ElUiStratcti Cabinet Etiition
A Simpleton
A Story of the Day
By
Charles Reade, ,D, C L.
^ .■'.'Ml' ' ' .
Boston
Dana Estes & Company
Publishers
PREFACE.
It lias lately been objected to me, in stndiously court-
eous terms of course, that I borrow from other books,
and am a plagiarist. To tbis I reply tbat I borrow facts
from every accessible soui'ce, and am not a plagiarist.
The plagiarist is one who borrows from a homogeneous
work : for such a man borrows not ideas only, but their
treatment. He who borrows only from heterogeneous
works is not a plagiarist. All fiction, worth a button, is
founded on facts; and it does not matter one straw
whether the facts are taken from personal experience,
hearsay, or printed books ; only those books must not be
works of fiction.
Ask your common sense why a man writes better fic-
tion at forty than he can at twenty. It is simply because
he has gathered more facts from each of these three
sources, — experience, hearsay, print.
To those who have science enough to appreciate the
above distinction, I am very willing to admit that in all
my tales I use a vast deal of heterogeneous material,
which in a life of study I have gathered from men,
journals, blue-books, histories, biographies, law reports,
etc. And if I could, I would gladly specify all the
4 PREFACE.
various printed sources to wliicli I am indebted. But
my memory is not equal to sucli a feat. I can only say
that I rarely write a novel without milking about two
hundred heterogeneous cows into my pail, and that " A
Simpleton " is no exception to my general method ; that
method is the true method, and the best, and if on that
method I do not write prime novels, it is the fault of tlie
man, and not of the method.
I give the following particulars as an illustration of
my method :
In "A Simpleton," the whole business of the girl
spitting blood, the surgeon ascribing it to the liver, the
consultation, the final solution of the mystery, is a
matter of personal experience accurately recorded. But
the rest of the medical truths, both fact and argument,
are all from medical books far too numerous to sx^ecify.
This includes the strange fluctuations of memory in a
man recovering his reason by degrees. The behavior of
the doctor's first two patients I had from a surgeon's
daughter in Pimlico. The servant-girl and her box ; the
purple-faced, pig-faced Beak and his justice, are personal
experience. The business of house-renting, and the
auction-room, is also personal experience.
In the nautical business I had the assistance of two
practical seamen : my brother, William Barrington Reade,
and Commander Charles Edward Reade, R.N.
In the South African business I gleaned from Mr.
Day's recent handbooks; the old handbooks; Galton's
"Vacation Tourist;" "Philip Mavor ; or, Life among
theCaffres;" "Fossor;" "Notes on the Cape of Good
Hope," 1821 ; " Scenes and Occurrences in Albany and
PKEFACB. 5
Caffre-land," 1827 ; Bowler's " South African Sketches j "
" A Campaign in South Africa," Lucas ; " Five Years in
Caff re-land," Mrs. Ward ; etc., etc., etc. But my principal
obligation on this head is to Mr. Boyle, the author of
some admirable letters to the Daily Telegrajih, which he
afterwards reprinted in a delightful volume. Mr. Boyle
has a painter's eye, and a writer's pen, and if the A.iv\-
can scenes in '• A Simpleton " please my readers, I hope
they will go to the fountain-head, where they will find
many more.
As to the ]3lot and characters, they are invented.
The title, " A Simpleton," is not quite new. There is
a French play called La Niaise. But La Niaise is in
reality a woman of rare intelligence, Avho is tak'en for a
simpleton by a lot of conceited fools, and the play runs
on their blunders, and her unpretending wisdom. That
is a very fine plot, which I recommend to our female
novelists. My aim in these pages has been much
hiunbler, and is, I hope, too clear to need explanation.
CHAELES KEADE.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
A SIMPLETON.
PAGE
''He Gently Detained the Hand"' • Frontispiece
'"So IT IS A Lady this Time"" 60
'•Laid her Gently on the Floor" . • -^95
"An Incongruous Picture Met his Eye" . . -'71
"Saav the Lion in the Air" 3G2
A SIMPLETON
CHAPTER I.
A YOUNG lady sat pricking a framed canvas in the
drawing-room of Kent Villa, a mile from Gravesend;
she was making, at a cost of time and tinted wool, a
chair cover, admirably unfit to be sat upon — except by
some severe artist, bent on obliterating discordant colors.
To do her justice, her mind was not in her work ; for she
rustled softly with restlessness as she sat, and she rose
three times in twenty minutes, and went to the window.
Thence she looked down, over a trim flowery lawn, and
long, sloping meadows, on to the silver Thames, alive
with steamboats ploughing, white sails bellying, and
great ships carrying to and fro the treasures of the globe.
From this fair landscape and ex)itome of commerce she
retired each time with listless disdain ; she was waiting
for somebody.
Yet she was one of those whom few men care to keep
waiting. Rosa Lusignan was a dark but dazzling beauty,
with coal-black hair, and glorious dark eyes, that seemed
to beam with soul all day long; her eyebrows, black,
straightish, and rather thick, would have been majestic
and too severe, had the other features followed suit ; but
her black brows were succeeded by long silky lashes, a
sweet oval face, two pouting lips studded with ivory, and
8 A SIMPLETON.
an exquisite chin, as feeble as any man could desire in
the partner of his bosom. Person — straight, elastic,
and rather tall. Mind — nineteen. Accomplishments —
numerous ; a poor French scholar, a worse German, a
worse English, an admirable dancer, an inaccurate musi-
cian, a good rider, a bad draughtswoman, a bad hair-
dresser, at the mercy of her maid; a hot theologian,
knowing nothing, a sorry accountant, no housekeeper, no
seamstress, a fair embroideress, a capital geographer, and
no cook.
Collectively, viz., mind and body, the girl we kneel to.
This ornamental member of society now glanced at the
clock once more, and then glided to the window for the
fourth time. She peeped at the side a good while, with
superfluous slyness or shyness, and presently she drew
back, blushing crimson; then she peeped again, still
more furtively ; then retired softly to her frame, and,
for the first time, set to work in earnest. As she plied
her harpoon, smiling now, the large and vivid blush,
that had suffused her face and throat, turned from car-
nation to rose, and melted away slowly, but perceptibly,
and ever so sweetly; and somebody knocked at the
street door.
The blow seemed to drive her deeper into her work.
She leaned over it, graceful as a willow, and so absorbed,
she could not even see the door of the room open and
Dr. Staines come in.
All the better : her not perceiving that slight addition
to her furniture gives me a moment to describe him.
A young man, five feet eleven inches high, very square
shouldered and deep chested, but so symmetrical, and
light in his movements, that his size hardly struck one
at first. He was smooth shaved, all but a short, thick,
auburn whisker ; his hair was brown. His features no
more then comely: the brow full, the eyes wide apart
A SEVIPLETON. 9
and deep-seated, the lips rather thin, but expressive, the
chin solid and square. It was a face of power, and
capable of harshness ; but relieved by an eye of unusual
color, between hazel and gray, and wonderfully tender.
In complexion he could not compare with Rosa; his
cheek was clear, but pale; for few young men had
studied night and day so constantly. Though but
twenty-eight years of age, he was literally a learned
physician ; deep in hospital practice ; deep in books ;
especially deep in German science, too often neglected
or skimmed by English physicians. He had delivered a
course of lectures at a learned university with general
applause.
As my reader has divined, Eosa was preparing the
comedy of a cool reception ; but looking up, she saw his
pale cheek tinted with a lover's beautiful joy at the
bare sight of her, and his soft eye so divine with love,
that she had not the heart to chill him. She gave him
her hand kindly, and smiled brightly on him instead of
remonstrating. She lost nothing by it, for the very first
thing he did was to excuse himself eagerly. ''I am
behind time : the fact is, just as I was mounting my
horse, a poor man came to the gate to consult me. He
had a terrible disorder I have sometimes succeeded in
arresting — I attack the cause instead of the symptoms,
which is the old practice — and so that detained me.
You forgive me ? "
<' Of course. Poor man ! — only you said you wanted
to see papa, and he always goes out at two."
\Mien she had been betrayed into saying this, she drew
in suddenly, and blushed with a pretty consciousness.
" Then don't let me lose another minute,'^ said the
lover. "Have you prepared him for — for — what I
am going to have the audacity to say ? "
Rosa answered, with some hesitation, " I must have —
10 A SIMPLETON.
a little. When I refused Colonel Bright — you need not
devour my hand quite — he is forty."
Her sentence ended, and away went the original toi^ic,
and grammatical sequence along with it. Christopher
Staines recaptured them both. "Yes, dear, when you
refused Colonel Bright" —
" Well, papa was astonished ; for everybody says the
colonel is a most eligible match. Don't you hate that
expression ? I do. Eligible ! "
Christopher made due haste, and reca^ptured her.
"Yes, love, your papa said" —
"I don't think I will tell you. He asked me was there
anybody else ; and of course I said ^ No.' "
" Oh ! "
" Oh, that is nothing ; I had not time to make up my
mind to tell the truth. I was taken by surprise ; and
you know one's first impulse is to fib — about that.''^
" But did you really deceive him ? "
" No, I blushed ; and he caught me j so he said, ' Come,
now, there was. ' "
" And you said, ^ Yes, there is,' like a brave girl as
you are."
" What, plump like that ? No, I was frightened out
of my wits, like a brave girl as I am not, and said I
should never marry any one he could disapprove; and
then — oh, then I believe I began to cry. Christopher,
I'll tell you something ; I find people leave off teasing
you when you cry — gentlemen, I mean. Ladies go on
all the more. So then dear papa kissed me, and told me
I must not be imprudent, and throw myself away, that
was all ; and I promised him I never would. I said he
would be sure to approve my choice; and he said he
hoped so. And so he will."
Dr. Staines looked thoughtful, and said he hoped so
too. "But now it comes to the point of asking him for
such a treasure, I feel my deficiencies."
A SIMPLETON. 11
" Why, what deficiencies ? You are young, and hand-
some, and good, and ever so much cleverer than other
people. You have only to ask for me, and insist on
having me. Come, dear, go and get it over.'^ She
added, mighty coolly, " There is nothing so dreadful as
suspense."
" I'll go this minute," said he, and took a step towards
the door; but he turned, and in a moment was at her
knees. He took both her hands in his, and pressed them
to his beating bosom, while his beautiful eyes poured
love into hers point-blank. " May I tell him you love
me ? Oh, I know you cannot love me as I love you ; but
I may say you love me a little, may I not ? — that will
go farther with him than anything else. May I, Rosa,
may I?— a little?"
His passion mastered her. She dropped her head
sweetly on his shoulder, and murmured, " You know you
may, my own. Who would not love you ? "
He parted lingeringly from her, then marched away,
bold with love and hope, to demand her hand in
marriage.
Kosa leaned back in her chair, and quivered a little
with new emotions. Christopher was right ; she was not
capable of loving like him ; but still the actual contact
of so strong a passion made her woman's nature vibrate.
A dewy tear hung on the fringes of her long lashes, and
she leaned back in her chair and fluttered awhile.
That emotion, almost new to her, soon yielded, in her
girlish mind, to a complacent languor ; and that, in its
turn, to a soft reverie. So she Avas going to be married !
To be mistress of a house ; settle in London {that she
had quite determined long ago) ; be able to go out into
the streets all alone, to shop, or visit ; have a gentleman
all her own, whom she could put her finger on any
moment and make him take her about, even to the
12 A SIMPLETON.
opera and the theatre ; to give dinner-parties her own
self, and even a little ball once in a way ; to buy what-
ever dresses she thought proper, instead of being crippled
by an allowance ; have the legal right of speaking first
in society, even to gentlemen rich in ideas but bad
starters, instead of sitting mumchance and mock-modest ;
to be Mistress, instead of Miss — contemptible title ; to
be a woman, instead of a girl ; and all this rational
liberty, domestic power, and social dignity were to be
obtained by merely wedding a dear fellow, who loved
her, and was so nice ; and the bright career to be
ushered in with several delights, each of them dear to
a girl's very soul : presents from all her friends ; as many
beautiful new dresses as if she Avas changing her body or
her hemisphere, instead of her name; eclat; going to
church, which is a good English girl's theatre of display
and temple of vanity, and there tasting delightful pub-
licity and whispered admiration, in a heavenly long veil,
which she could not wear even once if she remained
single.
This bright variegated picture of holy wedlock, and
its essential features, as revealed to young ladies by
feminine tradition, though not enumerated in the Book
of Common Prayer writ by grim males, so entranced her,
that time flew by unheeded, and Christopher Staines
came back from her father. His step was heavy; he
looked pale, and deeply distressed ; then stood like a
statue, and did not come close to her, but cast a piteous
look, and gasped out one word, that seemed almost to
choke him, — " Refused ! "
Miss Lusignan rose from her chair, and looked almost
wildly at him with her great eyes. " Eefused ? " said
she, faintly.
"Yes," said he, sadly. "Your father is a man of
business ; and he took a mere business view of our love ;
A SIMPLETON. 13
he asked me directly what provision I coiihl make for
his daughter and her children. Well, I told him I had
three thousand pounds in the Funds, and a good profes-
sion; and then I said I had youth, health, and love,
boundless love, the love that can do, or suffer, the love
that can conquer the world.''
"Dear Christopher! And what could he say to all
that ? "
"He ignored it entirely. There! I'll give you his
very words. He said, ' In that case. Dr. Staines, the
simple question is, what does your profession bring you
in per annum ? ' "
" Oh ! There ! I always hated arithmetic, and now I
abominate it."
" Then I was obliged to confess I had scarcely received
a hundred pounds in fees this year ; but I told him the
reason ; this is such a small district, and all the groimd
occupied. London, I said, was my sphere."
"And so it is," said Kosa, eagerly; for this jumped
with her own little designs. " Genius is wasted in the
country. Besides, whenever anybody worth curing is iU
down here, they always send to London for a doctor."
" I told him so, dearest," said the lover. " But he an-
swered me directly, then I mnst set up in London, and
as soon as my books showed an income to keep a wife,
and servants, and children, and insure my life for five
thousand pounds " —
" Oh, that is so like papa. He is director of an insur-
ance company, so all the world must insure their lives."
" No, dear, he was quite right there : professional in-
comes are most precarious. Death spares neither young
nor old, neither warm hearts nor cold. I should be no
true physician if I could not see my own mortality."
He hung his head and pondered a moment, then went
on, sadly, " It all comes to this — until I have a profes-
14 A SIMPLETON.
sional income of eight himclrecl a year at least, he will
not hear of our marrying ; and the cruel thing is, he will
not even consent to an engagement. But," said the
rejected, with a look of sad anxiety, "you will wait for
me without that, dear Eosa ? "
She could give him that comfort, and she gave it him
with loving earnestness. " Of course I will ; and it shall
not be very long. Whilst you are making your fortune,
to please papa, I will keep fretting, and pouting, and
crying, till he sends for you."
" Bless you, dearest ! Stop ! -^ not to make yourself
ill ! not for all the world." The lover and the physician
spoke in turn.
He came, all gratitude, to her side, and they sat, hand
in hand, comforting each other : indeed, parting was such
sweet sorrow that they sat, handed, and very close to
one another, till Mr. Lusignan, who thought five minutes
quite enough for rational beings to take leave in, Avalked
into the room and surprised them. At sight of his gray
head and iron-gray eyebrows, Christopher Staines started
up and looked confused ; he thought some apology neces-
sary, so he faltered out, " Forgive me, sir j it is a bitter
parting to me, you may be sure."
Eosa's bosom heaved at these simple words. She flew
to her father, and cried, " Oh, papa ! papa ! you were
never cruel before ; " and hid her burning faoe on his
shoulder ; and then burst out crying, partly for Christo-
pher, partly because she was now ashamed of herself for
having taken a young man's part so openly.
Mr. Lusignan looked sadly discomposed at this out-
burst : she had taken him by his weak point ; he told
her so. "Now, Eosa," said he, rather peevishly, "you
know I hate — noise."
Eosa had actually forgotten that trait for a single
moment J but, being reminded of it, she reduced her
A SIMPLETON. 15
sobs in tlie prettiest way, not to offend a tender parent
who could not bear noise. Under this homely term, you
must know, he included all scenes, disturbances, rum-
puses, passions ; and expected all men, women, and
things in Kent Villa to go smoothly — or go elsewhere.
"Come, young people," said he, "don't make a dis-
turbance. ^There's the grievance ? Have I said he
shall never marry you ? Have I forbidden him to cor-
respond ? or even to call, say twice a year. All I say is,
no marriage, nor contract of marriage, until there is an
income." Then he turned to Christojjher. "Now if
you can't make an income without her, how could you
make one with her, weighed down by the load of ex-
penses a wife entails ? I know her better than you do ;
she is a good girl, but rather luxurious and self-indulgent.
She is not cut out for a poor man's wife. And j)ray
don't go and fancy that nobody loves my child but you.
Mine is not so hot as yours, of course ; but believe me,
sir, it is less selfish. You would expose her to poverty
and misery ; but I say no ; it is my duty to protect her
from all chance of them ; and, in doing it, I am as much
your friend as hers, if you could but see it. Come, Dr.
Staines, be a man, and see the world as it is. I have
told you how to earn my daughter's hand and my
esteem : you must gain both, or neither."
Dr. Staines was never quite deaf to reason: he now
put his hand to his brow and said, with a sort of wonder
and pitiful dismay, " My love for Eosa selfish ! Sir,
your words are bitter and hard." Then, after a struggle,
and with rare and touching candor, " Ay, but $iO are bark
and steel ; yet they are good medicines." Then with a
great glow in his heart and tears in his eyes, " My dar-
ling shall not be a poor man's wife, she who would
adorn a coronet, ay, or a crown. Good-by, Eosa, for the
present." He darted to her, and kissed her hand with
16 A SIMPLETON.
all his soul. " Oh, the sacrifice of leaving you," he fal-
tered; 'Hhe very world is dark to me without you.
Ah, well, I must earn the right to come again." He
summoned all his manhood, and marched to the door.
There he seemed to turn calmer all of a sudden, and said
firmly, yet humbly, "I'll try and show you, sir, what love
can do."
" And I'll show you what love can suffer," said Eosa,
folding her beautiful arms superbly.
It was not in her to have shot such a bolt, except in
imitation ; yet how promptly the mimic thunder came,
and how grand the beauty looked, with her dark brows,
and flashing eyes, and folded arms ! much grander and
more inspired than poor Staines, who had only furnished
the idea.
But between these two figures swelling with emotion,
the representative of common sense, Lusignan^^e^-e, stood
cool and impassive; he shrugged his shoulders, and
looked on both lovers as a couple of ranting novices he
was saving from each other and almshouses.
For all that, when the lover had torn himself away,
papa's composure was suddenly disturbed by a misgiv-
ing. He stepped hastily to the stairhead, and gave it
vent. " Dr. Staines," said he, in a loud whisper (Staines
was half way down the stairs: he stoi^ped). "I trust to
you as a gentleman, not to mention this; it will never
transpire here. Whatever we do — no noise ! "
A SIMPLETON. 17
CHAPTER II.
Rosa Lusignan set herself pining as she had prom-
ised ; and she did it discreetly for so young a person.
She was never peevish, but always sad and listless. By
this means she did not anger her parent, but only made
him feel she was unhappy, and the house she had hither-
to brightened exceeding dismal.
By degrees this noiseless melancholy imdermined the
old gentleman, and he well-nigh tottered.
But one day, calling suddenly on a neighbor with six
daughters, he heard peals of laughter, and found Rosa
taking her full share of the senseless mirth. She pulled
up short at sight of him, and colored high ; but it was
too late, for he launched a knowing look at her on the
spot, and muttered something about seven foolish virgins.
He took the first opportunity, when they were alone,
and told her he was glad to find she was only dismal at
home.
But Rosa had prepared for him. " One can be loud
without being gay at heart," said she, with a lofty,
languid air. " I have not forgotten your last words to
him. We were to hide our broken hearts from the world.
I try to obey you, dear papa ; but, if I had my way, I
would never go into the world at all. I have but one
desire now — to end my days in a convent."
" Please begin them first. A convent ! AVhy, you'd
turn it out of window. You are no more fit to be a nun
than — a pauper."
Not having foreseen this facer, Rosa had nothing
ready ; so she received it with a sad, submissive, hel]_j-
18 A SIMPLETON.
less sigh, as who wouki say, " Hit me, papa : I have no
friend now." So then he was sorry he had been so
clever; and, indeed, there is one provoking thing about
" a woman's weakness " — it is invincible.
The next minute, what should come but a long letter
from Dr. Staines, detailing his endeavors to purchase
a practice in London, and his ill-success. The letter
spoke the language of love and hope ; but the facts were
discouraging; and, indeed, a touching sadness pierced
through the veil of the brave words.
Rosa read it again and again, and cried over it before
her father, to encourage him in his heartless behavior.
About ten days after this, something occurred that
altered her mood.
She became grave and thoughtful, but no longer lugu-
brious. She seemed desirous to atone to her father for
having disturbed his cheerfulness. She smiled affection-
ately on him, and often sat on a stool at his knee, and
glided her hand into his.
He was not a little pleased, and said to himself, " She
is coming round to common-sense."
Now, on the contrary, she was farther from it than
ever.
At last he got the clew. One afternoon he met ^Ir.
Wyman coming out of the villa. Mr. Wyman was the
consulting surgeon of that part.
" What ! anybody ill ? " said Mr. Lusignan. ^' One of
the servants ? "
" No ; it is Miss Lusignan."
" Why, what is the matter with her ? "
Wyman hesitated. " Oh, nothing very alarming.
Would you mind asking her ? "
"Why?"
"The fact is, she requested me not to tell you: made
me promise."
A SIMPLETON. 19
" And I insist upon your telling me."
" And I think you are quite right, sir, as her father.
Well, she is troubled with a little spitting of blood."
Mr. Lusignan turned pale. "My child! spitting of
blood ! God forbid ! "
" Oh, do not alarm yourself. It is nothing serious."
" Don't tell me ! " said the father. " It is always
serious. A.nd she kept this from me ! "
Masking his agitation for the time, he inquired how
often it had occurred, this grave symptom.
" Three or four times this last month. But I may as
well tell you at once : I have examined her carefully,
and I do not think it is from the lungs."
" From the throat, then ? "
" No ; from the liver. Everything points to that
organ as the seat of derangement : not that there is any
lesion ; only a tendency to congestion. I am treating
her accordingly, and have no doubt of the result."
" Who is the ablest physician hereabouts ? " asked
Lusignan, abruptly.
"Dr. Snell, I think."
" Give me his address."
'• I'll write to him, if you like, and appoint a consulta-
tion." He added, with vast but rather sudden alacrity,
" It will be a great satisfaction to my own mind."
" Then send to him, if you please, and let him be here
to-morrow morning ; if not, I shall take her to London
for advice at once."
On this understanding they parted, and Lusignan went
at once to his daughter. " my child ! " said he, deeply
distressed, " how could you hide this from me ? "
" Hide what, papa ? " said the girl, looking the picture
of unconsciousness.
" That you have been spitting blood."
" W^ho told you that ? " said she, sharply.
20 A SIMPLETON.
" Wymaii. He is attending you."
Rosa colored with anger. " Chatterbox ! He prom-
ised me faithfully not to."
" But why, in Heaven's name ? What ! would you
trust this terrible thing to a stranger, and hide it from
your poor father ? "
" Yes," replied Eosa, quietly.
The old man would not scold her now ; he only said,
sadly, " I see how it is : because I will not let you marry
poverty, you think I do not love you." And he sighed.
" papa ! the idea ! " said Eosa. " Of course, I know
you love me. It was not that, you dear, darling, foolish
papa. There ! if you must know, it was because I did
not want you to be distressed. I thought I might get
better with a little physic ; and, if not, why, then I
thought, ^ Papa is an old man ; la ! I dare say I shall last
his time ; ' and so, why should I poison your latter days
with worrying about tne ? "
Mr. Lusignan stared at her, and his lip quivered ; but
he thought the trait hardly consistent with her super-
ficial character. He could not help saying, half sadly,
half bitterly, "Well, but of course you have told Dr.
Staines."
Eosa opened her beautiful eyes, like two suns. " Of
course I have done nothing of the sort. He has enough
to trouble him, without that. Poor fellow ! there he is,
worrying and striving to make his fortune, and gain
your esteem — '■ they go together,' you know ; you told
him so." (Young cats will scratch when least expected.)
" And for me to go and tell him I am in danger ! Why,
he would go wild. He would think of nothing but me
and my health. He would never make his fortune : and
so then, even when I am gone, he Avill never get a wife,
because he has only got genius and goodness and three
thousand pounds. No, papa, I have not told poor Chris-
A SIMPLETON. 21
o
toplier. I may tease those I love. I have been tea.siii<
you this ever so long ; but frighten them, and make them
miserable ? No ! "
And here, tliinking of the anguish that was perhaps
in store for those she loved, she wanted to cry ; it almost
choked her not to. But she fought it bravely down : she
reserved her tears for lighter occasions and less noble
sentiments.
Her father held out his arms to her. She ran her
footstool to him, and sat nestling to his heart.
" Please forgive me my misconduct. I have not been
a dutiful daughter ever since you — but now I will. Kiss
me, my own papa ! There ! Now we are as we always
were."
Then she purred to him on every possible topic but
the one that now filled his parental heart, and bade him
good-night at last with a cheerful smile.
AVyman was exact, and ten minutes afterwards Dr.
Snell drove up in a carriage and pair. He was inter-
cepted in the hall by Wyman, and, after a few minutes'
conversation, presented to Mr. Lusignan.
The father gave vent to his paternal anxiety in a few
simple but touching words, and was proceeding to state
the symptoms as he had gathered them from his daughter ;
but Dr. Snell interrupted him politely, and said he had
heard the principal symptoms from Mr. Wyman. Then,
turning to the latter, he said, ^" We had better proceed to
examine the patient."
" Certainly," said Mr. Lusignan. " She is in the
drawing-room ; " and he led the way, and was about to
enter the room, when Wyman informed him it was against
etiquette for him to be present at the examination.
" Oh, very well ! " said he. " Yes, I see the propriety
of that. But oblige me by asking her if she has any-
thing on her mind."
22 A SIMPLETON.
Dr. Snell bowed a lofty assent ; for, to receive a hint
from a layman was to confer a favor on liim.
The men of science were closeted full half an houi
with the patient. She was too beautiful to be slurred
over, even by a busy doctor : he felt her pulse, looked at
her tongue, and listened attentively to her lungs, to her
heart, and to the organ suspected by Wyman. He left
her at last Avith a kindly assurance that the case was
perfectly curable.
At the door they were met by the anxious father, who
came with throbbing heart, and asked the doctors'
verdict.
