how long the Schools and Uni- versities of England will last." "Mind what you are about, Julius ! They'll cart you out of window if they hear you." " They will only confirm my opinion of them, Geoffrey, if they do." Here, the assembly, seeing but not hearing the colloquy between the two brothers, became un- easy on the subject of the coming race. A roar of voices summoned Geoffrey to announce it, if there was any thing wrong. Having pacified the meeting, Geoffrey turned again to his brother, and asked him, in no amiable mood, what the devil he wanted there ? "I want to tell you something, before I go back to Scotland," answered Julius. "My fa- ther is willing to give you a last chance. If you don't take it, my doors are closed against you as wt-11 as his." Nothing is more remarkable, in its way, than the sound common-sense and admirable self-re- straint exhibited by the youth of the present time, when confronted by an emergency in which their own interests are concerned. Instead of resent- ing the tone which his brother had taken with him, Geoffrey instantly descended from the ped- estal of glory on which he stood, and placed himself without a struggle in the hands which vicariously held his destiny otherwise, the hands which vicariously held the purse. In five minutes more the meeting had been dis- missed, with all needful assurances relating to Geoffrey's share in the coming Sports and the two brothers were closeted together in one of the private rooms of the inn. "Out with it!" said Geoffrey. "And don't be long about it." " I won't be five minutes," replied Julius. " I go back to-night by the mail-train ; and I have a great deal to do in the mean time. Here it is, in plain words : My father consents to see you again, if you choose to settle in life with his approval. And my mother has discovered where you may find a wife. Birth, beauty, and money are all offered to you. Take them and you recover your position as Lord Holchester's son. Refuse them and you go to ruin your own way. " Geoffrey's reception of the news from home was not of the most reassuring kind. Instead of answering he struck his fist furiously on the table, and cursed with all his heart some absent woman unnamed. "I have nothing to do with any degrading connection which you may have formed," Julius went on. " I have only to put the matter before you exactly as it stands, and to leave you to de- cide for yourself. The lady in question was for- merly Miss Newenden a descendant of one of the oldest families in England. She is now Mrs. Glenarm the young widow (and the childless widow) of the great iron-master of that name. Birth and fortune she unites both. Her income is a clear ten thousand a year. My father can, and will, make it fifteen thousand, if you are lucky enough to persuade her to marry you. My mother answers for her personal qualities. And my wife has met her at our house in Lon- don. She is now, as I hear, staying with some friends in Scotland ; and when I get back I will take care that an invitation is sent to her to pay her next visit at my house. It remains, of course, to be seen whether you are fortunate enough to produce a favorable impression on her. In the mean time you will be doing every thing that my father can ask of you, if you make the at- tempt. " Geoffrey impatiently dismissed that part of the question from all consideration. "If she don't cotton to a man who's going to run in the Great Kace at 1'ulham," he said, "there are plenty as good as she is who will! That's not the difficulty. Bother that .'" "I tell you again, I have nothing to do with your difficulties," Julius resumed. "Take the rest of the day to consider what I have said to you. If you decide to accept the proposal, I shall expect you to prove you are in earnest by meeting me at the station to-night. We will travel back to Scotland together. You will complete your interrupted visit at Lady Lun- die's (it is important, in my interests, that you shciuld treat a person of her position in the coun- ty with all due respect) ; and my wife will make the necessary arrangements with Mrs. Glenarm, in anticipation of your return to our house. There is nothing more to be said, and no further neces- sity of my staying here. If you join me at the station to-night, your sister-in-law and I will do all we can to help you. If I travel back to Scot- land alone, don't trouble yourself to follow I have done with you. " He shook hands with his brother, and went out. 'Left alone, Geoffrey lit his pipe and sent for the landlord. 74 MAN AND WIFE. " Get me a boat. I shall scull myself up the river for an hour or two. And put in some tow- els. I may take a swim." The landlord received the order with a cau- tion addressed to his illustrious guest. ' ' Don't show yourself in front of the house, Sir ! If you let the people see you, they're in such a state of excitement, the police won't an- swer for keeping them in order." " All right. I'll go out by the back way." He took a turn up and down the room. What were the difficulties to be overcome before he could profit by the golden prospect which his brother had offered to him ? The Sports ? No ! The committee had promised to defer the day, if he wished it and a month's training, in his physical condition, would be amply enough for him. Had he any personal objection to trying his luck with Mrs. Glenarm? Not he! Any woman would do provided his father was sat- isfied, and the money was all right. The ob- stacle which was really in his way was the ob- stacle of the woman whom he had ruined. Anne ! The one insuperable difficulty was the difficulty of dealing with Anne. " We'll see how it looks," he said to himself, " after a pull up the river ! " The landlord and the police inspector smug- gled him out by the back way unknown to the expectant populace in front. The two men stood on the river-bank admiring him, as he pulled away from them, with his long, powerful, easy, beauti- ful stroke. "That's what I call the pride and flower of England!" said the inspector. "Has the bet- ting on him begun ?" "Six to four," said the landlord, "and no takers." Julius went early to the station that night. His mother was very anxious. "Don't let Geoffrey find an excuse in your example," she said, " if he is late. " The first person whom Julius saw on getting out of the carriage was Geoffrey with his tick- et taken, and his portmanteau in charge of the guard. FOURTH SCENE. -WIND YGATES. CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. NEAR IT. THE Library at Windygates was the largest and the handsomest room in the house. The two grand divisions under which Literature is usually arranged in these days occupied the cus- tomary places in it. On the shelves which ran round the walls were the books which humanity in general respects and does not read. On the tables distributed over the floor were the books which humanity in general reads and does not respect. In the first class, the works of the wise ancients; and the Histories, Biographies, and Essays of writers of more modern times other- wise the Solid Literature, which is universally respected, and occasionally read. In the sec- ond class, the Novels of our own day otherwise the Light Literature, which is universally read, and occasionally respected. At Windygates, as elsewhere, we believed History to be high litera- ture, because it assumed to be true to Author- ities (of which we knew little) and Fiction to be low literature, because it attempted to be true to Nature (of which we knew less). At Windy- gates, as elsewhere, we were always more or less satisfied with ourselves, if we were publicly dis- covered consulting our History and more or less ashamed of ourselves, if we were publicly discov- ered devouring our Fiction. An architectural peculiarity in the original arrangement of the li- brary favored the development of this common and curious form of human stupidity. While a row of luxurious arm-chairs, in the main thor- oughfare of the room, invited the reader of solid literature to reveal himself in the act of cultiva- ting a virtue, a row of snug little curtained re- cesses, opening at intervals out of one of the walls, enabled the reader of light literature to conceal himself in the act of indulging a vice. For the rest, all the minor accessories of this spacious and tranquil place were as plentiful and as well chosen as the heart could desire. And solid literature and light literature, and great writers and small, were all bounteously illumin- ated alike by a fine broad flow of the light of heaven, pouring into the room through windows that opened to the floor. It was the fourth day from the day of Lady Lundie's garden-party, and it wanted an hour or more of the time at which the luncheon-bell usually rang. The guests at Windygates were most of them in the garden, enjoying the morning sunshine, after a prevalent mist and rain for some days past. Two gentlemen (exceptions to the gener- al rule) were alone in the library. They were the two last gentlemen in the world who could possibly be supposed to have any legitimate mo- tive for meeting each other in a place of literary seclusion. One was Arnold Brinkworth, and the other was Geoffrey Delamayn. They had arrived together at Windygates that morning. Geoffrey had traveled from London with his brother by the train of the previous night. Arnold, delayed in getting away at his, own time, from his own property, by ceremonies incidental to his position which were not to be abridged without giving offense to many worthy people had caught the passing train early that morning at the station nearest to him, and had returned to Lady Lundie's, as he had left Lady Lundie's, in company with his friend. After a short preliminary interview with Blanche, Arnold had rejoined Geoffrey in the safe retirement of the library, to say what was still left to be said between them on the subject of Anne. Having completed his report of events at Craig Fernie, he was now naturally waiting to hear what Geoffrey had to say on his side. To Arnold's astonishment, Geoffrey coolly turned away to leave the library without uttering a word. Arnold stopped him without ceremony. "Not quite so fast, Geoffrey," he said. "I have an interest in Miss Silvester's welfare as well as in yours. Now you are back again in Scotland, what are you going to do ?" If Geoffrey had told the truth, he must have stated his position much as follows : He had necessarily decided on deserting Anne when he had decided on joining his brother on the journey back. But he had advanced no fur- ther than this. How he was to abandon the MAN AND WIFE. 75 woman who had trusted him, without seeing his own dastardly conduct dragged into the light of day, was more than he yet knew. A vague idea of at once pacifying and deluding Anne, by a marriage which should be no marriage at all, had crossed his mind on the journey. He had asked himself whether a trap of that sort might not be easily set in a country notorious for the looseness of its marriage laws if a man only knew how ? And he had thought it likely that his well-in- formed brother, who lived in Scotland, might be tricked into innocently telling him what he want- ed to know. He had turned the conversation to the subject of Scotch marriages in general by- way of trying the experiment. Julius had not studied the question ; Julius knew nothing about it ; and there the experiment had come to an end. As the necessary result of the check thus encountered, he was now in Scotland with abso- lutely nothing to trust to as a means of effecting his release but the chapter of accidents, aided by his own resolution to marry Mrs. Glenarm. Such was his position, and such should have been the substance of his reply when he was confronted by Arnold's question, and plainly asked what he meant to do. "The right thing," he answered, unblushing- ly. "And no mistake about it." " I'm glad to hear yon see your way so plain- ly," returned Arnold. " In your place, I should have been all abroad. I was wondering, Only the other day, whether you would end, as I should have ended, in consulting Sir Patrick." Geoffrey eyed him sharply. " Consult Sir Patrick ?" he repeated. "Why would you have done that ?" v "/shouldn't have known how to set about marrying her," replied Arnold. "And being in Scotland I should have applied to Sir Patrick (without mentioning names, of course), because he would be sure to know all about it. " " Suppose I don't see my way quite so plainly as you think," said Geoffrey. " Would you ad- vise me " "To consult Sir Patrick? Certainly! He has passed his life in the practice of the Scotch law. Didn't you know that ?" "No." "Then take my advice and "consult him. You needn't mention names. You can say it's the case of a friend. " The idea was a new one and a good one. Geoffrey looked longingly toward the door. Eager to make Sir Patrick his innocent accomplice on the spot, he made a second attempt to leave tb,e library ; and made it for the second time in vain. Arnold had more unwelcome inquiries to make, and more advice to give unasked. " How have you arranged about meeting Miss Silvester?" he went on. "You can't go to the hotel in the character of her husband. I have prevented that. Where else are you to meet her? She is all alone ; she must be weary of waiting, poor thing. Can you manage matters so as to see her to-day ?" After staring hard at Arnold while he was speaking, Geoffrey burst out laughing when he had done. A disinterested anxiety for the wel- fare of another person was one of those refine- ments of feeling which a muscular education had not fitted him to understand. "I say, old boy," he burst out, "you seem to take an extraordinary interest in Miss Silvester ' You haven't fallen in love with her yourself have you '!" ' ' Come ! come ! " said Arnold, seriously. ' ' Nei- ther she nor I deserve to be sneered at, in that way. I have made a sacrifice to your interests, Geoffrey and so has she. " Geoffrey's face became serious again. His secret was in Arnold's hands ; and his estimate of Arnold's character was founded, unconscious- ly, on his experience of himself. ' ' All right, " he said, by way of timely apology and conces- sion. ' ' I was only joking. " "As much joking as you please, when you have married her," replied Arnold. "It seems serious enough, to my mind, till then." He stopped considered and laid his hand very earnestly on Geoffrey's arm. "Mind!" he re- sumed. ' ' You are not to breathe a word to any living soul, of my having been near the inn!" "I've promised to hold my tongue, once al- ready. What do you want more ?" "I am anxious, Geoffrey. I was at Craig Fernie, remember, when Blanche came there ! She has been telling me all that happened, poor darling, in the firm persuasion that I was miles off at the time. I swear I couldn't look her in the face ! What would she think of me, if she knew the truth ? Pray be careful ! pray be care- ful!" Geoffrey's patience began to fail him. "We had all this out," he said, "on the way here from the station. What's the good of going over the ground again ?" "You're quite right," said Arnold, good-hu- moredly. "The fact is I'm out of sorts, this morning. My mind misgives me I don't know why. " " Mind ?" repeated Geoffrey, in high contempt. "It's flesh that's what's the matter with you. You're nigh on a stone over your right weight. Mind be hanged ! A man in healthy training don't know that he has got a mind. Take a turn with the dumb-bells, and a run up hill with a great-coat on. Sweat it off, Arnold ! Sweat it off!" With that excellent advice, he turned to leave the room for the third time. Fate appeared to have determined to keep him imprisoned in Jhe library, that morning. On this occasion, it was a servant who got in the way a servant, with a letter and a message. " The man waits for an answer." Geoffrey looked at the letter. It was in his brother's handwriting. He had left Julius at the junction about three hours since. What could Julius possibly have to say to4iim now? He opened the letter. Julius had to announce that Fortune was favoring them already. He had heard news of Mrs. Glenarm, -as soon as he reached home. She had called on his wife, dur- ing his absence in London she had been invited to the house and she had promised to accept the invitation early in the week. "Early in the week," Julius wrote, "may mean to-morrow. Make your apologies to Lady Lundie ; and take care not to offend her. Say that family reasons, which you hope soon to have the pleasure of con- fiding to her, oblige yon to appeal once more to her indulgence and come to-morrow, and help us to receive Mrs. Gleuarm. " Even Geoffrey was startled, when he found 76 MAN AND WIFE. himself met by a sudden necessity for acting on his own decision. Anne knew where his brother lived. Suppose Anne (not knowing where else to find him) appeared at his brother's house, and claimed him in the presence of Mrs. Glenarm ? He gave orders to have the messenger kept wait- ing, and said he would send back a written re- ply. "From Craig Fernie?" asked Arnold, point- ing to the letter in his friend's hand. Geoffrey looked up with a frown. He had just opened his lips to answer that ill-timed ref- erence to Anne, in no very friendly terms, when a voice, calling to Arnold from the lawn outside, announced the appearance of a third person in the library, and warned the two gentlemen that their private interview was at an end. CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. NEARER STILL. BLANCHE stepped lightly into the room, through one of the open French windows. "What are you doing here?" she said to Ar- nold. ' ' Nothing. I was just going to look for you in the garden." "The garden is insufferable, this morning." Saying those words, she fanned herself with her handkerchief, and noticed Geoffrey's presence in the room with a look of very thinly-concealed annoyance at the discovery. "Wait till I am married!" she thought. "Mr. Delamayn will be cleverer than I take him to be, if he gets much of his friend's company then /" "A trifle too hot eh?" said Geoffrey, seeing her eyes fixed on him, and supposing that he was expected to say something. Having performed that duty, he walked away without waiting for a reply ; and seated himself, with his letter, at one of the writing-tables in the library. ' ' Sir Patrick is quite right about the young men of the present day," said Blanche, turning to Arnold. " Here is this one asks me a ques- tion, and doesn't wait for an answer. There are three more of them, out in the garden, who have been talking of nothing, for the last hour, but the pedigrees of horses and the muscles of men. When we are married, Arnold, don't present any of your male friends to me, unless they have turned fifty. What shall we do till luncheon- time? It's cool and quiet in here among the books. I want a mild excitement and I have got absolutely nothing to do. Suppose you read me some poetry ?" "While he is here?" asked Arnold, pointing to the personified antithesis of poetry otherwise to Geoffrey, seated with his back to them at the farther end of the library. "Pooh!" said Blanche. "There's only an animal in the room. We needn't mind him /" "I say!" exclaimed Arnold. "You're as bitter, this morning, as Sir Patrick himself. What will you say to Me when we are married, if you talk in that way of my friend ?" Blanche stole her hand into Arnold's hand, and gave it a little significant squeeze. "I shall always be nice to you," she whispered with a look that contained a host of pretty promises in itself. Arnold returned the look (Geoffrey was unquestionably in the way!). Their eyes met tenderly (why couldn't the great awkward brute write his letters somewhere else ?). With a faint little sigh, Blanche dropped resignedly into one of the comfortable arm-chairs and asked once more for " some poetry," in a voice that faltered softly, and with a color that was brighter than usual. ' ' Whose poetry am I to read ?" inquired Ar- nold. "Anybody's," said Blanche. "This is an- other of my Impulses. I am dying for some poetry. I don't know whose poetry. And I don't know why." Arnold went straight to the nearest book -shelf, and took down the first volume that his hand lighted on a solid quarto, bound in sober brown. "Well?" asked Blanche. "What have you found ?" Arnold opened the volume, and conscientious- ly read the title exactly as it stood : ' ' Paradise Lost. A Poem. By John Milton. " "I have never read Milton," said Blanche. "Have you?" "No." "Another instance of sympathy between us. No educated person ought to be ignorant of Mil- ton. Let us be educated persons. Please be- gin." "At the beginning?" " Of course ! Stop ! You musn't sit all that way off you must sit where I can look at you. My attention wanders if I don't look at people while they read." Arnold took a stool at Blanche's feet, and opened the " First Book" of Paradise Lost. His " system" as a reader of blank verse was simplic- ity itself. In poetry we are some of us (as many living poets can testify) all for sound ; and some of us (as few living poets can testify) all for sense. Arnold was for sound. He ended every line in- exorably with a full stop ; and he got on to his full stop as fast as the inevitable impediment of the words would let him. He began : "Of Man's first disobedience and the fruit. Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste. Brought death into the world and all our woe. With loss of Eden till one greater Man. Restore us and regain the blissful seat. Sing heavenly Muse" "Beautiful !" said Blanche. "What a shame it seems to have had Milton all this time in the library and never to have read him yet ! We will have Mornings with Milton, Arnold. He seems long ; but we are both young, and we may live to get to the end of him. Do you know, dear, now I look at you again, you don't seem to have come back to Windygates in good spirits." ' ' Don't I ? I can't account for it. " "I can. It's sympathy with Me. I am out of spirits too. " "You!" "Yes. After what I saw at Craig Fernie, I grow more and more uneasy about Anne. You will understand that, I am sure, after what I told you this morning?" Arnold looked back, in a violent hurry, from Blanche to Milton. That renewed reference to events at Craig Fernie was a renewed reproach to him for his conduct at the inn. He attempt- ed to silence her by pointing to Geoffrey. MAN AND WIFE. 77 "ARNOLD TOOK A STOOL AT BLANCHE'S FEET, AND OPENED THE 'FIRST BOOK' OF PARADISE LOST." "Don't forget," he whispered, "that there is somebody in the room besides ourselves." Blanche shrugged her shoulders contemptu- ously. ' ' What does he matter ?" she asked. ' ' What does he know or care about Anne ?" There was only one other chance of diverting her from the delicate subject. Arnold went on reading headlong, two lines in advance of the place at which he had left off, with more sound and less sense than ever : "In the beginning how the heavens and earth. Rose out of Chaos or if Sion hill " At "Sion hill, "Blanche interrupted him again. "Do wait a little, Arnold. I can't have Mil- ton crammed down my throat in that way. Be- sides I had something to say. Did I tell you that I consulted my uncle about Anne ? I don't think I did. I caught him alone in this very room. I told him all I have told you. I showed him Anne's letter. And I said, ' What do you think ?' He took a little time (and a great deal of snuff) before he would say what he thought. When he did speak, he told me I might quite possibly be right in suspecting Anne's husband to be a very abominable person. His keeping himself out of my way was (just as I thought) a suspicious circumstance, to begin with. And then there was the sudden extinguishing of the candles, when I first went in. I thought (and Mrs. Inchbare thought) it was done by the wind. Sir Patrick suspects it was done by the -horrid man himself, to prevent me from seeing him when I entered the room. I am firmly persuaded Sir Patrick is right. What do you think ?" "I think we had better go on," said Arnold, with his head down over his book. ' ' We seem to be forgetting Milton. " " How you do worry about Milton ! That last bit wasn't as interesting as the other. Is there any love in Paradise Lost?" "Perhaps we may find some if we go on." "Very well, then. Go on. And be quick about it." Arnold was so quick about it that he lost his place. Instead of going on he went back. He read once more : "In the beginning how the heavens and earth. Rose out of Chaos or if Sion hill " " You read that before," said Blanche. "I think not." " I'm sure you did. When yon said ' Sion hill' I recollect I thought of the Methodists directly. I couldn't have thought of the Methodists if you hadn't said 'Sion hill.' It stands to reason." "I'll try the next page," said Arnold. "I can't have read that before for I haven't turned over yet." Blanche threw herself back in her chair, and flung her handkerchief resignedly over her face. " The flies," she explained. " I'm not going to sleep. Try the next page. Oh, dear me, try the next page !" Arnold proceeded : "Say first for heaven hides nothing from thy view. Nor the deep tract of hell say first what cause. Moved our grand parents in that happy state" Blanche suddenly threw the handkerchief off again, and sat bolt upright in her chair. " Shut it up," she cried. "I can't bear any more. Leave off, Arnold leave off!" "What's the matter now?" 78 MAN AND WIFE. ' ' ' That happy state, ' " said Blanche. ' ' What does ' that happy state' mean ? Marriage, of course ! And marriage reminds me of Anne. I won't have any more. Paradise Lost is painful. Shut it up. Well, my next question to Sir Pat- rick was, of course, to know what he thought Anne's husband had done. The wretch had be- haved infamously to her in some way. In what way ? Was it any thing to do with her mar- riage ? My uncle considered again. He thought it quite possible. Private marriages were dan- gerous things (he said) especially in Scotland. He asked me if they had been married in Scot- land. I couldn't tell him I only said, ' Suppose they were ? What then ?' ' It's barely possible, in that case, ' says Sir Patrick, ' that Miss Silves- ter may be feeling uneasy about her marriage. She may even have reason or may think she has reason to doubt whether it is a marriage at all.'" Arnold started, and looked round at Geoffrey still sitting at the writing-table with his back turned on them. Utterly as Blanche and Sir Patrick were mistaken in their estimate of Anne's position at Craig Fernie, they had drifted, nev- ertheless, into discussing the very question in which Geoffrey and Miss Silvester were inter- ested the question of marriage in Scotland. It was impossible in Blanche's presence to tell Geoffrey that he might do well to listen to Sir Patrick's opinion, even at second-hand. Per- haps the words had found their way to him ? per- haps he was listening already, of his own ac- cord? (He was listening. Blanche's last words had found their way to him, while he was pondering over his half-finished letter to his brother. He waited to hear more without moving, and with the pen suspended in his hand.) Blanche proceeded, absently winding her fin- gers in and out of Arnold's hair as he sat at her feet: "It flashed on me instantly that Sir Patrick had discovered the truth. Of course I told him so. He laughed, and said I mustn't jump at conclusions. We were guessing quite in the dark ; and all the distressing things I had no- ticed at the inn might admit of some totally dif- ferent explanation. He would have gone on splitting straws in that provoking way the whole morning if I hadn't stopped him. I was strictly logical. I said / had seen Anne, and he hadn't and that made all the difference. I said, 'Ev- ery thing that puzzled and frightened me in the poor darling is accounted for now. The law must, and shall, reach that man, uncle and I'll pay for it !' I was so much in earnest that I be- lieve I cried a little. What do you think the dear old man did? He took me on his knee and gave me a kiss ; and he said, in the nicest way, that he would adopt my view, for the pres- ent, if I would promise not to cry any more ; and wait ! the cream of it is to come ! that he would put the view in quite a new light to me as soon as I was composed again. You may imag- ine how soon I dried my eyes, and what a picture of composure I presented in the course of half a minute. 