He was coolly informed that could not be given until
the consultation had taken place ; the result of that
consultation would be conveyed to him.
"And pray, why can't 1 be present at the consulta-
tion ? The grounds on which two able men agree or
disagree must be well worth listening to."
"No doubt," said Dr. Snell; "but," with a superior
smile, " my dear sir, it is not the etiquette."
"Oh, very well," said Lusignan. But he muttered,
" So, then, a father is nobody ! "
And this unreasonable person retired to his study,
miserable, and gave up the dining-room to the consulta-
tion.
They soon rejoined him.
Dr. Snell's opinion was communicated by Wyman.
" I am happy to tell you that Dr. Snell agrees with me,
entirely : the lungs are not affected, and the liver is con-
gested, but not diseased."
" Is that so, Dr. Snell ? " asked Lusignan, anxiously.
" It is so, sir." He added, " The treatment has been
submitted to me, and I quite approve it."
He then asked for a pen and paper, and wrote a pre-
scription. He assured Mr. Lusignan that the case had
A SIMPLETON. 23
no extraordinary feature, wliatever ; lie was not to alarm
himself. Dr. Snell then drove away, leaving the parent
rather puzzled, but, on the whole, much comforted.
And here I must reveal an extraordinary circumstance.
Wyman's treatment was by drugs.
Dr. Snell's was by drugs.
Dr. Snell, as you have seen, entirely approved Wyman's
treatment.
His own had nothing in common with it. The Arctic
and Antarctic poles are not farther apart than was his pre-
scription from the prescription he thoroughly approved.
Amiable science ! In which complete diversity of prac-
tice did not interfere with perfect uniformity of ox)inion.
All this was kept from Dr. Staines, and he was
entirely occupied in trying to get a position that might
lead to fortune, and satisfy Mr. Lusignan. He called
on every friend he had, to inquire where there was an
opening. He walked miles and miles in the best quar-
ters of London, looking for an opening; he let it be
known in many quarters that he would give a good pre-
mium to any physician who was about to retire, and
would introduce him to his patients.
No : he could hear of nothing.
Then, after a great struggle with himself, he called
upon his uncle, Philip Staines, a retired M.D., to see if
he would do anything for him. He left this to the last,
for a very good reason : Dr. Philip was an irritable old
bachelor, who had assisted most of his married relatives ;
but, finding no bottom to the well, had turned rusty and
crusty, and now was a]3t to administer kicks instead of
checks to all who were near and dear to him. However,
Christopher was the old gentleman's favorite, and was
now desperate ; so he mustered courage, and went. He
was graciously received — warml}^, indeed. This gave
him great hopes, and he told his tale.
24 A SIMPLETON.
The old bachelor sided with Mr. Lusignan. " What ! "
said he, "do you want to marry, and propagate pau-
perism ? I thought you had more sense. Confound it
all ! I had just one nephew whose knock at my street-
door did not make me tremble ; he was a bachelor and a
thinker, and came for a friendly chat ; the rest are mar-
ried men, highwaymen, who come to say, ^ Stand and
deliver;' and now even you want to join the giddy
throng. Well, don't ask me to have any hand in it.
You are a man of promise ; and you might as well hang
a millstone round your neck as a Avife. Marriage is a
greater mistake than ever now ; the women dress more
and manage worse. I met your cousin Jack the other
day, and his wife with seventy pounds on her back ; and
next door to paupers. No ; whilst you are a bachelor,
like me, you are my favorite, and down in my will for a
lump. Once marry, and you join the noble army of foot-
pads, leeches, vultures, paupers, gone coons, and babblers
about brats — and I disown you."
There was no hope from old Crusty. Christopher left
him, snubbed and heart-sick. At last he met a sensible
man, who made him see there was no short cut in tliat
profession. He must be content to play the up-hill
game ; must settle in some good neighborhood ; marry,
if possible, since husbands and fathers of families prefer
married physicians ; and so be poor at thirty, comfort-
able at forty, and rich at fifty — perhaps.
Then Christopher came down to his lodgings at Graves-
end, and was very unhappy ; and after some da3's of
misery, he wrote a letter to Kosa in a moment of impa-
tience, despondency, and passion.
Kosa Lusignan got worse and worse. The slight but
frequent hemorrhage was a drain upon her system, and
weakened her. visibly. She began to lose her rich com-
plexion, and sometimes looked almost sallow ; and a
A SLMrLETON. 25
slight circle showed itself under her eyes. These symp-
toms were unfavorable ; nevertheless, Dr. Snell and Mr.
Wyman accepted them cheerfully, as fresh indications
that nothing was affected but the liver ; they multiplied
and varied their prescriptions ; the malady ignored those
prescriptions, and went steadily on. Mr. Lusignan was
terrified but helpless. Kosa resigned and reticent.
But it was not in human nature that a girl of this age
could always and at all hours be mistress of herself.
One evening in particular she stood before the glass in
the drawing-room, and looked at herself a long time with
horror. " Is that Eosa Lusignan ? " said she, aloud ; " it
is her ghost.'^
A deep groan startled her. She turned; it was her
father. She thought he was fast asleep ; and so indeed
he had been; but he was just awaking, and heard his
daughter utter her real mind. It was a thunder-clap.
" Oh, my child ! what shall I do ? " he cried.
Then Eosa was taken by surprise in her turn. She
spoke out. "Send for a great physician, x^apa. Don't
let us deceive ourselves ; it is our only chance."
" I will ask Mr. Wyman to get a physician down from
London."
"ISTo, no; that is no use; they will put their heads
together, and he will say whatever Mr. Wyman tells
him. La ! papa,- a clever man like you, not to see what
a cheat that consultation was. Why, from what you
told me, one can see it was managed so that Dr. Snell
could not possibly have an opinion of his own. No ; no
more echoes of Mr. Chatterbox. If you really want to
cure me, send for Christopher Staines."
" Dr. Staines ! he is very young."
"But he is very clever, and he is not an echo. He
won't care how many doctors he contradicts when I am
in danger. Papa, it is your child's one chance."
26 A SIMrLETON.
" I'll try it," said the old man, eagerly. " How confi-
dent you look ! your color has come back. It is an inspi-
ration. Where is he ? "
" I think by this time he must be at his lodgings in
Gravesend. Send to him to-morrow morning."
" Not I ! I'll go to him to-night. It is only a mile,
and a fine clear night."
" ]\Iy own, good, kind papa ! Ah ! well, come what
may, I have lived long enough to be loved. Yes, dear
papa, save me. I am very young to die ; and he loves
me so dearly."
The old man bustled away to put on something warmer
for his night walk, and Rosa leaned back, and the tears
welled out of her eyes, now he was gone.
Before she had recovered her composure, a letter was
brought her, and this was the letter from Christopher
Staines, alluded to already.
She took it from the servant with averted head, not
wishing it to be seen she had been crying, and she started
at the handwriting ; it seemed such a coincidence that it
should come just as she was sending for him.
My own beloved Rosa, — I now write to tell you, with a
heavy heart, that all is vain. I cannot make, nor purchase,
a connection, except as others do, b}^ time and patience. Being
a bachelor is quite against a young physician. If I had a
wife, and such a wife as you, I should be sure to get on ; you
would increase my connection very soon. What, then, lies
before us? I see but two things — to Avait till we are old, and
our pockets are filled, but our hearts chilled or soured ; or else
to marry at once, and climb the hill together. If you love me
as I love you, you will be saving till the battle is over; and I
feel I could find energy and fortitude for both. Your father,
who thinks so much of wealth, can surely settle something on
you ; and I am not too poor to furnish a house and start fair.
1 am not quite obscnire — my lectures have given me a name —
and to you, my own love, I hof)e I may say that I know more
A STISIPLETON. 27
than many of my elders, tlianks to good schools, good method,
a genuine love of my noljle profession, and a tendency to study
from my ehildliood. ^\lll you not risk something on my
ability? If not, God help me, for I shall lose you; and what
is life, or fame, or wealth, or any mortal thing to me. without
you ? I cannot accept your father's decision ; you must decide
my fate.
You see I have kept away from you until I can do so no
more. All this time the world to me has seemed to want the
sun, and my heart pines and sickens for one sight of you.
Darling Rosa, pray let me look at your face once more.
When this reaches you I shall be at your gate. Let me
see you, though but for a moment, and let me hear my fate
from no \\\)s but yours. — My own love, your heart-broken
lover,
Christopher Staines.
This letter stunned her at first. Her mind of late had
been turned away from love to such stern realities. Now
she began to be sorry she had not told him. "Poor
thing ! " she said to herself, " he little knows that now
all is changed. Papa, I sometimes think, would deny
me nothing now ; it is I who would not marry him — to
be buried by him in a month or two. Poor Christopher ! "
The next moment she started up in dismay. AVhy, her
father would miss him. No ; perhaps catch him waiting
for her. What would he think ? What would Christopher
think ? — that she had shown her papa his letter.
She rang the bell hard. The footman came.
" Send Harriet to me this instant. Oh, and ask papa
to come to me."
Then she sat down and dashed off a line to Christopher.
This was for Harriet to take out to him. Anything better
than for Christopher to be caught doing what was wrong-
The footman came back first. "If you please, miss,
master has gone out."
"Eun after him — the road to Gravesend."
28 A SIMrLETON.
"Yes, miss."
" No. It is no use. Never mind."
"Yes, miss."
Then Harriet came in. " Did you want me, miss ? "
"Yes. No — never mind now."
She was afraid to do anything for fear of making
matters worse. She went to the window, and stood look-
ing anxiously out, with her hands working. Presently
she uttered a little scream and shrank away to the sofa.
She sank down on it, half sitting, half lying, hid her
face in her hands, and waited.
Staines, with a lover's impatience, had been more than
an hour at the gate, or walking up and down close by it,
his heart now burning with hope, now freezing with fear,
that she would decline a meeting on these terms.
At last the postman came, and then he saw he was too
soon; but now in a few minutes Eosa would have his
letter, and then he should soon know whether she would
come or not. He looked up at the drawing-room windows.
They were full of light. She was there in all probability.
Yet she did not come to them. But why should she, if
she was coming out ?
He walked up and down the road. She did not come.
His heart began to sicken with doubt. His head drooped ;
and perhaps it was owing to this that he almost ran
against a gentleman who was coming the other way.
The moon shone bright on both faces.
"Dr. Staines!" said Mr. Lusignan surprised. Chris-
topher uttered an ejaculation more eloquent than words.
They stared at each other.
" You were coming to call on us ? "
" N — no," stammered Christopher.
Lusignan thought that odd; however, he said politely,
"No matter, it is fortunate. Would you mind coming
in?"
A SIMPLETON. 29
" No," faltered Christopher, and stared at him ruefully,
puzzled uiore and more, but beginning to think, after all,
it might be a casual meeting.
They entered the gate, and in one moment he saw
Rosa at the window, and she saw him.
Then he altered his opinion again. Rosa had sent her
father out to him. But how was this ? The old man
did not seem angry. Christopher's heart gave a leap
inside him, and he began to glow wi th the wildest hopes.
For, what could this mean but relenting ?
j\Ir. Lusignan took him first into the study, and lighted
two candles himself. He did not want the servants
prying.
The lights showed Christopher a change in Mr.
Lusignan. He looked ten years older.
" You are not well, sir," said Christopher gently.
" ]\Ey health is well enough, but I am a broken-hearted
man. Dr. Staines, forget all that passed here at your
last visit. All that is over. Thank you for loving my
poor girl as you do ; give me your hand ; God bless you.
Sir, I am sorry to say it is as a physician I invite you
now. She is ill, sir, very, very ill."
"HI! and not tell me ! "
" She kept it from you, my poor friend, not to distress
you ; and she tried to keep it from me, but how could
she ? For two months she has had some terrible com-
plaint — it is destroying her. She is the ghost of herself.
Oh, my poor child ! my child ! "
The old man sobbed aloud. The young man stood
trembling, and ashy pale. Still, the habits of his pro-
fession, and the experience of dangers overcome, together
with a certain sense of power, kei)t him up ; but, above
all, love and duty said, "Be firm." He asked for an out-
line of the symptoms.
They alarmed him greatly.
30 A SIMPLETON.
" Let us lose no more time/' said he. " I will see iier
at once."
"Do you ol)ject to my being present ?"
" Of course not."
" Shall I tell you what Dr. Snell says it is, and Mr.
Wyman ? "
"By all means — after I have seen her."
This comforted Mr. Lusignan. He was to get an inde-
pendent judgment, at all events.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Dr. Staines
paused and leaned against the baluster. "Give me a
moment," said he. "The patient must not know how
my heart is beating, and she must see nothing in my
face but what I choose her to see. Give me your hand
once more, sir; let us both control ourselves. 'Now
announce me."
Mr. Lusignan opened the door, and said, with forced
cheerfulness, "Dr. Staines, my dear, come to give you
the benefit of his skill."
She lay on the sofa, just as we left her. Only her
bosom began to heave.
Then Christopher Staines drew himself up, and the
majesty of knowledge and love together seemed to dilate
his noble frame. He fixed his eye on that reclining,
panting figure, and stepped lightly but firmly across the
room to know the worst, like a lion walking up to levelled
lances.
A SIMrLETON.
CHAPTER III.
The young physician walked steadily up to his patient
without taking liis eye off her, and drew a chair to her
side.
Then she took down one hand — the left — and gave it
him, averting her face tenderly, and still covering it with
her right ; "For," said she to herself, "I am such a fright
now." This opportune reflection, and her heaving bosom,
proved that she at least felt herself something more than
his patient. Her pretty consciousness made his task more
difficult ; nevertheless, he only allowed himself to press
her hand tenderly with both his palms, one moment, and
then he entered on his functions bravely. " I am here
as your physician."
" Very well," said she softly.
He gently detained the hand, and put his finger lightly
to her pulse; it was palpitating, and a fallacious test.
Oh, how that beating pulse, by love's electric current, set
his own heart throbbing in a moment !
He put her hand gently, reluctantly down, and said,
" Oblige me by turning this way." She turned, and he
winced internally at the change in her; but his face
betrayed nothing. He looked at her full ; and, after a
pause, put her some questions : one was as to the color
of the hemorrhage. She said it was bright red.
"iSTot a tinge of purple ? "
" No," said she hopefully, mistaking him.
He suppressed a sigh.
Then he listened at her shoulder-blade and at her
chest, and made her draw her breath while he was
32 A SIMPLETON.
listening. The acts were simple, and usual in medicine,
but there was a deep, patient, silent intensity about his
way of doing tliem.
Mr. Lusignan crept nearer, and stood with both hands
on a table, and his old head bowed, awaiting yet dread-
ing the verdict.
Up to this time. Dr. Staines, instead of tapping and
squeezing, and pulling the patient about, had never
touched her Avith his hand, and only grazed her with
his ear; but now he said ^' Allow me," and put both
hands to her waist, more lightly and reverently
than I can describe ; " Now draw a deep breath, if you
please."
" There ! "
"If you could draw a deeper still," said he, insinu-
atingly.
" There, then ! " said she, a little pettishly.
Dr. Staines's eye kindled.
" Hum ! " said he. Then, after a considerable pause,
''Are you better or worse after each hemorrhage ? "
" La ! " said Rosa ; " they never asked me that. Why,
better."
" No faintness ? "
"Not a bit."
" Kather a sense of relief, perhaps ? "
" Yes ; I feel lighter and better."
The examination was concluded.
Dr. Staines looked at Eosa, and then at her father.
The agony in that aged face, and the love that agony
implied, won him, and it was to the parent he turned to
give his verdict.
" The hemorrhage is from the lungs " —
Lusignan interrupted him : " From the lungs ! " cried
he, in dismay.
" Yes J a slight congestion of the lungs."
A SIMPLETON. 33
« But not incurable ! Oh, not incurable, doctor ! "
" Heaven forbid ! It is curable — easily — by remov-
ing the cause."
" And what is the cause ? "
" The cause ? " — he hesitated, and looked rather
uneasy. — " Well, the cause, sir, is — tight stays."
The tranquillity of the meeting was instantly disturbed.
" Tight stays ! Me ! " cried Kosa. " Why, I am the
loosest girl in England. Look, papa ! " And, without
any apparent effort, she drew herself in, and poked her
little fist between her sash and her gown. " There ! "
Dr. Staines smiled sadly and a little sarcastically : he
was evidently shy of encountering the lady in this argu-
ment ; but he was more at his ease with her father ; so
he turned towards him and lectured him freely.
"That is wonderful, sir; and the first four or five
female patients that favored me with it, made me dis-
believe my other senses; but Miss Lusignan is now
about the thirtieth who has shoAvn me that marvellcas
feat, with a calm countenance that belies the herculean
effort. Mature has her every-day miracles: a boa-con-
strictor, diameter seventeen inches, can swallow a buffalo ;
a woman, with her stays bisecting her almost, and lacer-
ating her skin, can yet for one moment make herself
seem slack, to deceive a juvenile physician. The snake
is the miracle of expansion ; the woman is the prodigy
of contraction."
"Highly grateful for the comparison!" cried Eosa.
" Women and snakes ! "
Dr. Staines blushed and looked uncomfortable. "I
did not mean to be offensive ; it certainly was a very
clumsy comparison.
" ^Yhat does that matter ? " said :\rr. Lusignan, impa-
tiently. "Be quiet, Eosa, and let Dr. Staines and me
talk sense."
34 A SIMPLETON.
" Oh, then I am nobody in the business ! " said this
wise young lady.
" You are everybody," said Staines, soothingly. "But,''
suggested he, obsequiously, " if you don't mind, I would
rather explain my views to your father — on this one
subject."
" And a pretty subject it is ! "
Dr. Staines then invited Mr. Lusignan to his lodg-
ings, and promised to explain the matter anatomically.
" Meantime," said he, " would you be good enough to put
your hands to my waist, as I did to the patient's."
Mr. Lusignan complied; and the patient began to
titter directly, to put them out of countenance.
" Please observe what takes place when I draw a full
breath.
"Now apply the same test to the patient. Breathe
your best, please. Miss Lusignan."
The patient put on a face full of saucy mutiny.
" To oblige us both."
" Oh, how tiresome ! "
"I am aware it is rather laborious," said Staines, a
little dryly ; " but to oblige your father ! "
"Oh, anything to oblige papa," said she, spitefully.
" There ! And I do hope it will be the last — la ! no ;
I don't hope that, neither."
Dr. Staines politely ignored her little attempts to
interrupt the argument. "You found, sir, that the
muscles of my waist, and my intercostal ribs themselves,
rose and fell with each inhalation and exhalation of air
by the lungs."
"I did ; but my daughter's waist was like dead wood,
and so were her low^er ribs."
At this volunteer statement, Kosa colored to her
temples. " Thanks, papa ! Pack me oft" to London, and
sell me for a big doll 1 "
A SIMPLETON. 35
" In other words," said the lecturer, mild and pertinti-
cious, "with us the lungs have room to blow, and the
whole bony frame expands elastic with them, like the
woodwork of a blacksmith's bellows ; but with this
patient, and many of her sex, that noble and divinely
framed bellows is crippled and confined by a powerful
miichine of human construction ; so it works lamely and
feebly : consequently too little air, and of course too
little oxygen, passes through that spongy organ whose
very life is air. Now mark the special result in tliis
case : being otherwise healthy and vigorous, our patient's
system sends into the lungs more blood than that one
crippled organ can deal with ; a small quantity becomes
extravasated at odd times ; it accumulates, and would
become dangerous ; then Nature, strengthened by sleep,
and by some hours' relief from the diabolical engine,
makes an effort and flings it off : that is why the hem-
orrhage comes in the morning, and Avhy she is the better
for it, feeling neither faint nor sick, but relieved of a
weight. This, sir, is the rationale of the complaint ; and
it is to you I must look for the cure. To judge from my
other female patients, and from the few words Miss
Lusignan has let fall, I fear we must not count on any
very hearty co-operation from her: but you are her
father, and have great authority ; I conjure you to use it
to the full, as you once used it — to my sorrow — in this
very room. I am forgetting my character. I was asked
here only as her physician. Good-evening."
He gave a little gulp, and hurried away, with an
abruptness that touched the father and offended the
sapient daughter.
However, Mr. Lusignan followed him, and stopped
him before he left the house, and thanked him warmly ;
and to his surprise, begged him to call again in a day or
two.
36 A SIMPLETON.
"Well, Eosa, wliat do yon say ? "
" I say that I am very unfortunate in my doctors.
Mr. Wynian is a chatterbox and knows nothing. Dr.
Snell is Mr. Wyman's echo. Christopher is a genius,
and they are always full of crotchets. A pretty doctor !
Gone away, and not prescribed for me ! "
Mr. Lusignan admitted it was odd. " But, after all,"
said he, " if medicine does you no good ? "
" Ah ! but any medicine he had prescribed would have
done me good, and that makes it all the unkinder."
" If you think so highly of his skill, why not take his
advice ? It can do no harm."
" No harm ? Why, if I was to leave them off I should
catch a dreadful cold ; and that would be sure to settle
on my chest, and carry me off, in my present delicate
state. Besides, it is so unfeminine not to wear them."
This staggered Mr. Lusignan, and he w^as afraid to
press the point ; but what Staines had said fermented in
his mind.
Dr. Snell and Mr. Wyman continued their visits and
their prescriptions.
The patient got a little worse.
Mr. Lusignan hoped Christopher would call again, but
he did not.
AVhen Dr. Staines had satisfied himself that the dis-
order was easily curable, then wounded pride found an
entrance even into his loving heart. That two strangers
should have been consulted before him ! He was only
sent for because they could not cure her.
As he seemed in no hurry to repeat his visit, Mr.
Lusignan called on him, and said, politely, he had hoped
to receive another call ere this. " Personally," said he,
" I was much struck with your observations ; but my
daughter is afraid she will catch cold if she leaves off
her corset, and that, you know, might be very serious."
A SI^IPLETON. 37
Dr. Staines groaned, and, when he liad groaned, he
lectured. "Female patients are wonderfully monoto-
nous in this matter; they have a programme of evasions ;
and whether the patient is a lady or a housemaid, she
seldom varies from that programme. You find her
breathing life's air with half a bellows, and you tell
her so. ' Oh, no,' says she ; and does the gigantic feat
of contraction we witnessed that evening at your house.
But, on inquiry, you learn there is a raw red line
ploughed in her flesh by the cruel stays. 'What is
that ? ' you ask, and flatter yourself you have pinned
her. Xot a bit. 'That was the last pair. I changed
them, because they hurt me.' Driven out of that by
proofs of recent laceration, they say, ' If I leave them
off I should catch my death of cold,' which is equivalent
to saying there is no flannel in the shops, no common
sense nor needles at home."
He then laid before him some large French plates,
showing the organs of the human trunk, and bade him
observe in how small a space, and with what skill, the
Creator has packed so many large yet delicate organs, so
that they should be free and secure from friction, though
so close to each other. He showed him the liver, an
organ weighing four pounds, and of large circumference ;
the lungs, a very large organ, suspended in the chest and
impatient of pressure ; the heart, the stomach, the spleen,
all of them too closely and artfully packed to bear any
further compression.
Having thus taken him by the eye, he took him by
the mind.
•'Is it a small thing for the creature to say to her
Creator, ' I can pack all this egg-china better than you
can,' and thereupon to jam all those vital organs close,
by a powerful, a very powerful and ingenious machine ?
Is it a small thing for that sex, which, for good reasons,
38 A SIMPLETON.
the Omniscient has made larger in the waist than the
male, to say to her Creator, ^ You don't know your busi-
ness ; women ought to be smaller in the waist than men,
and sliall be throughout the civilized world ' ? "
In short, he delivered so many true and pointed things
on this trite subject, that the old gentleman was con-
vinced, and begged him to come over that very evening
and convince Kosa.
Dr. Staines shook his head dolefully, and all his fire
died out of him at having to face the fair. " Eeason will
be wasted. Authority is the only weapon. My pro-
fession and my reading have both taught me that the
whole character of her sex undergoes a change the
moment a man interferes with their dress. From
Chaucer's day to our own, neither public satire nor
private remonstrance has ever shaken any of their
monstrous fashions. Easy, obliging, pliable, and weaker
of will than men in other things, do but touch their
dress, however objectionable, and rock is not harder,
iron is not more stubborn, than these soft and yielding
creatures. It is no earthly use my coming — I'll come."
He came that very evening, and saw directly she was
worse. " Of course," said he, sadly, " you have not taken
my advice."
liosa replied with a toss and an evasion, " I was not
worth a prescription ! "
" A physician can prescribe without sending his patient
to the druggist ; and when he does, then it is his words
are gold."
liosa shook her head with an air of lofty incredulity.
He looked ruefully at Mr. Lusignan and was silent.
Kosa smiled sarcastically ; she thought he was at his
wit's end.
Not quite : he was cudgelling his brains in search of
some horribly unscientific argument, that might prevail j
A SIMPLETON. 39
for he felt science would fall dead upon so fair an antag-
onist. At last his eye kindled ; he had hit on an argu-
ment unscientific enough for anybody, he thought. Said
he, ingratiatingly, " You believe the Old Testament ? "
" Of course I do, every syllable."
" And the lessons it teaches ? "
" Certainly ! "
" Then let me tell you a story from that book. A
Syrian general had a terrible disease. He consulted
Elisha by deputy. Elisha said, ' Bathe seven times in a
certain river, Jordan, and you will get well.' The general
did not like this at all ; he wanted a prescription ; wanted
to go to the druggist ; didn't believe in hydropathy
to begin, and, in any case, turned up his nose at Jordan.
What ! bathe in an Israelitish brook, when his own
country boasted noble rivers, with a reputation for
sanctity into the bargain ? In short, he preferred his
leprosy to such irregular medicine. But it happened,
by some immense fortuity, that one of his servants,
though an Oriental, was a friend, instead of a flatterer ;
and this sensible fellow said, ^ If the prophet told you
to do some great and difficult thing, to get rid of this
fearful malad}', would not you do it, however distasteful ?
and can you hesitate when he merely says. Wash in the
Jordan, and be healed ? ' The general listened to good
sense, and cured himself. Your case is parallel. You
would take quantities of foul medicine ; you would
submit to some painful operation, if life and health
depended on it ; then why not do a small thing for a
great result ? You have only to take off an unnatural
machine which cripples your growing frame, and was
unknown to every one of the women whose forms in
Parian marble the world admires. Off with that mon-
strosity, and your cure is as certain as the Syrian gener-
al's ; though science, and not inspiration, dictates the
easy remedy."
40 A SIMPLETON.
Rosa had listened impatiently, and now replied with
some warmth, " This is shockingly profane. The idea of
comparing yourself to Elisha, and me to a horrid leper !