'Let us take it for granted,' says Sir Patrick, ' that this man unknown has really tried to deceive Miss Silvester, as you and I suppose. I can tell you one thing: it's as likely as not that, in trying to overreach her, he may (with- out in the least suspecting it) have ended in over- reaching himself.' " (Geoffrey held his breath. The pen dropped unheeded from his fingers. It was coming! The light that his brother couldn't throw on the subject was dawning on it at last !) Blanche resumed : " I was so interested, and it made such a tre- mendous impression on me, that I haven't for- gotten a word. ' I mustn't make that poor little head of yours ache with Scotch law,' my uncle said ; ' I must put it plainly. There are mar- riages allowed in Scotland, Blanche, which are called Irregular Marriages and very abomin- able things they are. But they have this acci- dental merit in the present case. It is extreme- ly difficult for a man to pretend to marry in Scotland, and not really to do it. And it is, on the other hand, extremely easy for a man to drift into marrying in Scotland without feeling the slightest suspicion of having done it him- self.' That was exactly what he said, Arnold. When we are married, it sha'n't be in Scot- land!" (Geoffrey's ruddy color paled. If this was true, he might be caught himself in the trap which he had schemed to set for Anne ! Blanche went on with her narrative. He waited and listened. ) "My uncle asked me if I understood him so far. It was as plain as the sun at noonday , of course I understood him ! ' Very well, then now for the application!' says Sir Patrick. ' Once more supposing our guess to be the right one, Miss Silvester may be making herself very unhappy without any real cause. If this invis- ible man at Craig Fernie has actually meddled, I won't say with marrying her, but only with pretending to make her his wife, and if he has attempted it in Scotland, the chances are nine to one (though fie may not believe it, and though she may not believe it) that he has really mar- ried her, after all. ' My uncle's own words again ! Quite needless to say that, half an hour after they were out of his lips, I had sent them to Craig Fernie in a letter to Anne !" (Geoffrey's stolidly-staring eyes suddenly bright- ened. A light of the devil's own striking illu- minated him. An idea of the devil's own bring- ing entered his mind. He looked stealthily round at the man whose life he had saved at the man who had devotedly served him in return. A hideous cunning leered at his mouth and peep- ed out of his eyes. "Arnold Brinkworth pre- tended to be married to her at the inn. By the lord Harry ! that's a way out of it that never struck me before!" With that thought in his heart he turned back again to his half-finished letter to Julius. For once in his life he was strongly, fiercely agitated. For once in his life he was daunted and that by his Own Thought ! He had written to Julius under a strong sense of the necessity of gaining time to delude Anne into leaving Scotland before he ventured on pay- ing his addresses to Mrs. Glenarm. His letter contained a string of clumsy excuses, intended to delay his return to his brother's house. ' ' No," he said to himself, as he read it again. "What- ever else may do this won't!" He looked round once more at Arnold, and slowly tore the letter into fragments as he looked.) In the mean time Blanche had not done yet. "No," she said, when Arnold proposed an ad- MAN AND WIFE. 79 journment to the garden; "I have something more to say, and you are interested in it, this time." Arnold resigned himself to listen, and, worse still, to answer, if there was no help for it, in the character of an innocent stranger who had never been near the Craig Fernie inn. "Well," Blanche resumed, "and what do you think has come of my letter to Anne ?" "I'm sure I don't know." "Nothing has come of it!" "Indeed ?" "Absolutely nothing! I know she received the letter yesterday morning, I ought to have had the answer to-day at breakfast." "Perhaps she thought it didn't require an answer. " "She couldn't have thought that, for reasons that I know of. Besides, in my letter yesterday, I implored her to tell me (if it was one line only) whether, in guessing at what her trouble was, Sir Patrick and I had not guessed right. And here is the day getting on, and no answer ! What am I to conclude ?" " I really can't say !" "Is it possible, Arnold, that we have not guessed right, after all ? Is the wickedness of that man who blew the candles out wickedness beyond our discovering ? The doubt is so dread- ful that I have made up my mind not to bear it after to-day. I count on your sympathy and assistance when to-morrow comes!" Arnold's heart sank. Some new complication was evidently gathering round him. He waited in silence to hear the worst. Blanche bent for- ward, and whispered to him. " This is a secret," she said. " If that creat- ure at the writing-table has ears for any thing but rowing and racing, he mustn't hear this! Anne may come to me privately to-day while you are all at luncheon. If she doesn't come, and if I don't hear from her, then the mystery of her silence must be cleared up ; and You must do it!" "I!" "Don't make difficulties! If you can't find your way to Craig Fernie, I can help you. As for Anne, you know what a charming person she is, and you know she will receive you per- fectly, for my sake. I must and will have some news of her. I can't break the laws of the house- hold a second time. Sir Patrick sympathizes, but he won't stir. Lady Lundie is a bitter enemy. The servants are threatened with the loss of their places if any one of them goes near Anne. There is nobody but you. And to Anne you go to-morrow, if I don't see her or hear from her to-day!" This to the man who had passed as Anne's husband at the inn, and who had been forced into the most intimate knowledge of Anne's mis- erable secret ! Arnold rose to put Milton away, with the composure of sheer despair. Any other secret he might, in the last resort, have confided to the discretion of a third person. Bur a wo- man's secret with a woman's reputation de- pending on his keeping it was not to be con- fided to any body, under any stress of circum- stances whatever. " If Geoffrey doesn't get me out of this," he thought, " I shall have no choice but to leave Windygates to-morrow." As he replaced the book on the shelf, Lady Lundie entered the library from the garden. " What are you doing here ?" she said to her step-daughter. "Improving my mind," replied Blanche. "Mr. Brinkworth and I have been reading Milton." "Can you condescend so far, after reading Milton all the morning,, as to help me with the invitations for the dinner next week ?" "If you can condescend, Lady Lundie, after feeding the poultry all the morning, I must be humility itself after only reading Milton !" With that little interchange of the acid ameni- ties of feminine intercourse, step-mother and step - daughter withdrew to a writing-table, to put the virtue of hospitality in practice together. Arnold joined his friend at the other end of the library. Geoffrey was sitting with his elbows on the desk, and his clenched fists dug into his cheeks. Great drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and the fragments of a torn letter lay scattered all round him. He exhibited symptoms of nerv- ous sensibility for the first time in his life he started when Arnold spoke to him. " What's the matter, Geoffrey ?" ' ' A letter to answer. And I don't know how. " "From Miss Silvester?" asked Arnold, drop- ping his voice so as to prevent the ladies at the other end of the room from hearing him. ' ' No, " answered Geoffrey, in a lower voice still. " Have you heard what Blanche has been say- ing to me about Miss Silvester ?" "Some of it." " Did you hear Blanche say that she meant to send me to Craig Fernie to-morrow, if she failed to get news from Miss Silvester to-day ?" "No." "Then yon know it now. That is what Blanche has just said to me." "Well?" " Well there's a limit to what a man can ex- pect even from his best friend. I hope you won't ask me to be Blanche's messenger to-morrow. I can't, and won't, go back to the inn as things are now." " You have had enough of it eh ?" "I have had enough of distressing Miss Sil- vester, and more than enough of deceiving Blanche. " "What do you mean by 'distressing Miss Silvester ?' " " She doesn't take the same easy view that you and I do, Geoffrey, of my passing her off on the people of the inn as my wife." Geoffrey absently took up a paper-knife. Still with his head down, he began shaving off the topmost layer of paper from the blotting-pad under his hand. Still with his head down, he abruptly broke the silence in a whisper. " I say !" ^ "Yes?" " How did you manage to pass her off as your wife ?" " I told you how, as we were driving from the station here. " " I was thinking of something else. Tell me again." Arnold told him once more what had hap- pened at the inn. Geoffrey listened, without making any remark. He balanced the paper- knife vacantly on one of his fingers. He was strangely sluggish and strangely silent. 80 MAN AND WIFE. "All that is done and ended," said Arnold, shaking him by the shoulder. "It rests with you now to get me out of the difficulty I'm placed in with Blanche. Things must be settled with Miss Silvester to-day." "Things shall be settled. " Shall be ? What are you waiting for?" "I'm waiting to do what you told me." " What I told you ?" "Didn't you tell irie to consult Sir Patrick before I married her?" " To be sure ! so I did." "Well I am waiting for a chance with Sir Patrick." " And then ?" "And then " He looked at Arnold for the first time. "Then," he said, "you may con- sider it settled. " "The marriage?" He suddenly looked down again at the blot- ting-pad. "Yes the marriage." Arnold offered his hand in congratulation. Geoffrey never noticed it. His eyes were off the blotting-pad again. He was looking out of the window near him. "Don't I hear voices outside?" he asked. "I believe our friends are in the garden," said Arnold. " Sir Patrick may be among them. I'll go and see." The instant his back was turned Geoffrey snatched up a sheet of note-paper. " Before I forget it!" he said to himself. He wrote the word " Memorandum" at the top of the page, and added these lines beneath it : " He asked for her by the name of his wife at the door. He said, at dinner, before the land- lad}' and the waiter, ' I take these rooms for my wife.' He made her say he was her husband at the same time. After that he stopped all night. What do the lawyers call this in Scotland? (Query : a marriage ?)" After folding up the paper he hesitated for a moment. "No!" he thought. " It won'tdo to trust to what Miss Lundie said about it. I can't be certain till I have consulted Sir Patrick himself. " He put the paper away in his pocket, and wiped the heavy perspiration from his forehead. He was pale for him, strikingly pale when Ar- nold came back. " Any thing wrong, Geoffrey ? you're as white as ashes." "It's the heat. Where's Sir Patrick ?" " You may see for yourself." Arnold pointed to the window. Sir Patrick was crossing the lawn, on his way to the library, with a newspaper in his hand ; and the guests at Windygates were accompanying him. Sir Pat- rick was smiling, and saying nothing. The guests were talking excitedly at the tops of their voices. There had apparently been a collision of some kind between the old school and the new. Arnold directed Geoffrey's attention to the state of affairs on the lawn. " How are you to consult Sir Patrick with all those people about him ?" "I'll consult Sir Patrick, if I take him by the scruff of the neck and carry him into the next county !" He rose to his feet as he spoke those words, and emphasized them under his breath with an oath. Sir Patrick entered the library, with the guests at his heels. CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. CLOSE ON IT. THE object of the invasion of the library by the party in the garden appeared to be twofold. Sir Patrick had entered the room to restore the newspaper to the place from which he had taken it. The guests, to the number of five, had followed him, to appeal in a body to Geoffrey Delamayn. Between these two apparently dis- similar motives there was a connection, not visi- ble on the surface, which was now to assert itself. Of the five guests, two were middle-aged gen- tlemen belonging to that large, but indistinct, di- vision of the human family whom the hand of Nature has painted in unobtrusive neutral tint. They had absorbed the ideas of their time with such receptive capacity as they possessed ; and they occupied much the same place in society which the chorus in an opera occupies on the stage. They echoed the prevalent sentiment of the moment ; and they gave the solo-talker time to fetch his breath. The three remaining guests were on the right side of thirty. All profoundly versed in horse- racing, in athletic sports, in pipes, beer, billiards, and betting. All profoundly ignorant of every thing else under the sun. All gentlemen by birth, and all marked as such by the stamp of " a Uni- versity education." They may be personally described as faint reflections of Geoffrey ; and they may be numerically distinguished (in the absence of all other distinction J as One, Two, and Three. Sir Patrick laid the newspaper on the table, and placed himself in one of the comfortable arm-chairs. He was instantly assailed, in his domestic capacity, by his irrepressible sister-in- law. Lady Lundie dispatched Blanche to him with the list of her guests at the dinner. " For your uncle's approval, my dear, as head of the family." While Sir Patrick was looking over the list, and while Arnold was making his way to Blanche, at the back of her uncle's chair, One, Two, and Three with the Chorus in attendance on them descended in a body on Geoffrey, at the other end of the room, and appealed in rapid succes- sion to his superior authority, as follows : " I say, Delamayn. We want You. Here is Sir Patrick running a regular Muck at us. Calls us aboriginal Britons. Tells us we ain't edu- cated. Doubts if we could read, write, and ci- pher, if he tried us. Swears he's sick of fellows showing their arms and legs, and seeing which fellow's hardest, and who's got three belts of muscle across his wind, and who hasn't, and the like of that. Says a most infernal thing of a chap. Says because a chap likes a healthy out- of-door life, and trains for rowing and running, and the rest of it, and don't see his way to stew- ing over his books therefore he's safe to commit all the crimes in the calendar, murder included. Saw your name down in the newspaper for the Foot-Race ; and said, when we asked him if he'd taken the odds, he'd lay any odds we liked against you in the other Race at the University mean- ing, old boy, your Degree. Nasty, that about the Degree in the opinion of Number One. Bad taste in Sir Patrick to rake up what we nev- er mention among ourselves in the opinion of Number Two. Un-English to sneer at a man in MAN AND WIFE. 81 that way behind his back in the opinion of Number Three. Bring him to book, Delamayn. Your name's in the papers ; he can't ride rough- shod over You." The two choral gentlemen agreed (in the minor key) with the general opinion. " Sir Patrick's views are certainly extreme, Smith ?" " I think, Jones, it's desirable to hear Mr. Delamayn on the other side. " Geoffrey looked from one to the other of his admirers with an expression on his face which was quite new to them, and with something in his manner which puzzled them all. " You can't argue with Sir Patrick your- selves," he said, "and you want me to do it ?" One, Two, Three, and the Chorus all answered, "Yes." " I won't do it." One, Two, Three, and the Chorus all asked, "Why?" "Because," answered Geoffrey, "you're all wrong. And Sir Patrick's right." Not astonishment only, but downright stupe- faction, struck the deputation from the garden speechless. Without saying a word more to any of the per- sons standing near him, Geoffrey walked straight up to Sir Patrick's arm-chair, and personally ad- dressed him. The satellites followed, and list- ened (as well they might) in wonder. "You will lay any odds, Sir," said Geoffrey, "against me taking my Degree? You're quite right. I sha'n't take my Degree. You doubt whether I, or any of those fellows behind me, could read, write, and cipher correctly if you tried us. You're right again we couldn't. You say you don't know why men like Me, and men like Them, may not begin with rowing and running, and the like of that, and end in committing all the crimes in the calendar : murder included. Well ! you may be right again there. Who's to know what may happen to him ? or what he may not end in doing before he dies ? It may be An- other, or it may be Me. How do I know ? and how do you ?" He suddenly turned on the deputa- tion, standing thunder-struck behind him. "If you want to know what I think, there it is for you, in plain words." There was something, not only in the shame- lessness of the declaration itself, but in the fierce pleasure that the speaker seemed to feel in mak- ing it, which struck the circle of listeners, Sir Patrick included, with a momentary chill. In the midst of the silence a sixth guest ap- peared on the lawn, and stepped into the libra- ry a silent, resolute, unassuming, elderly man, who had arrived the day before on a visit to Windygates, and who was well known, in and out of London, as one of the first consulting sur- geons of his time. "A discussion going on?" he asked. "Am I in the way ?" "There's no discussion we are all agreed," cried Geoffrey, answering boisterously for the rest. ' ' The more the merrier, Sir ! " After a glance at Geoffrey, the surgeon sud- denly checked himself on the point of advancing to the inner part of the room, and remained standing at the window. "I beg your pardon," said Sir Patrick, ad- dressing himself to Geoffrey, with a grave dignity which was quite new in Arnold's experience of him. "We are not all agreed. I decline, Mr. Delamayn, to allow you to connect me with such an expression of feeling on your part as we have just heard. The language you have used leaves me no alternative but to meet your statement of what you suppose me to have said by my state- ment of what I really did say. It is not my fault if the discussion in the garden is revived before another audience in this room it is yours." He looked as he spoke to Arnold and Blanche, and from them to the surgeon standing at the window. The surgeon had found an occupation for him- self which completely isolated him among the rest of the guests. Keeping his own face in shad- ow, he was studying Geoffrey's face, in the full flood of light that fell on it, with a steady atten- tion which must have been generally remarked, if all eyes had not been turned toward Sir Pat- rick at the time. It was not an easy face to investigate at that moment. While Sir Patrick had been speaking Geoffrey had seated himself near the window, doggedly impenetrable to the reproof of which he was the object. In his impatience to consult the one au- thority competent to decide the question of Ar- nold's position toward Anne, he had sided with Sir Patrick, as a means of ridding himself of the unwelcome presence of his friends and he had defeated his own purpose, thanks to his own brutish incapability of bridling himself in the pursuit of it. Whether he was now discouraged under these circumstances, or whether he was simply resigned to bide his time till his time came, it was impossible, judging by outward ap- pearances, to say. With a heavy dropping at the corners of his mouth, with a stolid indiffer- ence staring dull in his eyes, there he sat, a man forearmed, in his own obstinate neutrality, against all temptation to engage in the conflict of opinions that was to come. Sir Patrick took up the newspaper which he had brought in from the garden, and looked once more to see if the surgeon was attending to Mm. No ! The surgeon's attention was absorbed in his own subject. There he was in the same position, with his mind still hard at work on something in Geoffrey which at once interested and puzzled it ! "That num." he was thinking to himself, "has come here this morning after traveling from London all night. Does any or- dinary fatigue explain what I see in his face ? No!" " Our little discussion in the garden," resumed Sir Patrick, answering Blanche's inquiring look as she bent over him, ' ' began, my dear, in a par- agraph here announcing Mr. Delamayn's forth- coming appearance in a foot-race in the neigh- borhood of London. I hold very unpopular opin- ions as to the athletic displays which are so much in vogue in England just now. And it is possi- ble that I may have expressed those opinions a little too strongly, in the heat of discussion, with gentlemen who are opposed to me I don't doubt, conscientiously opposed on this question." A low groan of protest rose from One, Two, and Three, in return for the little compliment which Sir Patrick had paid to them. "How about rowing and running ending in the Old Bailey and the gallows ? You said that, Sir you know you did 1" MAN AND WIFE The two choral gentlemen looked at each oth- er, and agreed with the prevalent sentiment. "It came to that, I think, Smith." "Yes, Jones, it certainly came to that. " The only two men who still cared nothing about it were Geoffrey and the surgeon. There sat the first, stolidly neutral indifferent alike to the attack and the defense. There stood the second, pursuing his investigation with the growing interest in it of a man who was begin- ning to see his way to the end. " Hear my defense, gentlemen," continued Sir Patrick, as courteously as ever. "You belong, remember, to a nation which especially claims to practice the rules of fair play. I must beg to remind you of what I said in the garden. I started with a concession. I admitted as every person of the smallest sense must admit that a man will, in the great majority of cases, be all the fitter for mental exercise if he wisely com- bines physical exercise along with it. The whole question between the two is a question of pro- portion and degree; and my complaint of the present time is that the present time doesn't see it. Popular opinion in England seems to me to be, not only getting to consider the cultivation of the muscles as of equal importance with the cultivation of the mind, but to be actually ex- tending in practice, if not in theory to the absurd and dangerous length of putting bodily training in the first place of importance, anc mental training in the second. To take a case in point : I can discover no enthusiasm in the nation any thing like so genuine and any thing like so general as the enthusiasm excited by your University boat-race. Again : I see this Athletic Education of yours made a matter of public cele bration in schools and colleges ; and I ask anj unprejudiced witness to tell me which excites most popular enthusiasm, and which gets the most prominent place in the public journals lie exhibition, indoors (on Prize -day), of what :he boys can do with their minds ? or the exhi- jition, out of doors (on Spprts-day), of what the )oys can do with their bodies ? You know per- iectly well which performance excites the loudest cheers, which occupies the prominent place in the newspapers, and which, as a necessary con- sequence, confers the highest social honors on the hero of the day. " Another murmur from One, Two, and Three. " We have nothing to say to that, Sir ; have it all your own way, so far. " Another ratification of agreement with the prevalent opinion between Smith and Jones. ' ' Very good, " pursued Sir Patrick. " We are all of one mind as to which way the public feel- ing sets. If it is a feeling to be respected and encouraged, show me the national advantage which has resulted from it. Where is the influ- ence of this modern outburst of manly enthusi- asm on the serious concerns of life ? and how has it improved the character of the people at large? Are we any of us individually readier than we ever were to sacrifice our own little pri- vate interests to the public good ? Are we deal- ing with the serious social questions of our time in a conspicuously determined, downright, and definite way ? Are we becoming a visibly and indisputably purer people in our code of com- mercial morals ? Is there a healthier and higher tone in those public amusements which faithfully reflect in all countries the public taste ? Pro- duce me affirmative answers to these questions, which rest on solid proof, and I'll accept the present mania for athletic suorts as something MAN AND WIFE. 83 better than an outbreak of our insular boastful- ness and "our insular barbarity in a new form." " Question ! question !" in a general cry, from One, Two, and Three. "Question ! question! "in meek reverberation, from Smith and Jones. "That is the question," rejoined Sir Patrick. " You admit the existence of the public feeling ; and I ask, what good does it do ?" "What harm does it do?" from One, Two, and Three. " Hear ! hear !" from Smith and Jones. "That's a fair challenge," replied Sir Patrick. " I am bound to meet you on that new ground. I won't point, gentlemen, by way of answer, to the coarseness which I can see growing on our national manners, or to the deterioration which appears to me to be spreading more and more widely in our national tastes. You may tell me with perfect truth that I am too old a man to be a fair judge of manners and tastes which have got beyond my standards. We will try the is- sue, as it now stands between us, on its abstract merits only. I assert that a state of public feel- ing which does practically place physical train- ing, in its estimation, above moral and mental training, is a positively bad and dangerous state of feeling in this, that it encourages the inbred reluctance in humanity to submit to the demands which moral and mental cultivation must inevita- bly make on it. Which am I, as a boy, natu- rally most ready to do to try how high I can jump ? or to try how much I can learn ? Which training comes easiest to me as a young man ? The training which teaches me to handle an oar ? or the training which teaches me to return good for evil, and to love my neighbor as myself? Of those two experiments, of those two trainings, which ought society in England to meet with the warmest encouragement ? And which does so- ciety in England practically encourage, as a mat- ter of fact?" "What did you say yourself just now?" from One, Two, and Three. "Remarkably well put!" from Smith and Jones. "I said," admitted Sir Patrick, "that a man will go all the better to his books for his healthy physical exercise. And I say that again pro- vided the physical exercise be restrained within fit limits. But when public feeling enters into the question, and directly exalts the bodily ex- ercises above the books then I say public feel- ing is in a dangerous extreme. The bodily ex- ercises, in that case, will be uppermost in the youth's thoughts, will have the strongest hold on his interest, will take the lion's share of his time, and will, by those means barring the few purely exceptional instances slowly and surely end in leaving him, to all good moral and mental purpose, certainly an uncultivated, and, possibly, a dangerous man." A cry from the camp of the adversaries : "He's got to it at last ! A man who leads an out-of-door life, and uses the strength that God has given to him, is a dangerous man. Did any body ever hear the like of that ?" Cry reverberated, with variations, by the two human echoes : "No! Nobody ever heard the like of that !" "Clear your minds of cant, gentlemen," an- swered Sir Patrick. "The agricultural laborer leads an out-of-door life, and uses the strength that God has given to him. The sailor in the merchant service does the same. Both are an uncultivated, a shamefully uncultivated, class and see the result ! Look at the Map of Crime, and you will find the most hideous offenses in the calendar, committed not in the towns, where the average man doesn't lead an out-of- door life, doesn't as a rule, use his strength, but is, as a rule, comparatively cultivated not in the towns, but in the agricultural districts. As for the English sailor except when the Royal Navy catches and cultivates him ask Mr. Brinkworth, who has served in the merchant navy, what sort of specimen of the moral influ- ence of out-of-door life and muscular cultivation he is." "In nine cases out of ten," said Arnold, "be is as idle and vicious a ruffian as walks the earth. " Another cry from the Opposition: ' : Are we agricultural laborers? Are we sailors in the merchant service ?" A smart reverberation from the human echoes : "Smith! am I a laborer?" "Jones! am I a sailor?" "Pray let us not be personal, gentlemen," said Sir Patrick. " I am speaking generally ; and I can only meet extreme objections by pushing my argument to extreme limits. The laborer and the sailor have served my purpose. If the la- borer and the sailor offend you, by all means let them walk off the stage ! I hold to the position which I advanced just now. A man may be well born, well off, well dressed, well fed but if he is an uncultivated man, he is (in spite of all those advantages) a man with special capaci- ties for evil in him, on that very account. Don't mistake me ! I am far from saying that the present rage for exclusively muscular accom- plishments must lead inevitably downward to the lowest deep of depravity. Fortunately for society, all special depravity is more or less cer- tainly the result, in the first instance, of special temptation. The ordinary mass of us, thank God, pass through life without being exposed to other than ordinary temptations. Thousands of the young gentlemen, devoted to the favorite pursuits of the present time, will get through existence with no worse consequences to them- selves than a coarse tone of mind and manners, and a lamentable incapability of feeling any of those higher and gentler influences which sweet- en and purify the lives of more cultivated men. But take the other case (which may occur to any body), the case of a special temptation try- ing a modern young man of your prosperous class and of mine. And let me beg Mr. Dela- mayn to honor with his attention what I have now to say, because it refers to theiopinion which I did really express as distinguished from the opinion which he affects to agree with, and which I never advanced. " Geoffrey's indifference showed no signs of giv- ing way. " Go on !." he said and still sat look- ing straight before flim, with heavy eyes, which noticed nothing, and expressed nothing. "Take the example which we have now in view," pursued Sir Patrick "the example of an average young gentleman of our time, blest with every advantage that physical cultivation can bestow on him. Let this man be tried by MAN AND WIFE. a temptation which insidiously calls into action, in his own interests, the savage instincts latent in humanity the instincts of self-seeking and cruelty which are at the bottom of all crime. Let this man be placed toward some other per- son, guiltless of injuring him, in a position which demands one of two sacrifices : the sac- rifice of the other person, or the sacrifice of his own interests and his own desires. His neigh- bor's happiness, or his neighbor's life, stands, let us say, between him and the attainment of some- thing that he wants. He can wreck the happi- ness, or strike down the life, without, to his knowl- edge, any fear of suffering for it himself. What is to prevent him, being the man he is, from go- ing straight to his end, on those conditions ? Will the skill in rowing, the swiftness in running, the admirable capacity and endurance in other phys- ical exercises, which he has attained, by a stren- uous cultivation in this kind that has excluded any similarly strenuous cultivation in other kinds will these physical attainments help him to win a purely moral victory over his own selfishness and his own cruelty ? They won't even help him to see that it is selfishness, and that it is cruelty. The essential principle of his rowing and racing (a harmless principle enough, if you can be sure of applying it to rowing and racing only) has taught him to take every advantage of another man that his superior strength and superior cun- ning can suggest. There has been nothing in his training to soften the barbarous hardness in his heart, and to enlighten the barbarous darkness in his mind. Temptation finds this man defense- less, when temptation passes his way. I don't care who he is, or how high he stands accident- ally in the social scale he is, to all moral intents and purposes, an Animal, and nothing more. If my happiness stands in his way and if he can do it with impunity to himself he will trample down my happiness. If my life happens to be the next obstacle he encounters and if he can do it with impunity to himself he will trample down my life. Not, Mr. Delamayn, in the character of a victim to irresistible fatality, or to blind chance ; but in the character of a man who has sown the seed, and reaps the harvest. That, Sir, is the case which I put as an extreme case only, when this discussion began. As an extreme case only but as a perfectly possible case, at the same time I restate it now. " Before the advocates of the other side of the question could open their lips to reply, Geoffrey suddenly flung off his indifference, and started to his feet. "Stop!" he cried, threatening the others, in his fierce impatience to answer for himself, with his clenched fist. There was a general silence. Geoffrey turned and looked at Sir Patrick, as if Sir Patrick had personally insulted him. "Who is this anonymous man, who finds his way to his own ends, and pities nobody and sticks at nothing?" he asked. "Give him a name!" " I am quoting an example," said Sir Patrick. ' ' I am not attacking a man. " "What right have you," cried Geoffrey ut- terly forgetful, in the strange exasperation that had seized on him, of the interest that he had in controlling himself before Sir Patrick "what right have you to pick out an example of a row- ing man who is an infernal scoundrel when it's quite as likely that a rowing man may be a good fellow : ay ! and a better fellow, if you come to that, than ever stood in your shoes !" "If the one case is quite as likely to occur as the other (which I readily admit), " answered Sir Patrick, " I have surely a right to choose which case I please for illustration. (Wait, Mr. Dela- mayn ! These are the last words I have to say, and I mean to say them.) I have taken the ex- ample not of a specially depraved man, as you erroneously suppose but of an average man, with his average share of the mean, cruel, and dangerous qualities, which are part and parcel of unreformed human nature as your religion tells you, and as you may see for yourself, if you choose to look at your untaught fellow-creatures any where. I suppose that man to be tried by a temptation to wickedness, out of the common ; and I show, to the best of my ability, how com- pletely the moral and mental neglect of himself, which the present material tone of public feeling in England has tacitly encouraged, leaves him at the mercy of all the worst instincts in his nature; and how surely, under those conditions, he must go down (gentleman as he is) step by step as the lowest vagabond in the streets goes down under his special temptation from the begin- ning in ignorance to the end in crime. If you deny my right to take such an example as that, in illustration of the views I advocate, you must either deny that a special temptation to wicked- ness can assail a man in the position of a gentle- man ; or you must assert that gentlemen who are naturally superior to all temptation are the only gentlemen who devote themselves to athletic pur- suits. There is my defense. In stating my case, I have spoken out of my own sincere respect for the interests of virtue and of learning : out of my own sincere admiration for those young men among us who are resisting the contagion of bar- barism about them. In their future is the future hope of England. I have done. " Angrily ready with a violent personal reply, Geoffrey found himself checked, in his turn, by another person with something to say, and with a resolution to say it at that particular moment. For some little time past the surgeon had dis- continued his steady investigation of Geoffrey's face, and had given all his attention to the dis- cussion, with the air of a man whose self-imposed task had come to an end. As the last sentence fell from the last speaker's lips, he interposed so quickly and so skillfully between Geoffrey and Sir Patrick, that Geoffrey himself was taken by surprise. "There is something still wanting to make Sir Patrick's statement of the case complete," he said. "I think I can supply it, from the re- sult of my own professional experience. Before I say what I have to say, Mr. Delamayn will per- haps excuse me, if I venture on giving him a cau- tion to control himself." "Are you going to make a dead set at me, too ?" inquired Geoffrey. " I am recommending you to keep your tem- per nothing more. There are plenty of men who can fly into a passion without doing them- selves any particular harm. You are not one of them." " What do you mean ?" MAN AND WIFE. 85 "I don't think the state of your health, Mr. Delamayn, is quite so satisfactory as you may be disposed to consider it yourself. " Geoffrey turned to his admirers and adherents with a roar of derisive laughter. The admirers and adherents all echoed him together. Arnold and B lanche smiled at each other. Even Sir Pat- rick looked as if he could hardly credit the evi- dence of his own ears. There stood the modern Hercules, self-vindicated as a Hercules, before all eyes that looked at him. And there, opposite, stood a man whom he could have killed with one blow of his fist, telling him, in serious earnest, that he was not in perfect health ! "You are a rare fellow!" said Geoffrey, half in jest and half in anger. " What's the matter with me?" ' ' I have undertaken to give yon, what I be- lieve to be, a necessary caution," answered the surgeon. " I have not undertaken to tell you what I think is the matter with you. That may be a question for consideration some little time hence. In the mean while, I should like to put my impression about you to the test. Have you any objection to answer a question on a matter of no particular importance relating to yourself ?" " Let's hear the question first." " I have noticed something in your behavior while Sir Patrick was speaking. You are as much interested in opposing his views as any of those gentlemen about you. I don't under- stand your sitting in silence, and leaving it en- tirely to the others to put the case on your side until Sir Patrick said something which happen- ed to irritate you. Had you, all the time before that, no answer ready in your own mind ?'' " I had as good answers in my mind as any that have been made here to-day." "And yet you didn't give them?" " No ; I didn't give them." "Perhaps you felt though you knew your objections to be good ones that it was hardly worth while to take the trouble of putting them into words ? In short, you let your friends an- swer for you, rather than make the effort of an- swering for yourself?" Geoffrey looked at his medical adviser with a sudden curiosity and a sudden distrust. "I say," he asked, "how do you come to know what's going on in my mind without my telling you of it ?" " It is my business to find out what is going on in people's bodies and to do that it is some- times necessary for me to find out (if I can) what is going on in their minds. If I have rightly in- terpreted what was going on in your mind, there is no need for me to press my question. You have answered it already. " He turned to Sir Patrick next. "There is a side to this subject," he said, "which you have not touched on yet. There is a Physical objection to the present rage for muscular exercises of all sorts, which is quite as strong, in its way, as the Moral objection. You have stated the consequences as they may affect the mind. I can state the consequences as they do affect the body." " From your own experience?" " From my own experience. I can tell you, as a medical man, that a proportion, and not by any means a small one, of the young men who are now putting themselves to violent athletic tests of their strength and endurance, are tak- ing that course to the serious and permanent in- jury of their own health. The public who attend rowing -matches, foot-races, and other exhibitions of that sort, see nothing but the successful results of muscular training. Fathers and mothers at home see the failures. There are households in England miserable households, to be counted, Sir Patrick, by more than ones and twos in which there are young men who have to thank the strain laid on their constitutions by the pop- ular physical displays of the present time, for be- ing broken men, and invalided men, for the rest of their lives." "Do you hear that?" said Sir Patrick, look- ing at Geoffrey. Geoffrey carelessly nodded his head. His ir- ritation had had time to subside : the stolid in- difference had got possession of him again. He had resumed his chair he sat, with outstretched legs, staring stupidly at the pattern on the car- pet. "What does it matter to Me?" was the sentiment expressed all over him, from head to foot. The surgeon went on. "I can see no remedy for this sad state of things," he said, "as long as the public feeling remains what the public feeling is now. A fine healthy-looking young man, with a superb mus- cular development, longs (naturally enough) to distinguish himself like others. The training- authorities at his college, or elsewhere, take him in hand (naturally enough again) on the strength of outward appearances. And wheth- er they have been right or wrong in choosing him is more than they can say, until the ex- periment has been tried, and the mischief has been, in many cases, irretrievably done. How many of them are aware of the important physi- ological truth, that the muscular power of a man is no fair guarantee of his vital power ? How many of them know that we all have (as a great French writer puts it) two lives in us the sur- face life of the muscles, and the inner life of the heart, lungs, and brain ? Even if they did know this even with medical men to help them it would be in the last degree doubtful, in most cases, whether any previous examination would result in any reliable discovery of the vital fitness of the man to undergo the stress of muscular ex- ertion laid on him. Apply to any of my breth- ren ; and they will tell you, as the result of their own professional observation, that I am, in no sense, overstating this serious evil, or exagger- ating the deplorable and dangerous consequences to which it leads. I have a patient at this mo- ment, who is a young man of twenty, and who possesses one of the finest muscular developments I ever saw in my life. If that young man had consulted me, before he followed the example of the other young men about him, I can not hon- estly say that I could have foreseen the results. As things are, after going through a certain amount of muscular training, after performing a certain number of muscular feats, he suddenly fainted one day, to the astonishment of his fam- ily and friends. I was called in, and I have watched the case since. He will probably live, but he will never recover. I am obliged to take ! precautions with this youth of twenty which I ; should take with an old man of eighty. He is , big enough and muscular enough to sit to a 86 MAN AND WIFE. painter as a model for Samson and only last week I saw him swoon away like a young girl, in his mother's arms." "Name !" cried Geoffrey's admirers, still fight- ing the battle on their side, in the absence of any encouragement from Geoffrey himself. " I am not in the habit of mentioning my pa- tients' names," replied the surgeon. "But if you insist on my producing an example of a man broken by athletic exercises, I can do it. " "Doit! Who is he?" " You all know him perfectly well." " Is he in the doctor's hands ?" "Not yet." "Where is he?" "There?" In a pause of breathless silence with the eyes of every person in the room eagerly fastened on him the surgeon lifted his hand and pointed to Geoffrey Delamayn. CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. TOUCHING IT. As soon as the general stupefaction was al- layed, the general incredulity asserted itself as a matter of course. The man who first declared that " seeing" was " believing" laid his finger (whether he knew it himself or not) on one of the fundamental follies of humanity. The easiest of all evidence to re- ceive is the evidence that requires no other judg- ment to decide on it than the judgment of the eye and it will be, on that account, the evidence which humanity is most ready to credit, as long as humanity lasts. The eyes of every body looked at Geoffrey ; and the judgment of every body decided, on the evidence there visible, that the surgeon must be wrong. Lady Lundie her- self (disturbed over her dinner invitations) led the general protest. "Mr. Delamayn in broken health !" she exclaimed, appealing to the better sense of her eminent medical guest. "Really, now, you can't expect us to believe that !" Stung into action for the second time by the startling assertion of which he had been made the subject, Geoffrey rose, and looked the sur- geon, steadily and insolently, straight in the face. " Do you mean what you say ?" he asked. "Yes." " You point me outJbefore all these people " " One moment, Mr. Delamayn. I admit that I may have been wrong in directing the general attention to you. You have a right to complain of my having answered too publicly the public challenge offered to me by your friends. I apol- ogize for having done that. But I don't retract a single word of what I have said on the subject of your health,," " You stick to it that I'm a broken-down man ?" "I do." ' ' I wish you were twenty years younger, Sir ?" "Why?" "I'd ask you to step out on the lawn there; and I'd show you whether I'm a broken-down man or not. " Lady Lundie looked at her brother-in-law. Sir Patrick instantly interfered. " Mr. Delamayn," he said, "you were invited here in the character of a gentleman, and you are a guest in a lady's house." " No ! no !" said the surgeon, good-humored ly. "Mr. Delamayn is using a strong argument, Sir Patrick and that is all. If I were twenty years younger," he went on, addressing himself to Geoffrey, "and if I did step out on the lawn with you, the result wouldn't affect the question between us in the least. I don't say that the violent bodily exercises in which you are famous have damaged your muscular power. I assert that they have damaged your vital power. In what particular way they have affected it I don't consider myself bound to tell you. I simply give you a warning, as a matter of common human- ity. You will do well to be content with the success you have already achieved in the field of athletic pursuits, and to alter your mode of life for the future. Accept my excuses, once more, for having said this publicly instead of privately and don't forget my warning." He turned to move away to another part of the room. Geoffrey fairly forced him to return to the subject. " Wait a bit," he said. ' ' You have had your innings. My turn now. I can't give it words as you do ; but I can come to the point. And, by the Lord, I'll fix you to it! In ten days or a fortnight from this I'm going into training for the Foot-Race at Fulham. Do you say I shall break down ?" "You will probably get through your train- ing." " Shall I get through the race ?" "You may possibly get through the race. But if you do " "If I do?" "You will never run another." " And never row in another match ?" "Never." " I have been asked to row in the Race, next spring ; and I have said I will. Do you tell me, in so many words, that I sha'n't be abie to do it ?" "Yes in so many words." " Positively ?" "Positively." " Back your opinion !" cried Geoffrey, tearing his betting-book out of his pocket. " I lay you an even hundred I'm in fit condition to row in the University Match next spring." "I don't bet, Mr. Delamayn." With that final reply the surgeon walked away to the other end of the library. Lady Lundie (taking Blanche in custody) withdrew, at the same time, to return to the serious business of her invitations for the dinner. Geoffrey turned defiantly, book in hand, to his college friends about him. The British blood was up ; and the British resolution to bet, which successfully de- fies common decency and common-law from one end of the country to the other, was not to be trifled with. "Come on!" cried Geoffrey. "Back the doctor, one of you !" Sir Patrick rose in undisguised disgust, and followed the surgeon. One, Two, and Three, invited to business by their illustrious friend, shook their thick heads at him knowingly, and answered with one accord, in one eloquent word "Gammon!" " One of you back him !" persisted Geoffrey, appealing to the two choral gentlemen in the MAN AND WIFE. 87 "AN EVEN HUNDRED ON THE DOCTOR." back-ground, with his temper fast rising to fever heat. The two choral gentlemen compared notes, as usual. " We weren't born yesterday, Smith ?" "Not if we know it, Jones." "Smith!" said Geoffrey, with a sudden as- sumption of politeness ominous of something un- pleasant to come. Smith said " Yes?" with a smile. "Jones!" Jones said "Yes?" with a reflection of Smith. "You're a couple of infernal cads and you haven't got a hundred pound between you!" "Come! come!" said Arnold, interfering for the first time. "This is shameful, Geoffrey!" "Why the" (never mind what!) "won't they any of them take the bet ?" "If you must be a fool," returned Arnold, a little irritably on his side, "and if nothing else will keep you quiet, 77/take the bet." "An even hundred on the doctor!" cried Geoffrey. " Done with you !" His highest aspirations were satisfied ; his temper was in perfect order again. He entered the bet in his book ; and made his excuses to Smith and Jones in the heartiest way. "No offense, old chaps! Shake hands!" The two choral gentlemen were enchanted with him. ' ' The English aristocracy eh, Smith ?" " Blood and breeding ah, Jones!" As soon as he had spoken, Arnold's conscience reproached him : not for betting (who is ashamed of that form of gambling in England ?), but for " backing the doctor." With the best intention toward his friend, he was speculating on the fail- ure of his friend's health. He anxiously assured Geoffrey that no man in the room could be more heartily persuaded that the surgeon was wrong than himself. "I don't cry off from the bet," he said. "But, my dear fellow, pray under- stand that I only take it to please you" "Bother all that!" answered Geoffrey, with the steady eye to business, which was one of the choicest virtues in his character. "A bet's a bet and hang your sentiment!" He drew Ar- nold by the arm out of ear-shot of the others. " I say !" he asked, anxiously. "Do you think I've set the old fogy's back up ?" ' ' Do you mean Sir Patrick ?" Geoffrey nodded, and went on. " I haven't put that little matter to him yet about marrying in Scotland, you know. Sup- pose he cuts up rough with me if I try him now ?" His eye wandered cunningly, as he put the ques- tion, to the farther end of the room. The sur- geon was looking over a port-folio of prints. The ladies were still at work on their notes of invita- tion. Sir Patrick was alone at the book-shelves, immersed in a volume which he had just taken down. " Make an apology," suggested Arnold. " Sir Patrick may be a little irritable and bitter ; but he's a just man and a kind man. Say you were not guilty of any intentional disrespect toward him and you will say enough." "All right f Sir Patrick, deep in an old Venetian edition of The Decameron, found himself suddenly recalled from medieval Italy to modern England, by no less a person than Geoffrey Delamayn. "What do you want?" he asked, coldly. "I want to -make an apology," said Geoffrey. "Let by-gones be by-gones and that sort of thing. I wasn't guilty of any intentional disre- spect toward you. Forgive and forget. Not half a bad motto, Sir eh ?" MAN AND WIFE. It was clumsily expressed but still it was an apology. Not even Geoffrey could appeal to Sir Patrick's courtesy and Sir Patrick's consideration in vain. " Not a word more, Mr. Delamayn !" said the polite old man. "Accept my excuses for any thing which I may have said too sharply, on my side ; and let us by all means forget the rest. " Having met the advance made to him, in those terms, he paused, expecting Geoffrey to leave him free to return to the Decameron. To his unutterable astonishment, Geoffrey suddenly stooped over him, and whispered in his ear, "I want a word in private with you. " Sir Patrick started back, as if Geoffrey had tried to bite him. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Delamayn what did you say ?" " Could you give me a word in private?" Sir Patrick put back the Decameron ; and bowed in freezing silence. The confidence of the Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn was the last confidence in the world into which he desired to be drawn. "This is the secret of the apology!" he thought. "What can he possibly want with Me?" "It's about a friend of mine," pursued Geof- frey ; leading the way toward one of the windows. " He's in a scrape, my friend is. And I want to ask your advice. It's strictly private, you know." There he came to a full stop and looked to see what impression he had produced, so far. Sir Patrick declined, either by word or gesture, to exhibit the slightest anxiety to hear a word more. "Would you mind taking a turn in the gar- den ?" asked Geoffrey. Sir Patrick pointed to his lame foot. " I have had my allowance of walking this morning," he said. "Let my infirmity excuse me." Geoffrey looked about him for a substitute for the garden, and led the way back again toward one of the convenient curtained recesses opening out of the inner wall of the library. "We shall be private enough here," he said. Sir Patrick made a final effort to escape the proposed conference an undisguised effort, this time. "Pray forgive me, Mr. Delamayn. Are you quite sure that you apply to the right person, in applying to me f" " You're a Scotch lawyer, ain't you?" "Certainly." "And you understand about Scotch mar- riages eh?'' Sir Patrick's manner suddenly altered. "Is that the subject you wish to consult me on ?" he asked. " It's not me. It's my friend." " Your friend, then ?" "Yes. It's a scrape with a woman. Here, in Scotland. My friend don't know whether he's married to her or not." " I am at your service, Mr. Delamayn." To Geoffrey's relief by no means unmixed with surprise Sir Patrick not only showed no further reluctance to be consulted by him, but actually advanced to meet his wishes, by leading the way to the recess that was nearest to them. The quick brain of the old lawyer had put Geoffrey's application to him for assistance, and Blanche's application to him for assistance, to- gether; and had built its own theory on the basis thus obtained. "Do I see a connection between the present position of Blanche's gov- erness, and the present position of Mr. Dela- I mayn's ' friend ?' " thought Sir Patrick. " Stran- I ger extremes than that have met me in my ex- perience. Something may come out of this." The two strangely-assorted companions seated themselves, one on each side of a little table in the recess. Arnold and the other guests had idled out again on to the lawn. The surgeon with his prints, and the ladies with their invita- tions, were safely absorbed in a distant part of the library. The conference between the two men, so trifling in appearance, so terrible in its destined influence, not over Anne's future only, but over the future of Arnold and Blanche, was, to all practical purposes, a conference with closed doors. " Now," said Sir Patrick, " what -is the ques- tion ?" "The question," said Geoffrey, "is whether my friend is married to her or not ?" "Did he mean to marry her?" "No." " He being a single man, and she being a sin- gle woman, at . the time ? And both in Scot- land ?" "Yes." "Very well. Now tell me the circum- stances." Geoffrey hesitated. The art of stating cir- cumstances implies the cultivation of a very rare gift the gift of arranging ideas. No one was better acquainted with this truth than Sir Patrick. He was purposely puzzling Geoffrey at starting, under the firm conviction that his client had something to conceal from him. The one process that could be depended on for ex- tracting the truth, under those circumstances, was the process of interrogation. If Geoffrey was submitted to it, at the outset, his cunning might take the alarm. Sir Patrick's object was to make the man himself invite interrogation. Geoffrey invited it forthwith, by attempting to state the circumstances, and by involving them in the usual confusion. Sir Patrick waited un- til he had thoroughly lost the thread of his nar- rative and then played for the winning trick. "Would it be easier to you if I asked a few questions ?" he inquired, innocently. ' ' Much easier. " s ' I am quite at your service. Suppose we clear the ground to begin with ? Are you at liberty to mention names ?" 'No." ' Places ?" 'No." 'Dates?" ' Do you want me to be particular ?" ' Be as particular as you can." ' Will it do, if I say the present year ?" 'Yes. Were your friend and the lady at some time in the present year traveling togeth- er in Scotland ?" 'No." 'Living together in Scotland?" 'No." ' What were they doing together in Scotland ?" ' Well they were meeting each other at an MAN AND WIFE. 89 " Oh ? They were meeting each other at an inn. Which was first at the rendezvous ?" " The woman was first. Stop a bit ! We are getting to it now. " He produced from his pocket the written memorandum of Arnold's proceed- ings at Craig Fernie, which he had taken down from Arnold's own lips. " I've got a bit of note here," he went on. "Perhaps you'd like to have a look at it?" Sir Patrick took the note read it rapidly through to himself then re-read it. sentence by sentence, to Geoffrey ; using it as a text to speak from, in making further inquiries. " ' He asked for her by the name of his wife, at the door,' " read Sir Patrick. " Meaning, I presume, the door of the inn? Had the lady previously given herself out as a married woman to the people of the inn ?" "Yes." " How long had she been at the inn before the gentleman joined her ?" ' Only an hour or so." ' Did she give a name ?" ' I can't be quite sure I should say not." 'Did the gentleman give a name?" ' No. I'm certain he didn't. " Sir Patrick returned to the memorandum. " ' He said at dinner, before the landlady and the waiter, I take these rooms for my wife. He made her say he was her husband, at the same time.' Was that done jocosely, Mr. Delamayn either by the lady or the gentleman ?" "No. It was done in downright earnest." "You mean it was done to look like earnest, and so to deceive the landlady and the waiter ?" "Yes." Sir Patrick returned to the memorandum. " 'After that, he stopped all night.' Stopped in the rooms he had taken for himself and his wife ?" "Yes." ' "And what happened the next day?" "He went away. Wait a bit! Said he had business for an excuse." " That is to say, he kept up the deception with the people of the inn ? and left the lady behind him, in the character of his wife?" "That's it." " Did he go back to the inn ?" "No." " How long did the lady stay there, after he had gone ?" "She staid well, she staid a few days." "And your friend has not seen her since?" "No." "Are your friend and the lady English or Scotch?" "Both English." "At the time when they met at the inn, had they either of them arrived in Scotland, from the place in which they were previously living, within a period of less than twenty-one days ?" Geoffrey hesitated. There could be no diffi- culty in answering for Anne. Lady Lundie and her domestic circle had occupied Windygates for a much longer period than three weeks before the date of the lawn-party. The question, as it af- fected Arnold, was the only question that required reflection. After searching his memory for de- tails of the conversation which had taken place between them, when he and Arnold had met at the lawn-party, Geoffrey recalled a certain F reference on the part of his friend to a per- formance at the Edinburgh theatre, which at once decided the question of time. Arnold had been necessarily detained in Edinburgh, before his arrival at Windygates, by legal business con- nected with his inheritance ; and he, like Anne, had certainly been' in Scotland, before they met at Craig Fernie, for a longer period than a period of three weeks. He accordingly informed Sir Patrick that the lady and gentleman had been in Scotland for more than twenty-one days and then added a question on his own behalf: "Don't let me hurry you, Sir but, shall you soon have done ?" " I shall have done, after two more questions," answered Sir Patrick. "Am I to understand that the lady claims, on the strength of the cir- cumstances which you have mentioned to me, to be your friend's wife ?" Geoffrey made an affirmative reply. The readiest means of obtaining Sir Patrick's opinion was, in this case, to answer, Yes. In other words, to represent Anne (in the character of " the lady") as claiming to be married to Arnold (in the character of " his friend"). Having made this concession to circumstances, he was, at the same time, quite cunning enough to see that it was of vital importance to the pur- pose which he had in view, to confine himself strictly to this one perversion of the truth. There could be plainly no depending on the law- yer's opinion, unless that opinion was given on the facts exactly as they had occurred at the inn. To the facts he had, thus far, carefully adhered ; and to the facts (with the one inevitable depart- ure from them which had been just forced on him) he determined to adhere to the end. "Did no letters pass between the lady and gentleman ?" pursued Sir Patrick. "None that I know of," answered Geoffrey, steadily returning to the truth. "I have done, Mr. Delamayn." " Well ? and what's your "opinion ?" "Before I give my opinion I am bound to preface it by a personal statement which you are not to take, if you please, as a statement of the law. You ask me to decide on the facts with which you have supplied me whether your friend is, according to the law of Scotland, mar- ried or not ?" Geoffrey nodded. "That's it!" he said, ea- gerly. "My experience, Mr. Delamayn, is that any single man, in Scotland, may many any single woman, at any time, and under any circum- stances. In short, after thirty years' practice as a lawyer, I don't know what is not a mar- riage in Scotland. " " In plain English," said Geoffrey, "you mean she's his wife?" In spite of his cunning ; in spite of his self- command, his eyes brightened as he said those words. And the tone in which he spoke though too carefully guarded to be a tone of triumph was, to a fine ear, unmistakably a tone of relief. Neither the look nor the tone was lost on Sir Patrick. His first suspicion, when he sat down to the conference, had been the obvious suspicion that, in speaking of " his friend," Geoffrey was speak- , ing of himself. But, like all lawyers, he habit- 90 MAN AND WIFE. ually distrusted first impressions, his own in-- eluded. His object, thus far, had been to solve the problem of Geoffrey's true position and Geof- frey's real motive. He had set the snare accord- ingly, and had caught his bird. It was now plain to his mind first, that this man who was consulting him, was, in all prob- ability, really speaking of the case of another person: secondly, that .he had an interest (of what nature it was impossible yet to say) in sat- isfying his own mind that "his friend" was, by the law of Scotland, indisputably a married man. Having penetrated to that extent the secret which Geoffrey was concealing from him, he abandoned the hope of making any further advance at that present sitting. The next question to clear up in the investigation, was the question of*who the anonymous " lady" might be. And the next discovery to make was, whether "the lady" could, or could not, be identified with Anne Sil- vester. Pending the inevitable delay in reach- ing that result, the straight course was (in Sir Patrick's present state of uncertainty) the only course to follow in laying down the law. He at once took the question of the marriage in hand with no concealment whatever, as to