Mach obliged ! Not that I know what a leper is."
^' Come, come ! that is not fair," said Mr. Lusignan.
" He only compared the situation, not the people."
" But, papa, the Bible is not to be dragged into the
cojnmon affairs of life."
" Then what on earth is the use of it ? "
" Oh, papa ! Well, it is not Sunday, but I have had a
sermon. This is the clergyman, and you are the com-
mentator — he ! he ! And so now let us go back from
divinity to medicine. I repeat " (this was the first time
she had said it) " that my other doctors give me real
prescriptions, written in hieroglyj)hics. You can't look
at them without feeling there must be something in
them."
An angry spot rose on Christopher's cheek, but he
only said, '^ And are your other doctors satisfied with the
progress your disorder is making under their superin-
teAidence ? "
" Perfectly ! Papa, tell him what they say, and I'll
find him their i)rescriptions." She went to a drawer,
and rummaged, affecting not to listen.
Lusignan complied. " First of all, sir, I must tell you
they are confident it is not the lungs, but the liver."
" The what ! " shouted Christopher.
*' Ah ! " screamed Kosa. " Oh, don't ! — bawling ! "
" And don't you screech," said her father, with a look
of misery and apprehension impartially distributed on
the resounding pair.
" You must have misunderstood them," murmured
Staines, in a voice that was now barely audible a yard
off. "The hemorrhage of a bright red color, and
expelled without effort or nausea ? "
A STIMPLETON. 41
"From the liver — they have assured me again and
again," said Lusignan.
Christopher's face still wore a look of blank amaze-
ment, till Eosa herself confirmed it positively.
Then he cast a look of agony upon her, and started up
in a passion, forgetting once more that his host abhorred
the sonorous. " Oh, shame ! shame ! " he cried, " that
the noble profession of medicine should be disgraced by
ignorance such as this." Then he said, sternly, "Sir,
do not mistake my motives'; but I decline to have any-
thing further to do with this case, until those two gentle-
men have been relieved of it ; and, as this is very harsh,
and on my part unprecedented, I will give you one reason
out of many I could give you. Sir, there is no road
from the liver to the throat by which blood can travel
in this way, defying the laws of gravity ; and they knew,
from the patient, that no strong expellent force has ever
been in operation. Their diagnosis, therefore, implies
agnosis, or ignorance too great to be forgiven. I will
not share my patient with two gentlemen who know so
little of medicine, and know nothing of anatomy, which
is the A B C of medicine. Can I see their prescriptions ? "
These were handed to him. " Good heavens ! " said
he, " have you taken all these ? "
" Most of them."
"Why, then you have drunk about two gallons of
unwholesome liquids, and eaten a pound or two of un-
wholesome solids. These medicines have co-operated
with the malady. The disorder lies, not in the hemor-
rhage, but in the precedent extravasation ; that is a
drain on the system ; and how is the loss to be suj^plied?
Why, by taking a little more nourishment than before ;
there is no other way ; and probably Nature, left to
herself, might have increased your appetite to meet the
occasion. But those two worthies have struck thai
42 A SBIPLETON.
weapon out of Nature's hand ; they have peppered away
at the poor ill-used stomach with drugs and draughts,
not very deleterious I grant you, but all more or less
indigestible, and all tending, not to Avhet the appetite,
but to clog the stomach, or turn the stomach, or pester
the stomach, and so impair the appetite, and so co-
operate, indirectly, with the malady."
"This is good sense," said Lusignan. "I declare, I —
I wish I knew how to get rid of them."
" Oh, I'll do that, papa."
" No, no ; it is not worth a rumpus."
" I'll do it too politely for that. Christopher, you are
very clever — terribly clever. Whenever I threw their
medicines aAvay, I was always a little better that day.
I will sacrifice them to you. It is a sacrifice. They are
both so kind and chatty, and don't grudge me hiero-
glyphics ; now you do."
She sat down and wrote two sweet letters to Dr. Snell
and Mr. Wyman, thanking them for the great attention
they had paid her ; but finding herself getting steadily
worse, in spite of all they had done for her, she pro-
posed to discontinue her medicines for a time, and try
change of air.
" And suppose they call to see whether you are chang-
ing the air ? "
" In that case, papa — ^ not at home.' "
The notes were addressed and despatched.
Then Dr. Staines brightened up, and said to Lusignan,
^^ I am now happy to tell you that I have overrated the
malady. The sad change I see in Miss Lusignan is
partly due to the great bulk of unwholesome esculents
she has been eating and drinking under the head of
medicines. These discontinued, she might linger on for
years, existing, though not living — the tight-laced can-
not be said to live. But if she would be healthy and
A SIMPLETON. 43
happy, let her throw that diabolical machine into the
fire. It is no use asking her to loosen it ; she can't.
Once there, the temptation is too strong. Off with it,
and, take my word, you will be one of the healthiest and
most vigorous young ladies in Europe."
Eosa looked rueful, and almost sullen. She said she
had parted with her doctors for him, but she really could
not go about without stays. " They are as loose as they
can be. See ! "
"That part of the programme is disposed of," said
Christopher. " Please go on to jSTo. 2. How about the
raw red line where the loose machine has sawed you ? "
" What red line ? Ko such thing ! Somebody or
other has been peeping in at my window. I'll have the
ivy cut down to-morrow."
" Simpleton ! " said ]\Ir. Lusignan, angrily. " You
have let the cat out of the bag. There is such a mark,
then, and this extraordinary young man has discerned it
with the eye of science."
" He never discerned it at all," said Eosa, red as fire ;
" and, what is more, he never will."
" I don't want to. I should be very sorry to. I hope
it will be gone in a week."
"I wish you were gone now — exposing me in this
cruel way," said Eosa, angry with herself for having
said an idiotic thing, and furious with him for having
made her say it.
" Oh, Eosa ! " said Christopher, in a voice of tenderest
reproach.
But Mr. Lusignan interfered promptly. "Eosa, no
noise. I will not have you snapping at your best friend
and mine. If you are excited, you had better retire to
your own room and compose yourself. I hate a clamor."
Eosa made a wry face at this rebuke, and then began
to cry quietly.
44 A SIMPLETON.
Every tear was like a drop of blood from Cliristopher's
heart. "Pray don't scold lier, sir," said lie, ready to
snivel himself. " She meant nothing unkind : it is only
her pretty sprightly way ; and she did not really imagine
a love so reverent as mine " —
" Don't you interfere between my father and me," said
this reasonable young lady, now in an ungovernable
state of feminine irritability.
"No, Rosa," said Christopher, humbly. "Mr. Lusi-
gnan," said he, " I hope you will tell her that, from the
very first, I was unwilling to enter on this subject with
her. Neither she nor I can forget my double character.
I have not said half as much to her as I ought, being her
physician ; and yet you see I have said more than she
can bear from me, who, she knows, love her and revere
her. Then, once for all, do pray let me put this deli-
cate matter into your hands : it is a case for parental
authority."
" Unf atherly tyranny, that means," said Rosa. " What
business have gentlemen interfering in such things ? It
is unheard of. I will not submit to it, even from papa."
"Well, you need not scream at me," said Mr. Lusi-
gnan ; and he shrugged his shoulders to Staines. " She
is impracticable, you see. If I do my duty, there will
be a disturbance."
Now this roused the bile of Dr. Staines. "What,
sir!" said he, "you could separate her and me b}^ your
authority, here in this very room ; and yet, when her
life is at stake, you abdicate ! You could part her from
a man who loved her with every drop of his heart, — and
she said she loved him, or, at all events, preferred him
to others, — and you cannot part her from a miserable
corset, although you see in her poor wasted face that it
is carrying her to the churchyard. In that case, sir,
there is but one thing for you to do, — withdraw your
A SIMPLETON. 45
opposition and let me marry lier. As her lover I am
powerless; but invest me with a Imsband's authority,
and you will soon see the roses return to her cheek, and
her elastic figure expanding, and her eye beaming with
health and the happiness that comes of perfect health."
Mr. Lusignan made an answer neither of his hearers
expected. He said, " I have a great mind to take you
at your word. I am too old and fond of quiet to drive a
Simpleton in single harness."
This contemptuous speech, and, above all, the word
Simpleton, which had been applied to her pretty freely
by young ladies at school, and always galled her terribly,
inflicted so intolerable a wound on Rosa's vanity, that
she was ready to burst : on that, of course, her stays
contributed their mite of physical uneasiness. Thus
irritated mind and body, she burned to strike in return ;
and as she could not slap her father in the presence of
another, she gave it Christopher back-handed.
" You can turn me out of doors " said she, " if vOu are
tired of your daughter, but I am not such a simpleton as
to marry a tyrant. No ; he has shown the cloven foot
in time. A husband's authority, indeed!" Then she
turned her hand, and gave it him direct. " You told me
a different story when you were paying your court to
me ; then you were to be my servant, — all hypocritical
sweetness. You had better go and marry a Circassian
slave. They don't wear stays, and they do wear trou-
sers ; so she Avill be unfeminine enough, even for you.
No English lady would let her husband dictate to her
about such a thing. I can have as many husbands as I
like, without falling into the clutches of a tyrant. You
are a rude, indelicate — And so please understand it is
nil over between you and me."
Both her auditors stood aghast, for she uttered this
conclusion with a dignity of which the opening gave no
46 A SIMPLETON.
promise, and the occasion, weighed in masculine balances,
was not worthy.
" You do not mean that. You cannot mean it," said
Dr. Staines, aghast.
" I do mean it," said she, firmly ; " and, if you are a
gentleman, you will not compel me to say it twice —
three times, I mean."
At this dagger-stroke Christopher turned very pale,
but he maintained his dignity. "I am a gentleman,"
said he, quietly, "and a very unfortunate one. Good-
by, sir; thank you kindly. Good-by, Eosa; God bless
you ! Oh, pray take a thought ! Remember, your life
and death are in your own hand now. I am powerless."
And he left the house in sorrow, and just, but not
pettish, indignation.
When he was gone, father and daughter looked at each
other, and there was the silence that succeeds a storm.
Eosa, feeling the most uneasy, was the first to express
her satisfaction. " There, he is gone, and I am glad of
it. Now you and I shall never quarrel again. I was
quite right. Such impertinence ! Such indelicacy ! A
fine prospect for me if I had married such a man ! How-
ever, he is gone, and so there's an end of it. The idea !
telling a young lady, before her father, she is tight-laced !
If you had not been there I could have forgiven him.
But I am not ; it is a story. Now," suddenly exalting
her voice, "I know you believe him."
"I say nothing," whispered papa, hoping to still her
by example. This ruse did not succeed.
" But you look volumes," cried she : " and I can't bear
it. I won't bear it. If you don't believe me, ask my
maicV^ And with this felicitous speech, she rang the
bell.
" You'll break the wire if you don't mind," suggested
her father, piteously.
A SBIPLETON. 47
•^ All the better ! Wliy should not wires be broken as
well as my heart ? Oh, here she is ! Now, Harriet,
come here."
" Yes, miss."
" And tell the truth. Am I tight-laced ? "
Harriet looked in her face a moment to see what was
required of her, and then said, " That you are not, miss.
I never dressed a young lady as wore 'em easier than
you do."
" There, papa ! That will do, Harriet."
Harriet retired as far as the keyhole ; she saw some-
thing was up.
" Now," said Kosa, " you see I was right ; and, after
all, it was a match you did not approve. Well, it is all
over, and now you may write to your favorite. Colonel
Bright. If he comes here, I'll box his old ears. I hate
him. I hate them all. Forgive your wayward girl. I'll
stay with you all my days. I dare say that will not be
long, now I have quarrelled with my guardian angel;
and all for what ? Papa ! papa ! how ca7i you sit there
and not speak me one word of comfort ? ' Simjyleton ? '
Ah ! that I am to throw away a love a queen is scarcely
worthy of ; and all for what ? Eeally, if it wasn't for
the ingratitude and wickedness of the thing, it is too
laughable. Ha ! ha ! — oh ! oh ! oh ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! "
And off she went into hysterics, and began to gulp
and choke frightfully.
Her father cried for help in dismay. In ran Harriet,
saw, and screamed, but did not lose her head ; this vera-
cious person whipped a pair of scissors off the table, and
cut the young lady's stay-laces directly. Then there was
a burst of imprisoned beauty ; a deep, deep sigh of
relief came from a bosom that would have done honor
to Diana ; and the scene soon concluded with fits of
harmless weeping, renewed at intervals.
48 A SIMPLETON.
When it had settled down to this, her father, to soothe
her, said he would write to Dr. Staines, and bring about
a reconciliation, if she liked.
" No," said she, " you shall kill me sooner. I should
die of shame."
She added, " Oh, pray, from this hour, never mention
his name to me."
And then she had another cry.
Mr. Lusignan was a sensible man: he dropped the
subject for the present; but he made up his mind to one
thing — that he would never part with Dr. Staines as a
physician.
Next day Kosa kept her own room until dinner-time,
and was as unhappy as she deserved to be. She spent
her time in sewing on stiff flannel linings and crying.
She half hoped Christopher would write to her, so that
she might write back that she forgave him. But not a
line.
At half-past six her volatile mind took a turn, real or
affected. She would cry no more for an ungrateful fel-
low, — ungrateful for not seeing through the stone walls
how she had been employed all the morning; and making
it up. So she bathed her red eyes, made a great altera-
tion in her dress, and came dancing into the room hum-
ming an Italian ditty.
As they were sitting together in the dining-room after
dinner, two letters came by the same post to Mr. Lusignan
from JNIr. Wyman and Dr. Snell.
Mr. Wyman's letter : —
Dear Sir, —lam sorry to hear from Miss Lusignan that
she intends to discontinue medical advice. The disorder was
progressing favorably, and nothing to be feared, under proper
treatment.
Yours, etc.
A SIMPLETON. 49
Dr. Snell's letter: —
])eau Sik, — jNIiss Lusignan has written to me somewhat
impatiently, and seems disposed to dispense with my visits. I
do not, however, think it ri^ht to withdraw witliout telling you
candidly that this is an unwise step. Your daughter's health
is ill a very precarious condition.
Yours, etc.
Rosa burst out laughing. "I have nothing to fear,
and I'm on the brink of the grave. That comes of
writing without a consultation. If they had written
at one table, I should have been neither well nor ilL
Poor Christopher ! " and her sweet face began to work
piteously.
" There ! there ! drink a glass of wine."
She did, and a tear with it, that ran into the glass like
lightning.
Warned by this that grief sat very near the bright,
hilarious surface, IMr. Lusignan avoided all emotional
subjects for the present. Xext day, however, he told
her she might dismiss her lover, but no power should
make him dismiss his pet physician, unless her health
improved.
" I will not give you that excuse for inflicting him on
me again," said the young hypocrite.
She kept her word. She got better and better, stronger,
brighter, gayer.
She took to walking every day, and increasing the dis-
tance, till she could walk ten miles without fatigue.
Her favorite walk was to a certain cliff that com-
manded a noble view of the sea. To get to it she must
pass through the town of Gravesend ; and we may be
sure she did not pass so often through that city without
some idea of meeting the lover she had used so ill, and
eliciting an apology from him. Sly puss !
50 A SIMPLETON.
When she had walked twenty times, or thereabouts,
through the town, and never seen him, she began to fear
she had offended liim past hope. Then she used to cry
at the end of every walk.
But by and by bodily health, vanity, and temper com-
bined to rouse the defiant spirit. Said she, "If he really
loved me, he would not take my word in such a hurry.
And besides, why does he not watch me, and find out
what I am doing, and where I walk ? '^
At last she really began to persuade herself that she
was an ill-used and slighted girl. She was very angry at
times, and disconsolate at others ; a mixed state in which
hasty and impulsive young ladies commit lifelong follies.
Mr. Lusignan observed the surface only : he saw his
invalid daughter getting better every day, till at last she
became a picture of health and bodily vigor. Relieved
of his fears, he troubled his head but little about Christo-
pher Staines. Yet he esteemed him, and had got to like
liim ; but Rosa was a beauty, and could do better than
marry a struggling physician, however able. He launched
out into a little gayety, resumed his quiet dinner-parties ;
and, after some persuasion, took his now blooming
daughter to a ball given by the officers of Chatham.
She was the belle of the ball beyond disimte, and
danced with ethereal grace and athletic endurance. She
was madly fond of waltzing, and here she encountered
what she was pleased to call a divine dancer. It was a
Ml. Reginald Falcon, a gentleman who had retired to
the seaside to recruit his health and finances sore tried
by London and Paris. Falcon had run through his for-
tune, but had acquired, in the process, certain talents
which, as they cost the acquirer dear, so they sometimes
repay him, especially if he is not overburdened with
principle, and adopts the notion that, the worhl having
plucked him, he has a right to pluck the "world. He
A SIMPLETON. 51
could play billiards well, but never so well as when back-
ing himself for a heavy stake. He could shoot pigeons
well, and his shooting improved under that which makes
some marksmen miss — a heavy bet against the gun.
He danced to perfection ; and being a well-bred, experi-
enced, brazen, adroit fellow, who knew a little of every-
thing that was going, he had always plenty to say.
Above all, he had made a particular study of the fair
sex ; had met with many successes, many rebuffs ; and,
at last, by keen study of their minds, and a habit he had
acrxuired of watching their faces, and shifting his helm
accordingly, had learned the great art of pleasing them.
They admired his face ; to me, the short space between
his eyes and his hair, his aquiline nose, and thin straight
lil)S, suggested the bird of prey a little too much : but to
fair doves, born to be clutched, this similitude perhaps
was not very alarming, even if they observed it.
Eosa danced several times with him, and told him he
danced like an angel. He informed her that was because,
for once, he was dancing with an angel. She laughed
and blushed. He flattered deliciously, and it cost him
little ; for he fell in love with her that night, deeper
than he had ever been in his whole life of intrigue. He
asked leave to call on her : she looked a little shy at
that, and did not respond. He instantly withdrew his
proposal, with an apology and a sigh that raised her
pity. However, she was not a forward girl, even when
excited by dancing and charmed with her partner; so
she left him to find his own way out of that difficulty.
He was not long about it. At the end of the next
waltz he asked her if he might venture to solicit an
introduction to her father.
" Oh, certainly," said she. " What a selfish girl I am !
this is terribly dull for him."
The introduction being made, and Kosa being engaged
52 A SIMPLETON.
for the next three dances, Mr. Falcon sat by Mr. Lusignan
and entertained him. For this little piece of apparent
self-denial he was paid in various coin : Lusignan found
out he was the son of an old acquaintance, and so the
door of Kent Villa opened to him ; meantime, Kosa
Lusignan never passed him, even in the arms of a cav-
alry officer, without bestowing a glance of approval and
gratitude on him. " What a good-hearted young man ! "
thought she. '^ How kind of him to amuse papa ; and
now I can stay so much longer."
Falcon followed up the dance by a call, and was infi-
nitely agreeable : followed up the call by another, and
admired Rosa with so little disguise that Mr. Lusignan
said to her, " I think you have made a conquest. Ilis
father had considerable estates in Essex. I presume he
inherits them."
" Oh, never mind his estates," said Eosa, " he dances
like an angel, and gossips charmingly, and is so nice."
Christopher Staines pined for this girl in silence : his
fine frame got thinner, his pale cheek paler, as she got
rosier and rosier ; and how ? Why, by following the
very advice she had snubbed him for giving her. At
last, he heard she had been the belle of a ball, and
that she had been seen walking miles from home, and
blooming as a Hebe. Then his deep anxiety ceased, his
pride stung him furiously ; he began to think of his own
value, and to struggle with all his might against his
deep love. Sometimes he would even inveigh against
her, and call her a fickle, ungrateful girl, capable of no
strong passion but vanity. Many a hard term he applied
to her in his sorrowful solitude ; but not a word when
he had a hearer. He found it hard to rest : he kept
dashing up to London and back. He plunged furiously
into study. He groaned and sighed, and fought the
hard and bitter fight that is too often the lot of the deep
A SIMPLETON. 63
tliat love the shallow. Strong, but single-hearted, no
other lady could comfort him. He turned from female
company, and shunned all for the fault of one.
The inward contest wore him. He began to look very
thin and wan; and all for a Simpleton !
I\lr. Falcon prolonged liis stay in the neighborhood,
and drove a handsome dogcart over twice a week to visit
Mr. Lusignan.
He used to call on that gentleman at four o'clock, for
at that hour JMr. Lusignan was always out, and his
daughter always at home.
She was at home at that liour because she took her
long walks in the morning. AVhile her new admirer
was in bed, or dressing, or breakfasting, she was spring-
ing along the road with all the elasticity of youth, and
health, and native vigor, braced by daily exercise.
Twenty-one of these walks did she take, with no other
result than health and appetite ; but the twenty-second
was more fertile — extremely fertile. Starting later than
usual, she passed through Gravesend w^hile Eeginald
Falcon was smoking at his front window. He saw her,
and instantly doffed his dressing-gown and donned his
coat to follow her. He was madly in love with her, and
being a man who had learned to shoot pigeons and
opportunities flying, he instantly resolved to join her
in her walk, get her clear of the town, by the sea-beach,
where beauty melts, and propose to her. Yes, marriage
had not been hitherto his habit, but this girl was peer-
less : he was pledged by honor and gratitude to Phoebe
Dale ; but hang all that now. " Xo man should marry
one woman when he loves another ; it is dishonorable."
He got into the street and followed her as fast as he
could without running.
It was not so easy to catch her. Ladies are not built
for running ; but a fine, tall, symmetrical girl who has
54 A SIMPLETON.
practised walking fast can cover tlie ground wonderfully
in walking — if she chooses. It was a sight to see how
Bosa Lusignan squared her shoulders and stepped out
from the waist like a Canadian girl skating, while her
elastic foot slapped the pavement as she spanked along.
She had nearly cleared the town before Falcon came
up with her.
He was hardly ten yards from her when an unexpected
incident occurred. She whisked round the corner of
Bird Street, and ran plump against Christopher Staines ;
in fact, she darted into his arms, and her face almost
touched the breast she had wounded so deeply.
A SIMPLETON. 55
CHAPTEK IV.
EosA cried " Oli ! " and put up her hands to her face
in lovely confusion, coloring like a peony.
" I beg your pardon," said Christopher, stiffly, but in a
voice that trembled.
" No," said Eosa, " it was I ran against you. I walk
so fast now. Hope I did not hurt you."
" Hurt me ? "
" Well, then, frighten you ? "
No answer.
" Oh, please don't quarrel with me in the street,''^ said
Rosa, cunningly implying that he was the quarrelsome
one. " I am going on the beach. Good-by ! " This
adieu she uttered softly, and in a hesitating tone that
belied it. She started off, however, but much more
slowly than she was going before ; and, as she went, she
turned her head with infinite grace, and kept looking
askant down at the pavement two 3*ards behind her:
moreover she went close to the wall, and left room at
her side for another to walk.
Christopher hesitated a moment ; but the mute invita-
tion, so arch yet timid, so pretty, tender, si}', and
womanly, was too much for him, as it has generally
proved for males, and the philosopher's foot was soon in
the very place to which the Simpleton with the mere tail
of her eye directed it.
They walked along, side by side, in silence, Staines agi-
tated, gloomy, confused, Rosa radiant and glowing, yet
not knowing what to say for herself, and wanting Cliris-
topher to begin. So they walked along without a word.
56 A SIMPLETON.
Falcon followed them at some distance to see whether
it was an admirer or only an acquaintance. A lover he
never dreamed of ; she had shown such evident pleasure
in his company, and had received his visits alone so
constantly.
However, when the pair had got to the beach, and were
walking slower and slower, he felt a pang of rage and
jealousy, turned on his heel wdth an audible curse, and
found Phoebe Dale a few yards behind him with a white
face and a peculiar look. He knew what the look
meant; he had brought it to that faithful face before
to-day.
"You are better. Miss Lusignan."
" Better, Dr. Staines ? I am health itself, thanks to —
hem ! "
" Our estrangement has agreed with you ? " This very
bitterly.
" You know very well it is not that. Oh, please don't
make me cry in the streets."
This humble petition, or rather meek threat, led to
another long silence. It was continued till they had
nearly reached the shore. But, meantime, E,osa's furtive
eyes scanned Christopher's face, and her conscience smote
her at the signs of suffering. She felt a desire to beg
his pardon with deep humility ; but she suppressed that
weakness. She hung her head with a pretty, sheepish
air, and asked him if he could not think of something
agreeable to say to one after deserting one so long.
" I am afraid not," said Christopher, bluntly. " I have
an awkward habit of speaking the truth ; and some
peoi:)le can't bear that, not even when it is spoken for
their good."
"That depends on temper, and nerves, and things,"
said Rosa, deprecatingly ; then softly, "I could bear
anything from you now."
A SIMPLETON. 57
" Indeed ! " said Christoplier, grimly. " Well, then, I
hear you had no sooner got rid of your old lover, for
loving you too well and telling you the truth, than you
took up another, — some flimsy man of fashion, who
will tell you any lie you like."
" It is a story, a wicked story," cried Eosa, thoroughly
alarmed. "Me, a lover! He dances like an angel; I
can't help that."
" Are his visits at your house like angels' — few and
far between ? " And the true lover's brow lowered black
upon her for the first time.
Kosa changed color, and her eyes fell a moment.
" Ask papa," she said. " His father was an old friend
of papa's."
" Kosa, you are prevaricating. Young men do not call
on old gentlemen when there is an attractive young lady
in the house."
The argument was getting too close ; so Eosa operated
a diversion. " So," said she, with a sudden air of lofty
disdain, swiftly and adroitly assumed, " you have had me
watched ? "
" Kot I ; I only hear what people say."
" Listen to gossip and not have me watched ! That
shows how little you really cared for me. Well, if
you had, you would have made a little discovery, that
is all."
" Should I ? " said Christopher, puzzled. " Wliat ? "
" I shall not tell you. Think what you please. Yes,
sir, you would have found out that I take long walks
every day, all alone ; and what is more, that I walk
through Gravesend, hoping — like a goose — that some-
body really loved me, and would meet me, and beg my
pardon; and if he had, I should have told him it was
only my tongue, and my nerves, and things ; my heart
was his, and my gratitude. And after all; what do words
58 A SIMPLETON.
signify, when I am a good, obedient girl at bottom ? So
that is what you have lost by not condescending to look
after me. Fine love ! — Christopher, beg my pardon."
" May I inquire for what ? "
"Wli}^, for not understanding me; for not knowing
that I should be sorry the moment you were gone. I
took them off the very next da}^, to please you."
"Took off whom? — Oh, I understand. You did?
Then you are a good girl."
" Didn't I tell you I was ? A good, obedient girl, and
anything but a flirt."