the legal bearings of it, from the client who was consult- ing him. "Don't rush to conclusions, Mr. Delamayn'," he said. "I have only told you what my gen- eral experience is thus far. My professional opinion on the special case of your friend has not been given yet." Geoffrey's face clouded again. Sir Patrick carefully noted the new change in it. "The law of Scotland," he went on, "so far as it relates to Irregular Marriages, is an outrage on common decency and common-sense. If you think my language in thus describing it too strong I can refer you to the language of a judicial authority. Lord Deas delivered a recent judg- ment of marriage in Scotland, from the bench, in these words : ' Consent makes marriage. No form or ceremony, civil or religious ; no notice before, or publication after ; no cohabitation, no writing, no witnesses even, are essential to the constitution of this, the most important contract which two persons can enter into.' There is a Scotch judge's own statement of the law that he administers ! Observe, at the same time, if you please, that we make full legal provision in Scotland for contracts affecting the sale of houses and lands, horses and dogs. The only contract which we leave without safeguards or precautions of any sort is the contract that unites a man and a woman for life. As for the author- ity of parents, and the innocence of children, our law recognizes no claim on it either in the one case or in the other. A girl of twelve and a boy of fourteen have nothing to do but to cross the Border, and to be married without the in- terposition of the slightest delay or restraint, and without the slightest attempt to inform their par- ents on the part of the Scotch law. As to the marriages of men and women, even the mere in- terchange of consent which, as you have just heard, makes them man and wife, is not required to be directly proved : it may be proved by in- ference. And, more even than that, whatever the law for its consistency may presume, men and women are, in point of fact, held to be mar- ried in Scotland where consent has never been interchanged, and where the parties do not even know that they are legally held to be married persons. Are you sufficiently confused about the law of Irregular Marriages in Scotland by this time, Mr. Delamayn ? And have I said enough to justify the strong language I used when I un- dertook to describe it to you?" "Who's that 'authority' you talked of just now?" inquired Geoffrey. "Couldn't I ask him f" "You might find him flatly contradicted, if you did ask him, by another authority equally learned and equally eminent, "answered Sir Pat- rick. " I am not joking I am only stating facts. Have you heard of the Queen's Commis- sion?" "No." "Then listen to this. In March, 'sixty-five, the Queen appointed a Commission to inquire into the Marriage-Laws of the United Kingdom. The Report of that Commission is published in London ; and is accessible to any body who chooses to pay the price of two or three shillings for it. .One of the results of the inquiry was, the discovery that high authorities were of en- tirely contrary opinions on one of the vital ques- tions of Scottish marriage-law. And the Com- missioners, in announcing that fact, add that the question of which opinion is right is still disputed, and has never been made the subject of legal de- cision. Authorities are every where at variance throughout the Report. A haze of doubt and uncertainty hangs in Scotland over the most im- portant contract of civilized life. If no other reason existed for reforming the Scotch mar- riage-law, there would be reason enough afforded by that one fact. An uncertain marriage-law is a national calamity." " You can tell me what you think yourself about my friend's case can't you ?" said Geof- frey, still holding obstinately to the end that he had in view. " Certainly. Now that I have given you due warning of the danger of implicitly relying on any individual opinion, I may give my opinion with a clear conscience. I say that there has not been a positive marriage in this case. There has been evidence in favor of possibly establish- ing a marriage nothing more." The distinction here was far too fine to be ap- preciated by Geoffrey's mind. He frowned heav- ily, in bewilderment and disgust. "Not married!" he exclaimed, "when they said they were man and wife, before witnesses ?" "That is a common popular error," said Sir Patrick. " As I have already told you, witnesses are not legally necessary to make a marriage in Scotland. They are only valuable as in this case to help, at some future time, in proving a marriage that is in dispute. " Geoffrey caught at the last words. "The landlady and the waiter might make it out to be a marriage, then ?" he said. " Yes. And, remember, if you choose to ap- ply to one of my professional colleagues, he might possibly tell you they were married already. A state of the law which allows the interchange of matrimonial consent to be proved by inference leaves a wide door open to conjecture. Your friend refers to a certain lady, in so many words, as his wife. The lady refers to your friend, in so many words, as her husband. In the rooms MAN AND WIFE. 91 which they have taken, as man and wife, they remain, as man and wife, till the next morning. Your friend goes away, without undeceiving any body. The lady stays at the inn, for some days after, in the character of his wife. And all these circumstances take place in the presence of com- petent witnesses. Logically if not legally there is apparently an inference of the inter- change of matrimonial consent here. I stick to my own opinion, nevertheless. Evidence in proof of a marriage (I say) nothing more." While Sir Patrick had been speaking, Geoffrey had been considering with himself. By dint of hard thinking he had found his way to a decisive question on his side. "Look here!" he said, dropping his heavy hand down on the table. " I want to bring you to book, Sir ! Suppose my friend had another lady in his eye?" "Yes?" " As things are now would you advise him to marry her?" " As things are now certainly not !" Geoffrey got briskly on his legs, and closed the interview. "That will do," he said, "for him and for me." With those words he walked back, without ceremony, into the main thoroughfare of the room. "I don't know who your friend is," thought Sir Patrick, looking after him. "But if your interest in the question of his marriage is an honest and a harmless interest, I know no more of human nature than the babe unborn ! " Immediately on leaving Sir Patrick, Geoffrey was encountered by one of the servants in search of him. "I beg your pardon, Sir," began the man. "The groom from the Honorable Mr. Dela- mayn's " " Yes ? The fellow who brought me a note from my brother this morning?" "He's expected back, Sir he's afraid he mustn't wait any longer." "Come here, and I'll give you the answer for him." He led the way to the writing-table, and re- ferred to Julius's letter again. He ran his eye carelessly over it, until he reached the final lines : "Come to-morrow, and help us to receive Mrs. Glenarm." For a while he paused, with his eye fixed on that sentence ; and with the happiness of three people of Anne, who had loved him ; of Arnold, who had served him; of Blanche, guiltless of injuring him resting on the decision that guided his movements for the next day. After what had passed that morning between Arpold and Blanche, if he remained at Lady Lundie's, he had no alternative but to perform his promise to Anne. If he returned to his broth- er's house, he had no alternative but to desert Anne, on the infamous pretext that she was Ar- nold's wife. He suddenly tossed the letter away from him on the table, and snatched a sheet of note-paper out of the writing-case. "Here goes for Mrs. Glenavm!'' he said to himself; and wrote back to his brother, in one line : " Dear Julius, Ex- pect me to-morrow. G. D." The impassible man-servant stood by while he wrote, looking at his magnificent breadth of chest, and thinking what a glorious "staying-power" was there for the last terrible mile of the coming race. "There you are!" he said, and handed his note to the man. "All right, Geoffrey?" asked, a friendly voice behind him. He turned and saw Arnold, anxious for news of the consultation with Sir Patrick. ' ' Yes, " he said. ' ' All right. " NOTE. There are certain readers who feel a dispo- sition to doubt Facts, when they meet with them in a work of fiction. Persons of this way of thinking may be profitably referred to the book which first suggest- ed to me the idea of writing the present Novel. The book is the Report of the Royal Commissioners on The Laws of Marriage. Published by the Queen's Printers. For her Majesty's Stationery Office. (London, 1868.) What Sir Patrick says professionally of Scotch Mar- riages in this chapter is taken from this high authori- ty. What the lawyer (in the Prologue) says profes- sionally of Irish Marriages is also derived from the same source. It is needless to encumber these pages with quotations. But as a means of satisfying my readers that they may depend on me, I subjoin an ex- tract from my list of references to the Report of the Marriage Commission, which any persons who may be so inclined can verify for themselves. Irish Marriages (in the Prologue). See Report, pages XII., XIIL, XXIV. Irregular Marriages in Scotland. Statement of the law by Lord Deas. Report, page XVI. Marriages of children of tender years. Examination of Mr. Muir- head by Lord Chelmsford (Question 689). Interchange of consent, established by inference. Examination of Mr. Muirhead by the Lord Justice Clerk (Question 654). Marriage where consent has never been inter- changed. Observations of Lord Deas. Report, page XIX. Contradiction of opinions between authorities. Report, pages XIX., XX. Legal provision for the sale of horses and dogs. No legal provision for the mar- riage of men and women. Mr. Seeton's Remarks. Report, page XXX. Conclusion of the Commission- ers. In spite of the arguments advanced before them in favor of not interfering with Irregular Marriages in Scotland, the Commissioners declare their opinion that "Such marriages ought not to continue." (Re- port, page XXXIV.) In reference to the arguments (alluded to above) In favor of allowing the present disgraceful state of things to continue, I find them resting mainly on these grounds : That Scotland doesn't like being interfered with by England (!). That Irregular Marriages cost nothing (! !). That they are diminishing in number, and may therefore be trusted, in course of time, to ex- haust themselves (! ! !). That they act, on certain oc- casions, in the capacity of a moral trap to catch a prof- ligate man (! ! ! !). Such is the elevated point of view from which the Institution of Marriage is regarded by some of the most pious and learned men in Scotland. A legal enactment providing for the sale of your wife, when you have done with her, or of your husband, when you " really can't put up with him any longer," appears to be all that is wanting to render this North British estimate of the "Estate of Matrimony" prac- tically complete. It is only fair to add that, of the witnesses giving evidence oral and written before the Commissioners, fully one-half regard the Irregular Marriages of Scotland" from the Christian and the civilized ooint of view, and entirely agree with the authoritative conclusion already cited that such mar- riages ought to Be abolished. W. C. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. DONE! ARNOLD was a little surprised by the curt manner in which Geoffrey answered him. " Has Sir Patrick said any thing unpleasant?" he asked. ' Sir Patrick has said just what I wanted him to say." " No difficulty about the marriage ?" "None." 92 MAN AND WIFE. "No fear of Blanche " "She won't ask you to go to Craig Fernie I'll answer for that !" He said the words with a strong emphasis on them, took his brother's let- ter from the table, snatched up his hat, and went out. His friends, idling on the lawn, hailed him. He passed by them quickly without answering, without so much as a glance at them over his shoulder. Arriving at the rose-garden, he stopped and took out his pipe ; then suddenly changed his mind, and turned back again by another path. There was no certainty, at that hour of the day, of his being left alone in the rose-gar- den. He had a fierce and hungry longing to be by himself; he felt as if he could have been the death of any body who came and spoke to him at that moment. With his head down and his brows knit heavily, he followed the path to see what it ended in. It ended in a wicket-gate which led into a kitchen-garden. Here he was well out of the way of interruption : there was nothing to attract visitors in the kitchen-garden. He went on to a walnut-tree planted in the mid- dle of the inclosure, with a wooden bench and a broad strip of turf running round it. After first looking about him, he seated himself and lit his pipe. " I wish it was done ! " he said. He sat, with his elbows on his knees, smoking and thinking. Before long the restlessness that had got possession of him forced him to his feet again. He rose, and paced round and round the strip of green-sward under the walnut-tree, like a wild beast in a cage. What was the meaning of this disturbance in the inner man? Now that he had committed himself to the betrayal of the friend who had trusted and served him, was he torn by remorse ? He was no more torn by remorse than you are while your eye is passing over this sentence. He was simply in a raging fever of impatience to see himself safely landed at the end which he had in view. Why should he feel remorse? All remorse springs, more or less directly, from the action of two sentiments, which are neither of them inbred in the natural man. The first of these senti- ments is the product of the respect which we learn to feel for ourselves. The second is the product of the respect which we learn to feel for others. In their highest manifestations, these two feelings exalt themselves, until the first be- comes the love of God, and the second the love of Man. I have injured you, and I repent of it when it is done. Why should I repent of it if I have gained something by it for my own self, and if you can't make me feel it by injuring Me ? I repent of it, because there has been a sense put into me which tells me that I have sinned against Myself, and sinned against You. No such sense as that exists among the instincts of the natural man. And no such feelings as these troubled Geoffrey Delamayn ; for Geoffrey Dela- mayn was the natural man. When the idea of his scheme had sprung to life in his mind, the novelty of it had startled him the enormous daring of it, suddenly self- revealed, had daunted him. The signs of emo- tion which he had betrayed at the writing-table in the library were the signs of mere mental per- turbation, and of nothing more. That first vivid impression past, the idea had made itself familiar to him. He had become composed enough to see such difficulties as it in- volved, and such consequences as it implied. These had fretted him with a passing trouble ; for these he plainly discerned. As for the cru- elty and the treachery of the thing he meditated doing that consideration never crossed the lim- its of his mental view. His position toward the man whose life he had preserved was the posi- tion of a dog. The "noble animal" who has saved you or me from drowning will fly at your throat or mine, under certain conditions, ten minutes afterward. Add to the dog's unreason- ing instinct the calculating cunning of a man ; suppose yourself to be in a position to say of some trifling thing, "Curious! at such and such a time I happened to pick up such and such an object ; and now it turns out to be of some use to me !" and there you have an index to the state of Geoffrey's feeling toward his friend when he re- called the past or when he contemplated the fu- ture. When Arnold had spoken to him at the critical moment, Arnold had violently irritated him ; and that was all. The same impenetrable insensibility, the same primitively natural condition of the moral being, prevented him from being troubled by the slight- est sense of pity for Anne. ' ' She's out of my way!" was his first thought. "She's provided for, without any trouble to Me !" was his second. He was not in the least uneasy about her. Not the slightest doubt crossed his mind that, when once she had realized her own situation, when once she saw herself placed between the two al- ternatives of facing her own ruin or of claiming Arnold as a last resource, she would claim Ar- nold. She would do it as a matter of course ; because he would have done it in her place. But he wanted it over. He was wild, as he paced round and round the walnut-tree, to hurry on the crisis and be done with it. Give me my freedom to go to the other woman, and to train for the foot-race that's what I want. They in- jured? Confusion to them both! It's I who am injured by them. They are the worst ene- mies I have ! They stand in my way. How to be rid of them ? There was the diffi- culty. He had made up his mind to be rid of them that day. How was he to begin ? There was no picking a quarrel with Arnold, and so beginning with him. This course of pro- ceeding, in Arnold's position toward Blanche, would lead to a scandal at the outset a scandal which would stand in the way of his making the right impression on Mrs. Glenarm. The woman lonely and friendless, with her sex and her po- sition both against her if she tried to make a scandal of it the woman was the one to begin with. Settle it at once and forever with Anne ; and leave Arnold to hear of it and deal with it, sooner or later, no matter which. How was he to break it to her before the day was out? By going to the inn and openly addressing her to her face as Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth? No ! He had had enough, at Windygates, of meeting her face to face. The easy way was to write to her, and send the letter, by the first messenger he could find, to the inn. She might appear afterward at Windygates ; she might follow him to his brother's ; sheanight appeal to his father. MAN AND WIFE. 93 It didn't matter ; he had got the whip-hand of her now. "You are a married woman." There was the one sufficient answer, which was strong enough to back him in denying any thing ! He made out the letter in his own mind. "Something like this would do," he thought, as he went round and round the walnut-tree: " You may be surprised not to have seen me. You have only yourself to thank for it. I know what took place between you and him at the inn. I have had a lawyers advice. You are Arnold Brinkworths wife. I wish you joy, and good- by forever." Address those lines: "To Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth ; " instruct the messenger to leave the letter late that night, without waiting for an answer; start the first thing the next morning for his brother's house ; and behold, it was done! But even here there was an obstacle one last exasperating obstacle still in the way. If she was known at the inn by any name at all, it was by the name of Mrs. Silvester. A let- ter addressed to "Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth" would probably not be taken in at the door ; or if it was admitted, and if it was actually offered to her, she might decline to receive it, as a let- ter not addressed to herself. A man of readier mental resources would have seen that the name on the outside of the letter mattered little or no- thing, so long as the contents were read by the person to whom they were addressed. But Geof- frey's was the order of mind which expresses dis- turbance by attaching importance to trifles. He attached an absurd importance to preserving ab- solute consistency in his letter, outside and in. If he declared her to be Arnold Brinkworth's wife, he must direct to her as Arnold Brink- worth's wife ; or who could tell what the law might say, or what scrape he might not get him- self into by a mere scratch of the pen ! The more he thought of it, the more persuaded he felt of his own cleverness here, and the hotter and the angrier he grew. There is a way out of every thing. And there was surely a way out of this, if he could only see it. He failed to see it. After dealing with all the great difficulties, the small difficulty proved too much for him. It struck him that he might have been thinking too long about it considering that he was not accustomed to thinking long about any thing. Besides, his head was getting giddy, with going mechanically round and round the tree. He irritably turned his back on the tree, and struck into another path : resolved to think of something else, and then to return to his diffi- culty, and see it with a new eye. Leaving his thoughts free to wander where they liked, his thoughts naturally busied them- selves with the next subject that was uppermost in his mind, the subject of the Foot-Race. In a week's time his arrangements ought to be made. Now, as to the training, first. He decided on employing two trainers this time. One to travel to Scotland, and begin with him at his brother's house. The other to take him up, with a fresh eye to him, on his return to London. He turned over in his mind the per- formances of the formidable rival against whom he was to be matched. That other man was the swiftest runner of the two. The betting in Geof- frey's favor was betting which calculated on the unparalleled length of the race, and on Geoffrey's prodigious powers of endurance. How long he should "wait on" the man? Whereabouts it would be safe to " pick the man np ?" How near the end to calculate the man's exhaustion to a nicety, and "put on the spurt," and pass him? These were nice points to decide. The delibera- tions of a pedestrian-privy-council would be re- quired to help him under this heavy responsibili- ty. What men could he trust ? He could trust A. and B. both of them authorities: both of them stanch. Query about C. ? As an author- ity, unexceptionable ; as a man, doubtful. The problem relating to C. brought him to a stand- still and declined to be solved, even then. Nev- er mind ! he could always take the advice of A. and B. In the mean time, devote C. to the in- fernal regions ; and, thus dismissing him, try and think of something else. What else? Mrs. Glenarm ? Oh, bother the women ! one of them is the same as another. They all waddle when they run ; and they all fill their stomachs before dinner with sloppy tea. That's the only differ- ence between women and men the rest is no- thing but a weak imitation of Us. Devote the women to the infernal regions ; and, so dismiss- ing them, try and think of something else. Of what? Of something worth thinking of, this time of filling another pipe. He took out his tobacco-pouch ; and sudden- ly suspended operations, at the moment of open- ing it. What was the object he saw, dn the other side of a row of dwarf pear-trees, away to the right ? A woman evidently a servant by her dress stooping down with her back to him, gathering something: herbs they looked like, as well as he could make them out at the distance. What was that thing hanging by a string at the woman's side ? A slate ? Yes. What the deuce did she want with a slate at her side ? He was in search of something to divert his mind and here it was found. " Any thing will do for me," he thought. "Suppose I ' chaff' her a lit- tle about her slate ?" He called to the woman across the pear-trees. "Hullo!" The woman raised herself, and advanced to- ward him slowly looking at him, as she came on, with the sunken eyes, the sorrow-stricken face, the stony tranquillity of Hester Dethridge. Geoffrey was staggered. He had not bar- gained for exchanging the dullest producible vulgarities of human speech (called in the lan- guage of slang, " Chaff") with such a woman as this. " What's that slate for?" he asked, not know- ing what else to say, to begin with. The woman lifted her hand to her lips touched them and shook her head, " Dumb ?" The woman bowed her head. "Who are you?" The woman wrote on her slate, and handed it to him over the pear-trees. He read : "I am the cook. " "Well, cook, were you born dumb?" The woman shook her head. "What struck you dumb?" The woman wrote on her slate : "A blow." " Who gave you the blow ?" She shook her head. MAN AND WIFE. " Won't you tell me ?" She shook her head again. Her eyes had rested on his face while he was questioning her ; staring at him, cold, dull, and changeless as the eyes of a corpse. Firm as his nerves were dense as he was, on all ordinary occasions, to any thing in the shape of an imag- inative impression the eyes of the dumb cook slowly penetrated him with a stealthy inner chill. Something crept at the marrow of his back, and shuddered under the roots of his hair. He felt a sudden impulse to get away from her. It was simple enough ; he had only to say good-morn- ing, and go on. He did say good-morning but he never moved. He put his hand into his pocket, and offered her some money, as a way of making her go. She stretched out her hand across the pear-trees to take it and stopped abruptly, with her arm suspended in the air. A sinister change passed over the deathlike tran- quillity of her face. Her closed lips slowly dropped apart. Her dull eyes slowly dilated; looked away, sideways, from his eyes ; stopped again ; and stared, rigid and glittering, over his shoulder stared as if they saw a sight of horror behind him. "What the devil are you looking at?" he asked and turned round quickly, with a start. There was neither person nor thing to be seen behind him. He turned back again to the woman. The woman had left him, under the influence of some sudden panic. She was hurrying away from him running, old as she was flying the sight of him, as .if the sight of him was the pestilence. " Mad !" he thought and turned his back on the sight of her. He found himself (hardly knowing how he had got there) under the walnut-tree once more. In a few minutes his hardy nerves had recovered themselves he could laugh over the remem- brance of the strange impression that had been produced on him. "Frightened for the first time in my life," he thought "and that by an old woman ! It's time I went into training again, when things have come to this !" He looked at his watch. It was close on the luncheon hour up at the house ; and he had not decided yet what to do about his letter to Anne. He resolved to decide, then and there. The woman the dumb woman, with the stony face and the horrid eyes reappeared in his thoughts, and got in the way of his decision. Pooh ! some crazed old servant, who might once have been cook ; who was kept out of charity now. Nothing more important than that. No more of her ! no more of her ! He laid himself down on the grass, and gave his mind to the serious question. How to ad- dress Anne as " Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth ?" and how to make sure of her receiving the letter ? The dumb old woman got in his way again. He closed his eyes impatiently, and tried to shut her out in a darkness of his own making. The woman showed herself through the dark- ness. He saw her, as if he had just asked her a question, writing on her slate. What she wrote he failed to make out. It was all over in an in- stant. He started up, with a feeling of astonish- ment at himself and, at the same moment, his brain cleared with the suddenness of a flash of light. He saw his way, without a conscious ef- fort on his own part, through the difficulty that had troubled him. Two envelopes, of course : an inner one, unsealed, and addressed to "Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth;" an outer one, sealed, and addressed to "Mrs. Silvester:" and there was the problem solved ! Surely the simplest prob- lem that had ever puzzled a stupid head. Why had he not seen it before ? Impossible to say. How came he to have seen it now ? The dumb old woman reappeared in his thoughts as if the answer to the question lay in something connected with her. He became alarmed about himself, for the first time in his life. Had this persistent impression, produced by nothing but a crazy old woman, any thing to do with the broken health which the sur- geon had talked about? Was his head on the turn ? Or had he smoked too much on an emp- ty stomach, and gone too long (after traveling all night) without his customary drink of ale ? He left the garden to put that latter theory to the test forthwith. The betting would have gone dead against him if the public had seen him at that moment. He looked haggard and anxious and with good reason too. His nervous sys- tem had suddenly forced itself on his notice, with- out the slightest previous introduction, and was saying (in an unknown tongue), Here I am ! Returning to the purely ornamental part of the grounds, Geoffrey encountered one of the foot- men giving a message to one of the gardeners. He at once asked for the butler as the only safe authority to consult in the present emerg- ency. Conducted to the butler's pantry, Geoffrey re- quested that functionary to produce a jug of his oldest ale, with appropriate solid nourishment in the shape of " a hunk of bread and cheese." The butler stared. As a form of condescen- sion among the upper classes this was quite new . to him. "Luncheon will be ready directly, Sir." "What is there for lunch?" The butler ran over an appetizing list of good dishes and rare wines. "The devil take your kickshaws!" said Geof- frey. ' ' Give me my old ale, and my hunk of bread and cheese." "Where will you take them, Sir?" " Here, to be sure ! And the sooner the bet- ter." The butler issued the necessary orders with all needful alacrity. He spread the simple refresh- ment demanded, before his distinguished guest, in a state of blank bewilderment. Here was a nobleman's son, and a public celebrity into the bargain, filling himself with bread and cheese and ale, in at once the most voracious and the most unpretending manner, at his table ! The butler ventured on a little complimentary famil- iarity. He smiled, and touched the betting-book in his breast-pocket. "I've put six pound on you, Sir, for the Race." "All right, old boy! you shall win your money!" With. those noble words the honorable gentleman clapped him on the back, and held out his tumbler for some more ale. The butler felt trebly an English- man as he filled the foaming glass. Ah ! for- eign nations may have their revolutions ! foreign aristocracies may tumble down ! The British aristocracy lives in the hearts of the people, and lives forever ! MAN AND WIFE. 95 "Another!" said Geoffrey, presenting his empty glass. "Here's luck!" He tossed off his liquor at a draught, and nodded to the butler, and went out. Had the experiment succeeded? Had he proved his own theory about himself to be right ? Not a doubt of it ! An empty stom- ach, and a determination of tobacco to the head these were the true causes of that strange state of mind into which he had fallen in the kitchen -garden. The dumb woman with the stony face vanished as if in a mist. He felt nothing now but a comfortable buzzing in his head, a genial warmth all over him, and an un- limited capacity for carrying any responsibility that could rest on mortal shoulders. Geoffrey was himself again. He went round toward the library, to write his letter to Anne and so have done with that, to begin with. The company had collected in the library waiting for the luncheon-bell. All were idly talking ; and some would be certain, if he showed himself, to fasten on him. He turned back again, without showing himself. The only way of writing in peace and quietness would be to wait until they were all at luncheon, and then return to the library. The same opportunity would serve also for finding a messenger to take the letter, without exciting attention, and forgoing away afterward, unseen, on a long walk by himself. An absence of two or three hours would cast the necessary dust in Arnold's eyes ; for it would be certainly interpreted by him as meaning absence at an interview with Anne. He strolled idly through the grounds, farther and farther away from the house. The talk in the library aimless and empty enough, for the most part was talk to the pur- pose, in one corner of the room, in which Sir Patrick and Blanche were sitting together. "Uncle! I have been watching you for the last minute or two." "At my age, Blanche, that is paying me a very pretty compliment. " " Do you know what I have seen ?" " You have seen an old gentleman in want of his lunch." " I have seen an old gentleman with something on his mind. What is it ?" "Suppressed gout, my dear." "That won't do! I am not to be put off in that way. Uncle ! I want to know " " Stop there, Blanche ! A young lady who says she 'wants to know,' expresses very dan- gerous sentiments. Eve ' wanted to know' and see what it led to. Faust ' wanted to know' and got into bad company, as the necessary re- sult." "You are feeling anxious about something," persisted Blanche. "And, what is more, Sir Patrick, you behaved in a most unaccountable manner a little while since." "When?" "When you went and hid yourself with Mr. Delamayn in that snug corner there. I saw you lead the way in, while I was at work on Lady Lundie's odious dinner-invitations." " Oh ! you call that being at work, do yon? I wonder whether there was ever a woman yet who could give the whole of her mind to any earthly thing that she had to do ?" " Never mind the women ! What subject in common could you and Mr. Delamayn possibly have to talk about ? And why do I see a wrin- kle between your eyebrows, now you have done with him? a wrinkle which certainly wasn't there before you had that private conference to- gether ?" Before answering, Sir Patrick considered whether he should take Blanche into his confi- dence or not. The attempt to identify Geoffrey's unnamed "lady," which he was determined to make, would lead him to Craig Fernie, and would no doubt end in obliging him to address himself to Anne. Blanche's intimate knowledge of her friend might unquestionably be made useful to him under these circumstances ; and Blanche's discretion was to be trusted in any matter in which Miss Silvester's interests were concerned. On the other hand, caution was im- peratively necessary, in the present imperfect state of his information and caution, in Sir Pat- rick's mind, carried the day. He decided to wait and see what came first of his investigation at the inn. ' ' Mr. Delamayn consulted me on a dry point of law, in which a friend of his was interested," said Sir Patrick. " You have wasted your curi- osity, my dear, on a subject totally unworthy of a lady's notice." Blanche's penetration was not to be deceived on such easy terms as these. " Why not say at once that you won't tell me?" she rejoined. " You shutting yourself up with Mr. Delamayn to talk law ! You looking absent and anxious about it afterward ! I am a very unhappy girl !" said Blanche, with a little, bitter sigh. " There is something in me that seems to repel the people I love. Not a word in confidence can I get from Anne. And not a word in confidence can I get from you. And I do so long to sympa- thize! It's very hard. I think I shall go to Arnold." Sir Patrick took his niece's hand. " Stop a minute, Blanche. About Miss Sil- vester ? Have you heard from her to-day ?" " No. I am more unhappy about her than words can say." " Suppose somebody went to Craig Fernie and tried to find out the cause of Miss Silvester's silence ? Would you believe that somebody sym- pathized with you then ?" Blanche's face flushed brightly with pleasure and surprise.' She raised Sir Patrick's hand gratefully to her lips. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean that you would do that ?" " I am certainly the last person who ought to do it seeing that you went to the inn in flat re- bellion against my orders, and that I only for- gave you, on your own promise of amendment^ the other day. It is a miserably 'weak proceed- ing on the part of ' the head of the family' to be turning his back on his own principles, because his niece happens to be anxious and unhappy. Still (if you could lend me your little car- riage), I might take a surly drive toward Craig Fernie, all by myself, and I miy/it stumble against Miss Silvester in case you have any thing to say. " " Any thing to say ?" repeated Blanche. She put her arm round her uncle's neck, and whis- pered in his ear one of the most interminable 96 MAN AND WIFE. messages that ever was sent from one human being to another. Sir Patrick listened, with a growing interest in the inquiry on which he was secretly bent. "The woman must have some noble qualities," he thought, "who can inspire such devotion as this." While Blanche was whispering to her uncle, a second private conference of the purely domes- tic sort was taking place between Lady Lundie and the butler, in the hall outside the library door. "I am sorry to say, my kdy, Hester Deth- ridge has broken out again. " " What do you mean ?" "She was all right, my lady, when she went into the kitchen-garden, some time since. .She's taken strange again, now she has come back. Wants the rest of the day to herself, your lady- ship. Says she's overworked, with all the com- pany in the house and, I must say, does look like a person troubled and worn out in body and mind." " Don't talk nonsense, Roberts ! The woman is obstinate and idle and insolent. She is now in the house, as you know, under a month's no- tice to leave. If she doesn't choose to do her duty for that month I shall refuse to give her a character. Who is to cook the dinner to-day if I give Hester Dethridge leave to go out ?" "Any way, my lady, I am afraid the kitchen- maid will have to do her best to-day. Hester is very obstinate, when the fit takes her as your ladyship says." ' ' If Hester Dethridge leaves the kitchen-maid to cook the dinner, Roberts, Hester Dethridge leaves my service to-.day. I want no more words about it. If she persists in setting my orders at defiance, let her bring her account-book into the library, while we are at lunch, and lay it on my desk. I shall be back in the library after lunch- eon and if I see the account-book I shall know what it means. In that case, you will receive my directions to settle with her and send her away. Ring the luncheon-bell." The luncheon-bell rang. The guests all took the direction of the dining-room ; Sir Patrick following, from the far end of the library, with Blanche on his arm. Arrived at the dining- room door, Blanche stopped, and asked her uncle to excuse her if she left him to go in by himself. "I will be back directly," she said. " I have forgotten something up stairs." Sir Patrick went in. The dining-room door closed ; and Blanche returned alone to the libra- ry. Now on one pjetense, and now on another, she had, for three days past, faithfully fulfilled the engagement she had made at Craig Fernie to wait ten minutes after luncheon-time in the library, on the chance of seeing Anne. On this, the fourth occasion, the faithful girl sat down alone in the great room, and waited with her eyes fixed on the lawn outside. Five minutes passed, and nothing living ap- peared but the birds hopping about the grass. In less than a minute more Blanche's quick ear caught the faint sound of a woman's dress brushing over the lawn. She ran to the nearest window, looked out, and clapped her hands with a cry of delight. There was the well-known fig- ure, rapidly approaching her! Anne was true to their friendship Anne had kept her engage- ment at last ! Blanche hurried out, and drew her into the li- brary in triumph. "This makes amends, love, for every thing ! You answer my letter in the best of all ways you bring me your own dear self." She placed Anne in a chair, and, lifting her veil, saw her plainly in the brilliant mid-day light. The change in the whole woman was nothing less than dreadful to the loving eyes that rested on her. She looked years older than her real age. There was a dull calm in her face, a stag- nant, stupefied submission to any thing, pitiable to see. Three days and nights of solitude and grief, three days and nights of unresting and un- partaken suspense, had crushed that sensitive na- ture, had frozen that warm heart. The ani- mating spirit was gone the mere shell of the woman lived and moved, a mockery of her for- mer self. "Oh, Anne! Anne! What can have hap- pened to you ? Are you frightened ? There's not the least fear of any body disturbing us. They are all at luncheon, and the sen-ants are at dinner. We have the room entirely to ourselves. My darling ! you look so faint and strange ! Let me get you something. " Anne drew Blanche's head down and kissed her. It was done in a dull, slow way without a word, without a tear, without a sigh. "You're tired I'm sure you're tired. Have you walked here ? You sha'n't go back on foot ; I'll take care of that ! " Anne roused herself at those words. She spoke for the first time. The tone was lower than was natural to her ; sadder than was nat- ural to her but the charm of her voice, the na- tive gentleness, and beauty of it, seemed to have survived the wreck of all besides. " I don't go back, Blanche. I have left the inn." " Left the inn ? With your husband ?" She answered the first question not the sec- ond. "I can't go back," she said. " The inn is no place for me. A curse seems to follow me, Blanche, wherever I go. I am the cause of quarreling and wretchedness, without meaning it, God knows. The old man who is head-wait- er at the inn has been kind to me, my dear, in his way, and he and the landlady had hard words together about it. A quarrel, a shocking, vio- lent quarrel. He has lost his place in conse- quence. The woman, his mistress, lays all the blame of it to my door. She is a hard woman ; and she has been harder than ever since Bishop- riggs. went away. I have missed a letter at the inn I must have thrown it aside, I suppose, and forgotten it. I only know that I remembered about it, and couldn't find it last night. I told the landlady, and she fastened a quarrel on me almost before the words were out of my mouth. Asked me if I charged her with steal- ing my letter. Said things to me I can't repeat them. I am not very well, and not able to deal with people of that sort. I thought it best to leave Craig Fernie this morning. I hope and pray I shall never see Craig Fernie again." She told her little story with a total absence of emotion of any sort, and laid her head back weari- ly on the chair when it was done. Blanche's eyes filled with tears at the sight of her. I MAN AND WIFE. 97 "I won't tease yon with questions, Anne," she said, gently. " Come up stairs and rest in my room. You're not fit to travel, love. I'll take care that nobody comes near us." The stable -clock at Windy-gates struck the quarter to two. Anne raised herself in the chair with a start. " What time was that?" she asked. Blanche told her. " I can't stay," she said. " I have come here to find something out, if I can. You won't ask me questions? Don't, Blanche, don't! for the sake of old times. " Blanche turned aside, heart-sick. " I will do nothing, dear, to annoy you," she said, and took Anne's hand, and hid the tears that were begin- ning to fall over her cheeks. " I want to know something, Blanche. Will you tell me ?" "Yes. What is it?" "Who are the gentlemen staying in the house?" Blanche looked round at her again, in sudden astonishment and alarm. A vague fear seized her that Anne's mind had given way under the heavy weight of trouble laid on it. Anne per- sisted in pressing her strange request. ' ' Eun over their names, Blanche. I have a reason for wishing to know who the gentlemen are who are staying in the house." Blanche repeated the names of Lady Lundie's guests, leaving to the last the guests who had arrived last. "Two more came back this morning," she went on. "Arnold Brinkworth and that hate- ful friend of his, Mr. Delamayn." Anne's head sank back once more on the chair. She had found her way, without exciting sus- picion of the truth, to the one discovery which she had come to Windygates to make. He was in Scotland again, and he had only arrived from London that morning. There was barely time for him to have communicated with Craig Fernie before she left the inn he, too, who hated letter- writing ! The circumstances were all in his fa- vor : there was no reason, there was really and truly no reason, so far, to believe that he had deserted her. The heart of the unhappy woman bounded in her bosom, under the first ray of hope that had warmed it for four days past. Under that sudden revulsion of feeling, her weakened frame shook from head to foot. Her face flushed deep for a moment then turned deadly pale again. Blanche, anxiously watching her, saw the serious necessity for giving some restorative to her instantly. " I am going to get you some wine you will faint, Anne, if you don't take something. I shall be back in a moment ; and I can manage it with- out any body being the wiser. " She pushed Anne's chair close to the nearest open window a window at the upper end of the library and ran out. Blanche had barely left the room, by the door that led into the hall, when Geoffrey entered it by- one of the lower windows opening from the lawn. With his mind absorbed in the letter that he was about to write, he slowly advanced up the room toward the nearest table. Anne, hearing the sound of footsteps, started, and looked round. Her failing strength rallied in an instant, under the sudden relief of seeing him again. She rose and advanced eagerly, with a faint tinge of color in her cheeks. He looked up. The two stood face to face together alone. "Geoffrey!" He looked at her without answering without advancing a step, on his side. There was an evil light in his eyes ; his silence was the brute silence that threatens dumbly. He had made up his mind never to see her again, and she had entrapped him into an interview. He had made up his mind to write, and there she stood forcing him to speak. The sum of her offenses against him was now complete. If there had ever been the faintest hope of her raising even a passing pity in his heart, that hope would have been an- nihilated now. She failed to understand the full meaning of his silence. She made her excuses, poor soul, for venturing back to Windygates her excuses to the man whose purpose at that moment was to throw her helpless on the world. " Pray forgive me for coming here," she said. "I have done nothing to compromise you, Geoffrey. Nobody but Blanche knows I am at Windygates. And I have contrived to make my inquiries about you without allowing her to sus- pect our secret." She stopped, and began to tremble. She saw something more in his face than she had read in it at first. "I got your letter," she went on, rallying her sinking courage. "I don't complain of its being so short: you don't like letter-writing, I know. But you prom- ised I should hear from you again. And I have never heard. And oh, Geoffrey, it was so lonely at the inn!" She stopped again, and supported herself by resting her hand on the table. The faintness was stealing back on her. She tried to go on again. It was useless she could only look at him now. "What do you want?" he asked, in the tone of a man who was putting an unimportant ques- tion to a total stranger. , A last gleam of her old energy flickered up in her face, like a dying flame. " I am broken by what I have gone through," she said. "Don't insult me by making me re- mind you of your promise. " " What promise?" "For shame, Geoffrey! for shame! Your promise to many me. " "You claim my promise after what you have done at the inn ?" She steadied herself against the table with one hand, and put the other hand to her head. Her brain was giddy. The effort to think was too much for her. She said to herself, vacantly, " The inn ? What did I do at the inn ?" " I have had a lawyer's advice, mind ! I know what I am talking about. " She appeared not to have heard IHm. She re- peated the words, "What did I do at the inn?" and gave it up in despair. Holding by the table, she came close to him and laid her hand on his arm. " Do you refuse to marry me ?" she asked. He saw the vile opportunity, and said the vile words. "You're married already to Arnold Brink- worth. " Without a cry to warn him, without an effort to save herself, she dropped senseless at his feet ; MAN AND WIFE. "HE TURNED AND FLED BY THE OPKN WINDOW. as her mother had dropped at his father's feet in the by-gone time. He disentangled himself from the folds of her dress. " Done !" he said, looking down at her as she lay on the floor. ' As the word fell from his lips he was startled by a sound in the inner part of the house. One of the library doors had not been completely closed. Light footsteps were audible, advancing rapidly across the hall. He turned and fled, leaving the library, as he had entered it, by the open window at the lower end of the room. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. BLANCHE came in, with a glass of wine in her hand, and saw the swooning woman on the floor. She was alarmed, but not surprised, as she knelt by Anne, and raised her head. Her own previous observation of her friend necessarily prevented her from being at any loss to account for the fainting fit. The inevitable delay in get- ting the wine was naturally to her mind alone to blame for the result which now met her view. If she had been less ready in thus tracing the effect to the cause, she might have gone to the window to see if any thing had happened, out- of-doors, to frighten Anne might have seen Geoffrey before he had time to turn the corner of the house and, making that one discovery, might have altered the whole course of events, not in her coming life only, but in the coming lives of others. So do we shape our own desti- nies, blindfold. So do we hold our poor little tenure of happiness at the capricious mercy of Chance. It is surely a blessed delusion which sersuades us that we are the highest product of ;he great scheme of creation, and sets us doubt- ing whether other planets are inhabited, because other planets are not surrounded by an atmos- phere which we can breathe ! After trying such simple remedies as were within her reach, and trying them without suc- cess, Blanche became seriously alarmed. Anne lay, to all outward appearance, dead in her arms. She was on the point of calling for help come what might of the discovery which would ensue when the door from the hall opened once more, and Hester Dethridge entered the room. The cook had accepted the alternative which her mistress's message had placed before her, if she insisted on having her own time at her own sole disposal for the rest of that day. Ex- actly as Lady Lundie had desired, she intimated her resolution to carry her point by placing her account-book on the desk in the library. It was only when this had been done that Blanche re- ceived any answer to her entreaties for help. Slowly and deliberately Hester Dethridge walk- ed up to the spot where the young girl knelt with Anne's head on her bosom, and looked at the two without a trace of human emotion in her stern and stony face. "Don't you see what's happened?" cried Blanche. "Are you alive or dead? Oh, Hes- ter, I can't bring her to! Look at her! look at her !" Hester Dethridge looked at her, and shook her head. Looked again, thought for a while, and wrote on her slate. Held out the slate over Anne's body, and showed what she had written : MAN AND WIFE. 99 "Who has done it?" " You stupid creature !" said Blanche. "No- body has done it." The eyes of Hester Dethridge steadily read the worn white face, telling its own tale of sor- row mutely on Blanche's breast. The mind of Hester Dethridge steadily looked back at her own knowledge of her own miserable married life. She again returned to writing on her slate again showed the written words to Blanche. "Brought to it by a man. Let her be and God will take her. " "You horrid unfeeling woman ! how dare you write such an abominable thing!" With this natural outburst of indignation, Blanche looked back at Anne; and, daunted by the deathlike persistency of the swoon, appealed again to the mercy of the immovable woman who was look- ing down at her. "Oh, Hester! for Heaven's sake help me!" The cook dropped her slate at her side, and bent her head gravely in sign that she submit- ted. She motioned to Blanche to loosen Anne's dress, and then kneeling on one knee took Anne to support her while it was being done. The instant Hester Dethridge touched her, the swooning woman gave signs of life. A faint shudder ran through her from head to foot her eyelids trembled half opened for a moment and closed again. As they closed, a low sigh fluttered feebly from her lips. Hester Dethridge put her back in Blanche's arms considered a little with herself returned to writing on her slate and held out the written words once more : " Shivered when I touched her. That means I have been walking over her grave." Blanche turned from the sight of the slate, and from the sight of the woman, in horror. " You frighten me ! " she said. " You will frighten her, if she sees you. I don't mean to offend you ; but leave us, please leave us. " Hester Dethridge accepted her dismissal, as she accepted every thing else. She bowed her head in sign that she understood looked for the last time at Anne dropped a stiff courtesy to her young mistress and left the room. An hour later the butler had paid her, and she had left the house. Blanche breathed more freely when she found herself alone. She could feel the relief now of seeing Anne revive. "Can you hear me, darling?" she whispered. " Can you let me leave you for a moment?" Anne's eyes slowly opened and looked round her in that torment and terror of reviving life which marks the awful protest of humanity against its recall to existence when mortal mercy has dared to wake it in the arms of Death. Blanche rested Anne's head against the near- est chair, and ran to the table upon which she had placed the wine on entering the room. After swallowing the first few drops Anne be- gan to feel the effect of the stimulant. Blanche persisted in making her empty the glass, and refrained from asking or answering questions until her recovery under the influence of the wine was complete. "You have overexerted yourself this morn- ing, " she said, as soon as it seemed safe to speak. "Nobody has seen you, darling nothing has happened. Do you feel like yourself again ?" Anne made an attempt to rise and leave the library ; Blanche placed her gently in the chair, and went on : "There is not the least need to stir. We have another quarter of an hour to ourselves before any body is at all likely to disturb us. I have something to say, Anne a little proposal to make. Will you listen to me ?" Anne took Blanche's hand, and pressed it gratefully to her lips. She made no other re- ply. Blanche proceeded : " I won't ask any questions, my dear I won't attempt to keep you here against your will I won't even remind you of my letter yesterday. But I can't let you go, Anne, without having my mind made easy about you in some way. You will relieve all my anxiety, if you will do one thing one easy thing, for my sake." " What is it," Blanche?" She put that question with her mind far away from the subject before her. Blanche was too eager in pursuit of her object to notice the ab- sent tone, the purely mechanical manner, in which Anne had spoken to her. "I want you to consult my uncle," she an- swered. " Sir Patrick is interested in you ; Sir Patrick* proposed to me this very day to go and see you at the inn. He is the wisest, the kindest, the dearest old man living and you can trust him as you could trust nobody else. Will you take my uncle into your confidence, and be guided by his advice ?" With her mind still far away from the subject, Anne looked out absently at the lawn, and made no answer. "Come!" said Blanche. "One word isn't much to say. Is it Yes or No ?" Still looking out on the lawn still thinking of something else Anne yielded, and said "Yes." Blanche was enchanted. " How well I must have managed it ! " she thought. "This is what my uncle means, when my uncle talks of 'put- ting it strongly.'" She bent down over Anne, and gayly patted her on the shoulder. "That's the wisest 'Yes,' darling, you ever said in your life. Wait here and I'll go in to luncheon, or they will be sending to know what has become of me. Sir Patrick has kept my place for me, next to himself. I shall contrive to tell him what I want; and he will contrive (oh, the blessing of having to do with a clever man ; there are so few of them !) he will con- trive to leave the table before the rest, without exciting any body's suspicions. Go away with him at once to. the summer-house (we have been at the summer-house all the morning; nobody will go back to it now), and I will follow you as soon as I have satisfied Lady Lundie by eating some lunch. Nobody will be any the wiser but our three selves. In five minutes or less you may expect Sir Patrick. Let me go! We haven't a moment to lose!" Anne held her back. Anne's attention was concentrated on her now. " What is it?" she asked. "Are you going on happily with Arnold, Blanche?" " Arnold is nicer than ever, my dear." " Is the day fixed for your marriage ?" " The day will be ages hence. Not till we are 100 MAN AND WIFE. back in town, at the end of the autumn. Let me go, Anne!" " Give me a kiss, Blanche." Blanche kissed her, and tried to release her hand. Anne held it as if she was drowning, as if her life depended on not letting it go. "Will you always love me, Blanche, as you love me now ?" " How can you ask me !" "/said Yes just now. You say Yes too." Blanche said it. Anne's eyes fastened on her face, with one long, yearning look, and then Anne's hand suddenly dropped hers. She ran out of the room, more agitated, more uneasy, than she liked to confess to herself. Nev- er had she felt so certain of the urgent necessity of appealing to Sir Patrick's advice as she felt at that moment. The guests were still safe at the luncheon-table when Blanche entered the dining-room. Lady Lundie expressed the necessary surprise, in the properly graduated tone of reproof, at her step-daughter's want of punctuality. Blanche made her apologies with the most exemplary hu- mility. She glided into her chair by her uncle's side, and took the first thing that was offered to her. Sir Patrick looked at his niece, and found himself in the company of a model young En- glish Miss and marveled inwardly what it might mean. The talk, interrupted for the moment (topics, Politics and Sport and then, when a change was wanted, Sport and Politics), was resumed again all round the table. Under cover of the conversation, and in the intervals of receiving the attentions of the gentlemen, Blanche whis- pered to Sir Patrick, " Don't start, uncle. Anne is in the library." (Polite Mr. Smith offered some ham. Gratefully declined. ) ' ' Pray, pray, pray go to her ; she is waiting to see you she is in dreadful trouble." (Gallant Mr. Jones pro- posed fruit tart and cream. Accepted with thanks.) " Take her to the summer-house : I'll follow you when I get the chance. And manage it at once, uncle, if you love me, or you will be too late. " Before Sir Patrick could whisper back a word in reply, Lady Lundie, cutting a cake of the rich- est Scottish composition, at the other end of the table, publicly proclaimed it to be her "own cake," and, as such, offered her brother-in-law a slice. The slice exhibited an eruption of plums and sweetmeats, overlaid by a perspiration of butter. It has been said that Sir Patrick had passed the age of seventy it is, therefore, need- less to add that he politely declined to commit an unprovoked outrage on his own stomach. " MY cake !" persisted Lady Lundie, elevating the horrible composition on a fork. "Won't that tempt you ?" Sir Patrick saw his way to slipping out of the room under cover of a compliment to his sister- in-law. He summoned his courtly smile, and laid his hand on his heart. "A fallible mortal," he said, "is met by a temptation which he can not possibly resist. If he is a wise mortal, also, what does he do ?" " He eats some of My cake," said the prosaic Lady Lundie. " No !" said Sir Patrick, with a look of unut- terable devotion directed at his sister-in-law. "He flies temptation, dear lady as I do now." He bowed, and escaped, unsuspected, from the room. Lady Lundie cast down her eyes, with an ex- pression of virtuous indulgence for human frailty, and divided Sir Patrick's compliment modestly between herself and her cake. Well aware that his own departure from the table would be followed in a few minutes by the rising of the lady of the house, Sir Patrick hur- ried to the library as fast as his lame foot would let him. Now that he was alone, his manner be- came anxious, and his face looked grave. He entered the room. Not a sign of Anne Silvester was to be seen any where. The library was a perfect solitude. " Gone!" said Sir Patrick. "This looks bad." After a moment's reflection he went back into the hall to get his hat. It was possible that she might have been afraid of discovery if she staid in the library, and that she might have gone on to the summer-house by herself. If she was not to be found in the summer- house, the quieting of Blanche's mind and the clearing up of her uncle's suspicions alike depend- ed on discovering the place in which Miss Silves- ter had taken refuge. In this case time would be of importance, and the capacity of making the most of it would be a precious capacity at start- ing. Arriving rapidly at these conclusions, Sir Patrick rang the bell in the hall which commu- nicated with the servants' offices, and summoned his own valet a person of tried discretion and fidelity, nearly as old as himself. " Get your hat, Duncan," he said, when the valet appeared, "and come out with me." Master and servant set forth together silently, on their way through the grounds. Arrived within sight