"I don't say that."
"But I do. Don't interrupt. It is to your good
advice I owe my health ; and to love anybody but you,
when I owe you my love and my life, I must be a heart-
less, ungrateful, worthless — Oh, Christopher, forgive
me ! No, no ; I mean, beg my pardon."
"I'll do both," said Christopher, taking her in his
arms. "I beg your pardon, and I forgive you."
Rosa leaned her head tenderly on his shoulder, and
began to sigh. " Oh, dear, dear ! I am a wicked, foolish
girl, not fit to walk alone."
On this admission, Christopher spoke out, and urged
her to put an end to all these unhappy misunderstandings,
and to his new torment, jealousy, by marrying him.
" And so I would this very minute, if papa would con-
sent. But," said she, slyly, " you never can be so foolish
to wish it. What ! a wise man like you marry a
simpleton ! "
" Did I ever call you that ? " asked Christopher,
rej^roachfully.
" No, dear ; but you are the only one who has not ; and
perhaps I should lose even the one, if you were to marry
me. Oh, husbands are not so polite as lovers ! I have
observed that, simpleton or not."
A SIMPLETON. 59
Christopher assured lior that he took quite a different
view of her character ; he believed her to be too profound
for shallow people to read all in a moment: he even
intimated that he himself had experienced no little diffi-
culty in understanding her at odd times. " And so," said
he, "they turn round upon you, and instead of saying,
^ We are too shallow to fathom you,' they pretend you
are a simpleton."
This solution of the mystery had never occurred to
Kosa, nor indeed was it likely to occur to any creature
less ingenious than a lover : it pleased her hugely ; her
fine eyes sparkled, and she nestled closer still to the
strong arm that was to parry every ill, -from mortal
disease to galling epithets.
She listened with a willing ear to all his reasons, his
hopes, his fears, and, when they reached her father's
door, it was settled that he should dine there that day,
and urge his suit to her father after dinner. She would
implore the old gentleman to listen to it favorably.
The lovers parted, and Christopher went home like
one who has awakened from a hideous dream to daylight
and happiness.
He had not gone far before he met a dashing dogcart,
driven by an exquisite. He turned to look after it, and
saw it drive up to Kent Villa.
In a moment he divined his rival, and a sickness of
heart came over him. But he recovered himself directly,
and said, " If that is the fellow, she will not receive him
now."
She did receive him though : at all events, the
dogcart stood at the door, and its master remained
inside.
Christopher stood, and counted the minutes : five, ten,
fifteen, twenty minutes, and still the dogcart stood there.
It was more than he could bear. He turned savagely,
60 A SIMPLETON.
and strode back to Gravesend, resolving that all tliis
torture should end that night, one way or other.
Phoebe Dale was the daughter of a farmer in Essex,
and one of the happiest young women in England till
she knew Reginald Falcon, Esq.
She was reared on wholesome food, in wholesome air,
and used to churn butter, make bread, cook a bit now
and then, cut out and sew all her own dresses, get up liei
own linen, make hay, ride anything on four legs ; and,
for all that, was a great reader, and taught in the Sunday
school to oblige the vicar ; wrote a neat hand, and was a
good arithmetician, kept all the house accounts and farm
accounts. She was a musician, too, — not profound, but
very correct. She would take her turn at the harmonium
in church, and, when she was there, you never heard a
wrong note in the bass, nor an inappropriate flourish,
nor bad time. She could sing, too, but never would,
except her part in a psalm. Her voice was a deep con-
tralto, and she chose to be ashamed of this heavenly
organ, because a pack of envious girls had giggled, and
said it was like a man's.
In short, her natural ability and the range and variety
of her useful accomplishments were considerable ; not
tliat she was a prodigy ; but she belonged to a small class
of women in this island who are not too high to use their
arms, nor too low to cultivate their minds ; and, having
a faculty and a habit deplorably rare amongst her sex,
viz.. Attention, she had profited by her miscellaneous
advantages.
Her figure and face both told her breed at once : here
was an old English pastoral beauty ; not the round-backed,
narrow-chested cottager, but the well-fed, erect rustic,
with broad, full bust and massive shoulder, and arm as
hard as a rock with health and constant usej a hand
A SIMPLETON. 61
finely cut, though neitlier small nor very white, and just
a little hard inside, compared with Luxury's soft palm ;
a face honest, fair, and rather large than small; not
beautiful, but exceedingly comely ; a complexion not
pink and white, but that delicately blended brickdusty
color, which tints the whole cheek in fine gradation, out-
lasts other complexions twenty years, and beautifies the
true Northern, even in old age. Gray, limpid, honest,
point-blank, searching eyes ; hair true nut-brown, with-
out a shade of red or black ; and a high, smooth forehead,
full of sense. Across it ran one deep wrinkle that did
not belong to her youth. That wrinkle was the brand of
trouble, the line of agony. It had come of loving above
her, yet below her, and of loving an egotist.
Three years before our tale commenced, a gentleman's
horse ran away with him, and threw him on a heap of
stones by the roadside, not very far from Farmer Dale's
gate. The farmer had him taken in. The doctor said
he must not be moved. He was insensible ; his cheek
like delicate wax ; his fair hair like silk stained with
blood. He became Phoebe's patient, and, in due course,
her convalescent : his pale, handsome face and fasci-
nating manners gained one charm more from weakness ;
his vices were in abeyance.
The womanly nurse's heart yearned over her child;
for he was feeble as a child; and, when he got well
enough to amuse his weary hours by making love to her,
and telling her a pack of arrant lies, she was a ready
dupe. He was to marry her as soon as ever his old
uncle died, and left him the means, etc., etc. At last he
got well enough to leave her, and went away, her open
admirer and secret lover. He borrowed twenty pounds
of her the day he left.
He used to write her charming letters, and feed the
flame ; but one day her father sent her up to London, on
62 A SIMPLETON.
his own business, all of a sudden, and she called on ]\Ir.
Falcon at his real address. She found he did not live
there — only received letters. However, half-a-crown
soon bought his real address, and thither Phoebe pro-
ceeded with a troubled heart, for she suspected that her
true lover was in debt or trouble, and obliged to hide.
Well, he must be got out of it, and hide at the farm
meantime.
So the loving girl knocked at the door, asked for Mr.
Falcon, and was shown in to a lady rather showily dressed,
who asked her business.
Phoebe Dale stared at her, and then turned pale as
ashes. She was paralyzed, and could not find her tongue.
^^Why, what is the matter now?" said the other,
sharply.
" Are you married to Eeginald Falcon ? "
" Of course I am. Look at my wedding-ring."
"Then I am not wanted here," faltered Phoebe, ready
to sink on the floor.
" Certainly not, if you are one of the bygones," said
the woman, coarsely ; and Phoebe Dale waited to hear no
more, but found her way. Heaven knows hoAV, into the
street, and there leaned, half-fainting, on a rail, till a
policeman came, and told her she had been drinking,
and suggested a cool cell as the best cure.
" Not drink ; only a breaking heart," said she, in her
low, mellow voice that few could resist.
He got her a glass of water, drove away the boys that
congregated directly, and she left the street. But she
soon came back again, and waited about for Eeginald
Falcon.
It was night when he appeared. She seized him by
the breast, and taxed him with his villany.
What Avith her iron grasp, pale face, and flashing eyes,
he lost his cool impudence, and blurted out excuses. It
A SIMPLETON. . 63
was an old and unfortunate connection ; he would give
the world to dissolve it, if he could do it like a gentleman.
Phoebe told him to please himself : he must part with
one or the other.
" Don't talk nonsense/' said this man of brass ; " I'll
un-Falcon her on the spot."
" Very well," said Phoebe. " I am going home ; and,
if you are not there by to-morrow at noon " — She said
no more, but looked a great deal. Then she departed,
and refused him her hand at parting. ^' AVe will see
about that by and by," said she.
At noon my lord came down to the farm, and, unfor-
tunately for Phoebe, played the penitent so skilfully for
about a month, that she forgave him, and loved him all
the more for having so nearly parted with him.
Her peace was not to endure long. He was detected
in an intrigue in the very village.
The insult struck so home that Phoebe herself, to her
parents' satisfaction, ordered him out of the house at
once.
But, when he was gone, she had fits of weeping, and
could settle to nothing for a long time.
Months had elapsed, and she was getting a sort of dull
tranquillity, when, one evening, taking a walk she had
often with him, and mourning her solitude and wasted
affection, he waylaid her, and clung to her knees, and
shed crocodile tears on her hands, and, after a long
resistance, violent at first, but fainter and fainter, got
her in his power again, and that so completely that she
met him several times by night, being ashamed to be
seen with him in those parts by day.
This ended in fresh promises of marriage, and in a
constant correspondence by letter. This pest knew
exactly how to talk to a woman, and how to write to one.
His letters fed the unhappy flame ; and, mind you, he
64 A SIMPLETON.
sometimes deceived himself, and thouglit lie loved lier •
but it was only himself he loved. She was an invaluable
lover ; a faithful, disinterested friend ; hers was a vile
bargain ; his, an excellent one, and he clung to it.
And so they went on. She detected him in another
infidelity, and reproached him bitterly ; but she had no
longer the strength to break with him. Nevertheless,
this time she had the sense to make a struggle. She
implored him, on her very knees, to show her a little
mercy in return for all her love. " For pity's sake, leave
me ! " she cried. -" You are strong, and I am weak. You
can end it forever, and pray do. You don't want me ;
you don't value me : then, leave me, once and for all,
and end this hell you keep me in."
No; he could not, or he would not, leave her alone.
Look at a bird's, wings ! — how like an angel's ! Yet so
vile a thing as a bit of birdlime subdues them utterly ;
and such was the fascinating power of this mean man
over this worthy woman. She was a reader, a thinker,
a model of respectability, industry, and sense ; a business-
woman, keen and x^ractical; could encounter sharp hands
in sharp trades ; could buy or sell hogs, calves, or beasts
with any farmer or butcher in the country, yet no match
for a cunning fool. She had enshrined an idol in her
heart, and that heart adored it', and clung to it, though
the superior head saw through it, dreaded it, despised it.
No wonder three years of this had drawn a tell-tale
wrinkle across the j)olished brow.
Phoebe Dale had not received a letter for some days ;
that roused her suspicion and stung her jealousy; she
came up to London by fast train, and down to Gravesend
directly.
She had a thick veil that concealed her features ; and
with a little inquiring and bribing, she soon found out
^^
A SLMTLETON. 65
Hiat Mr. Falcon was tliere with a showy dogcart. "Ah!"
thought Phcebe, "he has won a little money at play or
pigeon-sliooting ; so now he has no need of me."
She took the lodgings opposite him, but observed
nothing till this very morning, when she saw him throw
off his dressing-gown all in a hurry and fling on his coat.
She tied on her bonnet as rapidly, and followed him,
until she discovered the object of his pursuit. It was a
surprise to her, and a puzzle, to see another man step in,
as if to take her part. But as Reginald still followed the
loitering pair, she followed Reginald, till he turned and
found her at his heels, white and lowering.
She confronted him in threatening silence for some
time, during which he prepared his defence.
" So it is a lady this time," said she, in her low, rich
voice, sternly.
"Is it?"
"Yes, and I should say she is bespoke — that tall, fine-
built gentleman. But I suppose you care no more for
his feelings than you do for mine."
" Phoebe," said the egotist, " I will not try to deceive
you. You have often said you are my true friend."
" And I think I have proved it."
" That you have. Well, .then, be my true friend now.
I am in love — really in love — this time. You and I
only torment each other ; let us part friends. There are
plenty of farmers in Essex that would jump at you. As
for me, I'll tell you the truth ; I have run through every
farthing; my estate mortgaged beyond its value — two or
three writs out against me — that is why I slipped down
here. My only chance is to marry Money. Her father
knows I have land, and he knows nothing about the
mortgages ; she is his only daughter. Don't stand in
my way, that is a good girl ; be my friend, as you ahvays
were. Hang it all, Phoebe, can't you say a word to a
66 A SIMrLETON.
fellow that is driven into a corner, instead of glaring at
me like that ? There! I know it is nngrateful ; butwluit
can a fellow do ? I must live like a gentleman or else
take a dose of prussic acid ; you don't want to drive me
to that. Why, you proposed to part, last time, yourself."
She gave him one majestic, indescribable look, that
made even his callous heart quiver, and turned away.
Then the scamp admired her for despising him, and
could not bear to lose her. He followed her, and put
forth all those j^owers of persuading and soothing, Avhich
had so often proved irresistible. But this time it was in
vain. The insult was too savage, and his egotism too
brutal, for honeyed phrases to blind her.
After enduring it a long time with a silent shudder,
she turned and shook him fiercely off her like some
poisonous reptile.
" Do you Avant me to kill you ? I'd liever kill myself
for loving such a thing as thou. Go thy ways, man, and
let me go mine." In her passion she dropped her culti-
vation for once, and went back to the thou and thee of
her grandam.
He colored up and looked spiteful enough ; but he soon
recovered his cynical egotism, and went off whistling an
operatic passage.
She crept to her lodgings, and buried her face in her
pillow, and rocked herself to and fro for hours in the
bitterest agony the heart can feel, groaning over her
great affection wasted, flung into the dirt.
While she was thus, she heard a little commotion.
She came to the window and saw Falcon, exquisitely
dressed, drive off in his dogcart, attended by the accla-
mations of eight boys. She saw at a glance he was gone
courting; her knees gave way under her, and, such is
the power of the mind, this stalwart girl lay weak as
water on the sofa, and had not the power to go home,
A siMrLp:TON. 67
thougli just tlieu she had but one wish, one hope — to
see her idol's face no more, nor hear his wheedling
tongue, that had ruined her peace.
The exquisite Mr. Falcon was received by Rosa Lusi-
gnan with a certain tremor that flattered his hopes. He
told her, in charming language, how he had admired lier
at first sight, then esteemed her, then loved her.
She blushed and panted, and showed more than once a
desire to interrui^t him, but was too polite. She heard
him out with rising dismay, and he offered her his hand
and heart.
But by this time she had made up her mind what to
say. " ^Ir. Falcon ! " she cried, " how can you speak
to me in this way ? Why, I am engaged. Didn t you
know ? "
'' jS'o j I am sure you are not, or you would never have
given me the encouragement you have."
" Oh, all engaged young ladies flirt — a little ; and
everybody here knows I am engaged to Dr. Staines."
'' Why, I never saw him here."
Rosa's tact was a quality that came and went ; so she
blushed, and faltered out, "We had a little tiff, as lovers
will."
" And you did me the honor to select me as cat's-paw
to bring him on again. Was not that rather heartless ? "
Rosa's fitful tact returned to her.
" Oh, sir, do not think so ill of me. I am not heartless,
I am only unwise ; and you are so superior to the people
about you; I could not help appreciating you, and I
thought you knew I was engaged, and so I was less on
my guard. I hope I shall not lose your esteem, though
I have no right to anything more. Ah ! I see by your
face I have behaved very ill : pray forgive me."
And with this she turned on the waters of the Nile,
better known to you, perhaps, as " crocodile tears."
^ A SIMrLETON.
Falcon was a gentleman on the surface, and knew
he should only make matters worse by quarrelling with
her. So he ground his teeth, and said, " IMay your own
heart never feel the pangs you have inflicted. I shall
love you and remember you till my dying day."
He bowed ceremoniously and left her.
" Ay," said he to himself, " I ivill remember you, you
heartless jilt, and the man you have jilted me for.
Staines is his d d name, is it ? "
He drove back crestfallen, bitter, and, for once in his
life, heart-sick, and drew up at his lodgings. Here he
found attendants waiting to receive him.
A sheriff's officer took his dogcart and horse under a
judgment; the disturbance this caused collected a tiny
crowd, gaping and grinning, and brought Phoebe's white
face and eyes swollen with weeping to the window.
Falcon saAv her and brazened it out. "Take them,"
said he, with an oath. " I'll have a better turn-out by
to-morrow, breakfast-time."
The crowd cheered him for his spirit.
He got down, lit a cigar, chaffed the officer and the
crowd, and was, on the whole, admired.
Then another officer, who had been hunting him in
couples with the other, stepped forward and took Aim,
for the balance of a judgment debt.
Then the swell's cigar fell out of his mouth, and he
was seriously alarmed. "Why, Cartwright," said he,
"this is too bad. You j)i*oiiiised not to see me this
month. You passed me full in the Strand."
" You are mistaken, sir," said Cartwright, with sullen
irony. " I've got a twin-brother ; a many takes him for
me, till they finds the difference." Then, lowering his
voice, " AVliat call had you to boast in your club you had
made it right with Bill Cartwright, and he'd never see
you ? That got about, and so I was bound to see you or
A SIMPLETON. ' 69
lose luy bread. Tliere's one or two I don't see, but then
they are real gentlemen, and thinks of me as well as
theirselves, and doesn't blab."
" I must have been drunk," said Falcon apologetically.
" More likely blowing a cloud. When you young gents
gets a-smoking together, you'd tell on your own mothers.
Come along, colonel, off we go to Merrimashee.'^
" Why, it is only twenty-six pounds. I have paid the
rest."
" More than that ; there's the. costs."
" Come in, and I'll settle it."
" All right, sir. Jem, watch the back."
" Oh, I shall not try that game with a sharp hand like
you, Cartwright."
"You had better not, sir," said Cartwright; but he
was softened a little by the compliment.
When they were alone, Falcon, began by saying it was
a bad job for him.
" Why, I thought you was a-going to pay it all in a
moment."
" I can't ; but I have got a friend over the way that
could, if she chose. She has always got money, some-
how."
" Oh, if it is a she, it is all right."
" I don't know. She has quarrelled with me ; but
give me a little time. Here ! have a glass of sherry
and a biscuit, while I try it on."
Having thus muffled Cartwright, this man of the world
opened his window and looked out. The crowd had
followed the captured dogcart, so he had the street to
himself. He beckoned to Phoebe, and after considerable
hesitation she opened her window.
" Phoebe," said he, in tones of tender regret, admirably
natural and sweet, " I shall never offend you again ; so
forgive me this once. I have given that girl up."
70 A SIMPLETON.
" Not you," said Phoebe, sullenly.
" Indeed I have. After our quarrel, I started to pro-
pose to her ; but I had not the heart ; I came back and
left her."
" Time will shoAV. If it is not her, it will be some
other, you false, heartless villain."
" Come, I say, don't be so hard on me in trouble. I
am going to prison."
'' So I suppose."
" Ah ! but it is worse than you think. I am only taken
for a paltry thirty pounds or so."
" Thirty-three, fifteen, five," suggested Cartwright, in
a muiiled whisper, his mouth being full of biscuit.
" But once they get me to a sponging-house, detainers
will pour in, and my cruel creditors will confine me for
life."
" It is the best place for you. It will put a stop to
your wickedness, and I shall be at peace. That's what
I have never known, night or day, this three years."
" But you will not be happy if you see me go to prison
before your eyes. Were you ever inside a prison ?
Just think what it must be to be cooped up in tliose cold
grim cells all alone ; for they use a debtor like a criminal
now."
Phoebe shuddered ; but she said, bravely, " Well, tell
them you have been a-courting. There was a time I'd
have died sooner than see a hair of your head hurt ; but
it is all over now ; you have worn me out."
Then she began to cry.
Falcon heaved a deep sigh. "It is no more than I
deserve," said he. " I'll pack up my things, and go with
the officer. Give me one kind word at parting, and I'll
think of it in my prison, night and day."
He withdrew from the window with another deep
sigh, told Cartwright, cheerfully, it was all right, and
proceeded to pack up his traps.
A SBIPLETON. 71
Meantime Phoebe sat at her window and cried bitterly.
Her words had been braver than her heart.
Falcon managed to pay the trifle he owed for the
lodgings, and presently he came out with Cartwright,
and the attendant called a cab. His things were thrown
in, and Cartwright invited him to follow. Then he
looked up, and cast a genuine look of terror and misery
at Phoebe. He'thought she would have relented before
this.
Her heart gave way ; I am afraid it would, even with-
out that piteous and mute appeal. She opened the win-
dow, and asked Mr. Cartwright if he would be good
enough to come and speak to her.
Cartwright committed his prisoner to the subordinate,
and knocked at the door of Phoebe's lodgings. She
came down herself and let him in. She led the way
upstairs, motioned him to a seat, sat down by him, and
began to cry again. She was thoroughly unstrung.
Cartwright was human, and muttered some w^ords of
regret that a poor fellow must do his dut}^
" Oh, it is not that," sobbed Phoebe. " I can find the
money. I have found more for him than that, many's
the time." Then, drying her eyes, "But you must know
the world, and I dare say you can see how 'tis with me."
" I can," said Cartwright, gravely. " I overheard you
and him ; and, my girl, if you take my advice, Avhy, let
him go. He is a gentleman skin deep, and dresses well,
and can palaver a girl, no doubt ; but bless your heart,
I can see at a glance he is not worth your little finger,
an honest, decent young woman Hke you. Why, it is
like butter fighting with stone. Let him go ; or I will
tell you what it is, you will hang for him some day, or
else make away with yourself."
" Ay, sir," said Phoebe, " that's likelier ; and if I was
to let him go to prison, I should sit me down and think
72 A SIMPLETON.
of his parting look, and I should fling myself into the
water for him before I was a day older."
"Ye mustn't do that anyway. While there's life
there's hope."
Upon this Phoebe put him a question, and found him
ready to do anything for her, in reason — provided he
was paid for it. And the end of it all was, the prisoner
was conveyed to London ; Phoebe got the requisite sum ;
Falcon was deposited in a third-class carriage bound for
Essex. Phoebe paid his debt, and gave Cartwright a
present, and away rattled the train conveying the hand-
some egotist into temporary retirement, to wit, at a
village five miles from the Dales' farm. She was too
ashamed of her young gentleman and herself to be seen
with him in her native village. On the road down he
was full of little practical attentions ; she received them
coldly ; his mellifluous mouth was often at her ear, pour-
ing thanks and praises into it ; she never vouchsafed a
word of reply. All she did was to shudder now and
then, and cry at intervals. Yet, whenever he left her
side, her whole body became restless ; and when he came
back to her, a furtive thrill announced the insane com-
placency his bare contact gave her. Surely, of all tlie
forms in which love torments the heart, this was the
most terrible and pitiable.
Mr. Lusignan found his daughter in tears.
"Why, what is the matter now?" said he, a little
peevishly. " We have had nothing of this sort of thing
lately."
" Papa, it is because I have misconducted myself. I
am a foolish, imprudent girl. I have been flirting with
Mr. Falcon, and he has taken a cntel advantage of it —
proposed to me — this very afternoon — actually ! "
" Has he ? Well, he is a fine fellow, and has a landed
A SIMPLETON. 73
estate in Norfolk. There's nothing like land. They
may well call it real property — there is something to
show ; you can walk on it, and ride on it, and look out
of window at it : that is property."
" Oh, papa ! what are you saying ? Would you have
me marry one man when I belong to another ? "
" But you don't belong to any one except to me."
" Oh, yes ; I do. I belong to my dear Christopher."
" Why, you dismissed him before my very eyes ; and
very ill you behaved, begging your pardon. The man
was your able physician and your best friend, and said
nothing that was not for your good; and you treated
him like a dog."
" Yes, but he has apologized."
" What for ? being treated like a dog ? "
" Oh, don't say so, papa ! At all events, he has
apologized, as a gentleman should whenever — when-
ever " —
" Whenever a lady is in the wrong."
" Don't, papa ; and I have asked him to dinner."
" With all my heart. I shall l)e downright glad to see
him again. You used him abominably."
" But you need not keep saying so," whined Rosa.
" And that is not all, dear papa ; the worst of it is, Mr.
Falcon proposing to me has opened my eyes. I am not
fit to be trusted alone. I am too fond of dancing, and
flirting will follow somehow. Oh, think how ill I was
a few months ago, and how unhappy you were about me !
They were killing me. He came and saved me. Yes,
papa, I owe all this health and strength to Christopher.
I did take them off, the very next day, and see the effect
of it and my long walks. I owe him my life, and what
I value far more, my good looks. La ! I wish I had not
told you that. And after all this, don't I belong to my
Christopher ? How could I be happy or respect myself
74 A sunipleton.
if I married any one else ? And oh, papa ! he looks wan
and worn. He has been fretting for his Simpleton. Oh,
dear ! I mustn't think of that — it makes me cry ; and
yon don't like scenes, do you ? "
"Hate 'em!"
"Well, then," said Eosa, coaxingly, "I'll tell you how
to end them. Marry your Simpleton to the only man
who is fit to take care of her. Oh, pa^^a ! think of his
dee]3, deep affection for me, and pray don't snub him if
— by any chance — after dinner — he should hap2^en to
ask you — something."
"Oh, then it is possible that, by the merest chance,
the gentleman you have accidentally asked to dinner,
may, by some strange fortuity, be surprised into asking
me a second time for something very much resembling
my daughter's hand — eh ? "
Eosa colored high. " He might, you know. How can
I tell what gentlemen Avill say when the ladies have
retired and they are left alone with — with " —
" With the bottle. Ay, that's true ; when the wine is
in, the wit is out."
Said Eosa, " Well, if he should happen to be so foolish,
pray think of me ; of all we owe him, and how much I
love him, and ought to love him." She then bestowed a
propitiatory kiss, and ran off to dress for dinner ; it was
a much longer operation to-day than usual.
Dr. Staines was punctual. Mr. Lusignan commented
favorably on that.
" He always is," said Eosa, eagerly.
They dined together. Mr. Lusignan chatted freely,
but Staines and Eosa were under a feeling of restraint,
Staines in particular; he could not help feeling that
before long his fate must be settled. He would either
obtain Eosa's hand, or have to resign her to some man
of fortune who would step in ; for beauty such as hers
A SIMrLETON. 75
could not long lack brilliant offers. Longing, though
dreading, to know his fate, he was glad when dinner
ended.
Eosa sat with them a little while after dinner, then
rose, bestowed another propitiatory kiss on her father's
head, and retired with a modest blush, and a look at
Christopher that was almost divine.
It inspired him with the courage of lions, and he
commenced the attack at once.
76 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER V.
"Mr. Lusignan," said he, "the last time I was here
you gave me some hopes that you might be prevailed on
to trust that angel's health and happiness to my care."