of the summer-house, Sir Patrick ordered Duncan to wait, and went on by him- self. There was not the least need for the precau- tion that he had taken. The summer-house was as empty as the library. He stepped out again and looked about him. Not a living creature was visible. Sir Patrick summoned his servant to join him. "Go back to the stables, Duncan," he said, "and say that Miss Lundie lends me her pony- carriage to-day. Let it be got ready at once and kept in the stable-yard. I want to attract as little notice as possible. You are to go with me, and nobody else. Provide yourself with a railway time-table. Have you got any money ?" "Yes, Sir Patrick." "Did you happen to see the governess (Miss Silvester) on the day when we came here the day of the lawn-party ?" '"I did, Sir Patrick." ' ' Should you know her again ?" " I thought her a very distinguished-looking person, Sir Patrick. I should certainly know her again." "Have you any reason to think she noticed you?" " She never even looked at me, Sir Patrick." ' ' Very good. Put a change of linen into your bag, Duncan I may possibly want you to take a journey by railway. Wait for me in the stable- yard. This is a matter in which every thing is trusted to my discretion, and to yours." MAN AND WIFE. 101 'SHE CAME OUT AGAIN XO MEET HIM, WITH A LOOK OF BLANK DESPAIR." "Thank yon, Sir Patrick." With that acknowledgment of the compliment which had been just paid to him, Duncan grave- ly went his way to the stables ; and Duncan's master returned to the summer-house, to wait there until he was joined by Blanche. Sir Patrick showed signs of failing patience during the interval of expectation through which he was now condemned to pass. He applied perpetually to the snuff-box in the knob of his cane. He fidgeted incessantly in and out of the summer-house. Anne's disappearance had placed a serious obstacle in the way of further discov- ery ; and there was no attacking that obstacle, until precious time had been wasted in waiting to see Blanche. At last she appeared in view, from the steps of the summer-house ; breathless and eager, hast- ening to the place of meeting as fast as her feet would take her to it. Sir Patrick considerately advanced, to spare her the shock of making the inevitable discovery. "Blanche," he said. "Try to prepare your- self, my dear, for a disappointment. I am alone. " " You don't mean that you have let her go ?" ' : My poor child ! I have never seen her at all. " Blanche pushed by him, and ran into the sum- mer-house. Sir Patrick followed her. She came out again to meet him, with a look of blank de- spair. "Oh, uncle! I did so truly pity her! And see how little pity she has for me !" Sir Patrick put his arm round his niece, and softly patted the fair young head that dropped on his shoulder. " Don't let us judge her harshly, my dear : we don't know what serious necessity may not plead her excuse. It is plain that she can trust nobody and that she only consented to see me to get you out of the room and spare you the pain of parting. Compose yourself. Blanche. I don't despair of discovering where she has gone, if you will help me. " Blanche lifted her head, and dried her tears bravely. "My father himself wasn't kinder to me than you are," she said. "Only tell me, uncle, what I can do!" " I want to hear exactly what happened in the library," said Sir Patrick. "Forget nothing, my dear child, no matter how trifling it may be. Trifles are precious to us, and minutes are pre- cious to us, now. " Blanche followed her instructions to the letter, her uncle listening with the closest attention. When she had completed her narrative, Sir Pat- rick suggested leaving the summer-house. '"I have ordered your chaise," he said ; " and I can tell you what I propose doing on our way to the stable-yard." " Let me drive you, uncle !" " Forgive me, my dear, for saying No to that. Your step-mother's suspicions are very easily ex- cited and you had better not be seen with me if my inquiries take me to the Craig Fernie inn. I promise, if you will remain here, to tell you every thing when I come back. Join the oth- ers in any plan they have for the afternoon and you will prevent my absence from exciting any thing more than a passing remark. You will do as I tell you ? That's a good girl ! Now you shall hear how I propose to search for this poor lady, and how your little story has helped me. " . He paused, considering with himself whether 102 MAN AND WIFE. he should begin by telling Blanche of his con- sultation with Geoffrey. Once more, he decided that question in the negative. Better to still de- fer taking her into his confidence until he had performed the errand of investigation on which he was now setting forth. "What you have told me, Blanche, divides itself, in my mind, into two heads," began Sir Patrick. "There is what happened in the li- brary before your own eyes ; and there is what Miss Silvester told you had happened at the inn. As to the event in the library (in the first place), it is too late now to inquire whether that faint- ing-fit was the result, as you say, of mere ex- haustion or whether it was the result of some- thing that occurred while you were out of the room." " What could have happened while I was out of the room?" " I know no more than you do, my dear. It is simply one of the possibilities in the case , and, as such, I notice it. To get on to what practi- cally concerns us ; if Miss Silvester is in delicate health it is impossible that she could get, unas- sisted, to any great distance from Windygates. She may have taken refuge in one of the cottages in our immediate neighborhood. Or she may have met with some passing vehicle from one of the farms on its way to the station, and may have asked the person driving to give her a seat in it. Or she may have walked as far as she can, and may have stopped to rest in some shel- tered place, among the lanes to the south of this house." "I'll inquire at the cottages, uncle, while you are gone. " " My dear child, there must be a dozen cot- tages, at least, within a circle of one mile from Windygates ! Your inquiries would probably occupy you for the whole afternoon. I won't ask what Lady Lundie would think of your being away all that time by yourself. I will only re- mind you of two things. You would be making a public matter of an investigation which it is es- sential to pursue as privately as possible ; and, even if you happened to hit on the right cottage, your inquiries would be completely baffled, and you would discover nothing. " "Why not?" " I know the Scottish peasant better than you do, Blanche. In his intelligence and his sense of self-respect he is a very different being* from the English peasant. He would receive you civ- illy, because you are a young lady ; but he would let you see, at the same time, that he considered you had taken advantage of the difference be- tween your position and his position to commit an intrusion. And if Miss Silvester had appeal- ed, in confidence, to his hospitality, and if he had granted it, no power on earth would induce him to tell any person living that she was under his roof without her express permission." "But, uncle, if it's of no use making inquiries of any body, how are we to find her?" " I don't say that nobody will answer our in- quiries, my dear I only say the peasantry won't answer them, if your friend has trusted herself to their protection. The way to find her is to look on, beyond what Miss Silvester may be do- ing at the present moment, to what Miss Silves- ter contemplates doing let us say, before the day is out. We may assume, I think (after what has happened), that, as soon as she can leave this neighbor hood, she assuredly will leave it. Do you agree, so far ?" " Yes! yes ! Go on." " Very well. She is a woman, and she is (to say the least of it) not strong. She can only leave this neighborhood either by hiring a vehicle or by traveling on the railway. I propose going first to the station. At the rate at which your pony gets over the ground, there is a fair chance, in spite of the time we have lost, of my being there as soon as she is assuming that she leaves by the first train, up or down, that passes." " There is a train in half an hour, uncle. She can never get there in time for that." "She may be less exhausted than we think; or she may get a lift ; or she may not be alone. How do we know but somebody may have been waiting in the lane her husband, if there is such a person to help her ? No ! I shall assume she is now on her way to the station ; and I shall get there as fast as possible " "And stop her, if you find her there?" " What I do, Blanche, must be left to my dis- cretion. If I find her there, I must act for the best. If I don't find her there, I shall leave Dun- can (who goes with me) on the watch for the re- maining trains, until the last to-night. He knows Miss Silvester by sight, and he is sure that she has never noticed him. Whether she goes north or south, early or late, Duncan will have my or- ders to follow her. He is thoroughly to be re- lied on. If she takes the railway, I answer for it we shall know where she goes." "How clever of you to think of Duncan!" "Not in the least, my dear. Duncan is my factotum ; and the course I am taking is the ob- vious course which would have occurred to any body. Let us get to the really difficult part of it now. Suppose she hires a carriage ?" " There are none to be had, except at the sta- tion." "There are farmers about here; and farmers have light carts, or chaises, or something of the sort. It is in the last degree unlikely that they would consent to let her have them. Still, wo- men break through difficulties which stop men. And this is a clever woman, Blanche a woman, you may depend on it, who is bent on preventing you from tracing her. I confess I wish we had somebody we could trust lounging about where those two roads branch off from the road that leads to the railway. I must go in another di- rection ; /can't do it." "Arnold can do it!" Sir Patrick looked a little doubtful. "Ar- nold is an excellent fellow," he said. " But can we trust to his discretion ?" "He is, next to you, the most perfectly dis- creet person I know," rejoined Blanche, in a very positive manner; "and, what is more, I have told him every thing about Anne, except what has happened to-day. I am afraid I shall tell him that, when I feel lonely and miserable, after you have gone. There is something in Arnold I don't know what it is that comforts me. Be- sides, do you think he would betray a secret that I gave him to keep ? You don't know how de- voted he is to me!" "My dear Blanche, I am not the cherished object of his devotion ; of course I don't know ! You are the only authority on that point. I MAN AND WIFE. 103 stand corrected. Let us have Arnold, by all means. Caution him to be careful ; and send him out by himself, where the roads meet. We have now only one other place left in which there is a chance of finding a trace of her. I under- take to make the necessary investigation at the Craig Fernie inn." "The Craig Fernie inn? Uncle! you have forgotten what I told you." " Wait a little, my dear. Miss Silvester her- self has left the inn, I grant you. But (if we should unhappily fail in finding her by any other means) Miss Silvester has left a trace to guide us at Craig Fernie. That trace must be picked up at once, in case of accidents. You don't seem to follow me ? I am getting over the ground as fast as the pony gets over it. I have arrived at the second of those two heads into which your story divides itself in my mind. What did Miss Silvester tell you had happened at the inn ?" "She lost a letter at the inn." " Exactly. She lost a letter at the inn ; that is one event. And Bishopriggs, the waiter, has quarreled with Mrs. Inchbare, and has left his situation ; that is another event. As to the let- ter first. It is either really lost, or it has been stolen. In either case, if we can lay our hands on it, there is at least a chance of its helping us to discover something. As to Bishopriggs, next " " You're not going to talk about the waiter, sure'y ?" "I am! Bishopriggs possesses two import- ant merits. ' lie is a link in my chain of reason- ing; and he is an old friend of mine." " A friend of yours ?" " We live in days, my dear, when one work- man talks of another workman as ' that gentle- man.' I march with the age, and feel bound to mention my clerk as my friend. A few years since Bishopriggs was employed in the clerks' room at my chambers. He is t one of the most intelligent and most unscrupulous old vagabonds in Scotland ; perfectly honest as to all average matters involving pounds, shillings, and pence ; perfectly unprincipled in the pursuit of his own interests, where the violation of a trust lies on the boundary -line which marks the limit of the law. I made two unpleasant discoveries when I had him in my employment. I found that he had contrived to supply himself with a duplicate of my seal ; and I had the strongest reason to suspect him of tampering with some papers be- longing to two of my clients. He had done no actual mischief, so far ; and I had no time to waste in making out the necessary case against him. He was dismissed from my service, as a man who was not to be trusted to respect any letters or papers that happened to pass through his hands." "I see, uncle! I see!" " Plain enough now isn't it? If that miss- ing letter of Miss Silvester's is a letter of no im- portance, I am inclined to believe that it is mere- ly lost, and may be found again. If, on the other hand, there is any thing in it that could promise the most remote advantage to any person in pos- session of it, then, iti the execrable slang of the day, I will lay any odds, Blanche, that Bishop- riggs has got the letter !" "And he has left the inn! How unfortu- nate!" "Unfortunate as causing delay nothing worse than that. Unless I am very much mis- taken, Bishopriggs will come back to the inn. The old rascal (there is no denying it) is a most amusing person. He left a terrible blank when he left my clerks' room. Old customers at Craig Fernie (especially the English), in missing Bish- opriggs, will, you may rely on it, miss one of the attractions of the inn. Mrs. Inchbare is not a woman to let her dignity stand in the way of her business. She and Bishopriggs will come to- gether again, sooner or later, and make it up. When I have put certain questions to her, which may possibly lead to very important results, I shall leave a letter for Bishopriggs in Mrs. Inch- bare's hands. The letter will tell him I have something for him to do, and will contain an address at which he can write to me. I shall hear of him, Blanche ; and, if the letter is in his possession, I shall get it." " Won't he be afraid if he has stolen the let- ter to tell you he has got it ?" " Very well put, my child. He might hesitate with other people. But I have my own way of dealing with him ; and I know how to make him tell Me. Enough of Bishopriggs till his time comes. There is one other point, in regard to Miss Silvester. I may have to describe her. How was she dressed when she came here? Remember, I am a man and (if an English- woman's dress can be described in an English- woman's language) tell me, in English, what she had on." "She wore a straw hat, with corn-flowers in it, and a white veil. Corn-flowers at one side, uncle, which is less common than corn-flowers in front. And she had on a light gray shawl. And a Pique * ' ' There you go with your French ! Not a word more ! A straw hat, with a white veil, and with corn-flowers at one side of the hat. And a light gray shawl. That's as much as the ordinary male mind can take in ; and that will do. I have got my instructions, and saved precious time. So far so good. Here we are at the end of our conference in other words, at the gate of the stable-yard. You understand what you have to do while I am away ?" "I have to send Arnold to the cross-roads. And I have to behave (if I can) as if nothing had happened." "Good child! Well put again! You have got what I call grasp of mind, Blanche. An in- valuable faculty! You will govern the future domestic kingdom. Arnold will be nothing but a constitutional husband. Those are the only husbands who are thoroughly happy. You shall hear every thing, my love, when I come back. Got your bag, Duncan ? Good. And the time-table ? Good. You take the reins I won't drive. I want to think. Driving is in- compatible with intellectual exertion. A man puts his mind into his horse, and sinks to the level of that useful animal as a necessary con- dition of getting to his destination without being upset. God bless you, Blanche! To the sta- tion, Duncan! to the station!" 104 MAN AND WIFE. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. TRACED. THE chaise rattled out through the gates. The dogs barked furiously. Sir Patrick looked round, and waved his hand as he turned the corner of the road. Blanche was left alone in the yard. She lingered a little, absently patting the dogs. They had especial claims on" her sympathy at that moment ; they, too, evidently thought it hard to be left behind at the house. After a while she roused herself. Sir Patrick had left the responsibility of superintending the cross- roads on her shoulders. There was something to be done yet before the arrangements for tra- cing Anne were complete. Blanche left the yard to do it. On her way back to the house she met Ar- nold, dispatched by Lady Lundie in search of her. The plan of occupation for the afternoon had been settled during Blanche's absence. Some demon had whispered to Lady Lundie to culti- vate a taste for feudal antiquities, and to insist on spreading that taste among her guests. She had proposed an excursion to an old baronial castle among the hills far to the westward (for- tunately for Sir Patrick's chance of escaping dis- covery) of the hills at Craig Fernie. Some of the guests were to ride, and some to accompany their hostess in the open carriage. Looking right and left for proselytes, Lady Lundie had necessarily remarked the disappearance of cer- tain members of her circle. Mr. Delamayn had vanished, nobody knew where. Sir Patrick and Blanche had followed his example. Her lady- ship had observed, upon this, with some asper-. ity, that if they were all to treat each other in that unceremonious manner, the sooner Windy- gates was turned into a Penitentiary, on the si- lent system, the fitter the house would be. for the people who inhabited it. Under these circum- stances, Arnold suggested that Blanche would do well to make her excuses as soon as possible at head-quarters, and accept the seat in the car- riage which her step-mother wished her to take. ' ; We are in for the feudal antiquities, Blanche ; and we must help each other through as well as we can. If you will go in the carriage, I'll go too." Blanche shook her head. " There are serious reasons for my keeping up appearances," she said. "I shall go in the car- riage. You mustn't go at all." Arnold naturally looked a little surprised, and asked to be favored with an explanation. Blanche took his arm and hugged it close. Now that Anne was lost, Arnold was more pre- cious to her than ever. She literally hungered to hear at that moment, from his own lips, how fond he was of her. It mattered nothing that she was already perfectly satisfied on this point. It was so nice (after he had said it five hundred times already) to make him say it once more ! " Suppose I had no explanation to give?" she said. " Would you stay behind by yourself to please me f" " I would do any thing to please you !" "Do you really love me as much as that?" They were still in the yard ; and the only wit- nesses present were the dogs. Arnold answered in the language without words which is never- theless the most expressive language in use, be- tween men and women, all over the world. "This is not doing my duty, "said Blanche, penitently. " But, oh Arnold, I am so anxious and so miserable ! And it is such a consolation to know that you won't turn your back on me too!" With that preface she told him what had hap- pened in the library. Even Blanche's estimate of her lover's capacity for sympathizing with her was more than realized by the effect which her narrative produced on Arnold. He was not merely surprised and sorry for her. His face showed plainly that he felt genuine concern and distress. He had never stood higher in Blanche's opinion than he stood at that moment. "What is to be done?" he asked. "How does Sir Patrick propose to find her ?" Blanche repeated Sir Patrick's instructions re- lating to the cross-roads, and also to the seri- ous necessity of pursuing the investigation in the strictest privacy. Arnold (relieved from all fear of being sent back to Craig Fernie) undertook to do every thing that was asked of him, and promised to keep the secret from every body. They went back to the^iouse, and met with an icy welcome from Lady Lundie. Her lady- ship repeated her remark on the subject of turn- ing Windygates into a Penitentiary for Blanche's benefit. She received Arnold's petition to be excused from going to see the castle with the barest civility. "Oh, take your walk by all means ! You may meet your friend, Mr. Dela- mayn who appears to have such a passion for wafking that he can't even wait till luncheon is over. As for Sir Patrick Oh! Sir Patrick has borrowed the pony-carriage? and gone out driving by himself? I'm sure I never meant to offend my brother-in-law when I offered him a slice of my poor little cake. Don't let me of- fend any body else. Dispose of your afternoon, Blanche, without the slightest reference to me. Nobody seems inclined to visit the ruins the most interesting relic of feudal times in Perth- shire, Mr. Brinkworth. It doesn't matter oh, dear me, it doesn't matter! I can't force my guests to feel an intelligent curiosity on the sub- ject of Scottish Antiquities. No ! no ! my dear Blanche ! it won't be the first time, or the last, that I have driven out alone. I don't at all ob- ject to being alone. ' My mind to me a king- dom is, 'as the poet says." So Lady Lundie's outraged self-importance asserted its violated claims on human respect, until her distinguished medical guest came to the rescue and smoothed his hostess's ruffled plumes. The surgeon (he privately detested ruins) begged to go. Blanche begged to go. Smith and Jones (profoundly in- terested in feudal antiquities) said they would sit behind, in the "rumble" rather than miss this unexpected treat. One, Two, and Three caught the infection, and volunteered to be the escort on horseback. Lady Lundie's celebrated "smile" (warranted to remain unaltered on her face for hours together) made its appearance once more. She issued her orders with the most charming amiability. "We'll take the guide- book," said her ladyship, with the eye to mean economy, which is only to be met with in very rich people, "and save a shilling to the man who shows the ruins." With that she went up stairs MAN AND WIFE. 105 ARNOLD SAT DOWN ON THE SOFT HEATHER, AND LIT A CIGAB. to array herself for the drive ; and looked in the glass ; and saw a perfectly virtuous, fascinating, and accomplished woman, facing her irresistibly in a new French honnet ! At a private signal from Blanche, Arnold slipped out and repaired to his post, where the roads crossed the road that led to the railway. There was a space of open heath on one side of him, and the stone-wall and gates of a farm- house inclosure on the other. Arnold sat down on the soft heather and lit a cigar and tried to see his way through the double mystery of Anne's appearance and Anne's flight. He had interpreted his friend's absence ex- actly as his friend had anticipated : he could only assume that Geoffrey had gone to keep a private appointment with Anne. Miss Silvester's appearance at Windygates alone, and Miss Sil- vester's anxiety to hear the names of the gentle- men who were staying in the house, seemed, under these circumstances, to point to the plain conclusion that the two had, in some way, un- fortunately missed each other. But what could be the motive of her flight? Whether she knew of some other place in which she might meet Geoffrey? or whether she had gone back to the inn? or whether she had acted under some sudden impulse of despair ? were ques- tions which Arnold wa.s necessarily quite incom- petent to solve. There was no choice but to wait until an opportunity offered of reporting what had happened to Geoffrey himself. After the lapse of half an hour, the so.und of some approaching vehicle the first sound of the sort that he had heard attracted Arnold's at- tention. He started up, and saw the pony-chaise approaching him along the road from the station. G Sir Patrick, this time, was compelled to drive himself Duncan was not with him. On dis- covering Arnold, he stopped the pony. "So! so!" said the old gentleman. "You have heard all about it, I see ? You understand that this is to be a secret from every body, till further notice? Very good. Has any thing happened since you have been here ?" ' ' Nothing. Have you made any discoveries, Sir Patrick?" " None. I got to the station before the train. No signs of Miss Silvester any where. I have left Duncan on the watch with orders not to stir till the last train has passed to-night." " I don't think she will turn up at the station," said Arnold. "I fancy she has gone back to Craig Fernie." " Quite possible. I am now on my way to Craig Fernie, to make inquiries about her. I don't know how long I may be detained, or what it may lead to. If you see Blanche before I do, tell her I have instructed the station-master to let me know (if Miss Silvester does take the rail- way) what place she books for. Thanks to that arrangement, we sha'n't have to wait for news till Duncan can telegraph that he has'' seen her to her journey's end. In the mean time, you un- derstand what you are wanted to do here ?" ' ' Blanche has explained every thing to me. " "Stick to your post, and make good use of your eyes. You were accustomed to that, you know, when you were at sea. It's no great hard- ship to pass a few hours in this delicious summer air. I see you have contracted the vile modern habit of smoking that will be occupation enough to amuse you, no doubt! Keep the roads in view ; and, if she does come your way, don't at- 106 MAN AND WIFE. tempt to stop her you can't do that. Speak to her (quite innocently, mind !), by way of getting time enough to notice the face of the man who is driving her, and the name (if there is one) on his cart. Do that, and you will do enough. Pah! how that cigar poisons the air! What will have become of your stomach when you get to my age ?" " I sha'n't complain, Sir Patrick, if I can eat as good a dinner as you do." " That reminds me ! I met somebody I knew at the station. Hester Dethridge has left her place, and gone to London by the train. We may feed at Windygates we have done with dining now. It has been a final quarrel this time between the mistress and the cook. I have given Hester my address in London, and told her to let me know before she decides on another place. A Ifoman who cant talk, and a woman who can cook, is simply a woman who *has arrived at absolute perfection. Such a treas- ure shall not go out of the family, if I can help it. Did you notice the Bechamel sauce at lunch ? Pooh! a young man who smokes cigars doesn't know the difference between Bechamel sauce and melted butter. Good afternoon ! good aft- ernoon !" He slackened the reins, and away he went to Craig Fernie. Counting by years, the pony was twenty, and the pony's driver was seventy. Counting by vivacity and spirit, two of the most youthful characters in Scotland had got togeth- er that afternoon in the same chaise. An hour more wore itself slowly out ; and nothing had passed Arnold on the cross-roads but a few stray foot-passengers, a heavy wagon, and a gig with an old woman in it. He rose again from the heather, weary of inaction, and resolved to walk backward and forward, within view of his post, for a change. At the second turn, when his face happened to be set toward the open heath, he noticed another foot-passen- ger apparently a man far away in the empty distance. Was the person coming toward him ? He advanced a little. The stranger was doubt- less advancing too, 'so rapidly did his figure now reveal itself, beyond all doubt, as the figure of a man. A few minutes more, and Arnold fancied he recognized it. Yet a little longer, and he was quite sure. There was no mistaking the lithe strength and grace of that man, and the smooth easy swiftness with which he covered his ground. It was the hero of the coming foot-race. It was Geoffrey on his way back to Windygates House. Arnold hurried forward to meet him. Geoffrey stood still, poising himself on his stick, and let the other come up. " Have you heard what has happened at the house ?" asked Arnold. He instinctively checked the next question as it rose to his lips.* There was a settled defiance in the expression of Geoffrey's face, which Arnold was quite at a loss to understand. He looke'd like a man who had made up his mind to con- front any thing that could happen, and to contra- dict any body who spoke to him. "Something seems to have annoyed j r ou?" said Arnold. "What's up at the house?" returned Geof- frey, with his loudest voice and his hardest look. " Miss Silvester has been at the house." "Who saw her?" "Nobody but Blanche." "Well?" "Well, dfce was miserably weak and ill. so ill that she fainted, poor thing, in the library. Blanche brought her to." "And what then?" " We were all at lunch at the time. Blanche left the library, to speak privately to her uncle. When she went back Miss Silvester was gone, and nothing has been seen of her since." ' A row at the house ?" 'Nobody knows of it at the house, except Blanche ' ' And you ? And how many" besides ?" 