"Well, Dr. Staines, I will not beat about the bush
with you. My judgment is still against this marriage ;
you need not look so alarmed ; it does not follow I shall
forbid it. I feel I have hardly a right to, for my Eosa
might be in her grave now but for you; and, another
thing, when I interfered between you two I had no proof
you were a man of ability ; I had only your sweetheart's
word for that ; and I never knew a case before where a
young lady's swan did not turn out a goose. Your rare
ability gives you another chance in the professional
battle that is before you ; indeed, it puts a different face
on the whole matter. I still think it premature. Come
now, would it not be much wiser to wait, and secure a
good i)ractice before you marry a mere child ? There !
there ! I only advise ; I don't dictate ; you shall settle
it together, you two wiseacres. Only I must make one
positive condition. I have nothing to give my child
during my lifetime ; but one thing I have done for her ;
years ago I insured my life for six thousand pounds ;
and you must do the same. I will not have her thrown
on the world a widow, with a child or two, perhaps, to
support, and not a farthing ; you know the insecurity of
mortal life."
"I do ! I do ! Why, of course I will insure my life,
and pay the annual premium out of my little capital,
until income flows in."
A SIMPLETON. 77
" Will you hand mo over a sum sufficient to pay that
premium for five years ? "
" With pleasure."
"Then I fear," said the old gentleman, with a sigh,
"my opposition to the match must cease here. I still
recommend you to wait; but — there! I might just as
well advise fire and tow to live neighbors and keep cool.''
To show the injustice of this simile, Christophca-
Staines started up with his eyes all aglow, and cried out,
rapturously, " Oh, sir, may I tell her ? "
" Yes, you may tell her," said Lusignan, with a smile.
" Stop — what are you going to tell her ? "
"That you consent, sir. God bless you! God bless
you ! Oh ! "
" Yes, but that I advise you to wait."
" I'll tell her all," said Staines, and rushed out even as
he spoke, and upset a heavy chair with a loud thud.
" Ah ! ah ! " cried the old gentleman in dismay, and
put his fingers in his ears — too late. " I see," said he,
" there will be no peace and quiet now till they are out
of, the house." He lighted a soothing cigar to counteract
the fracas.
" Poor little E-osa ! a child but yesterday, and now to
encounter the cares of a wife, and perhaps a mother.
Ah ! she is but young, but young."
The old gentleman prophesied truly ; from that moment
he had no peace till he withdrew all semblance of dissent,
and even of procrastination.
Christopher insured his life for six thousand pounds,
and assigned the policy to his wife. Four hundred
pounds was handed to Mr. Lusignan to pay the premiums
until the genius of Dr. Staines should have secured him
that large professional income, which does not come all
at once, even to the rare physician, who is Capax, Effi-
cax, Sagax.
78 A SIMPLETON.
The wedding-day was named. The bridesmaids were
selected, the guests invited. None refused but Uncle
Philip. He declined, in his fine bold hand, to counte-
nance in person an act of folly he disapproved. Chris-
topher put his letter away with a momentary sigh, and
would not show it Eosa. All other letters they read
together, charming pastime of that happy period. Pres-
ents poured in. Silver teapots, coffeepots, sugar-basins,
cream-jugs, fruit-dishes, silver-gilt inkstands, albums,
photograph-books, little candlesticks, choice little services
of china, shell salt-cellars in a case lined with maroon
velvet ; a Bible, superb in binding and clasps, and every-
thing but the text — that was illegible ; a silk scarf from
Benares; a gold chain from Delhi, six feet long or
nearly ; a Maltese necklace, a ditto in exquisite filagree
from Genoa ; English brooches, a trifle too big and brain-
less; apostle spoons; a treble-lined parasol with ivory
stick and handle; an ivory card-case, richly carved;
workbox of sandal-wood and ivory, etc. Mr. Lusignan's
City friends, as usual with these gentlemen, sent the
most valuable things. Every day one or two packages
were delivered, and, in opening them, Rosa invariably
uttered a peculiar scream of delight, and her father put
his fingers in his ears ; yet there was music in this very
scream, if he would only have listened to it candidly,
instead of fixing his mind on his vague theory of screams
— so formed was she to please the ear as well as the eye.
At last came a parcel she opened and stared at, smiling
and coloring like a rose, but did not scream, being too
dumfounded and perplexed; for lo ! a teapot of some
base material, but simple and elegant in form, being an
exact reproduction of a melon ; and inside this teapot a
canvas bag containing ten guineas in silver, and a wash-
leather ])ag containing twenty guineas in gold, and a
slip of paper, which Eosa, being now half recovered
A SIMPLETON. 79
from her stupefaction, read out to her father and Dr.
Staines :
"Teople that buy presents blindfold give duplicates and
triplicates ; and men seldom choose to a woman's taste ; so bo
pleased to accept the enclosed tea-leaves, and buy for yourself.
The teapot you can put on the hob, for it is nickel."
Rosa looked sore puzzled again. "Papa," said she,
timidly, "have we any friend that is — a little — de-
ranged ? "
" A lot."
"' Oh, then, that accounts."
"Why no, love," said Christopher. "I have heard of
much learning making a man mad, but never of much
good sense."
" AMiat ! Do you call this sensible ? "
"Don't you?"
"I'll read it again," said Rosa. "Well — yes — I
declare — it is not so mad as I thought ; but it is very
eccentric."
Lusignan suggested there was nothing so eccentric as
common sense, especially in time of wedding. " This,"
said he, " comes from the City. It is a friend of mine,
some old fox ; he is throwing dust in your eyes with his
reasons ; his real reason was that his time is money ; it
would have cost the old rogue a hundred pounds' worth
of time — you know the City, Christoi)her — to go out
and choose the girl a present ; so he has sent his clerk
out with a check to buy a pewter teapot, and fill it with
specie."
" Pewter ! " cried Rosa. " Ko such thing ! It's nickel.
AVhat is nickel, I wonder ? "
The handwriting afforded no clew, so there the dis-
cussion ended : but it was a nice little mystery, and very
80 A SIMPLETON.
convenient; made conversation. Kosa had many an
animated discussion about it with her female friends.
The wedding-day came at last. The sun shone —
actually, as Rosa observed. The carriages drove up.
The bridesmaids, principally old schoolfellows and
impassioned correspondents of Rosa, were pretty, and
dressed alike and delightfully ; but the bride was peer-
less ; her Southern beauty literally shone in that white
satin dress and veil, and her head was regal with the
crown of orange-blossoms. Another crown she had —
true virgin modesty. A low murmur burst from the
men the moment they saw her ; the old women forgave
her beauty on the spot, and the young women almost
pardoned it; she was so sweet and womanly, and so
sisterly to her own sex.
When they started for the church she began to tremble,
she scarce knew why ; and when the solemn words were
said, and the ring was put on her finger, she cried a
little, and looked half imploringly at her bridesmaids
once, as if scared at leaving them for an untried and
mysterious life with no woman near.
They were married. Then came the breakfast, that
hour of uneasiness and blushing to such a bride as this ;
but at last she was released. She sped up-stairs, thank-
ing goodness it was over. Down came her last box. The
bride followed in a plain travelling dress, which her
glorious eyes and brows and her rich glowing cheeks
seemed to illumine : she was handed into the carriage,
the bridegroom followed. All the young guests clustered
about the door, armed with white shoes — slippers are
gone by.
They started ; the ladies flung their white shoes right
and left with religious impartiality, except that not one
of their missiles went at the object. The men, more
skilful, sent a shower on to the roof of the carriage,
A SIMPLETON. 81
which is the lucky si:)ot. The bride kissed her hand,
and managed to put off crying, though it cost her a
struggle. The party hurrahed; enthusiastic youths
gathered fallen shoes, and ran and hurled them again
with cheerful yells, and away went the happy pair, the
bride leaning sweetly and confidingly with both her
white hands on the bridegroom's shoulder, while he
dried the tears that would run now at leaving home and
parent forever, and kissed her often, and encircled her
with his strong arm, and murmured comfort, and love,
and pride, and joy, and sweet vows of lifelong tenderness
into her ears, that soon stole nearer his lips to hear, and
the fair cheek grew softly to his shoulder.
82 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER VI.
Dr. Staines and Mrs. Staines visited France, Switzer-
land, and the Rhine, and j)assed a month of Elysium
before they came to London to face their real destiny
and fight the battle of life.
And here, methinks, a reader of novels may perhaps
cry out and say, " What manner of man is this, who
marries his hero and heroine, and then, instead of leav-
ing them happy for life, and at rest from his uneasy pen
and all their other troubles, flows coolly on with their
adventures ? "
To this I can only reply that the old English novel is
no rule to me, and life is ; and I respectfully propose an
experiment. Catch eight old married people, four of
each sex, and say unto them, " Sir," or " Madam, did the
more remarkable events of your life come to you before
marriage or after ? " Most of them will say " after," and
let that be my excuse for treating the marriage of Christo-
pher Staines and Rosa Lusignan as merely one incident
in their lives ; an incident which, so far from ending their
story, led by degrees to more striking events than any that
occurred to them before they were man and Avife.
They returned, then, from their honey tour, and
Staines, who was methodical and kept a diary, made
the following entry therein : —
" We have now a life of endurance, and self-denial,
and economy, before us ; we have to rent a house, and
furnish it, and live in it, until professional income shall
flow in and make all things easy: and we have two
thousand five hundred pounds left to do it with."
A SIMPLETON. 83
They came to a family liotel, and Dr. Staines went
out directly after breakfast to look for a house. Acting
on a friend's advice, he visited the streets and places
north of Oxford Street, looking for a good commodious
house adapted to his business. He found three or four
at fair rents, neither cheap nor dear, the district being
respectable and rather wealthy, but no longer fashionable.
He came home with his notes, and found Eosa beaming
in a crisp ijeignolr, and her lovely head its natural size
and shape, high-bred and elegant. He sat down, and
with her hand in his proceeded to describe the houses to
her, when a waiter thrcAv open the door — " Mrs. John
Cole."
"Florence ! " cried Eosa, starting up.
In flowed Florence : they both uttered a little squawk
of delight, and went at each other like two little tigresses,
and kissed in swift alternation with a singular ardor,
drawing their crests back like snakes, and then darting
them forward and inflicting what, to the male philosopher
looking on, seemed hard kisses, violent kisses, rather
than the tender ones to be expected from two tender
creatures embracing each other.
" Darling," said Eosa, " I knew you would be the first.
Didn't I tell you so, Christopher ? — My husband— my
darling Florry ! Sit down, love, and tell me everything ;
he has just been looking out for a house. Ah ! you have
got all that over long ago: she has been married six
months. Florry, you are handsomer than ever; and
what a beautiful dress ! Ah ! London is the place. Eeal
Brussels, I declare," and she took hold of her friend's
lace and gloated on it.
Christopher smiled good-naturedly, and said, " I dare
say you ladies have a good deal to say to each other."
" Oceans," said Eosa.
" I will go and hunt houses again."
84 A SIMPLETONc
" There's a good liusband," said Mrs. Cole, as soon as
the door closed on him, " and such a line man ! Why,
he must be six feet. Mine is rather short. But he is
very good ; refuses me nothing. My will is law."
" That is all right — you are so sensible ; but I want
governing a little, and I like it — actually. Did the
dressmaker find it, dear ? "
" Oh, no ! I had it by me. I bought it at Brussels on
our wedding tour : it is dearer there than in London."
She said this as if " dearer " and " better " were
synonymous.
'' But about your house, Bosie dear ? "
" Yes, darling, I'll tell you all about it. I never saw
a moir^ this shade before. I don't care for them in
general ; but this is so distingue. ^^
Florence rewarded her with a kiss.
" The house," said Kosa. " Oh, he has seen one in
Portman Street, and one in Gloucester Place."
" Oh, that will never do," cried Mrs. Cole. " It is no
use being a physician in those out-of-the-way places.
He must be in Mayfair."
"Must he?"
" Of course. Besides, then my Johnnie can call him
in when they are just going to die. Johnnie is a general
prac, and makes two thousand a year ; and he shall call
your one in ; but he must live in Mayfair. Why, Bosie,
you would not be such a goose as to live in those places
— they are quite gone by."
"I shall do whatever you advise me, dear. Oh, what
a comfort to have a dear friend : and six months mar-
ried, and knows things. How richly it is trimmed !
Why, it is nearly all trimmings."
" That is the fashion."
" Oh ! "
And after that big word there was no more to be said.
A SIMPLETON. 85
These two ladies in their converscation gravitated
towards dress, and fell flat on it every half-minute.
That great and elevating topic held them by a silken
cord, but it allowed them to flutter upwards into other
topics ; and in those intervals, numerous though brief,
the lady wlio had been married six months found time
to instruct the matrimonial novice with great authority,
and even a shade of pomposity. "jMy dear, the way
ladies and gentlemen get a house — in the first place, you
don't go about yourself like that, and you never go to
the people themselves, or you are sure to be taken in,
but to a respectable house-agent."
"Yes, dear, that must be the best way, one would
think."
" Of course it is ; and you ask for a house in IMayfair,
and he shows you several, and recommends you the best,
and sees you are not cheated."
' ' Thank you, love," said Eosa ; " now I know what to
do ; I'll not forget a word. And the train so beautifully
shaped ! Ah ! it is only in London or Paris they can
make a dress flow behind like that," etc., etc.
Dr. Staines came back to dinner in good spirits ; he
had found a house in Harewood Square ; good entrance-
hall, where his gratuitous patients might sit on benches ;
good dining-room where his superior patients might wait ;
and good library, to be used as a consulting-room. Rent
only eighty-five pounds per annum.
But Eosa told him that would never do ; a physician
must be in the fashionable part of the town.
"Eventually," said Christoi)her ; "but surely at first
starting — and you know they say little boats should not
go too far from shore."
Then Eosa repeated all her friend's arguments, and
seemed so unhappy at the idea of not living near her,
that Staines, who had not yet said the hard word " no "
86 A SIMPLETON.
to her, gave in ; consoling liis prudence with the reflec-
tion that, after all, Mr. Cole could put many a guinea in
his way, for Mr. Cole was middle-aged, — though his
wife was young, — and had really a very large practice.
So next day, the newly-wedded pair called on a house-
agent in Mayfair, and his son and partner went with
them to several places. The rents of houses equal to
that in Harewood Square were three hundred pounds a
year at least, and a premium to boot.
Christopher told him these were quite beyond the
mark. " Very well," said the agent. " Then I'll show
you a Bijou."
Kosa clapped her hands. " That is the thing for us.
We don't want a large house, only a beautiful one, and in
Mayfair."
" Then the Bijou will be sure to suit you."
He took them to the Bijou.
The Bijou had a small dining-room with one very large
window in two sheets of plate glass, and a projecting
balcony full of flowers ; a still smaller library, which
opened on a square yard enclosed. Here were a great
many pots, with flowers dead or dying from neglect.
On the first floor a fair-sized drawing-room, and a tiny
one at the back : on the second floor, one good bedroom,
and a dressing-room, or little bedroom: three garrets
above.
Eosa was in ecstasies. "It is a nest," said she.
" It is a bank-note," said the agent, stimulating equal
enthusiasm, after his fashion. " You can always sell the
lease again for more money."
Christopher kept cool. " I don't want a house to sell,
but to live in, and do my business ; I am a physician :
now the drawing-room is built over the entrance to a
mews ; the back rooms all look into a mews : we shall
have the eternal noise and smell of a mews. My wife's
A SIMPLETON. <S7
rest will be broken by the carriages rolling in and out.
The hall is fearfully small and stuffy. The rent is
abominably high ; and what is the premium for, I
wonder ? "
" Always a premium in May fair, sir. A lease is prop-
erty here : the gentleman is not acquainted with this
part, madam."
" Oh, yes, he is," said Eosa, as boldly as a six years'
wife: " he knows everything."
" Then he knows that a house of this kind at a hun-
dred and thirty pounds a year in Mayfair is a l)ank-note."
Staines turned to Rosa. " The poor patients, where
am I to receive them ? "
" In the stable," suggested the house agent.
" Oh ! " said Rosa, shocked.
"Well, then, the coach-house. Why, there's plenty of
room for a brougham, and one horse, and fifty poor
patients at a time : beggars musn't be choosers ; if you
give them physic gratis, that is enough : you ain't bound
to find 'em a palace to sit down in, and hot coffee and
rump steaks all round, doctor."
This tickled Rosa so that she burst out laughing, and
thenceforward giggled at intervals, wit of this refined
nature having all the charm of novelty for her.
They insj^ected the stables, which were indeed the one
redeeming feature in the horrid little Bijou ; and then
the agent would show them the kitchen, and the new
stove. He expatiated on this to Mrs. Staines. " Cook a
dinner for thirty people, madam."
" And there's room for them to eat it — in the road,"
said Staines.
The agent reminded him there were larger places to
be had, by a very simple process, viz., paying for
them.
Staines thought of the large, comfortable house in
88 A SIMPLETON.
Harewood Square. " One hundred and thirty pounds a
year for this poky little hole ? " he groaned.
"AVliy, it is nothing at all for a Bijou."
" I^ut it is too much for a bandbox."
Rosa laid her hand on his arm^ with an imploring
glance.
" Well," said he, " I'll submit to the rent, but I really
cannot give the premium, it is too ridiculous. He ought
to bribe me to rent it, not I him."
" Can't be done without, sir."
" AVell, I'll give a hundred pounds and no more."
" Impossible, sir."
" Then good morning. Now, dearest, just come and
see the house at Harewood Square, — eighty-five pounds
and no premium."
"Will you oblige me with your address, doctor?"
said the agent.
" Dr. Staines, Morley's Hotel."
And so they left Mayfair.
Rosa sighed and said, " Oh, the nice little place ; and
we have lost it for two hundred pounds."
" Two hundred pounds is a great deal for us to throw
away."
" Being near the Coles would soon have made that up
to you : and such a cosey little nest."
'^ Well the house will not run away."
"But somebody is sure to snap it up. It is a Bijou."
She was disappointed, and half inclined to pout. But
she vented her feelings in a letter to her beloved Florry,
and appeared at dinner as sweet as usual.
During dinner a note came from the agent, accepting
Dr. Staine's offer. He glozed the matter thus : he had
persuaded the owner it was better to take a good tenant
at a moderate loss, than to let the Bijou be uninhabited
during the present rainy season. An assignment of the
A SIMPLETON. 89
lease — wliicli contained the usual covenants — would
be prepared immediately, and Dr. Staines could have
possession in forty-eight hours, by paying the pre-
mium.
Rosa was delighted, and as soon as dinner was over,
and the waiters gone, she came and kissed Christopher.
He smiled, and said, " Well, you are pleased ; that is
the principal thing. I have saved two hundred pounds,
and that is something. It will go towards furnishing."
"La! yes," said Rosa, "I forgot. We shall have to
get furniture now. How nice ! " It was a pleasure the
man of forecast could have willingly dispensed with ;
but he smiled at her, and they discussed furniture, and
Christopher, whose retentive memory had picked up a
little of everything, said there were wholesale uphol-
sterers in the City who sold cheaper than the West-end
houses, and he thought the best way was to measure the
rooms in the Bijou, and go to the city with a clear idea
of what they wanted ; ask the prices of various neces-
sary articles, and then make a list, and demand a dis-
count of fifteen per cent on the whole order, being so
considerable, and paid for in cash.
Rosa acquiesced, and told Christopher he was the
cleverest man in England.
About nine o'clock Mrs. Cole came in to condole with
her friend, and heard the good news. When Rosa told
her how they thought of furnishing, she said, " Oh no,
you must not do that ; you will pay double for every-
thing. That is the mistake Johnnie and I made ; and
after that a friend of mine took me to the auction-rooms,
and I saw everything sold — oh, such bargains ; half,
and less than half, their value. She has furnished her
house almost entirely from sales, and she has the love-
liest things in the world — sucli ducks of tables, and jar-
dinieres, and things; and beautiful rare china — her
90 A SIMPLETON.
house swarms with it — for an old song. A sale is the
place. And then so amusing."
" Yes, but/' said Christopher, " I should not like my
wife to encounter a public room."
" Not alone, of course ; but with me. La ! Dr. Staines,
they are too full of buying and selling to trouble their
heads about us."
" Oh, Christopher, do let me go with her. Am I always
to be a child ? "
Thus appealed to before a stranger, Staines replied
warmly, " No, dearest, no ; you cannot please me better
than by beginning life in earnest. If you two ladies
together can face an auction-room, go by all means ; only
I must ask you not to buy china or ormulu, or anything
that will break or spoil, but only solid, good furniture."
" Won't you come with us ? "
"No; or you might feel yourself in leading-strings.
Remember the Bijou is a small house ; choose your fur-
niture to fit it, and then we shall save something by its
being so small."
This was Wednesday. There was a weekly sale in
Oxford Street on Fridays ; and the ladies made the ap-
pointment accordingly.
Next day, after breakfast, Christopher was silent and
thoughtful awhile, and at last said to Eosa, " I'll show
you I don't look on you as a child ; I'll consult you in a
delicate matter."
Eosa's eyes sparkled.
"It is about my Uncle Philip. He has been very
cruel ; he has wounded me deeply ; he has wounded me
through my wife. I never thought he would refuse to
come to our marriage."
" And did he ? You never showed me his letter."
" You were not my wife then. I kept an affront from
you ; but now, you see, I keep nothing."
A SIMPLETON. 91
" Dear Christie ! "
"I am so happy, I have got over that sting — almost;
and the memory of many kind acts comes back to me ;
and I. don't know what to do. It seems ungrateful not
to visit him — it seems almost mean to call."
" I'll tell you ; take me to see him directly. He won't
hate us forever, if he sees us often. We may as well
begin at once. Nobody hates me long."
Christopher was proud of his wife's courage and wis-
dom. He kissed her, begged her to put on the plainest
dross she could, and they went together to call on Uncle
riiilip.
WTien they got to his house in Gloucester Place, Port-
man Square, Rosa's heart began to quake, and she was
right glad when the servant said " Not at home."
They left their cards and address ; and she persuaded
Christopher to take her to the sale-room to see the things.
A lot of brokers were there, like vultures ; and one
after another stepped forward and pestered them to
employ him in the morning. Dr. Staines declined their
services civilly but firmly, and he and Eosa looked over
a quantity of furniture, and settled what sort of things
to buy.
Another broker came up, and whenever the couple
stopped before an article, proceeded to praise it as some-
thing most extraordinary. Staines listened in cold, satir-
ical silence, and told his wife, in Erench, to do the same.
Notwithstanding their marked disgust, the impudent,
intrusive fellow stuck to them, and forced his venal
criticism on them, and made them uncomfortable, and
shortened their tour of observation.
" I think I shall come with you to-morrow," said Chris-
topher, "or I shall have these blackguards pestering you."
" Oh, Florry will send them to the right-about. She
is as brave as a lion."
92 A SIMPLETON.
Next day Dr. Staines was sent for into the City at
twelve to pay the money and receive the lease of the
BijoUj and this and the taking possession occupied him
till four o'clock, when he came to his hotel.
Meantime, his wife and Mrs. Cole had gone to the
auction-room.
It was a large room, with a good sprinkling of people,
but not crowded except about the table. At the head of
this table — full twenty feet long — was the auctioneer's
pulpit, and the lots were brought in turn to the other
end of the table for sight and sale.
" We must try and get a seat," said the enterprising
Mrs. Cole, and pushed boldly in; the timid Kosa fol-
lowed strictly in her wake, and so evaded the human
waves her leader clove. They were importuned at every
step by brokers thrusting catalogues on them, with offers
of their services, yet they soon got to the table. A
gentleman resigned one chair, a broker another, and they
wore seated.
Mrs. Staines let down half her veil, but Mrs. Cole sur-
veyed the company point-blank.
The broker who had given up his seat, and now stood
behind Eosa, offered her his catalogue. "No, thank
you," said E,osa; "I have one;" and she produced it,
and studied it, yet managed to look furtively at the
company.
There were not above a dozen private persons visible
from where Rosa sat; perhaps as many more in the
whole room. They were easily distinguishable by their
cleanly appearance: the dealers, male or female, were
more or less rusty, greasy, dirty, aquiline. Not even
the amateurs were brightly dressed; that fundamental
error was confined to Mesdames Cole and Staines. The
experienced, however wealthy, do not hunt bargains in
silk and satin.
A SIMPLETON. 93
The auctioneer called "Lot 7. Four saucepans, two
trays, a kettle, a bootjack, and a towel-horse."
These were put up at two shillings, and speedily
knocked down for five to a fat old woman in a greasy
velvet jacket; blind industry had sewed bugles on it,
not artfully, but agriculturally.
" The lady on the left ! " said the auctioneer to his
clerk. That meant " Get the money."
The old lady plunged a huge paw into a huge pocket,
and pulled out a huge handful of coin — copper, silver,
and gold — and paid for the lot ; and Rosa surveyed her
dirty hands and nails with innocent dismay. " Oh, what
a dreadful creature!" she whispered; "and what can
she want with those old rubbishy things ? I saw a hole
in one from here." The broker overheard, and said,
"She is a dealer, ma'am, and the things were given
away. She'll sell them for a guinea, easy."
" Didn't I tell you ? " said Mrs. Cole.
Soon after this the superior lots came on, and six very
neat bedroom chairs were sold to all appearance for fif-
teen shillings.
The next lot was identical, and Rosa hazarded a bid,
— " Sixteen shillings."
Instantly some dealer, one of the hook-nosed that
gathered round each lot as it came to the foot of the
table, cried " Eighteen shillings."
" Nineteen," said Rosa.
" A guinea," said the dealer.
" Don't let it go," said the broker behind her. " Don't
let it go, ma'am."
She colored at the intrusion, and left off bidding
directly, and addressed herself to Mrs. Cole. "Why
should I give so much, when the last were sold for fif-
teen shillings ? "
The real reason was that the first lot was not bid for
94 A SIMrLETON.
at all, except by tlie x^roprietor. However, the broker
gave her a very different solution ; he said, " The trade
always run up a lady or a gentleman. Let me bid for
you ; they won't run me up ; they know better."
Eosa did not reply, but looked at Mrs. Cole.
"Yes, dear," said that lady; "you had much better
let him bid for you."
^'Very well," said Eosaj "you can bid for this chest
of drawers — lot 25."
When lot 25 came on, the broker bid in the silliest
possible way, if his object had been to get a bargain.
He began to bid early and ostentatiously ; the article
was protected by somebody or other there present, who
now of course saw his way clear; he ran it up auda-
ciously, and it was purchased for Eosa at about the price
it could have been bought for at a shop.
The next thing she wanted was a set of oak chairs.
They went up to twenty-eight pounds ; then she said,
" I shall give no more, sir."
" Better not lose them," said the agent ; " they are a
great bargain ; " and bid another pound for her on his
own responsibility.
They were still run up, and Eosa peremptorily refused
to give any more. She lost them, accordingly, by good
luck. Her faithful broker looked blank; so did the
proprietor.
But, as the sale proceeded, she being young, the com-
petition, though most of it sham, being artful and excit-
ing, and the traitor she employed constantly puffing
every article, she was drawn in to wishing for things,
and bidding by her feelings.
Then her traitor played a game that has been played a
hundred times, and the perpetrators never once lynched,
as they ought to be, on the spot. He signalled a con-
federate with a hooked nose ; the Jew rascal bid against
A SEMPLETON. 05
the Christian scoundrel, and so they ran np the more
enticing things to twice their value under the hammer.
Rosa got flushed, and her eye gleamed like a gambler's,
and she bought away like wildfire. In which sport she
caught sight of an old gentleman, with little black eyes
that kept twinkling at her.
She complained of these eyes to Mrs. Cole. "Wliy
does he twinkle so ? I can see it is at me. I am doing
something foolish — I know I am."
Mrs. Cole turned, and fixed a haughty stare on the old
gentleman. Would you believe it ? instead of sinking
through the floor, he sat his ground, and retorted Avith a
cold, clear grin.
But now, whenever Eosa's agent bid for her, and the
other man of straw against him, the black eyes twinkled,
and Rosa's courage began to ooze away. At last she said,
" That is enough for one day. I shall go. Who could
bear those eyes ? "
The broker took her address ; so did the auctioneer's
clerk. The auctioneer asked her for no deposit; her
beautiful, innocent, and high-bred face was enough for
a man who was always reading faces, and interpreting
them.
And so they retired.
But this charming sex is like that same auctioneer's
hammer, it cannot go abruptly. It is always going —
going — going — a long time before it is gone. I think
it would perhaps loiter at the door of a jail, with the
order of release in its hand, after six years' confinement.
Getting up to go quenches in it the desire to go. So
these ladies having got up to go, turned and lingered,
and hung fire so long, that at last another set of oak
chairs came up. " Oh ! I must see what these go for,"
said Rosa, at the door.
The bidding was mighty languid now Rosa's broker
96 A SIMPLETON.
was not stimulating it; and the auctioneer was just
knocking down twelve chairs — oak and leather — and
two arm-chairs, for twenty x^ounds, when, casting his
eyes around, he caught sight of Eosa looking at him
rather excited. He looked inquiringly at her. She
nodded slightly; he knocked them down to her at
twenty guineas, and they were really a great bargain.
" Twenty-two," cried the dealer.
" Too late," said the auctioneer.
" I spoke with the hammer, sir."
"After the hammer, Isaacs."
" Shelp me God, we was together."
One or two more of his tribe confirmed this pious
falsehood, and clamored to have them put up again.
" Call the next lot," said the auctioneer, peremptorily.
"Make up your mind a little quicker next time, Mr.
Isaacs; you have been long enough at it to know the
value of oak and moroccar."
Mrs. Staines and her friend now started for Morley's
Hotel, but went round by Kegent Street, whereby they
got glued at Peter Eobinson's window, and nine other
windows; and it was nearly five o'clock when they
reached Morley's. As they came near the door of their
sitting-room, Mrs. Staines heard somebody laughing and
talking to her husband. The laugh, to her subtle ears,
did not sound musical and genial, but keen, satirical,
unpleasant; so it was with some timidity she opened
■ the door, and there sat the old chap with the twinkling
eyes. Both parties stared at each other a moment.
" Why, it is them," cried the old gentleman. " Ha !
ha! ha! ha! ha!"
Rosa colored all over, and felt guilty somehow, and
looked miserable.
"Rosa dear," said Dr. Staines, "this is our Uncle
Philip."
A SIMPLETON. 97
" Oh ! " said Rosa, and turned red and pale by turns ;
for she had a great desire to propitiate Uncle Philii).
" You were in the auction-room, sir ? '^ said Mrs. Cole,
severely.
" I Avas, madam. He ! he ! "
" Furnishing a house ? "
" No, ma'am. I go to a dozen sales a week ; but it is
not to buy — I enjoy the humors. Did you ever hear of
Robert Burton, ma'am ? "
"No. Yes; a great traveller, isn't he? Discovered
the Nile — or the Niger — or something ? ^^
This majestic vagueness staggered old Crusty at fix-st,
but he recovered his equilibrium, and said, "Why, yes.
now I think of it, you are right ; he has travelled farther
than most of us, for about two centuries ago he visited
that bourn whence no traveller returns. Well, when he
was alive — he was a student of Christchurch — he used
to go down to a certain bridge over the Isis and
enjoy the chaff of the bargemen. Now there are no
bargemen left to speak of ; the mantle of Bobby Burton's
barcrees has fallen on the Jews and demi-semi-Christians
O
that buy and sell furniture at the weekly auctions ;
thither I repair to hear what little coarse wit is left us.
Used to go to the House of Commons; but they are
getting too civil by half for my money. Besides, charac-
ters come out in an auction. For instance, only this very
day I saw two ladies enter, in gorgeous attire, like
heifers decked for sacrifice, and reduce their spoliation
to a certainty by employing a broker to bid. Now, what
is a broker ? A fellow who is to be paid a shilling in
the pound for all articles purchased. What is his inter-
est, then ? To buy cheap ? Clearly not. He is paid
in proportion to the dearness of the article.''
Rosa's face began to work piteously.
"Accordingly, what did the broker in question dcf
98 A SIMPLETON.
He winked to another broker, and these two bid against
one another, over their victim's head, and ran everything
she wanted up at least a hundred per cent above the
value. So open and transparent a swindle I have seldom
seen, even in an auction-room. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! "
His mirth was intermitted by Eosa going to her
husband, hiding her head on his shoulder, and meekly
crying.
Christopher comforted her like a man. "Don't you
cry, darling," said he ; " how should a pure creature like
you know the badness of the world all in a moment ?
If it is my wife you are laughing at, Uncle Philip, let
me tell you this is the wrong place. I'd rather a thou-
sand times have her as she is, than armed with the
cunning and suspicions of a hardened old worldling like
you."
" With all my heart," said Uncle Philip, who, to do
him justice, could take blows as well as give them ;
" but why employ a broker ? Why pay a scoundrel five
per cent to make you pay a hundred per cent ? Wliy
pay a noisy fool a farthing to open his mouth for you
when you have taken the trouble to be there yourself,
and have got a mouth of your own to bid discreetly
with ? Was ever such an absurdity ? " He began to
get angry.
" Do you want to quarrel with me. Uncle Philip ? "
said Christopher, firing up; "because sneering at my
Rosa is the way, and the only way, and the sure way."
" Oh, no," said Eosa, interposing. " Uncle Philip was
right. I am very foolish and inexperienced, but I am
not so vain as to turn from good advice. I will never
employ a broker again, sir."
Uncle Philip smiled and looked pleased.
Mrs. Cole caused a diversion by taking leave, and
Rosa followed her down-stairs. On her return she found
A SIML'LETON. 09
Christo2)lier telling his uncle all about the Bijou, and
how he had taken it for a hundred and thirty })Oun(Ls a
year and a hundred pounds premium, and Uncle Philip
staring fearfully.
At last he found his tongue. "The Bijou!" said he.
" Why, that is a name they gave to a little den in Dear
Street, Mayfair. You haven't ever been and taken tliat !
Built over a mews."
Christopher groaned. " That is the place, I fear."
" Why the owner is a friend of mine ; an old patient.
Stables stunk him out. Let it to a man ; I forget liis
name. Stables stunk him out. He said, 'I shall go.
'You can't,' said my friend; 'you have taken a lease.'
* Lease be d d,' said the other; 'I never took your
house ; here's quite a large stench not specified in your
description of the property — it can't he the same jjlace ;^
flung the lease at his head, and cut like the wind to
foreign parts less odoriferous. I'd have got you the
hole for ninety ; but you are like your wife — you must
go to an agent. AMiat ! don't you know that an agent is
a man acting for you with an interest opposed to yours ?
Emplopng an agent ! it is like a Trojan seeking the aid
of a Greek. You needn't cry, Mrs. Staines ; your husband
has been let in deeper than you have. ]N"ow, you are
young people beginning life ; I'll give you a jjiece of
advice. Employ others to do what you can't do, and it
must be done ; but never to do anything you can do
better for yourselves ! Agent ! The word is derived
from a Latin word ' agere,^ to do ; and agents act up to
their etymology, for they invariably do the nincompoop
that employs them, or deals with them, in any mortal way.
I'd have got you that beastly little Bijou for ninety
pounds a year."
Uncle Philip went away crusty, leaving the young
couple finely mortified and discouraged.
100 A SIMPLETON.
That did not last very long. Christopher noted the
experience and Uncle Phil's wisdom in his diary, and
then took his wife on his knee, and comforted her, and
said, " Never mind ; experience is worth money, and it
always has to be bought. Those who cheat us will die
poorer than we shall, if we are honest and economical.
I have observed that people are seldom ruined by the
vices of others ; these may hurt them, of course ; but
it is only their own faults and follies that can destroy
them."
" Ah ! Christie," said Eosa, " you are a man ! Oh, the
comfort of being married to a mail. A man sees the
best side. I do adore men. Dearest, I will waste no
more of your money. I will go to no more sales."
Christopher saw she was deeply mortified, and he said,
quietly, •' On the contrary, you will go to the very next.
Only take Uncle Philip's advice, employ no broker ; and
watch the prices things fetch when you are not bidding ;
and keep cool."
She caressed his ears with both her white hands, and
thanked him for giving her another trial. So that
trouble melted in the sunshine of conjugal love.
Notwithstanding the agent's solemn assurance, the
Bijou was out of repair. Dr. Staines detected internal
odors, as well as those that flowed in from the mews.
He was not the man to let his wife perish by miasma ;
so he had the drains all up, and actually found brick
drains, and a cesspool. He stopped that up, and laid
down new i)ipe drains, with a good fall, and properly
trapped. The old drains were hidden, after the manner
of builders. He had the whole course of his new drains
marked upon all the floors they passed under, and had
several stones and boards hinged to facilitate examina-
tion at any period.
But all this, with the necessary cleaning, whitewashing,
A SIMPLETON. I'Ol
painting, and pax^ering, ran away with money. > Thfea oanle •
Kosa's purchases, wlitcli, to her amazement, amounted to
one hundred and ninety pounds, and not a carpet, curtain,
or bed amongst the lot. Then there was the carriage
home from the auction-room, an expense one avoids by
buying at a shop, and the broker claimed his shilling in
the pound. This, however, Staines refused. The man
came and blustered. Eosa, who was there, trendjled.
Then, for the first time, she saw her husband's brow
lower; he seemed transfigured, and looked terrible.
"You scoundrel," said he, "you set another villain like
yourself to bid against you, and you betrayed the inno-
cent lady that employed you. I could indict you and
your confederate for a conspiracy. I take the goods out
of respect for my wife's credit, but you shall gain nothing
by swindling her. Be off, you heartless miscreant, or
I'll " —
" I'll take the law, if you do."
" Take it, then ! I'll give you something to howl for ; "
and he seized him with a grasp so tremendous that the
fellow cried out in dismay, " Oh ! don't hit me, sir ; pray
don't."
On this abject appeal, Staines tore the door open with
his left hand, and spun the broker out into the passage
Avith his right. Two movements of this angry Hercules,
and the man Avas literally whirled out of sight with a
rapidity and swiftness almost ludicrous ; it was like a
trick in a pantomime. A clatter on the stairs betrayed
that he had gone down the first few ste^js in a wholesale
and irregular manner, though he had just managed to
keep his feet.
As for Staines, he stood there still lowering like thum
der, and his eyes like hot coals ; but his wife threw her
tender arms around him, and begged him consolingly not
to mind.
102 A SIMPLETON.
Siio iwiis tremblirig lilie an aspen.
" Dear me/' said Cliristoplier, Avith a ludicrous change
to marked politeness and respect, " I forgot you, in my
righteous indignation." Next he became uxorious. " Did
they frighten her, a duck ? Sit on my knee, darling, and
pull my hair, for not being more considerate — there !
there ! "
This was followed by the whole absurd soothing process,
as practised by manly husbands upon quivering and some-
what hysterical wives, and ended with a formal apology.
" You must not think that I am passionate ; on the con-
trary, I am always practising self-government. My maxim
is, Animum rege qui 7iisi paret imj^erat, and that means.
Make your temper your servant, or else it will be your
master. But to ill-use my dear little wife — it is unnat-
ural, it is monstrous, it makes my blood boil."
" Oh, dear ! don't go into another. It is all over. I
can't bear to see you in a passion ; you are so terrible, so
beautiful. Ah ! they are fine things, courage and strength.
There's nothing I admire so much."
"Why, they are as common as dirt. What I admire
is modesty, timidity, sweetness ; the sensitive cheek that
pales or blushes at a Avord, the bosom that quivers, and
clings to a fellow whenever anything goes wrong."
" Oh, that is what you admire, is it ? " said Kosa dryly.
" Admire it ? " said Christopher, not seeing the trap ;
"I adore it."
" Then, Christie, dear, you are a Simpleton, that is all.
And we are made for one another."
The house was to be furnished and occupied as soon as
possible ; so Mrs. Staines and Mrs. Cole went to another
sale-room. Mrs. Staines remembered all Uncle Philip) had
said, and went plainly dressed ; but her friend declined
to sacrifice her showy dress to her friend's interests.
Rosa thought that a little unkind, but said nothing.
A SIMPLETON. 10.3
In tliis auction-room they easily got a place at the
table, but did not find it heaven ; for a number of second-
hand carpets were in the sale, and these, brimful of dust,
were all shown on the table, and the dirt choked and
poisoned our fair friends. Brokers pestered them, until
at last Kosa, smarting under her late exposure, addressed
the auctioneer quietly, in her silvery tones : " Sir, these
gentlemen are annoying me by forcing their services on
me. I do not intend to buy at all unless I can be allowed
to bid for myself."
When Rosa, blushing and amazed at her own boldness,
uttered these words, she little foresaw their effect. She
liad touched a popular sore.
"You are quite right, madam," said a respectable
tradesman opposite her. "What business have these
dirty fellows, without a shilling in their pockets, to go
and force themselves on a lady against her will ? "
" It has been complained of in the papers again and
again," said another.
"What! mayn't we live as well as you?" retorted a
broker.
" Yes, but not to force yourself on a lady. Why, she'd
give you in charge of the police if you tried it on out-
side."
Then there was a downright clamor of discussion and
chaff.
Presently up rises very slowly a countryman so colossal,
that it seemed as if he would never have done getting up,
and gives his experiences. He informed the compan}^,
in a broad Yorkshire dialect, that he did a bit in furni-
ture, and at first starting these brokers buzzed about him
like flies, and pestered him. " Aah damned 'em pretty
hard," said he, " but they didn't heed any. So then ah
spoke 'em civil, and ah said, ' Well, lads, I dinna come
fra Yorkshire to sit like a dummy and let you buy wi'
104 A SUNIPLETON.
my brass ; the first tliat pesters me again ah'll just fell
him on t' plaace, like a caulf, and ah'm not very sure
he'll get up again in a hurry.' So they dropped me like
a hot potato; never pestered me again. But if they
won't give over pestering you, mistress, ah'U come round
and just stand behind your chair, and bring nieve with
me," showing a fist like a leg of mutton.
"No, no," said the auctioneer, "that will not do. I
will have no disturbance here. Call the policeman."
While the clerk went to the door for the bol)by, a
gentleman reminded the auctioneer that tlie journals
had repeatedly drawn attention to the nuisance.
" Fault of the public, not mine, sir. Policeman, stand
behind that lady's chair, and if anybody annoys her put
him quietly into the street."
" This auction-room will be to let soon," said a voice
at the end of the table.
" This auction-room," said the auctioneer, master of the
gay or grave at a moment's notice, " is supported by the
public and the trade ; it is not supported by paupers."
A Jew upholsterer put in his word. " I do my OAvn
business ; but I like to let a poor man live."
" Jonathan," said the auctioneer to one of his servants,
" after this sale you may put up the shutters ; we have
gone and offended Mr. Jacobs. He keeps a shop in
Blind Alley, Whitechapel. Now then, lot 69."
Eosa bid timidly for one or two lots, and bought them
cheap.
The auctioneer kept looking her way, and she had only
to nod.
The obnoxious broker got opposite her, aixl ran her up
a little out of spite ; but as he had only got half a crown
about him, and no means of doubling it, he dared not go
far.
On the other side of the table was a figure to which
A SIMPLETON. 105
Kosa's eyes often turned with interest — a fair young boy
about twelve years old ; he had golden hair, and was in
deep mourning. His ajjpearance interested Eosa, and she
wondered how he came there, and why ; he looked like
a lamb wedged in among wolves, a flower among weeds.
As the lots proceeded, the boy seemed to get uneasy;
and at last, when lot 73 was put up, anybody could see
in his poor little face that he was there to bid for it.
" Lot 73, an armchair covered in morocco. An excel-
lent and useful article. Should not be at all surprised if
it was made by Gillow."
" Gillow would though," said Jacobs, who owed him a
turn.
Chorzcs of dealers. — " Haw ! haw ! "
The auctioneer. — " I like to hear some people run a
lot down ; shows they are going to bid for it in earnest.
Well, name your own price. Five pounds to begin ? "
Now if nobody had spoken the auctioneer would have
gone on, "AVell, four pounds then— three, two, whatever
you like," and at last obtained a bona fide offer of thirty
shillings; but the moment he said "Five pounds to
begin," the boy in black lifted up his childish treble and
bid thus, " Five pound ten " — " six pounds " — " six pound
ten " — ^' seven pounds " — " seven pound ten " — " eight
pounds " — " eight pound ten " — " nine pounds " — " nine
pound ten " — " ten pounds ! " without interruption, and
indeed almost in a breath.
There was a momentary pause of amazement, and then
an outburst of chaff.
" Xice little boy ! "
" Didn't he say his lesson well ? "
"Favor us with your card, sir. You are a gent as
knows how to buy."
" What did he stop for ? If it's worth ten, it is worth
a hundred."
106 A SIMPLETON.
" Bless the child ! " said a female dealer, kindly, " what
made you go on like that ? Why, there was no one bid
against you ! you'd have got it for two pounds — a rickety
old thing."
Young master began to whimper. " Why, the gentle-
man said, ^Five pounds to begin.'' It was the chair poor
grandpapa always sat in, and all the things are sold, and
mamma said it would break her heart to lose it. She
was too ill to come, so she sent me. She told me I was
not to let it be sold away from us for less than ten
pounds, or she sh — should be m — m — miserable," and
the poor little fellow began to cry. Eosa followed suit
promptly but unobtrusively.
"Sentiment always costs money," said Mr. Jacobs,
gravely.
" How do you know ? " asked Mr. Cohen. " Have you
got any on hand ? I never seen none at your shop."
Some tempting things now came up, and Mrs. Staines
bid freely ; but all of a sudden she looked down the table,
and there was Uncle Philip, twinkling as before. " Oh,
dear ! what am I doing now ! " thought she. " I have got
no broker."
She bid on, but in fear and trembling, because of those
twinkling eyes. At last she mustered courage, wrote on
a leaf of her pocket-book, and passed it down to him :
" It would be only kind to warn me. What am I doing
wrong ? "
He sent her back a line directly : " Auctioneer running
you up himself. Follow his eye when he bids ; you will
see there is no bona fide bidder at your prices."
Rosa did so, and found that it was true.
She nodded to Uncle Philip ; and, with her expressive
face, asked him what she should do.
Tlie old boy must have his joke. So he wrote back :
" Tell him, as you see he has a fancy for certain articles,
A SII^IPLETON. 107
you would not be so discourteous as to bid against
iiim."
The next article but one was a drawing-room suite
Kosa wanted ; but the auctioneer bid against her ; so at
eighteen pounds she stopped.
^ It is against you, madam," said the auctioneer.
" Yes, sir," said Eosa ; " but as you are the only V)idder,
and you have been so kind to me, I would not think of
opposing you."
The words were scarcely out of her mouth, when they
were greeted with a roar of Homeric laughter that liter-
ally shook the room, and this time not at the expense of
the innocent speaker.
" That's into your mutton, governor."
" Sharp's the word this time."
"I say, governor, don't you want a broker to bid for
ye?"
" Wink at me next time, sir ; I'll do the office for you."
"No greenhorns left now."
" That lady won't give a ten-pund note for her grand-
father's armchair."
" Oh, yes, she will, if it's stuffed with banknotes."
" Put the next lot up with the owner's name and the
reserve price. Open business."
" And sing a psalm at starting."
" A little less noise in Judsea, if you please," said the
auctioneer, who had now recovered from the blow.
" Lot 97."
This was a very pretty marqueterie cabinet ; it stood
against the wall, and Eosa had set her heart upon it.
Nobody would bid. She had muzzled the auctioneer
effectually.
" Your own price."
" Two pounds," said Eosa.
A dealer offered guineas ; and it advanced slowly to
108 A SIMPLETON.
four pounds and half a crown, at which it was about to
be knocked down to Kosa, when suddenly a new bidder
arose in the broker Eosa had rejected. They bid slowly
and sturdily against each other, until a line was given
to Eosa from Uncle Philip.
"This time it is your own friend, the snipe-nosed
woman. She telegraphed a broker."
Eosa read, and crushed the note. " Six guineas," said
she.
" Six-ten."
" Seven."
" Seven-ten."
"Eight."
"Eight-ten."
"Ten guineas," said Eosa; and then, with feminine
cunning, stealing a sudden glance, caught her friend
leaning back and signalling the broker not to give in.
" Eleven pounds."
"Twelve."
" Thirteen."
" Fourteen."
" Sixteen."
"Eighteen."
" Twenty."
" Twenty guineas."
" It is yours, my faithful friend," said Eosa, turning
suddenly round to Mrs. Cole, with a magnificent glance
no one would have thought her capable of.
Then she rose and stalked away.
Dumfounded for the moment, Mrs. Cole followed her,
and stopped her at the door.
"Why, Eosie dear, it is the only thing I have bid for.
There I've sat by your side like a mouse."
Eosa turned gravely towards her. " You know it is
not that. You had only to tell me you wanted it. I
A SriMPLETON. 100
would never have been so mean as to bid against
you."
" Mean, indeed ! " said Florence, tossing her head.
" Yes, mean ; to draw back and hide behind the friend
you.Avere with, and employ the very rogue she had
turned off. But it is my own fault. Cecilia warned me
against you. She always said you were a treacherous
girl."
"And I say you are an impudent little minx. Only
just married, and going about like two vagabonds, and
talk to me like that ! "
"We are not going about like two vagabonds. We
have taken a house in Mayfair."
" Say a stable."
" It was by your advice, you false-hearted creature."
"You are a fool."
" You are worse ; you are a traitress."
" Then don't you have anything to do with me."
" Heaven forbid I should, you treacherous thing ! "
" You insolent — insolent — I hate you."
"And I despise you."
" I always hated you at bottom."
"That's why you pretended to love me, you wretch."
" Well, I pretend no more. I am your enemy for life."
" Thank you. You have told the truth for once in
your life."
" I have. And he shall never call in 3'our husl)and ;
so you may leave ^Vlayfair as soon as you like."
" xiot to please you, madam. We can get on without
traitors."
And so they parted, with eyes that gleamed like
tis^ers.
Eosa dro^'B home in great agitation, and tried to tell
Christopher; but choked, and became hysterical. The
husband-physician coaxed and scolded her out of that ;
110 A SIMPLETON.
and presently in came Uncle riiilip, full of the humors
of the auction-room. He told about the little boy with
a delight that disgusted Mrs. Staines, and then was x)ar-
ticularly merry on female friendships. " Fancy a man
going to a sale with his friend, and bidding against him
on the sly."
" She is no friend of mine. We are enemies for life."
" And 3^ou were to be friends till death/' said Staines,
with a sigh.
Philip inquired who she was.
" Mrs. John Cole."
^^Not of Curzon Street ? "
"Yes."
" And you have quarrelled with her ? "
"Yes."
" Well, but her husband is a general practitioner."
" She is a traitress."
" But her husband could put a good deal of money in
Christopher's way."
" I can't help it. She is a traitress."
"And you have quarrelled with her about an old
wardrobe."
"No, for her disloyalty, and her base good-for-noth-
ingness. Oh ! oh ! oh ! "
Uncle Philip got up, looking sour. " Good afternoon,
Mrs. Christopher," said he, very dryly.
Christopher accompanied him to the foot of the stairs.
"Well, Christopher," said he, "matrimony is a blunder
at the best ; and you have not done the thing by halves.
You have married a simx^leton. She will be your ruin."
" Uncle Philip, since you only come here to insult us,
I hope in future you will stay at home."
" Oh ! with pleasure, sir. Good-by ! "
A SUVIPLETON. Ill
CHAPTER VII.
Christopher Staines came back, looking pained and
distiirl)ed. " There," said lie, " I feared it would come
to this. I have quarrelled with Uucle Philip."
"Oh! how could you ?'\
" He affronted me."
" What about ? "
"Never you mind. Don't let us say anything more
about it, darling. It is a pity, a sad pity — he was a
good friend of mine once."
He paused, entered Avhat had passed in his diary, and
then sat dowm, w^ith a gentle expression of sadness on
his manly features. Rosa hung about him, soft and
pitying, till it cleared away, at all events for the time.
Next day they went together to clear the goods Rosa
had purchased. AVhilst the list was being made out in
the oifice, in came the fair-haired boy, with a ten-pound
note in his very hand. Rosa caught sight of it, and
turned to the auctioneer, with a sweet, pitying face :
" Oh ! sir, surely you w^ill not take all that money from
him, poor child, for a rickety old chair."
The auctioneer stared with amazement at her sim-
l^licity, and said, "AVhat would the vendors say to
me?"
She looked distressed, and said, "Well, then, really
we ought to raise a subscription, poor thing ! "
" Why, ma'am," said the auctioneer, " he isn't hurt :
the article belonged to his mother and her sister ; the
brother-in-law isn't on good terms ; so he demanded a
public sale. She will get back four pun ten out of it."
112 A SIMPLETON.
Here the clerk put in his word. "And there's five
pounds paid, I forgot to tell you.''
" Oh ! left ca deposit, did he ? "
"No, sir. But the laughing hyena gave you five
pounds at the end of the sale."
" The laughing hyena, Mr. Jones ? "
" Oh ! beg pardon ; that is what we call him in the
room. He has got such a curious laugh."
"Oh! I know the gent. He is a retired doctor. I
wish he'd laugh less and buy more : and he gave you
five pounds towards the young gentleman's arm-chair !
Well, I should as soon have expected blood from a flint.
You have got five pounds to pay, sir : so now the chair
will cost your mamma ten shillings. Give him the order
and the change, Mr. Jones."
Christopher and Rosa talked this over in the room
whilst the men were looking out their purchases.