'And Sir Patrick. Nobody else." ' Nobody else ? Any thing more ?" Arnold remembered his promise to keep the investigation then on foot a secret from every body. Geoffrey's manner made him uncon- sciously to himself readier than he might oth- erwise have been to consider Geoffrey as includ- ed in the general prohibition. "Nothing more," he answered. Geoffrey dug the point of his stick deep into the soft, sandy ground. He looked at the stick, then suddenly pulled it out of the ground and looked at Arnold. " Good-afternoon !" he said, and went on his way again by himself. Arnold followed, and stopped him. For a moment the two men looked at each other with- out a word passing on either side. Arnold spoke first. " You're out of humor, Geoffrey. What has upset you in this way ? Have you and Miss Silvester missed each other?" Geoffrey was silent. " Have you seen her since she left Windy- gates ?" No reply. " Do you know where Miss Silvester is now ?" Still no reply. Still the same mutely-insolent defiance of look and manner. Arnold's dark color began to deepen. " Why don't you answer me?" he said. ' ' Because I have had enough of it. " " Enough of what ?" "Enough of being worried about Miss Silves- ter. Miss Silvester's my business not yours." " Gently, Geoffrey ! Don't forget that I have been mixed up in that business without seeking it myself. " " There's no fear of my forgetting. You have cast it in my teeth often enough." " Cast it in your teeth ?" "Yes! Am I never to hear the last of my obligation to you? The devil take the obliga- tion! I'm sick of the sound of it." There was a spirit in Arnold not easily brought to the surface, through the overlying simplicity and good-humor of his ordinary char- acter which, once roused, was a spirit not read- ily quelled. Geoffrey had roused it at last. "When you come to your senses," he said, "I'll remember old times and receive your apology. Till you do come to your senses, go your way by yourself. I have no more to say to you." Geoffrey set his teeth, and came one step near- er. Arnold's eyes met his, with a look which steadily and firmly challenged him though he was the stronger man of the two to force the quarrel a step further, if he dared. The one hu- MAN AND WIFE. 107 man virtue which Geoffrey respected and under- stood was the virtue of courage/ And there it was before him the undeniable courage of the weaker man. The callous scoundrel was touch- ed in the one tender place in his whole being, lie turned, and went on his way in silence. Left by himself, Arnold's head dropped on his breast. The friend who had saved his life the one friend he possessed, who was associated with his earliest and happiest remembrances of old days na( i grossly insulted him ; and had left him deliberately, without the slightest expression of regret. Arnold's affectionate nature sim- ple, loyal, clinging where it once fastened was wounded to the quick. Geoffrey's fast-retreat- ing figure, in the open view before him, became blurred and indistinct. He put his hand over his eyes, and hid, with a boyish shame, the hot tears "that told of the heartache, and that honor- ed the man who shed them. He was still struggling with the emotion which had overpowered him, when something happened at the place where the roads met. The four roads pointed as nearly as might be toward the four points of the compass. Arnold was now on the road to the eastward, having ad- vanced in that direction to meet Geoffrey, be- tween two and three hundred yards from the farm-house inclosure before which he had kept his watch. The road to the westward, curving away behind the farm, led to the nearest market- town. The road to the south was the way to the station. And the road to the north led back to Windygates House. While Geoffrey was still fifty yards from the turning which would take him back to Windy- gates while the tears were still standing thickly in Arnold's eyes the gate of the farm inclosure opened. A light four-wheel chaise came out, with a man driving, and a woman sitting by his side. The woman was Anne Silvester, and the man was the owner of the farvi. Instead of taking the way which led to the, station, the chaise pursued the westward road to the market-town. Proceeding in this direction, the backs of the persons in the vehicle were necessarily turned on Geoffrey, advancing behind them from the eastward. He just carelessly no- ticed the shabby little chaise, and then turned off north on his way to Windygates. By the time Arnold was composed enough to look round him, the chaise had taken the curve in the road which wound behind the farm-house. He returned faithful to the engagement which he had undertaken to his post before the in- closure. The chaise was then a speck in the distance. In a minute more it was a speck out of sight. So (to use Sir Patrick's phrase) had the wo- man broken through difficulties which would have stopped a man. So, in her sore need, had Anne Silvester won the sympathy which had given her a place, by the farmer's side, in the vehicle that took him on his own business to the market- town. And so, by a hair's-breadth, did she escape the treble risk of discovery which threat- ened her from Geoffrey, on his way back; from Arnold, at his post ; and from the valet, on the watch for her appearance at the station. The afternoon wore on. The sen-ants at Windygntes, airing themselves in the grounds in the absence of their mistress and her guests were disturbed, for the moment, by the unex- pected return of one of " the gentlefolks." Mr Geoffrey Delamayn reappeared at the house, alone ; went straight to the smoking-room ; and calling for another supply of the old ale, settled himself in an arm-chair with the newspaper, and began to smoke. He soon tired of reading, and fell into think- ing of what had happened during the latter part of his walk*. The prospect before him had more than real- ized the most sanguine anticipations that he could have formed of it. He had braced himself after what had happened in the library to face the outbreak of a serious scandal, on his return to the house. And here when he came back was nothing to face ! Here were three people (Sir Patrick, Arnold, and Blanche) who must at least know that Anne was in some serious trouble, keeping the secret as carefully as if they felt that his interests were at stake ! And, more wonder- ful still, here was Anne herself so far from rais- ing a hue and cry after him actually taking flight, without saying a word that could compro- mise him with any living soul ! What in the name of wonder did it mean? He did his best to find his way to an explanation of some sort ; and he actually contrived to ac- count for the silence of Blanche and her uncle, and Arnold. It was pretty clear that they must have all three combined to keep Lady Lundie in ignorance of her runaway governess's return to the house. But the secret of Anne's silence completely baffled him. He was simply incapable of conceiving that the horror of seeing herself set up as an obstacle to Blanche's marriage might have been vivid enough to overpower all sense of her own wrongs, and to hurry her away, resolute, in her ignorance of what else to do, never to return again, and never to let living eyes rest on her in the character of Arnold's wife. "It's clean beyond my making out," was the final conclusion at which Geoffrey arrived. ' ' If it's her interest to hold her tongue, it's my interest to hold mine, and there's an end of it for the present ! " He put ftp his feet on a chair, and rested his magnificent muscles after his walk, and filled another pipe, in thorough contentment with him- self. No interference to dread from Anne, no more awkward questions (on the terms 'they were on now) to come from Arnold. He looked back at the quarrel on the heath with a certain com- placency he did his friend justice, though they had disagreed. " Who would have thought the fellow had so much pluck in him!" he said to himself as he struck the match and lit his sec- ond pipe. An hour more wore on ; and Sir Patrick was the next person who returned. He was thoughtful, but in no sense depressed. Judging by appearances, his errand to Craig Fernie had certainly not ended in disappoint- ment. The old gentleman hummed his favorite little Scotch air rather absently, perhaps and took his pinch of snuff from the knob of his ivory cane much as usual. He went to the library bell and summoned a servant. "Any body been here for me?" "No, Sir Patrick"" " Np letters?" "No, Sir Patrick." 108 MAN AND WIFE. " Very well. Come up stairs to my room, and help me on with my dressing-gown. " The man helped him to his dressing-gown and slippers. "Is Miss Lundie at home?" "No, Sir Pat- rick. They're all away with my lady on an ex- cursion." "Very good. Get me a cup of cof- fee ; and wake me half an hour before dinner, hi case I take a nap." The servant went out. Sir Patrick stretched himself on the sofa. ' ' Ay ! ay! a little aching in the back, and a certain stiffness in the legs. I dare say the pony feels just as I do. Age, I suppose, in both cases? Well! well! well! let's try and be young at heart. 'The rest' (as Pope says) 'is leather and prunella. ' " He returned resignedly to his little Scotch air. The servant came in with the coffee. And then the room was quiet, except for the low humming of insects and the gentle rustling of the creepers at the window. For five minutes or so Sir Patrick sipped his coffee, and meditated by no means in the character of a man who was depressed by any recent disappointment. In five minutes more he was asleep. A little later, and the party returned from the ruins. With the one exception of their lady-leader, the whole expedition was depressed Smith and Jones, in particular, being quite speechless. Lady Lundie alone still met feudal antiquities with a cheerful front. She had cheated the man who showed the ruins of his shilling, and she was thoroughly well satisfied with herself. Her voice was flute-like in its melody, and the celebrated " smile" had never been in better order. " Deep- ly interesting!" said her ladyship, descending from the carriage with ponderous grace, and ad- dressing herself to Geoffrey, lounging under the portico of the house. " You have had a loss, Mr. Delamayn. The next time you go out for a walk, give your hostess a word of warning, and you won't repent it." Blanche (looking very weary and anxious) questioned the servant, the moment she got in, about Arnold and her uncle. Sir Patrick was invisible up stairs. Mr. Brink- worth had not come back. It wanted only twen- ty minutes of dinner-time; and full evening- dress was insisted on at Windygates. Blanche, nevertheless, still lingered in the hall in the hope of seeing Arnold before she went up stairs. The hope was realized. As the clock struck the quarter he came in. And he, too, was out of spirits like the rest I " Have you seen her?" asked Blanche. . "No," said Arnold, in the most perfect good faith. "The way she has escaped by is not the way by the cross-roads I answer for that." They separated to dress. When the party as- sembled again, in the library, before dinner, Blanche found her way, the moment he entered the room, to Sir Patrick s side. "News, uncle! I'm dying for news." " Good news, my dear so far." " You have found Anne?" "Not exactly that." " You have heard of her at Craig Fernie ?" " I have made some important discoveries at Craig Fernie, Blanche. Hush ! here's your step- mother. Wait till after dinner, and you may hear more than I can tell you now. There may be news from the station between this and then. " The dinner was a wearisome ordeal to at least two other persons present besides Blanche. Ar- nold, sitting opposite to Geoffrey, without ex- changing a word with him, felt the altered rela- tions between his former friend and himself very painfully. Sir Patrick, missing the skilled hand of Hester Dethridge in every dish that was offered to him, marked the dinner among the wasted op- portunities of his life, and resented his sister-in- law's flow of spirits as something simply inhuman under present circumstances. Blanche followed Lady Lundie into the drawing-room in a state of burning impatience for the rising of the gentlemen from their wine. Her step-mother mapping out a new antiquarian excursion for the next day, and finding Blanche's ears closed to her 'occasional remarks on baronial Scotland five hundred years since lamented, with satirical emphasis, the ab- sence of an intelligent companion of her own sex; and stretched her majestic figure on the sofa to wait until an audience worthy of her flowed in from the dining-room. Before very long so soothing is the influence of an after- dinner view of feudal antiquities, taken through the medium of an approving conscience Lady Lundie's eyes closed ; and from Lady Lundie' s nose there poured, at intervals, a sound, deep, like her ladyship's learning; regular, like her ladyship's habits a sound associated with night- caps and bedrooms ; evoked alike by Nature, the leveler, from high and low the sound (oh, Truth, what enormities find publicity in thy name!) the sound of a Snore. Free to do as she pleased, Blanche left the echoes of the drawing-room in undisturbed en- joyment of Lady Lundie's audible repose. She went into the library, and turned over the novels. Went out again, and looked across the hall at the dining-room door. Would the men never have done talking their politics and drink- ing their wine? She went up to her own room, and changed her ear-rings, and scolded her maid. Descended once more-^-and made an alarming discovery in a dark corner of the hall. Two men were standing there, hat in hand, whispering to the butler. The butler, leaving them, went into the dining-room came out again with Sir Patrick and said to the two men, "Step this way, please." The two men came out into the light. Murdoch, the sta- tion-master ; and Duncan, the valet ! News of Anne ! " Oh, uncle, let me stay !" pleaded Blanche. Sir Patrick hesitated. It was impossible to say as matters stood at that moment what distressing intelligence the two men might not have brought of the missing woman. Duncan's return, accompanied by the station-master, look- ed serious. Blanche instantly penetrated the se- cret of her uncle's hesitation. She turned pale, and caught him by the arm. "Don't send me away," she whispered. "I can bear any thing but suspense. " "Out with it!" said Sir Patrick, holding his niece's hand. " Is she found or not ?" "She's gone by the up-train," said the sta- tion-master. "And we know where." Sir Patrick breathed freely ; Blanche's color came back. In different ways, the relief to both of them was equally great. "You had- my orders to follow her," said Sir Patrick to Duncan. "Why have you come back?" "Your man is not to blame, Sir," interposed MAX AND WIFE. the station-master. "The" lady took the train at Kirkandrew." Sir Patrick started, and looked at the station- master. "Ay? ay? The next station the market-town. Inexcusably stupid of me. I never thought of that. " " I took the liberty of telegraphing your de- scription of the lady to Kirkahdrew, Sir Patrick, in case of accidents." "I stand corrected, Mr. Murdoch. Your head, in this matter, has been the sharper head of the two. Well?' 1 "There's the answer, Sir." Sir Patrick and Blanche read the telegram to- gether. "Kirkandrew. Up train. 7.40 P.M. Lady as described. No luggage. Bag in her hand. Traveling alone. Ticket second-class. Place Edinburgh." " Edinburgh !" repeated Blanche. " Oh, un- cle! we shall lose her in a great place like that!" "We shall find her, my dear; and you shall see how. Duncan, get me pen, ink, and paper. Mr. Murdoch, you are going back to the station, I suppose?" j " Yes, Sir Patrick." " I will give you a telegram, to be sent at once to Edinburgh." lie wrote a carefully-worded telegraphic mes- sage, and addressed it to The Sheriff of Mid- Lothian. "The Sheriff is an old friend of mine," he explained to his niece. "And he is now in Edinburgh. Long before the train gets to the terminus he will receive this personal description of Miss Silvester, with my request to have all her movements carefully watched till further notice. The police are entirely at his disposal, and the best men will be selected for the purpose. I have asked for an answer by telegraph. Keep a spe- cial messenger ready for it at the station, Mr. Murdoch. Thank yon ; good-evening. Dun- can, get your supper, and make yourself com- fortable. Blanche, my dear, go back to the drawing-room, and expect us in to tea imme- diately. You will know where your friend is before you go to bed to-night. " With those comforting words he returned to the gentlemen. In ten minutes more they all appeared in the drawing-room ; and Lady Lun- die (firmly persuaded that she had never closed her eyes) was back again in baronial Scotland five hundred years since. Blanche, watching her opportunity, caught her uncle alone. "Now for your promise," she said. "You have made some important discoveries at Craig Femie. What are they ?" Sir Patrick's eye turned toward Geoffrey, dozing in an arm-chair in a corner of the room. He showed a certain disposition to trifle with the curiosity of his niece. "After the discovery we have already made," he said, "can't you wait, my dear, till we get the telegram from Edinburgh ?" "That is just what it's impossible for me to do ! The telegram won't come for hours yet. I want something to go on with in the mean time." She seated herself on a sofa in the corner op- posite Geoffrey, and pointed to the vacant place by her side. Sir Patrick had promised Sir Patrick had no choice but to keep his word. After another look at Geoffrey, he took the vacant place by his niece. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. BACKWARD. " WELL ?" whispered Blanche, taking her un- cle confidentially by the arm. " W T ell, ;> said Sir Patrick, with a spark of his satirical humor flashing out at his niece, "I am going to do a very rash thing. I am going to place a serious trust in the hands of 'a girl of eighteen. " ' ' The girl's hands will keep it, uncle though she is only eighteen. " " I must run the risk, my dear ; your intimate knowledge of Miss Silvester may be of the great- est assistance to me in the next step I take. You shall know all that I can tell you, but I must warn you first. I can only admit you into my confidence by startling you with a great surprise. Do you follow me, so far ?" "Yes!, yes!" "If you fail to control yourself, you place an obstacle in the way of my being of some future use to Miss Silvester. Remember that, and now prepare for the surprise. What did I tell you before dinner ?" " You said yon had made discoveries at Craig Fernie. What have you found out?" "I have found out that there is a certain per- son who is in full possession of the information which Miss Silvester has concealed from you and from me. The person is within our reach. The person is in this neighborhood. The person is in this room!" He caught up Blanche's hand, resting on his arm, and pressed it significantly. She looked at him with the cry of surprise suspended on her lips waited a little with her eyes fixed on Sir Patrick's face struggled resolutely, and com- posed herself. "Point the person out." She said the words with a self-possession which won her uncle's hearty approval. Blanche had done wonders for a girl in her teens. "Look!" said Sir Patrick; "and tell me what you see." "I see Lady Lundie, at the other end of the room, with the map of Perthshire and the Ba- ronial Antiquities of Scotland on the table. And I see every body but you and me obliged to listen to her. " "Everybody?" Blanche looked carefully round the room, and noticed Geoffrey in the opposite corner ; fast asleep by this time in his arm-chair. "Uncle! you don't mean ?" " There is the man." "Mr. Delamayn !" "Mr. Delamayn knows every thing." Blanche held me'chanically by her uncle's arm, and looked at the sleeping man as if her eyes could never see enough of him. "You saw me in the library in private con- sultation with Mr. Delamayn," resumed Sir Pat- rick. ' ' I have to acknowledge, my dear, that you were quite right in thinking this a suspicious i circumstance. And I am now to justify myself MAN AND WIFE. for having purposely kept you in the dark up to the present time." With those introductory words, he briefly re- verted to the earlier occurrences of the day, and then added, by way of commentary, a statement of the conclusions which events had suggested to his own mind. The events, it may be remembered, were three in number. First, Geoffrey's private conference with Sir Patrick on the subject of Irregular. Mar- riages in Scotland. Secondly, Anne Silvester's appearance at Windygates. Thirdly, Anne's flight. The conclusions which had thereupon suggest- ed themselves to Sir Patrick's mind were six in number. First, that a connection of some sort might possibly exist between Geoffrey's acknowledged difficulty about his friend, and Miss Silvester's presumed difficulty about herself. Secondly, that Geoffrey had really put to Sir Patrick not his own case but the case of a friend. Thirdly, that Geoffrey had some interest (of no harmless kind) in establishing the fact of his friend's mar- riage. Fourthly, that Anne's anxiety (as de- scribed by Blanche) to hear the names of the gentlemen who were staying at Windygates, pointed, in all probability, to Geoffrey. Fifthly, that this last inference disturbed the second con- clusion, and reopened the doubt whether Geof- frey had not been stating his own case, after all, under pretense of stating the case of a friend. Sixthly, that the one way of obtaining any en- lightenment .on this point, and on all the other points involved in mystery, was to go to Craig Fernie, and consult Mrs. Inchbare's experience during the period of Anne's residence at the inn. Sir Patrick's apology for keeping all this a secret from his niece followed. He had shrunk from agitating her on the subject until he could be sure of proving his suspicions to be true. The proof had now been obtained ; and his mind had been opened to Blanche without reserve. "So much, my dear," proceeded Sir Patrick, " for those necessary explanations which are also the necessary nuisances of human intercourse. You now know as much as I did when I arrived at Craig Fernie and you are, therefore, in a position to appreciate the value of my discover- ies at the inn. Do you understand every thing, so far ?" "Perfectly!" ' ' Very good. I drove up to the inn ; and behold me closeted with Mrs. Inchbare in her own private parlor ! (My reputation may or may not suffer, but Mrs. Inchbare's bones are above suspicion!) It was a long business, Blanche. A more sour-tempered, cunning, and distrustful witness I ne/er examined in all my experience at the Bar. She would have upset the temper of any mortal man but a lawyer. We have such wonderful tempers in our profession ; and we can be so aggravating when we like ! In short, my dear, Mrs. Inchbare was a she-cat, and I was a he-cat and I clawed the truth out of her at last. The result was well worth arriving at, as you shall see. Mr. Delamayn had described to me certain remarkable circumstances as taking place between a lady and a gentleman at an inn : the object of the parties being to pass themselves off at the time as man and wife. Every one of those circumstances, Blanche, occurred at Craig Fer- nie, between a lady and a gentleman, on the day when Miss Silvester disappeared from this house. And wait ! being pressed for her name, after the gentleman had left her behind him at the inn, the name the lady gave was, 'Mrs. Silvester.' What do you think of that ?" " Think ! I'm bewildered I can't realize it." "It's a startling discovery, my dear child there is no denying that. Shall I wait a little, and let you recover yourself?" "No! no! Goon! The gentleman, uncle? The gentleman who was with Anne ? Who is he ? Not Mr. Delamayn ?" "Not Mr. Delamayn," said Sir Patrick. " If I have proved nothing else, I have proved that. " "What need was there to prove it? Mr. Delamayn went to London on the day of the lawn-party. And Arnold " " And Arnold went with him as far as. the second station from this. Quite true ! But how was I to know what Mr. Delamayn might have done after Arnold had left him ? I could only make sure that he had not gone back privately to the inn, by getting the proof from Mrs. Inch- bare." ' ' Plow did you get it ?" "I asked her to describe the gentleman who was with Miss Silvester. Mrs. Inchbare's de- scription (vague as you will presently find it to be) completely exonerates that man," said Sir Patrick, pointing to Geoffrey still asleep in his chair. " He is not the person who passed Miss Silvester off as his wife at Craig Fernie. He spoke the truth when he described the case to me as the case of a friend. " ' ' But who is the friend ?" persisted Blanche. " That's what I want to know." " That's what I want to know, too." " Tell me exactly, uncle, what Mrs. Inchbare said. I have lived with Anne all my life. I \iiust have seen the man somewhere." "If -you can identify him by Mrs. Inchbare's description," returned Sir Patrick, "you will be a great deal cleverer than I am. Here is the picture of the man, as painted by the landlady : Young ; middle-sized ; dark hair, eyes, and com- plexion ; nice temper ; pleasant way of speak- ing. Leave out ' young, ' and the rest is the ex- act contrary of Mr. Delamayn. So far, Mrs. Inchbare guides us plainly enough. But how are we to apply her description to the right per- son ? There must be, at the lowest computation, five hundred thousand men in England who are young, middle-sized, dark, nice-tempered, and pleasant spoken. One of the footmen here an- swers that description in every particular." "And Arnold answers it," said Blanche as a still stronger instance of the provoking vague- ness of the description. "And Arnold answers it," repeated Sir Pat- rick, quite agreeing with her. They had barely said those words when Ar- nold himself appeared, approaching Sir Patrick with a pack of cards in his hand. There at the very moment when they had both guessed the truth, without feeling the slight- est suspicion of it in their own minds there stood Discovery, presenting itself unconsciously to eyes incapable of seeing it, in the person of the man who had passed Anne Silvester off as his wife at the Craig Fernie inn ! The terrible caprice of Chance, the merciless irony of Circum- MAX AND WIFE. Ill stance, could go no further than this. The three had their feet on the brink of the precipice at that moment. And two of them were smiling at an odd coincidence; and one of them was shuffling a pack of cards ! " We have done with the Antiquities'at last !" said Arnold ; ' ' and we are going to play at Whist. Sir Patrick, will you choose a card?" "Too soon after dinner, my good fellow, for me. Play the first rubber, and then give me an- other chance. By-the-way," he added, "Miss Silvester has been traced to Kirkandrew. How is it that you never saw her go by ?" "She can't have gone my way, Sir Patrick, or I must have seen her. " Having justified himself in those terms, he was recalled to the other end of the room by the whist- party, impatient for the cards which he had in his hand. " What were we talking of when he interrupt- ed us ?" said Sir Patrick to Blanche. " Of the man, uncle, who was with Miss Sil- vester at the inn." "It's useless to pursue that inquiry, my dear, with nothing better than Mrs. Inchbare's descrip- tion to help us." Blanche looked round at the sleeping Geoffrey. "And he knows!" she said. "It's madden- ing, uncle, to look at the brute snoring in his chair!" Sir Patrick held up a warning hand. Before a word more could be said between them they were silenced again by another interruption. The whist-party comprised Bady Lundie and the surgeon, playing as partners against Smith and Jones. Arnold sat behind the surgeon, tak- ing a lesson in the game. One, Two, and Three, thus left to their own devices, naturally thought of the billiard-table ; and, detecting Geoffrey asleep in his corner, advanced to disturb his slumbers, under the all -sufficing apology of. "Pool." Geoffrey roused himself, and rubbed his eyes, and said", drowsily, "All right." As he rose, he looked at the opposite corner in which Sir Patrick and his niece were sitting. Blanche's self-possession, resolutely as she strug- gled to preserve it, was not strong enough to keep her eyes from turning toward Geoffrey, with an expression which betrayed the reluctant interest that she now felt in him. He stopped, noticing something entirely new in the look with which the young lady was regarding him. "Beg your pardon, " said Geoffrey. ' ' Do you wish .to speak to me ?" Blanche's face flushed all over. Her uncle came to the rescue. "Miss Lundie and Phone you have slept well, Mr. Delamayn," said Sir Patrick", jocosely. " That's all." "Oh? That's all?" said Geoffrey, still look- ing at Blanche. " Beg your pardon again. Deuced long walk, and deuced heavy dinner. Natural consequence a nap." Sir Patrick eyed him closely. It was plain that he had been honestly puzzled at finding him- self an object of special attention on Blanche's part. " See you in the billiard-room ?" he said, carelessly, and followed his companions out of the room as usual, without waiting for an an- swer." "Mind what you are about," said Sir Patrick to his niece. "That man is quicker than he looks. We commit a serious mistake if we put him on his guard at starting." "It sha'n't happen again, uncle," said Blanche. " But think of his being in Anne's confidence, and of my being shut out of it ! " "In his friend's confidence, you mean, my dear ; and (if we only avoid awakening his sus- picion) there is no knowing how soon he may say or do something which may show us who his friend is." " But he is going back to his brother's to-mor- row he said so at dinner-time." " So much the better. He will be out of the way of seeing strange things in a certain young lady's face. His brother's house is within easy reach of this ; and I am his legal adviser. My experience tells me that he hag not done consult- ing me yet and that he will let out .something more next time. So much for our chance of seeing the light through Mr. Delamayn if we can't see it in any other way. And that is not our only chance, remember. I have something to tell you about Bishopriggs and the lost letter." "Is it found?" "No. I satisfied myself about that I had it searched for, under my own eye. The letter is stolen, Blanche ; and Bishopriggs has got it. f have left a line for him, in Mrs. Inchbare's care. The old rascal is missed already by the visitors at the inn, just as I told you he would be. His mistress is feeling the penalty of having been fool enough to vent her ill temper on her head-waiter. She lays the whole blame of the quarrel on Miss Silvester, of course. Bishop- riggs neglected every body at the inn to wait on Miss Silvester. Bishopriggs was insolent on being remonstrated with! and Miss Silvester en- couraged him and so on. The result will be now -Miss Silvester has gone that Bishopriggs will return to Craig Fernie before the autumn is over. We are sailing with wind and tide, my dear. Come, and learn to play whist." He rose to join the card-players. Blanche detained him. "You haven't told me one thing yet," she said. "Whoever the man may be, is Anne married to him ?" "Whoever the man may be," returned Sir Patrick, "he had better not attempt to mairy any body else. " So the niece unconsciously put the question, and so the uncle unconsciously gave the answer, on which depended the whole happiness of Blanche's life to come. The "man!" How lightly they both talked of the "man !" Would nothing happen to rouse the faintest suspicion in their minds or in Arnold's mind that Arnold was the "man" himself? " You mean that she is married ?" said Blanche. ^ ' I don't go as far as that." ' You mean that she is not married ?" ' I don't go so far as that." 'Oh! the law!" 