" Come," said E-osa ; " now I forgive him sneering at
me ; his heart is not really hard, you see." Staines, on
the contrary, was very angry. " AVhat ! " he cried,
" pity a boy who made one bad bargain, that, after
all, was not a very bad bargain ; and he had no kindness,
nor even common humanity, for my beautiful Rosa,
inexperienced as a child, and buying for her husband,
like a good, affectionate, honest creature, amongst a lot
of sliarpers and hard-hearted cynics — like himself."
"It ivas cruel of him," said Rosa, altering her mind
in a moment, and half inclined to cry.
This made Christopher furious, "The ill-natured,
crotchety, old — the fact is, he is a misogynist."
"Oh, the wretch!" said Rosa warmly. "And what
is that ? "
" A woman-hater."
" Oh ! is that all ? Why, so do I — after that Florence
Cole. Women are mean, heartless things. Give me
men J tliey are loyal and true."
A SIMPLETON. 113
" All of tliem ? " inquired Christopher, a little satiri-
cally. " Read the papers."
" Every soul of them," said Mrs. Staines, passing
loftily over the i)roposed test. " That is, all the ones 1
care about ; and that is my own, own one."
Disagreeable creatures to have about one — these
simpletons !
Mrs. Staines took Christopher to shops to buy the
remaining requisites : and in three days more the house
was furnished, two female servants engaged, and the
couple took their luggage over to the Bijou.
Eosa was excited and happy at the novelty of posses-
sion and authority, and that close sense of house pro-
prietorship which belongs to woman. By dinner-time
she could have told you how many shelves there were
in every cupboard, and knew the Bijou by heart in a
way that Christopher never knew it. All this ended,
as running about and excitement generally does, with
my lady being exhausted, and lax with fatigue. So
then he made her lie down on a little couch, while he
went through his accounts.
When he had examined all the bills carefully he looked
very grave, and said, " Who would believe this ? We
began Avith three thousand pounds. It was to last us
several years — till I got a good practice. Eosa, there
is only fourteen hundred and forty pounds left."
" Oh, impossible ! " said Eosa. " Oh, dear ! Avhy did
I ever enter a saleroom ? "
"Xo, no, my darling; you were bitten once or twice,
but you made some good bargains too. Eemember there
was four hundred pounds set apart for my life policy."
" What a waste of money ! "
" Your father did not think so. Then the lease : the
premium ; repairs of the drains that would have poisoned
my Eosa ; turning the coach-house into a dispensary ;
8
114 A SESIPLETON.
painting, papering, and fnrnisliing ; cliina, and linen,
and everything to buy. We must look at this seriously.
Only fourteen hundred and forty pounds left. A slow
profession. No friends. I have quarrelled vi^ith Uncle
Philip : you with Mrs. Cole ; and her husband would
have launched me."
^'And it was to please her we settled here. Oh, I
could kill her: nasty cat!"
" Never mind ; it is not a case for despondency, but it
is for prudence. All Ave have to do is to look the thing
in the face, and l^e very economical in everything. I had
better give you an allowance for housekeeping; and I
earnestly beg you to buy 'things yourself whilst you are
a poor man's wife, and pay ready money for everything.
My mother was a great manager, and she always said,
^ There is but one way : be your own market-woman, and
pay on the spot ; never let the tradesmen get you on
their books, or, what with false weight, double charges,
and the things your servants order that never enter the
house, you lose more than a hundred a year by cheating.' "
Eosa yielded a languid assent to this part of his dis-
course, and it hardly seemed to enter her mind ; but she
raised no objection; and in due course he made her a
special allowance for housekeeping.
It soon transpired that medical advice was to be had,
gratis, at the Bijou, from eight till ten : and there was
generally a good attendance. But a week passed, and
not one patient came of the class this couple must live
by. Cliristopher set this down to what people call "the
transition period : " his Kent patients had lost him ; his
London patients not found him. He wrote to all his
patients in the country, and many of his pupils at the
university, to let them know where he was settled : and
then he waited.
Not a creature came.
A SIMPLETON. 115
Kosa bore this very well for a time, so long as the
house was a novelty; but when that excitement was
worn out, she began to be very dull, and used t(j come
and entice him out to walk with her : he would look
wistfully at her, but object that, if he left the house, he
should be sure to lose a patient.
" Oh, they won't come any more for our staying in —
tiresome things ! " said Kosa.
But Christopher would kiss her, and remain firm.
^' My love," said he, " you do not realize how hard a
fight there is before us. How should you ? You are
very young. No, for your sake, I must not throw a
chance away. Write to your female friends : that will
while away an hour or two."
"What, after that Florence Cole ?"
"Write to those who have not made such violent
professions."
" So I will, dear. Especially to those that are married
and come to London. Oh, and I'll write to that cold-
blooded thing. Lady Cicely Treherne. Why do you shake
your head ? "
" Did I ? I was not aware. Well, dear, if ladies of
rank were to come here, I fear they might make you
discontented with your lot."
" All the women on earth could not do that. How-
ever, the chances are she will not come near me : she
left the school quite a big girl, an immense girl, when I
was only twelve. She used to smile at my capriccios ;
and once she kissed me — actually. She was an awful
Sawny, though, and so affected : I think I will write to
her."
These letters brought just one lady, a Mrs. Turner,
who talked to Ilosa very gliljly about herself, and amused
Eosa twice : at the third visit, Eosa tried to change the
conversation. Mrs. Turner instantly got up, and went
116 A SIMPLETON.
away. She could not bear tlie sound of tlie human
voice, unless it was talking about her and her affairs.
And now Staines began to feel downright uneasy.
Income was going steadily out : not a shilling coming
in. The lame, the blind, and the sick frequented his
dispensary, and got his skill out of him gratis, and some-
times a little physic, a little wine, and other things that
cost him money : but of the patients that pay, not one
came to his front door.
He walked round and round his little yard, like a
hyena in its cage, waiting, Avaiting, waiting: and oh!
how he envied the lot of those who can hunt for Avork,
instead of having to stay at home and wait for others to
come, whose will they cannot influence. His heart began
to sicken with hope deferred, and dim forebodings of the
future ; and he saw, Avith grief, that his Avife Avas getting
duller and duller, and that her days dragged more heavily
far than his own ; for he could study.
At last his knocker began to shoAv signs of life : his
visitors were physicians. His lectures on " Diagnosis "
Avere Avell knoAvn to them ; and one after another found
him out. They were polite, kind, even friendly ; but
here it ended : these gentlemen, of course, did not resign
their patients to him ; and the inferior class of practi-
tioners avoided his door like a pestilence.
Mrs. Staines, Avho had ahvays lived for amusement,
could strike out no fixed occupation ; her time hung like
lead; the house Avas small; and in small houses the
faults of servants run against the mistress, and she
can't help seeing them, and all the Avorse for her. It is
easier to keep things clean in the country, and Eosa had
a high standard, Avhicli her tAVO servants could never
quite attain. This annoyed her, and she began to scold
a little. They answered civilly, but in other respects
remained imperfect beings ; they laid out every shilling
A SIMPLETON. 117
they earned in fiiiory ; and, this, I mil ashamed to say,
irritated Mrs. Staines, who was wearing out her wedding
garments, and liad no excuse for buying, and Staines had
begged her to be economicah The more they dressed,
the more she scolded ; they began to answer. She gave
the cook warning ; the otlier, though not on good terms
with the cook, liad a gush of esjjvlt de corps directly, and
gave Mrs. Staines warning.
Mrs. Staines told her husband all this : he took her
part, though without openly interfering; and they had
two new servants, not so good as the last.
This worried Eosa sadly ; but it was a flea-bite to the
deeper nature, and more forecasting mind of her hus-
band, still doomed to pace that miserable yard, like a
hyena, chafing, seeking, longing for the patient that
never came.
Rosa used to look out of his dressing-room window,
and see him pace the yard. At first, tears of pity stood
in her eyes. By and by she got angry with the world ;
and at last, strange to say, a little irritated with him.
It is hard for a weak woman to keep up all her respect
for the man that fails.
One day, after watching him a long time unseen,
she got excited, put on her shawl and bonnet, and ran
down to him : she took him by the arm : " If you love
me, come out of this prison, and walk with me ; we are
too miserable. I shall be your first patient if this goes
on much longer." He looked at her, saw she was very
excited, and had better be humored; so he kissed her and
just said, with a melancholy smile, "How poor are they
that have not patience ! " Then he put on his hat, and
walked in the Park and Kensington Gardens with her.
The season was just beginning. There were carriages
enough, and gay Amazons enough, to make poor Rosa
sigh more than once.
118 A SIMPLETON.
Christopher heard the sigh ; and pressed her arm, and
said, " Courage, love, I hope to see yon among them yet."
" The sooner the better," said she, a little hardly.
" And, meantime, Avhich of them all is as beautiful as
you ? "
" All I know is, they are more attractive. Who looks
at me, walking tamely by ? "
Christopher said nothing : but these words seemed to
imply a thirst for admiration, and made him a little
uneasy.
By and by the walk put the swift-changing Eosa in
spirits, and she began to chat gayly, and hung prattling
and beaming on her husband's arm, when they entered
Curzon Street. Here, however, occurred an incident,
trifling in itself, but unpleasant. Dr. Staines saw one of
his best Kentish patients get feebly out of his carriage,
and call on Dr. Barr. He started, and stopped. Eosa
asked what was the matter. He told her. She said,
^' We are unfortunate."
Staines said nothing ; he only quickened his pace ;
but he was greatly disturbed. She expected him to
complain that she had dragged him out, and lost him
that first chance. But he said nothing. When they got
home, he asked the servant had anybody called.
"No, sir."
"Surely you are mistaken, Jane. A gentleman in a
carriage ! "
" Not a creature have been since you went out, sir."
"Well, then, dearest," said he sweetly, "we have
nothing to reproach ourselves with." Then he knit his
brow gloomily. " It is worse than I thought. It seems
even one's country patients go to another doctor when
they visit London. It is hard. It is hard."
Eosa leaned her head on his shoulder, and curled round
him, as one she Avould shield against the world's injus-
A SIMPLETON. 110
tice ; but she said nothing ; she was a little frightened
at his eye that lowered, and his noble frame that trem-
bled a little, with ire suppressed.
Two days after this, a brougham drove up to the door,
and a tallish, fattish, pasty-faced man got out, and
inquired for Dr. Staines.
He was shown into the dining-room, and told Jane he
had come to consult the doctor.
Rosa had peeped over the stairs, all curiosit}' ; she
glided noiselessly down, and with love's swift foot got
into the yard before Jane. " He is come ! he is come !
Kiss me.''
Dr. Staines kissed her first, and then asked who was
come.
^'Oh, nobody of any consequence. Only the first
patient. Kiss me again."
Dr. Staines kissed her again, and then was for going
to the first patient.
" iSTo," said she ; " not yet. I met a doctor's wife at
Dr. Mayne's, and she told me things. You must always
keep them waiting ; or else they think nothing of you.
Such a funny woman ! ^ Treat 'em like dogs, my dear,'
she said. But I told her they wouldn't come to be
treated like dogs or any other animal."
" You had better have kept that to yourself, I think."
" Oh ! if you are going to be disagreeable, good-by.
You can go to your patient, sir. Christie, dear, if he is
Tery — very ill — and I'm sure I hope he is — oh, how
wicked I am ; may I have a new bonnet ? "
" If you really want one."
On the patient's card was "Mr. Pettigrew, 47 Man-
chester Square."
As soon as Staines entered the room, the first patient
told him who and what he was, a retired ciWlian from
India; but he had got a son there still, a very rising
120 A SIMPLETON.
]ii;in ; wanted to be a parson ; hut lie would not stand
that ; had profession ; don't rise by merit ; very hard to
rise at all ; — no, India was the place. " As for me, I
made my fortune there in ten years. Obliged to leave
it now — invalid this many years ; no tone. Tried two
or three doctors in this neighborhood ; heard there was
a new one, had written a book on something. Thought
I would try /ihn."
To stop him, Staines requested to feel his pulse, and
examine his tongue and eye.
" You are suffering from indigestion," said he. " 1
will write you a prescription ; but if you want to get
well, you must simplify your diet very much.''
While he was writing the prescription, off went this
patient's tongue, and ran through the topics of the day
and into his family history again.
Staines listened politely. He could afford it, having
only this one.
At last, the first patient, having delivered an octavo
volume of nothing, rose to go; but it seems that speak-
ing an " infinite deal of nothing " exhausts the body,
though it does not affect the mind ; for the first patient
sank down in his chair again. " I have excited myself
too much — feel rather faint."
Staines saw no signs of coming syncope ; he rang the
bell quietly, and ordered a decanter of sherry to be
brought ; the first patient filled himself a glass ; then
another; and went off, revived* to chatter elsewhere.
lUit at the door he said, " I had always a running account
with Dr. Mivar. I suppose you don't object to that
system. Double fee the first visit, single afterwards."
Dr. Staines bowed a little stiffly ; he would have pre-
ferred the money. However, he looked at the Blue
Book, and found his visitor lived at 47 Manchester
Square ; so that removed his anxiety.
A SIMPLETON. 121
The first patient called every other clay, chattered
nineteen to the dozen, was exhausted, drank two glasses
of sherry, and drove away.
Soon after this a second patient called. This one was
a deputy patient — Collett, a retired butler — kept a
lodging-house, and waited at parties ; he lived close by,
but had a married daughter in Chelsea. Would the
doctor visit her, and he would be responsible ?
Staines paid the woman a visit or two, and treated
her so effectually, that soon her visits were paid to him.
She was cured, and Staines, who by this time wanted to
see money, sent to Collett.
Collett did not answer.
Staines wrote warmly.
Collett dead silent.
Staines employed a solicitor.
Collett said he had recommended the patient, that was
all. He had never said he would pay her debts. That
was her husband's business.
Now her husband was the mate of a ship ; would not
be in England for eighteen months.
The woman, visited by lawyer's clerk, cried bitterly,
and said she and her children had scarcely enough to eat.
Lawyer advised Staines to abandon the case, and pay
him two pounds fifteen shillings expenses. He did so.
" This is damnable," said he. " I must get it out of
Pettigrew; by-the-by, he has not been here this two
days."
He waited another day for Pettigrew, and then wrote
to him. No answer. Called. Pettigrew gone abroad.
House in Manchester Square to let.
Staines went to the house-asrent with his tale. Asrent
was impenetrable at first; but, at last, won by tlie
doctor's manner and his unhappiness, referred him to
Pettigrew's solicitor ; the solicitor was a respectable
122 A" SIMPLETON.
man, and said lie would forward the claim to Pettigrew
in Paris.
But by this time Pettigrew was chattering and guz-
zling in Berlin ; and thence he got to St. Petersburg. In
that stronghold of gluttony, he gormandized more than
ever, and, being unable to talk it off his stomach, as in
other cities, had apoplexy, and died.
But long before this Staines saw his money was as
irrecoverable as his sherry; and he said to Eosa, "I
wonder whether I shall ever live to curse the human
race ? "
" Heaven forbid ! " said Eosa. " Oh, they use you
cruelly, my poor, poor Christie ! "
Thus for months the young doctor's patients bled him,
and that was all.
And Eosa got more and more moped at being in the
house so much, a^nd pestered Christopher to take her
out, and he declined: and, being a man hard to beat,
took to writing on medical subjects, in hopes of getting
some money from the various medical and scientific pub-
lications ; but he found it as hard to get the wedge in
there as to get patients.
At last Eosa's remonstrances began to rise into some-
thing that sounded like reproaches. One Sunday she
came to him in her bonnet, and interrupted his studies,
to say he might as well lay down the pen, and talk.
Nobody would publish anything he wrote.
Christopher frowned, but contained himself, and laid
down the pen.
" I might as well not be married at all as be a doctor's
wife. You are never seen out with me, not even to
church. Do behave like a Christian, and come to church
with me now."
Dr. Staines shook his head.
" Why, I wouldn't miss church for all the world. Any
A SIMPLETON. 123
excitement is better than always moping. Come over
the water with me. The time Jane and I went, the
clergyman read a paper that Mr. Brown had fallen down
in a fit. There was such a rush directly, and I'm sure
fifty ladies went out — fancy, all Mrs. Browns ! Wasn't
that fun ? "
" Fun ? I don't see it. Well, Eosa, your mind is
evidently better adapted to diversion than mine is. Go
you to church, love, and I'll continue my studies."
"Then all I can say is, I wish I was back in my
father's house. Husband ! friend ! companion ! — I have
none."
Then she burst out crying violently ; and, being shocked
at what she had said, and at the agony it had brought
into her husband's face, she went off into hysterics ; and
as his heart would not let him bellow at her, or empty a
bucket on her as he would on another patient, she had
a good long bout of them : and got her way, for she
broke up his studies for that day, at all events.
Even after the hysterics were got under, she continued
to m,oan and sigh very prettily, with her lovely, languid
head pillowed on her husband's arm ; in a word, tliough
the hysterics were real, yet this innocent young person
had the presence of mind to postpone entire convales-
cence, and lay herself out to be petted all day. But
fate willed it otherwise : while she was sighing and
moaning, came to the door a scurrying of feet, and then
a sharp, persistent ringing that meant something. The
moaner cocked eye and ear, and said, in her every-day
voice, which, coming so suddenly, sounded very droll,
" What is that, I wonder ? "
Jane hurried to the street-door, and Eosa recovered by
magic ; and, preferring gossip to hysterics, in an almost
gleeful whisi:»er, ordered Christopher to open the door of
the study. The Bijou was so small that the following
dialogue rang in their eai'S ; —^
124 A SIMPLETON.
A boy in buttons gasi)ed out, " Oh, if you please, will
you ast the doctor to come round directly; there's a
haccident."
" La, bless me ! " said Jane, and never budged.
" Yes, miss. It's our missus's little girl fallen right
oif an i-chair, and cut her head dreadful, and smothered
in blood."
" La, to be sure ! " And she waited steadily for more.
" Ay, and missus she fainted right off ; and I've been
to the regler doctor, which he's out; and Sarah, the
housemaid, said I had better come here ; you was only
just set up, she said ; you w^ouldn't have so much to do,
says she."
"That is all she knows," said Jane. "Why, our
master — they pulls him in pieces which is to have him
fust."
" What an awful liar ! Oh, you good girl ! " whispered
Dr. Staines and Eosa in one breath.
" Ah, well," said Buttons, " any Avay, Sarah says she
knows you are clever, 'cos her little girl as lives with
her mother, and calls Sarah aunt, has bin to your 'spen-
sary with ringworm, and you cured her right off."
" Ay, and a good many more," said Jane, loftily. She
was a housemaid of imagination ; and while Staines was
putting some lint and an instrument case into his pocket,
she proceeded to relate a number of miraculous cures.
Dr. Staines interrupted them by suddenly emerging, and
inviting Buttons to take him to the house.
Mrs. Staines was so pleased with Jane for cracking up
the doctor, that she gave her five shillings ; and, after
that, used to talk to her a great deal more than to the
cook, which judicious conduct presently set all three by
the ears.
Buttons took the doctor to a fine house in the same
street, and told him his mistress's name on tlie way —
A SIMrLETON. 125
Mrs. Lucas. ^ He was taken u\) to the nursery, and found
Mrs. Lucas seated, crying and lamenting, and a woman
holding a little girl of about seven, whose brow had been
cut open by the fender, on whipli she had fallen from a
chair ; it looked very ugly, and was even now bleeding.
Dr. Staines lost no time ; he examined the wound
keenly, and then said kindly to Mrs. Lucas, " I am happy
to tell you it is not serious.'^ He then asked for a large
basin and some tepid water, and bathed it so softly and
soothingly that the child soon became composed; and
the mother discovered the artist at once. He compressed
the w^ound, and explained to Mrs. Lucas that the })rinci-
pal thing really was to avoid ?u\ ugly scar. " There is
no danger," said he. He then bound the wound neatly
up, and had the girl put to bed. " You will not wake
her at any particular hour, nurse. Let her sleep. Have
a little strong beef-tea ready, and give it her at any hour,
night or day, she asks for it. But do not force it on her,
or you will do her more harm than good. She had better
sleep before she eats."
Mrs. Lucas begged him to come every morning ; and,
as he was going, she shook hands with him, and the soft
palm deposited a hard substance wrapped in paper. He
took it with professional gravity and seeming uncon-
sciousness ; but, once outside the house, went home on
wings. He ran up to the drawing-room, and found his
wife seated, and playing at reading. He threw himself
on his knees, and the fee into her lap ; and, while she
unfolded the paper with an ejaculation of pleasure, he
said, " Darling, the first real patient — the first real fee.
It is yours to buy the new bonnet."
" Oh, I'm so glad ! " said she, with her eyes glistening.
" But I'm afraid one can't get a bonnet fit to wear — for-
a guinea."
Dr. Staines visited his little patient every day, and
126 A SIMrLETON.
received his guinea. Mrs. Lucas also called him in for
her own little ailments, and they were the best possible
kind of ailments : for, being imaginary, there was no
limit to them.
Then did Mrs. Staines turn jealous of her husband.
" They never ask me," said she ; " and I am moped to
death."
" It is hard," said Christopher, sadly. " But have a
little patience. Society will come to you long before
practice comes to me."
About two o'clock one afternoon a carriage and pair
drove up, and a gorgeous footman delivered a card —
" Lady Cicely Treherne."
Of course Mrs. Staines was at home, and only with-
held by propriety from bounding into the passage to
meet her school-fellow. However, she composed herself
in the drawing-room, and presently the door was opened,
and a very tall young woman, richly but not gayly
dressed, drifted into the room, and stood there a statue
of composure.
Eosa had risen to fly to her ; but the reverence a girl
of eighteen strikes into a child of twelve hung about her
still, and she came timidly forward, blushing and S]xark-
ling, a curious contrast in color and mind to her visitor ;
for Lady Cicely was Languor in person — her hair whitey-
brown, her face a fine oval, but almost colorless ; her eyes
a pale gray, her neck and hands incomparably white and
beautiful — a lymphatic young lady, a live antidote to
emotion. However, Eosa's beauty, timidity, and undis-
guised affectionateness were something so different from
what she was used to in the world of fashion, that she
actually smiled, and held out both her hands a little way.
Kosa seized them, and pressed them ; they left her, and
remained passive and limp.
"O Lady Cicely," said Eosa, "how kind of you to
come."
A SIMPLETON. 127
" How kind of you to send to me," was the polite, but
perfectly cool reply. " But how you are gwown, and —
may I say impwoved ? — You la petite Lusignan ! It is
incwedible," lisped her ladyship, very calmly.
"I was only a child," said Rosa. "You were always
so beautiful and tall, and kind to a little monkey like me.
Oh, pray sit down. Lady Cicely, and talk of old times."
She drew her gently to the sofa, and they sat down
hand in hand ; but Lady Cicely's high-bred reserve made
her a very poor gossip about anything that touched her-
self and her family; so Rosa, though no egotist, was
drawn into talking about herself more than she would
have done had she deliberately planned the conversation.
But here was an old school-fellow, and a singularly polite
listener, and so out came her love, her genuine happi-
ness, her particular griefs, and especially the crowning
grievance, no society, moped to death, etc.
Lady Cicely could hardly understand the sentiment in
a woman who so evidently loved her husband. "So-
ciety ! " said she, after due reflection, " why, it is a boa."
(And here I may as well exi^lain that Lady Cicely spoke
certain words falsely, and others affectedly ; and as for
the letter r, she could say it if she made a hearty effort,
but was generally too lazy to throw her leg over it.)
" Society ! I'm dwenched to death with it. If I could
only catch fiah like other women, and love somebody, I
would much rather have a tete-a-tete with him than go
teawing about all day and all night, from one unintwi st-
ing cwowd to another. To be sure," said she, puzzling
the matter out, " you are a beauty, and would be more
looked at."
"The idea! and — oh no! no! it is not that. But
even in the country we had always some society."
" Well, dyar, believe me, with your appeawance, you
can have as much society as you please ; but it will boa
128 A SIMPLETON.
yon to death, as it does me, and then you will long to be
left quiet with a sensible man who loves you."
Said llosa, " When shall I have another tete-a-tete with
you, I wonder ? Oh, it has been such a comfort to me.
Bless you for coming. There — I wrote to Cecilia, and
Emily, and Mrs. Bosanquet that is now, and all my
sworn friends, and to think of you being the one to
come — you that never kissed me but once, and an earl's
daughter into the bargain."
•'Ha! ha! ha!" — Lady Cicely actually laughed for
once in a way, and did not feel the effort. '' As for kiss-
ing," said she, " if I fall shawt, fawgive me. I was uevaa
vewy demonstwative."
" No ; and I have had a lesson. That Morence Cole
— Florence Whiting that was, you know — was always
kissing me, and she has turned out a traitor. I'll tell
you all about her." And she did.
Lady Cicely thought Mrs. Staines a little too unre-
served in her conversation ; but was so charmed with her
sweetness and freshness that she kept up the acquaint-
ance, and called on her twice a week during the season.
At first she wondered that her visits were not returned ;
but Eosa let out that she was ashamed to call on foot in
Grosvenor Square.
Lady Cicely shrugged her beautiful shoulders a little at
that ; but she continued to do the visiting, and to enjoy the
simple, innocent rapture with which she was received.
This lady's pronunciation of many words was false or
affected. She said " good murning " for " good morning,"
and turned other vowels to diphthongs, and played two
or three pranks with her " r's." But we cannot be all
imperfection : with her pronunciation her folly came to
a full stop. I really believe she lisped less nonsense and
bad taste in a year than some of us articulate in a day.
To be sure, folly is generally uttered in a hurry, and she
A SIMPLETON. 1-JO
was too deplorably lazy to speak fast on any occasion
whatever.
One day jNIrs. Staines took her up-stairs, and showed
her from the back window her husband pacing the yard,
waiting for patients. Lady Cicely folded her arms, and
contemplated him at first with a sort of zoological curi-
osity. Gentleman pacing back yard, like hyena, she had
never seen before.
At last she opened her mouth in a whisper, " AMiat is
he doing ? "
" Waiting for patients."
" Oh ! Waiting — for — patients ? ''
" For patients that never come, and never will come."
" Cuwious ! How little I know of life."
" It is that all day, dear, or else writing."
Lady Cicely, with her eyes fixed on Staines, made a
motion with her hand that she was attending.
" And they won't publish a word he writes."
" Poor man I "
" Mce for me ; is it not ? "
"I begin to understand," said Lady Cicely quietly;
and soon after retired with her invariable composure.
Meantime, Dr. Staines, like a good husband, had
thrown out occasional hints to Mrs. Lucas that he had a
wife, beautiful, accomplished, moped. More than that,
he went so far as to regret to her that Mrs. Staines,
being in a neighborhood new to him, saw so little so-
ciety ; the more so, as she was formed to shine, and had
not been used to seclusion.