'Provoking, isn't it, my dear? I can tell you, professionally, that (in my opinion) she has grounds to go on if she claims to be the man's wife. That is what I meant by my answer; and, until we know more, that is all I can "When shall we know more? we get the telegram ?" When shall 112 MAN AND WIFE. " Not for some hours yet. Come, and learn to play whist. " "I think I would rather talk to Arnold, uncle, if you don't mind." "" By all means ! But don't talk to him about what I have been telling you to-night. He and Mr. Delamayn are old associates, remember ; and he might blunder into telling his friend what his friend had better not know. Sad (isn't it ?) for me to be instilling these lessons of duplicity into the youthful mind. A wise person once said, ' The older a man gets the worse he gets. ' That wise person, my dear, had me in his eye, arid was perfectly right." He mitigated the pain of that confession with a pinch of snuff, and went to the whist-table to wait until the end of the rubber gave him a place at the game. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. FORWARD. BLANCHE found her lover as attentive as usual to her slightest wish, but not in his customary good spirits. He pleaded fatigue, after his long watch at the cross-roads, as an excuse for his de- pression. As long as there was any hope of a reconciliation with Geoffrey, he was unwilling to tell Blanche what had happened that after- noon. The hope grew fainter and fainter as the evening advanced. Arnold purposely suggested a visit to the billiard-room, and joined the game, with Blanche, to give Geoffrey an opportunity of saying the few gracious words which would have made them friends again. Geoffrey never spoke the. words ; he obstinately ignored Arnold's pres- ence in the room. At the card-table the whist went on intermin- ably. Lady Lundie, Sir Patrick, and the sur- geon, were all inveterate players, evenly match- ed. Smith and Jones (joining the game altern- ately) were aids to whist, exactly as they were aids to conversation. The same safe and modest mediocrity of style distinguished the proceedings of these two gentlemen in all the affairs of life. The time wore on to midnight. They went to bed late and they rose late at Windygates House. Under that hospitable roof, no intrusive hints, in the shape of flat candlesticks exhibiting them- selves with ostentatious virtue on side-tables, hurried the guest to his room ; no vile bell rang him ruthlessly out of bed the next morning, and insisted on his breakfasting at a given hour. Life has surely hardships enough that are inevi- table, without gratuitously adding the hardship of absolute government, administered by a clock ? It was a quarter past twelve when Lady Lun- die rose blandly from the whist-table, and said that she supposed somebody must set the exam- ple of going to bed. Sir Patrick and Smith, the surgeon and Jones, agreed on a last rubber. Blanche vanished while her step-mother's eye was on her ; and appeared again in the drawing-room, when Lady Lundie was safe in the hands of her maid. Nobody followed the example of the mis- tress of the house but Arnold. He left the bill- iard-room with the certainty that it was all over now between Geoffrey and himself. Not even the attraction of Blanche proved strong enough to detain him that night. He went his way to bed. It was past one o'clock. The final rubber was at an end ; the accounts were settled at the card- table ; the surgeon had strolled into the billiard- room, and Smith and Jones had followed him, when Duncan came in, at last, with the telegram in his hand. Blanche turned from the broad, calm autumn moonlight which had drawn her to the window, and looked over her uncle's shoulder while he opened the telegram. She read the first line and that was enough. The whole scaffolding of hope built round that morsel of paper fell to the ground in an instant. The train from Kirkandrew had reached Edin- burgh at the usual time. Every passenger in it had passed under the eyes of the police ; and no- thing had been seen of any person who answered the description given of Anne ! Sir Patrick pointed to the two last sentences in the telegram : " Inquiries telegraphed to Fal- kirk. If with any result, you shall know." ' ' We must hope for the best, Blanche. They evidently suspect her of having got out at the junction of the two railways for the purpose of giving the telegraph the slip. There is no help for it. Go to bed, child go to bed. " Blanche kissed her uncle in silence and went away. The bright young face was sad with the first hopeless sorrow which the old man had yet seen in it. His niece's parting look dwelt pain- fully on his mind when he was up in his room, with the faithful Duncan getting him ready for his bed. "This is a bd business, Duncan. I don't like to say so to Miss Lundie ; but I greatly fear the governess has baffled us. " "It seems likely, Sir Patrick. The poor young lady looks quite heart-broken about it. " "You noticed that too, did you? She has lived all her life, you see, with Miss Silvester ; and there is a very strong attachment between them. I am uneasy about my niece, Duncan. I am afraid this disappointment will have a seri- ous effect on her. " " She's young, Sir Patrick." " Yes, my friend, she's young ; but the yonng (when they are good for any thing) have warm hearts. Winter hasn't stolen on them, Duncan ! And they feel keenly. " "I think there's reason to hope, Sir, that Miss Lundie may get over it more easily than you suppose." "What reason, pray?" "A person in my position can hardly venture to speak freely, Sir, on a delicate matter of this kind. " Sir Patrick's temper flashed out, half-serious- ly, half-whimsically, as usual. " Is that a snap at Me, you old dog ? If I am not your friend, as well as your master, who is ? Am I in the habit of keeping any of my harm- less fellow-creatures at a distance ? I despise the cant of modern Liberalism ; but it's not the less true that I have, all my life, protested against the inhuman separation of classes in England. We are, in that respect, brag as we may of our na- tional virtue, the most unchristian people in the civilized world." " I beg your pardon, Sir Patrick ' "God help me! I'm talking politics at this time of night ! It's your fault, Duncan. What do you mean by casting my station in my teeth, MAN AND WIFE. 113 because I can't put my night-cap on comfortably till you have brushed my hair ? I have a good mind to get up and brush yours. There ! there ! I'm uneasy about my niece nervous irritability, my good fellow, that's all. Let's hear what you have to say about Miss Lundie. And go on with my hair. And don't be a humbug." "I was about to remind you, Sir Patrick, that Miss Lundie has another interest in her life to turn to. If this matter of Miss Silvester ends badly and I own it begins to look as if it would I should hum' my niece's marriage, Sir, and see if that wouldn't console her." Sir Patrick started under the gentle discipline of the hair-brush in Duncan's hand. "That's very sensibly put," said the old gen- tleman. " Duncan ! you are, what I call, a clear-minded man. Well worth thinking of, old' Truepenny ! If the worst comes to the worst, well worth thinking of!" It was not the first time that Duncan's steady good sense had struck light, under the form of a new thought, in his master's mind. But never yet had he wrought such mischief as the mischief which he had innocently done now. He had sent Sir Patrick to bed with the fatal idea of hast- ening the marriage of Arnold and Blanche!* The situation of affairs at Windygates now that Anne had apparently obliterated all trace of herself was becoming serious. The one chance on which the discovery of Arnold's position de- pended, was the chance that accident might re- veal the truth in the lapse of time. In this pos- ture of circumstances, Sir Patrick now resolved if nothing happened to relieve Blanche's anx- iety in the course of the week to advance the celebration of the marriage from the end of the autumn (as originally contemplated) to the first fortnight of the ensuing month. As dates then stood, the change led (so far as free scope for the development of accident was concerned) to this serious result. It abridged a lapse of three months into an interval of three weeks. The next morning came ; and Blanche marked it as a memorable morning, by committing an act of imprudence, which struck away one more of the chances of discovery that had existed, be- fore the arrival of the Edinburgh telegram on the previous day. She had passed a sleepless night ; fevered in mind and body ; thinking, hour after hour, of nothing but Anne. At sunrise she could endure it no longer. Her power to control herself was completely exhausted ; her own impulses led her as they pleased. She got up, determined not to let Geoffrey leave the house without risking an effort to make him reveal what he knew about Anne. It was nothing less than downright trea- son to Sir Patrick to act on her own responsibil- ity in this way. She knew it was wrong; she was heartily ashamed of herself for doing it. But the 'demon that possesses women with a recklessness all their own, at the critical mo- ments of their lives, had got her and she did it. Geoffrey had arranged, overnight, to break- fast early, by himself, and to walk the ten miles to his brother's house ; sending a servant to fetch his luggage later in the day. He had got on his hat ; he was standing in the hall, searching his pocket for his second self, the pipe when Blanche suddenly appeared from the morning-room, and placed herself between him and the house door. "Up early eh?" said Geoffrey. " I'm off to my brother's." She made no reply. He looked at Her closer. The girl's eyes were trying to read his face, with an utter carelessness of concealment, whkh for- bade (even to his mind) all unworthy interpreta- tion of her motive for .stopping him on his way out. "Any commands for me?" he inquired. This time she answered him, " 1 have some- thing to ask you," she said. He smiled graciously, and opened his tobacco- pouch. He was fresh and strong after his night's sleep healthy and handsome and good-humored. The house-maids had had a peep at him that morning, and had wished lifce Desdemona, with a difference that " Heaven had made all three of them such a man." "Well," he said, " what is it?" She put her question, without a single word of preface purposely to surprise him. "Mr. Delamayn," she said, "do you know where Anne Silvester is this morning?" He was filling his pipe as she spoke, and he dropped some of the tobacco on the floor. In- stead of answering before he picked up the to- bacco he answered after in surly self-possession, and in one word "No." "Do you know nothing about her?" He devoted himself doggedly to the filling of his pipe. "Nothing." " On your word of honor, as a gentleman ?" " On my word of honor, as a gentleman." He put back his tobacco-pouch in his pocket. His handsome face was as hard as stone. His clear blue eyes defied all the girls in England put together to see into his mind. ' ' Have you done, Miss Lundie ?" he asked, suddenly changing to a bantering politeness of tone and manner. Blanche saw that it was hopeless saw that she had compromised her own interests by her own headlong act. Sir Patrick's warning words came back reproachfully to her now when it was too late. "We commit a serious mistake if we put him on his guard at starting. " There was but one course to take now. ' ' Yes, " she said. " I have done. " "My turn now," rejoined Geoffrey. "You want to know where Miss Silvester is. Why do you ask Me?" Blanche did all that could be done toward re- pairing the error that she had committed. She kept Geoffrey as far away as Geoffrey had kept her from the truth. "I happen to know," she replied, "that Miss Silvester left the place at which she had been staying about the time when you went out walk- ing yesterday. And I thought yqu might have seen her." " Oh ? That's the reason is it ?" said Geof- frey, with a smite. The smile stung Blanche's sensitive temper to the quick. She made a final effort to control herself, before her indignation got the better of her. "I have no more to say, Mr. Delamayn.'' With that reply she turned her back on him, and closed the door of the morning-room be- tween them. Geoffrey descended the house steps and lit his 114 MAN AND WIFE. "DO YOU KNOW WHERE ANNE SILVESTER 18 THIS MORNING?' pipe. He was not at the slightest loss, on this occasion, to account for what had happened. He assumed at once that Arnold had taken a mean revenge on him after his conduct of the day before, and had told the whole secret of his errand at Craig Fernie to Blanche. The thing would get next, no doubt, to Sir Patrick's ears ; and Sir Patrick would thereupon be probably the first person who revealed to Arnold the position in which he had placed himself with Anne. All right ! Sir Patrick would be an excellent witness to appeal to, when the scandal broke out, and when the time came for repudiating Anne's claim on him as the barefaced imposture of a woman who was married already to another man. He puffed away unconcernedly at his pipe, and started, at his swinging, steady pace, for his brother's house. Blanche remained alone in the morning-room. The prospect of getting at the truth, by means of what Geoffrey might say on the next occasion when he consulted Sir Patrick, was a prospect that she herself had closed from that moment. She sat down in despair by the window. It com- manded a view of the little side-terrace which had been Anne's favorite walk at Windygates. With weary eyes and aching heart the poor child look- ed at the familiar place ; and aked herself, with the bitter repentance that comes too late, if she had destroyed the last chance of finding Anne ! She sat passively at the window, while the hours of the morning wore on, until the post- man came. Before the servant could take the letter-bag she was in the hall to receive it. Was it possible to hope that the bag had brought tid- ings of Anne ? She sorted the letters ; and light- ed suddenly on a letter to herself. It bore the Kirkandrew post-mark, and it was addressed to her in Anne's handwriting. She tore the letter open, and read these lines : 1 " I have left you forever, Blanche. God bless and reward you ! God make you a happy wo- man in all your life to come ! Cruel as you will think me, love, I have never been so truly your sister as I am now. I can only tell you thie I can never tell you more. Forgive me, and for- get me. Our lives are parted lives from this day." Going down to breakfast about his usual hour, Sir Patrick missed Blanche, whom he was accus- tomed to see waiting for him at the table at that time. The room was empty ; the other members of the household having all finished their morning meal. Sir Patrick disliked breakfasting alone. He sent Duncan with a message, to be given to Blanche's maid. The maid appeared in due time. Miss Lun- die was unable to leave her room. She sent a letter to her uncle, with her love and begged he would read it. Sir Patrick opened the letter and saw what Anne had written to Blanche. He waited a little, reflecting, with evident pain and anxiety, on what he had read then opened his own letters, and hurriedly looked at the sig- natures. There was nothing for him from his friend, the sheriff, at Edinburgh, and no com- munication from the railway, in the shape of a telegram. He had decided, overnight, on wait- ing till the end of the week before he interfered in the matter of Blanche's marriage. The events of the morning determined him on not waiting another day. Duncan returned to the breakfast- MAN AND WIFE. 115 room to pour out his master's coffee. Sir Pat- rick sent him away again with a second message. "Do you know where Lady Lundie is, Dun- can ?" "Yes, Sir Patrick." "My compliments to her ladyship. If she is not otherwise engaged, I shall be glad to speak to her privately in an hour's time." CHAPTEK THE TWENTY-SIXTH. SIR PATRICK made a had breakfast. Blanche's absence fretted him, and Anne Silvester's letter puzzled him. He read it, short as it was, a second time, and a third. If it meant any thing, it meant that the motive at the bottom of Anne's flight was to ac- complish the sacrifice of herself to the happiness of Blanche. She had parted for life from his niece for his niece's sake ! What did this mean ? And how was it to be reconciled with Anne's position as described to him by Mrs. Inchbare during his visit to Craig Fernie ? All Sir Patrick's ingenuity, and all Sir Patrick's experience, failed to find so much as the shadow of an answer to that question. While he was still pondering over the letter, Arnold and the surgeon entered the breakfast- room together. "Have you heard about Blanche?" asked Arnold, excitedly. "She is in no danger, Sir Patrick the worst of it is over now." The surgeon interposed before Sir Patrick could appeal to him. " Mr. Brinkworth's interest in the young lady a little exaggerates the state of the case," he said. " I have seen her, at Lady Lundie's request ; and I can assure you that there is not the slightest reason for any present alarm. Miss Lundie has had a nervous attack, which has yielded to the simplest domestic remedies. The only anxiety you need feel is connected with the management of her in the future. She is suffering from some mental distress, which it is not for me, but for her friends, to alleviate and remove. If you can turn her thoughts from the painful subject whatever it may be on which they are dwell- ing now, you will do all that needs to be done." He took up a newspaper from the table, and strolled out into the garden, leaving Sir Patrick and Arnold together. "You heard that?" said Sir Patrick. "Is he right, do you think?" asked Ar- nold. "Right? Do you suppose a man gets his reputation by making mistakes ? You're one of the new generation, Master Arnold. You can all of you stare at a famous man ; but you haven't an atom of respect for his fame. If Shakspeare came to life again, and talked of play-writing, the first pretentious nobody who sat opposite at dinner would differ with him as composedly as he might differ with you and me. Veneration is dead among us ; the present age has buried it, without a stone to mark the place. So much for that ! Let's get back to Blanche. I sup- pose you can guess what the painful subject is that's dwelling on her -mind ? Miss Silvester has baffled me, and baffled the Edinburgh police. Blanche discovered that we had failed last night; and Blanche .received that letter this morning." He pushed Anne's letter across the breakfast- table. Arnold read it, and handed it back without a word. Viewed by the new light in which he saw Geoffrey's character after the quarrel on the heath, the letter conveyed but one conclusion to his mind. Geoffrey had deserted her. "Well ?" said Sir Patrick. " Do you under- stand what it means ? :> "I understand Blanche's wretchedness when she read it." He said no more than that. It was plain that no information which he could afford even if he had considered himself at liberty to give it would b'e of the slightest use in assisting Sir Pat- rick to trace Miss Silvester, under present cir- cumstances. There was unhappily no tempt- ation to induce him to break the honorable si- lence which he had maintained thus far. And more unfortunately still assuming the tempt- ation to present itself, Arnold's capacity to re- sist it had never been so strong a capacity as it was now. To the two powerful motives which had hith- erto tied his tongue respect for Anne's reputa- tion, and reluctance to reveal to Blanche the de- ception which he had been compelled to practice on her at the inn to these two motives there was now added a third. The meanness of be- traying the confidence which Geoffrey had re- posed in him would be doubled meanness if he proved false fo his trust after Geoffrey had per- sonally insulted him. The paltry revenge which that false friend had unhesitatingly suspected him of taking was a revenge of which Arnold's na- ture was simply incapable. Never had his lips been more effectually sealed than at this moment when his whole future depended on Sir Pat- rick's discovering the part that he had played in past events at Craig Fernie. " Yes ! yes !" resumed Sir Patrick, impatient- ly. "Blanche's distress is intelligible enough. But here is my niece apparently answerable for this unhappy woman's disappearance. Can you explain what my niece has got to do with it ?" " I ! Blanche herself is completely mystified. How should I know ?" Answering in those terms, he spoke with perfect sincerity. Anne's vague distrust of the position in which they had innocently placed themselves at the inn had produced no corresponding effect on Arnold at the time. He had not regarded it; he had not even understood it. As a necessary result, not the faintest suspicion of the motive under which Anne was acting existed in his mind now. Sir Patrick put the letter into his pocket-book, and abandoned all further attempt at interpret- ing the meaning of it in despair. "Enough, and more than enough, of groping in the dark," he said. "One point is clear to me after what has happened up stairs this morn- ing. We must accept the position in which Miss Silvester has placed us. I shall give up all fur- ther effort to trace her from this moment." " Surely that will be a dreadful disappoint- ment to Blanche, Sir Patrick?" " I don't deny it. We must face that result." ' ' If you are sure there is nothing else to be done, I suppose we must." 116 MAX AND WIFE. "I am not sure of any tiling of the sort, Mas- ter Arnold ! There are two chances still left of throwing light on this matter, which are both of them independent of any thing that Miss Sil- vester can do to keep it in the dark. " " Then why not try them, Sir ? It seems hard to drop Miss Silvester when she is in trouble. " "We can't help her against her own will," rejoined Sir Patrick. "And we can't run the risk, after that nervous attack this morning, of subjecting Blanche to any further suspense. I have thought of my niece's interests throughout this business; and if I now change my mind, and decline to agitate her by more experiments, ending (quite possibly) in more failures, it is be- cause I am thinking of her interests still. I have no other motive. However numerous my weak- nesses may be, ambition to distinguish myself as a detective policeman is not one of them. The case, from the police point of view, is by no means a lost case. I drop it, nevertheless, for Blanche's sake. Instead of encouraging her thoughts to dwell on this melancholy business, we must apply the remedy suggested by our med- ical friend. " "How is that to be done?" asked Arnold. The sly twist of humor began to show itself in Sir Patrick's face. "Has she nothing to think of in the future, which is a pleasauter subject of reflection than the loss of her friend?" he asked. " You are interested, my young gentleman, in the remedy ' that is to cure Blanche. You are one of the drugs in the moral prescription. Can you guess what it is ?" Arnold started to his feet, and brightened into a new being. "Perhaps you object to be hurried?" said Sir Patrick. "Object! If Blanche will only consent, I'll take her to church as soon as she comes down stairs!" " Thank you !" said Sir Patrick, dryly. " Mr. Arnold Brinkworth, may you always be as ready to take Time by the forelock as you are now ! Sit down again ; and don't talk nonsense. It is just possible if Blanche consents (as you say), and if we can hurry the lawyers that you may be married in three weeks' or a month's time." ' ' What have the lawyers got to do with it ?" " My good fellow, this is not a marriage in a novel! This is the most unromantic affair of the sort that ever happened. Here are a young gentleman and a young lady, both rich people ; both well matched in birth and character; one of age, and the other marrying with the full con- sent and approval of her guardian. What is the consequence of this purely prosaic state of things ? Lawyers and settlements, of course!" "Come into the library, Sir Patrick; and 111 soon settle the settlements ! A bit of paper, and a dip of ink. ' I hereby give every blessed far- thing I have got in the world to my dear Blanche. ' Sign that; stick a wafer on at the side; clap your finger on the wafer ; ' I deliver this as my act and deed ;' and there it is done !" "Is it, really? You are a born legislator. You create and codify your own system all in a breath. Moses-Justinian-Mahomet, give me your arm ! There is one atom of sense in what you have just said. ' Come into the library' is a suggestion worth attending to. Do you happen, among your other superfluities, to have such a thing as a lawyer about you ?" 1 ' I have got two. One in London, and one in Edinburgh." "We will take the nearest of the two, be- cause we are in a hurry. Who is the Edinburgh lawyer ? Pringle of Pitt Street ? Couldn't be a better man. Come and write to him. You have given me your .abstract of a marriage set- tlement with the brevity of an ancient Roman. I scorn to be outdone by an amateur lawyer. Here is my abstract: You are just and generous to Blanche ; Blanche is just and generous to you ; and you both combine to be just and generous together to your children. There, is a model settlement! and there are your instructions to Pringle of Pitt Street ! Can you do it by your- self? No; of course you can't. Now don't be slovenly-minded ! See the points in their order as they come. You are going to be married; you state to whom ; you add that I am the lady's guardian ; you give the name and address of my lawyer in Edinburgh ; you write your instruc- tions plainly in the fewest words, and leave de- tails to your legal adviser ; you refer the lawyers to each other ; you request that the draft settle- ments be prepared as speedily as possible ; and you give your address at this house. There are the heads. Can't you do it now ? Oh, the ris- ing generation ! Oh, the progress we are mak- ing in these enlightened modern times ! There ! there! you can marry Blanche, and make her happy, and increase the population and all without knowing how to write the English lan- guage. One can only say with the learned Be- voriskius, looking out of his window at the illim- itable loves of the sparrows, ' How merciful is Heaven to its creatures !' Take up the pen. I'll dictate ! I'll dictate ! " Sir Patrick read the letter over, approved of it, and saw it safe in the box for the post. This done, he peremptorily forbade Arnold to speak to his niece on the subject of the marriage with- out his express permission. " There's somebody else's consent to be got," he said, "besides Blanche's consent and mine." "Lady Lundie?" "Lady Lundie. Strictly speaking, I am the only authority. But my sister-in-law is Blanche's step-mother, and she is appointed guardian in the event of my death. She has a right to be con- sulted in courtesy, if not in law. Would you like to-do it?" Arnold's face fell. He looked at Sir Patrick in silent dismay. " WhaU you can't even speak to such a per- fectly pliable person as Lady Lundie ? You may have been a very useful fellow at sea. A more helpless young man I never met with on shore. Get out with you into the garden among the other sparrows! Somebody must confront her ladyship. And if you won't I must." He pushed Arnold out of the library, and ap- plied meditatively to the knob of his cane. His gayety disappeared, now that he was alone. His experience of Lady Lundie's character told him that, in attempting to win her approval to any scheme for hurrying Blanche's marriage, he was undertaking no easy task. "I suppose, " mused Sir Patrick, thinking of his late brother "I suppose poor Tom had some way of managing her. How did he do it, I wonder ? If she had MAN AND WIFE. 117 been the wife of a bricklayer, she is the sort of woman who would have been kept in perfect or- der by a vigorous and regular application of her ' husband's fist. But Tom wasn't a bricklayer. I wonder how Tom did it?" After a little hard thinking on this point Sir Patrick gave up the problem as beyond human solution. " It must be done," he concluded. "And my own mo- ther-wit must help me to do it." In that resigned frame of mind he hobbled out of the library, and knocked at the door of Lady Lundie's boudoir. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. OUTWITTED. SIR PATRICK found his sister-in-law immersed in domestic business. Her ladyship's correspond- ence and visiting list ; her ladyship's household bills and ledgers ; her ladyship's Diary and Mem- orandum-book (bound in scarlet morocco) ; her ladyship's desk, envelope-case, match-box, and taper candlestick (all in ebony and silver) ; her ladyship herself, presiding over her responsibili- ties, and wielding her materials, equal to any calls of emergency, beautifully dressed in correct morning costume, blessed with perfect health both of the secretions and the principles ; abso- lutely void of vice, and formidably full of virtue, presented, to eveiy properly-constituted mind, the most imposing spectacle known to humanity the British Matron on her throne, asking the world in general, When will you produce the like of Me ? "I am afraid I disturb you," said Sir Patrick. " I am a perfectly idle person. Shall I look in a little later?" Lady Lundie put her hand to her head, and smiled faintly. ' ' A little pressure here, Sir Patrick. Pray sit down. Duty finds me earnest ; . Duty finds me cheerful; Duty finds me accessible. From a poor, weak woman, Duty must expect no more. Now what is it?" (Her ladyship consulted her scarlet memorandum -book.) "I have got it here, under its proper head, distinguished by initial letters. P. the> poor. No. H.M. heathen missions. No. V.T.A. Visitors to arrive. No. P. I. P. Here it is : private in- terview with Patrick. Will you forgive me the little harmless familiarity of omitting your title ? Thank you ! You are always so good. I am quite at your service when you like to begin. If it's any thing painful, pray don't hesitate. I am quite prepared." With that intimation- her ladyship threw her- self back in her chair, with her elbows on the arms, and her fingers joined at the tips, as if she was receiving a deputation. " Yes ?" she said, interrogatively. Sir Patrick paid a private trib- ute of pity to his late brother's memory, and en- tered on his business. 'We won't call it a painful matter," he be- gan. " Let us say it's a matter of domestic anx- iety. B^inche " Lady Lundie emitted a faint scream, and put her hand over her eyes. ' ' Must you ?" cried her ladyship, in a tone of touching remonstrance. " Oh, Sir Patrick, must you?" "Yes. I must." Lady Lundie's magnificent eyes looked up at that hidden court of human appeal which is lodged in the ceiling. The hidden court looked down at Lady Lundie, and saw Duty advertis- ing itself in the largest capital letters. " Go on, Sir Patrick. The motto of woman is Self-sacrifice. You sha'n't see how you dis- tress me. Go on." Sir Patrick went on impenetrably without betraying the slightest expression of sympathy or surprise. "I was about to refer to the nervous attack from which Blanche has suffered this morning," he said. "May I ask whether you ha