All these hints fell dead on Mrs. Lucas. A handsome
and skilful doctor was welcome to her : his wife — that
was quite another matter.
But one day ^Nlrs. Lucas saw Lady Cicely Treherne's
carriage standing at the door. The style of the whole
turnout impressed her. She wondered whose it was.
130 A SOIPLETON.
On another occasion she saw it drive up, and the lady
get out. She recognized her; and the very next day
this parvenue said adroitly, "Now, Dr. Staines, really
you can't be allowed to hide your wife in this way.
(Staines stared.) Why not introduce her to me next
Wednesday ? It is my night. I would give a dinner
expressly for her ; but I don't like to do that while my
husband is in ISTaples."
When Staines carried the invitation to his Avife, she
was delighted, and kissed him with childish frankness.
But the very next moment she became thoughtful,
uneasy, depressed. " Oh, dear ; I've nothing to wear."
" Oh, nonsense, Kosa. Your wedding outfit."
"The idea! I can't go as a bride. It's not a mas-
querade."
" But you have other dresses."
" All gone by, more or less ; or not fit for such parties
as she gives. A hundred carriages ! "
" Bring them down, and let me see them."
" Oh yes." And the lady, who had nothing to wear,
paraded a very fair show of dresses.
Staines saw something to admire in all of them. Mrs.
Staines found more to object to in each.
At last he fell upon a silver-gray silk, of superlative
quality.
" That ! It is as old as the hills," shrieked Eosa.
" It looks just out of the shop. Come, tell the truth j
how often have you worn it ? "
" I wore it before I was married."
"Ay, but how often ? "
" Twice. Three times, I believe."
" I thought so. It is good as new."
" But I have had it so long by me. I had it two years
before I made it up."
" What does that matter ? Do you think the people
A SIMPLETON. 131
can tell how long a dress has been lurking in your ward-
robe ? This is childish, Rosa. There, with this dress
as good as new, and your beauty, you will be as much
admired, and perhaps hated, as your heart can desire."
"I am afraid not," said Rosa naively. "Oh, how I
wish I had known a week ago."
" I am very tliankful you did not," said Staines dryly.
At ten o'clock Mrs. Staines was nearly dressed ; at a
(Quarter past ten she demanded ten minutes ; at half-
past ten she sought a reprieve ; at a quarter to eleven,
being assured that the street was full of carriages, which
had -put down at Mrs. Lucas's, she consented to emerge ;
and in a minute they were at the house.
They were shown first into a cloak-room, and then into
a tea-room, and then mounted the stairs. One servant
took their names, and bawled them to another four yards
off, he to another about as near, and so on; and they
edged themselves into the room, not yet too crowded to
move in.
They had not taken many steps, on the chance of find-
ing their hostess, when a slight buzz arose, and seemed
to follow them.
Rosa wondered what that was ; but only for a moment ;
she observed a tall, stout, aquiline woman fix an eye of
bitter, diabolical, malignant hatred on her ; and as she ad-
vanced, ugly noses were cocked disdainfully, and scraggy
shoulders elevated at the risk of sending the bones
through the leather, and a titter or two shot after her.
A woman's instinct gave her the key at once ; the sexes
had complimented her at sight ; each in their way ; the
men with respectful admiration ; the women, with their
inflammable jealousy and ready hatred in another of the
quality they value most in themselves. But the country
girl was too many for them : she would neither see nor
hear, but moved sedately on, and calmly crushed them
132 A SIMPLETON.
with her Southern beauty. Their dry, powdered faces
couhl not live by the side of her glowing skin, with
nature's delicate gloss upon it, and the rich blood man-
tling below it. The got-up beauties, i.e., the majority,
seemed literally to fade and wither as she passed.
Mrs. Lucas got to her, suppressed a slight maternal
pang, having daughters to marry, and took her line in a
moment ; here was a decoy duck. Mrs. Lucas was all
graciousness, made acquaintance, and took a little turn
with her, introducing her to one or two persons ; among
the rest, to the malignant woman, Mrs. Barr. Mrs.
Barr, on this, ceased to look daggers and substituted
icicles ; but on the hateful beauty moving away, dropped
the icicles, and resumed the poniards.
The rooms filled ; the heat became oppressive, and the
mixed odors of flowers, scents, and perspiring humanity,
sickening. Some, unable to bear it, trickled out of the
room, and sat all down the stairs.
Eosa began to feel faint. Up came a tall, sprightly
girl, whose pertness was redeemed by a certain honhomie,
and said, " Mrs. Staines, I believe ? I am to make my-
self agreeable to you. That is the order from head-
quarters."
" Miss Lucas," said Staines.
She jerked a little off-hand bow to him, and said,
" Will you trust her to me for five minutes ? "
" Certainly." But he did not much like it.
Miss Lucas carried her off, and told Dr. Staines, over
her shoulder, now he could flirt to his heart's content.
" Thank you," said he dryly. " I'll await your return."
^' Oh, there are some much greater flirts here than I
am," said the ready Miss Lucas ; and whispering some-
thing in Mrs. Staines's ear, suddenly glided with her
behind a curtain, pressed a sort of button fixed to, a
looking-glass door. The door opened, and behold they
A SIMPLETON. 133
were in a delicious place, for which I can hardly find a
word, since it was a boudoir and a conservatory in one :
a large octagon, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with
looking-glasses of moderate width, at intervals, and with
creepers that covered the intervening spaces of the wall,
and were trained so as to break the outline of the glasses
without greatly clouding the reflection. Ferns, in great
variety, were grouped in a deep crescent, and in the
bight of this green bay were a small table and chairs.
As there were no hot-house plants, the temperature was
very cool, compared with the reeking oven they had
escaped; and a little fountain bubbled, and fed a little
meandering gutter that trickled away among the ferns ;
it ran crystal clear over little bright pebbles and shells.
It did not always run, you understand ; but Miss Lucas
turned a secret tap, and started it.
" Oh, how heavenly ! " said Rosa, with a sigh of relief ;
" and how good of you to bring me here ! "
•^ Yes ; by rights I ought to have waited till you
fainted. But there is no making acquaintance among
all those peoi:)le. Mamma will ask such crowds ; one is
like a fly in a glue-pot.''
ISriss Lucas had good nature, smartness, and animal
spirits; hence arose a vivacity and fluency that were
often amusing, and passed for very clever. Reserve she
had none ; would talk about strangers, or friends, herself,
her mother, her God, and the last buffoon-singer, in a
breath. At a hint from Rosa, she told her who the lady
in the pink dress was, and the lady in the violet velvet,
and so on; for each lady was defined by her dress, and,
more or less, quizzed by this show-woman, not exactly
out of malice, but because it is smarter and more natural
to decry than to praise, and a little medisance is the
spice to gossij), belongs to it, as mint sauce to lamb. So
they chatted away, and were pleased with each other.
134 A SIMPLETON.
and made friends, and there, in cool grot, qnite forgot
the sufferings of their fellow-creatures in the adjacent
Turkish bath, yclept society. It was Rosa who first
recollected herself. "Will not Mrs. Lucas be angry
with me, if I keep you all to myself ? "
" Oh no ; but I'm afraid we must go into the hot-house
again. I like the greenhouse best, with such -a nice
companion.''
They slipped noiselessly into the throng again, and
wriggled about. Miss Lucas presenting her new friend to
several ladies and gentlemen.
Presently Staines found them, and then Miss Lucas
wriggled away ; and in due course the room was thinned
by many guests driving off home, or to balls, and other
receptions, and Dr. Staines and Mrs. Staines went home
to the Bijou. Here the physician prescribed bed; but
the lady would not hear of such a thing until she had
talked it all over. So they compared notes, and Eosa
told him how well she had got on with Miss Lucas, and
made a friendship. " But for that," said she, " I should
be sorry I went among those people, such a dowdy."
" Dowdy ! " said Staines. " Why, you stormed the
town ; you were the great success of the night, and, for
all I know, of the season." The wretch delivered this
with unbecoming indifference.
"It is too bad to mock me, Christie. Where were
your eyes ? "
"To the best of my recollection, they were one on
each side of my nose."
" Yes, but some people are eyes and no eyes."
" I scorn the imputation ; try me."
" Very well. Then did you see that lady in sky-blue
silk, embroidered with flowers, and flounced with white
velvet, and the corsage point lace; and oh, such em-
eralds ? "
A SIMPLETON. 135
"I did; a tall, skinny woman, with eyes resembling
her jewels in color, though not in brightness."
" Never mind her eyes ; it is her dress I am speak-
ing of. Exquisite j and what a coiffure ! Well, did
you see her in the black velvet, trimmed so deep with
Chantilly lace, wave on wave, and her head-dress of crim-
son flowers, and such a riviere of diamonds ; oh, dear ! oh,
dear!"
" I did, love. The room was an oven, but her rubi-
cund face and suffocating costume made it seem a
furnace."
" Stuff ! Well, did you see the lady in the corn-colored
silk, and poppies in her hair ? "
"Of course I did. Ceres in person. She made me
feel hot, too; but I cooled myself a bit at her pale,
sickly face."
" Never mind their faces ; that is not the point."
" Oh, excuse me ; it is always a point with us benighted
males, all eyes and no eyes."
"Well, then, the lady in white, with cherry-velvet
bands, and a white tunic looped with crimson, and head-
dress of white illusion, a la vierge, I think they call it."
"It was very refreshing; and adapted to that awful
atmosphere. It was the nearest approach to nudity I
ever saw, even amongst fashionable people."
" It was lovely ; and then that superb figure in white
illusion and gold, with all those narrow flounces over her
slip of white silk glacee, and a wreath of white flowers,
with gold wheat ears amongst them, in her hair ; and oh !
oh ! oh ! her pearls, oriental, and as big as almonds ! "
"And oh! oh! oh! her nose! reddish, and as long as
a woodcock's."
"Noses! noses! stupid! That is not what strikes
you first in a woman dressed like an angel."
"Well, if you were to run up against that one, as I
136 A SIMPLETON.
nearly did, her nose ivould be the thing that would strike
you first. Nose ! it was a rostrum ! the spear-head of
Goliah."
"Now, don't, Christopher. This is no laughing mat-
ter. Do you mean you were not ashamed of your wife ?
I was."
" No, I was not ; you had but one rival ; a very young
lady, wise before her age ; a blonde, Avith violet eyes.
She was dressed in light mauve-colored silk, without a
single flounce, or any other tomfoolery to fritter away
the sheen and color of an exquisite material ; her sunny
hair was another wave of color, wreathed with a thin
line of white jessamine flowers closely woven, that
scented the air. This girl was the moon of that assem-
bly, and you were the sun."
'' I never even saw her."
'•Eyes and no eyes. She saw you, and said, ^Oh,
what a beautiful creature ! ' for I heard her. As for the
ok) stagers, whom you admire so, their faces were all
clogged with powder, the pores stopped up, the true
texture of the skin abolished. They looked downright
nasty, whenever you or that young girl passed by them.
Then it was you saw to what a frightful extent women
are got up in our day, even young women, and respect-
able women. No, Eosa, dress can do little for you ; you
have beauty — real beauty."
" Beauty ! That passes unnoticed, unless one is well
dressed."
" Then what an obscure pair the Apollo Belvidere and
the Venus de Medicis must be."
" Oh ! they are dressed — in marble."
Christopher Staines stared first, then smiled.
" Well done," said he, admiringly. " That is a knock-
down blow. So now you have silenced your husband,
go you to bed directly. I can't afford you diamonds ; so
A SIMPLETON. 137
I will take care of that little insignificant trifle, your
beauty."
Mrs. Staines and i\Irs. Lucas exchanged calls, and
soon Mrs. Staines could no longer complain she was out
of the world. j\Irs. Lucas invited her to every party,
because her beauty was an instrument of attraction she
knew how to use ; and Miss Lucas took a downright
fancy to her ; drove her in the park, and on Sundays to
the Zoological Gardens, just beginning to be fashionable.
The Lucatees rented a box at the opera, and if it was
not let at the library by six o'clock, and if other engage-
ments permitted, word was sent round to Mrs. Staines,
as a matter of course, and she was taken to the opera.
She began almost to live at the Lucases, and to be
oftener fatigued than moped.
The usual order of things was inverted ; the maiden
lady educated the matron; for Miss Lucas knew all
about everybody in the Park, honorable or dishonorable ;
all the scandals, and all the flirtations ; and whatever
she knew, she related point-blank. Being as inquisitive
as voluble, she soon learned how ]\[rs. Staines and her
husband were situated. She took upon her to advise her
in many things, and especially impressed upon her that
Dr. Staines must keep a carriage, if he wanted to get on
in medicine. The piece of advice accorded so well with
Eosa's wishes, that she urged it on her husband again
and again.
He objected that no money was coming in, and there-
fore it would be insane to add to their expenses. Eosa
persisted, and at last worried Staines with her impor-
tunity. He began to give rather short answers. Then
she quoted j\Iiss Lucas against him. He treated the
authority with marked contempt ; and then Rosa fired
up a little. Then Staines held his peace j but did not
buy a carriage to visit his no patients.
138 A SIMPLETON.
So at last Eosa complained to Lady Cicely Treherne,
and made lier the judge between her husband and herself.
Lady Cicely drawled out a prompt but polite refusal to
play that part. All that could be elicited from her, and
that with difficulty, was, " AVhy quail with your husband
about a cawwige ; he is your best fwiend."
"Ah, that he is," said Eosa; "but Miss Lucas is a
good friend, and she knows the world. We don't ; neither
Christopher nor I."
So she continued to nag at her husband about it, and
to say that he was throwing his only chance away.
Galled as he was by neglect, this was irritating, and
at last he could not help • telling her she was unreason-
able. " You live a gay life, and I a sad one. I consent
to this, and let you go about with these Lucases, because
you were so dull ; but you should not consult them in
our private affairs. Their interference is indelicate and
improper. I will not set up a carriage till I have
patients to visit. I am sick of seeing our capital
dwindle, and no income created. I will never set up a
carriage till I have taken a hundred-guinea fee."
" Oh ! Then we shall go splashing through the mud
all our days."
" Or ride in a cab," said Christopher, with a quiet
doggedness that left no hope of his yielding.
One afternoon Miss Lucas called for Mrs. Staines to
drive in the Park, but did not come up-stairs ; it was an
engagement, and she knew ]\Irs. Staines would be ready,
or nearly. Mrs. Staines, not to keep her waiting, came
down rather hastily, and in the very passage whipped
out of her pocket a little glass, and a little powder puff,
and puffed her face all over in a trice. She was then
going out; but her husband called her into the study.
" Rosa, my dear," said he, " you were going out with a
dirty face."
A SIMVLETON. lo\J
" Oh ! " cried she, "give me a glass."
" There is no need of that. All you want is a basin
and some nice rain-water. I keep a little reservoir
of it."
He then handed her the same with great politeness.
She looked in his eye, and saw he was not to be trifled
with. She complied like a lamb, and the heavenly color
and velvet gloss that resulted were admirable.
He kissed her and said, " Ah ! now you are my Rosa
again. Oblige me by handing over that powder-puff to
me." She looked vexed, but complied. "When you
come back I will tell you why."
"You are a pest," said Mrs. Staines, and so joined her
friend, rosy with rain-water and a rub.
" Dear me, how handsome you look to-day ! " was Miss
Lucas's first remark.
Kosa never dreamed that rain-Avater and rub could be
the cause of her looking so well.
" It is my tiresome husband," said she. " He objects
to powder, and he has taken away my puff."
" And you stood that ? "
"Obliged to."
" Why, you poor-spirited little creature, I should like
to see a husband presume to interfere with me in those
things. Here, take mine."
Rosa hesitated a little. " Well — no — I think not."
Miss Lucas laughed at her, and quizzed her so on her
allowing a man to interfere in such sacred things as
dress and cosmetics, that she came back irritated with
her husband, and gave him a short answer or two. Then
he asked what was the matter.
"You treat me like a child — taking away my very
puff."
" I treat you like a beautiful flower, that no bad gar-
dener shall wither whilst I am here."
140 A SlMrLETON.
" What nonsense ! How could tliat wither me ? It is
only violet powder — what they put on babies."
" And who are the Herods that put it on babies ? "
" Their own mothers, that love them ten times more
than the fathers do."
" And kill a hundred of them for one a man ever kills.
Mothers ! — the most wholesale homicides in the nation.
We will examine your violet-powder : bring it down
here."
While she was gone he sent for a breakfast-cupful of
flour, and when she came back he had his scales out, and
begged her to put a teaspoonful of flour into one scale
and of violet powder into another. The flour kicked the
beam, as Homer expresses himself.
" Put another spoonful of flour."
The one spoonful of violet powder outweighed the two
of flour.
"Now," said Staines, "does not that show you the
presence of a mineral in your vegetable powder ? I sup-
pose they tell you it is made of white violets dried, and
triturated in a diamond mill. Let us find out whut
metal it is. We need not go very deep into chemistry
for that." He then applied a simple test, and detected
the presence of lead in large quantities. Then he
lectured her : " Invisible perspiration is a process of
nature necessary to health and to life. The skin is
made porous for that purpose. You can kill anybody in
an hour or two by closing the pores. A certain infalli-
ble ass, called Pope Leo XII., killed a little boy in two
hours, by gilding him to adorn the pageant of his first
procession as Pope. But what is death to the whole
body must be injurious to a part. What madness, then,
to clog the pores of so large and important a surface as
the face, and check the invisible perspiration : how much
more to insert lead into your system every day of your
A Sr>rPLETON. 141
life ; a oumulative poison, and one so deadly and so
subtle, that the Sheffield file-cutters die in their prime,
from merely hammering on a leaden anvil. And what
do you gain by this suicidal habit ? Xo plum has a
sweeter bloom or more delicious texture than the skin
of your young face ; but this mineral filth hides that
delicate texture, and substitutes a dry, uniform appear-
ance, more like a certain kind of leprosy than health.
Nature made your face the rival of peaches, roses, lilies ;
and you say, ' No ; I know better than my Creator and
my God ; my face shall be like a dusty miller's.' Go
into any flour-mill, and there you shall see men with
faces exactly like your friend ]Miss Lucas's. But before
a miller goes to his sweetheart, he always washes his
face. You ladies would never get a miller down to your
level in brains. It is a miller's clirtij face our mono-
maniacs of woman imitate, not the face a miller goes'
a-courting with."
" La ! what a fuss about nothing ! "
" About nothing ! Is your health nothing ? Is your
Ijeauty nothing ? Well, then, it will cost 3'ou nothing to
promise me never to put powder on your face again."
"Very well, I promise. Now what will you do for
me?"
" Work for you — write for you — suffer for 3'ou — be
self-denying for you — and even give myself the -pain of
disappointing you now and then — looking forward to
the time when I shall be able to say 'Yes ' to everything
you ask me. Ah ! child, you little kno"w what it costs
me to say * No ' to you,^^
Rosa put her arms round him and acquiesced. She was
one of those who go with the last speaker ; but, for that
very reason, the eternal companionship of so flighty and
flirty a girl as Miss Lucas was injurious to her.
One day Lady Cicely Treherne was sitting with Mrs.
142 A SIMPLETON.
Staines, smiling languidly at lier talk, and occasionally
drawling out a little plain good sense, when in came Miss
Lucas, with her tongue well hung, as usual, and dashed
into twenty topics in ten minutes.
This young lady in her discourse was like those little
oily beetles you see in small ponds, whose whole life is
spent in tacking — confound them for it ! — generally at
right angles. What they are in navigation was Miss
Lucas in conversation : tacked so eternally from topic to
topic, that no man on earth, and not every woman, could
follow her.
At the sight and sound of her, Lady Cicely congealed
and stiffened. Easy and unpretending with Mrs. Staines,
she was all dignity, and even majesty, in the presence
of this chatterbox ; and the smoothness with which the
transfiguration was accomplished marked that accom-
plished actress the high-bred woman of the world.
Rosa, better able to estimate the change of manner
than Miss Lucas was, who did not know how little this
Sawny was afflicted with misplaced dignity, looked wist-
fully and distressed at her. Lady Cicely smiled kindly
in rejily, rose, without seeming to hurry, — catch her
condescending to be rude to Charlotte Lucas, — and took
her departure, with a profound and most gracious courtesy
to the lady who had driven her away.
Mrs. Staines saw her down-stairs, and said, ruefully,
" I am afraid you do not like my friend Miss Lucas. She
is a great rattle, but so good-natured and clever.'^
Lady Cicely shook her head. "Clevaa people don't
talk so much nonsense before strangaas."
" Oh, dear ! " said Rosa. " I was in hopes you would
like her."
" Do yo2i like her ? "
" Indeed I do ; but I shall not, if she drives an older
friend away."
A SIMPLETON. 143
"My dyali, I'm not easily dwiven from tliose I esteem.
But you undastaiid that is not a woman for me to mis-
pwonowuce my 'all's befaw — nor for you to make a
iJosoM FwiEXD OF — W(^SA Staixp:s."
She said this with a sudden maternal solemnity and
kindness that contrasted nobly and strangely with her
yea-nay style, and Mrs. Staines remembered the words
years after they were spoken.
It so hax^pened that after this Mrs. Staines received no
more visits from Lady Cicely for some time, and that
vexed her. She knew her sex enough to be aware that
they are very jealous, and she permitted herself to
think that this high-minded Sawny was jealous of Miss
Lucas.
This idea, founded on a general estimate of her sex,
was dispelled by a few lines from Lady Cicely, to say
her family and herself were in deep distress j her brother,
Lord Ayscough, lay dying from an accident.
Then Rosa was all remorse, and ran down to Staines
to tell him. She found him with an open letter in his
hand. It was from Dr. Barr, and on the same subject.
The doctor, who had always been friendly to him, invited
him to come down at once to Hallowtree Hall, in Hunt-
ingdonshire, to a consultation. There was a friendly
intimation to start at once, as the patient might die any
moment.
Husband and wife embraced each other in a tumult of
surprised thankfulness. A few necessaries were thrown
into a carpet-bag, and Dr. Staines was soon whirled into
Huntingdonshire. Having telegraphed beforehand, he
was met at the station by the earl's carriage and people,
and driven to the Hall. He was received by an old,
silver-haired butler, looking very sad, who conducted him
to a boudoir ; and then went and tapped gently at the
door of the patient's room. It was opened and shut very
144 A SIMPLETON.
softly, and Lady Cicely, dressed in black, and looking
paler than ever, came into the room.
"Dr. Staines, I think?"
He bowed.
"Thank you for coming so prom^otly. Dr. Barr is
irone. I fear he thinks — he thinks — Dr. Staines —
no sign of life but in his poor hands, that keep moving
night and day."
Staines looked very grave at that. Lady Cicely ob-
served it, and, faint at heart, could say no more, but led
the way to the sick-room.
There in a spacious chamber, lighted by a grand oriel
window and two side windows, lay rank, title, wealth,
and youth, stricken down in a moment by a common
accident. The sufferer's face was bloodless, his eyes
fixed, and no signs of life but in his thumbs, and they
kept w^orking with strange regularity.
In the room w^ere a nurse and the surgeon ; the neigh-
boring physician, who had called in Dr. Barr, had just
paid his visit and gone away.
Lady Cicely introduced Dr. Staines and Mr. White, and
tlien Dr. Staines stood and fixed his eyes on the patient
in profound silence. Lady Cicely scanned his counte-
nance searchingly, and was struck with the extraordinary
power and intensity it assumed in examining the patient;
but the result was not encouraging. Dr. Staines looked
grave and gloomy.
At last, without removing his eye from the recumbent
figure, he said quietly to Mr. White, " Thrown from his
horse, sir."
" Horse fell on him, Dr. Staines."
"Any" visible injuries ? "
"Yes. Severe contusions, and a rib broken and pressed
upon the lungs. I replaced and set it. Will you
see ? "
A SII^irLETON. 145
" If you please."
He examined and felt the patient, and said it had been
ably done.
Then he was silent and searching.
At last he spoke again. " The motion of the thumbs
corresponds exactly with his pulse."
<as that so, sir?"
"It is. The case is without a parallel. How long
has he been so ? "
" Nearly a week."
" Impossible ! "
" It is so, sir."
Lady Cicely confirmed this.
"All the better," said Dr. Staines upon reflection.
"Well, sir," said he, "the visible injuries having been
ably relieved, I shall look another way for the cause."
Then, after another pause, "I must have his head
shaved."
Lady Cicely demurred a little to this ; but Dr. Staines
stood firm, and his lordship's valet undertook the job.
Staines directed him where to begin ; and when he
had made a circular tonsure on the top of the head, had
it sponged with tepid water.
"I thought so," said he. "Here is the mischief;"
and he pointed to a very slight indentation on the left
side of the pia mater. " Observe," said he, " there is no
corresponding indentation on the other side. Under-
neath this trifling depression a minute piece of bone is
doubtless pressing on the most sensitive part of the
brain. He must be trex^hined."
Mr. White's eyes sparkled.-
" You are an hospital surgeon, sir ? "
" Yes, Dr. Staines. I have no fear of the operation."
" Then I hand the patient over to you. The case at
present is entirely surgical."
146 A SIMPLETON.
White was driven home, and soon returned with the
requisite instruments. The operation was neatly per-
formed, and then Lady Cicely was called in. She came
trembling ; her brother's fingers were still working, but
not so regularly.
"That is only habit^^ said Staines; "it will soon leave
off, now the cause is gone."
And, truly enough, in about five minutes the fingers
became quiet. The eyes became human next; and
within half an hour after the operation the earl gave a
little sigh.
Lady Cicely clasped her hands, and uttered a little
cry of delight.
"This will not do," said Staines, "I shall have you
screaming when he speaks."
" Oh, Dr. Staines ! will he ever speak ? "
" I think so, and very soon. So be on your guard."
This strange scene reached its climax soon after, by
the earl saying, quietly, —
" Are her knees broke, Tom ? "
Lady Cicely uttered a little scream, but instantly sup-
pressed it.
"No, my lord," said Staines, smartly; "only rubbed a
bit. You can go to sleep, my lord. I'll take care of the
mare."
"All right," said his lordship; and composed himself
to slumber.
Dr. Staines, at the earnest request of Lady Cicely,
stayed all night; and in course of the day advised her
how to nurse the patient, since both physician and sur-
geon had done with him.
He said the patient's brain might be irritable for some
days, and no women in silk dresses or crinoline, or creak-
ing shoes, must enter the room. He told her the nurse
was evidently a clumsy woman, and Avould be letting
A SIMPLETON. 147
tilings fall. She had better get some (Tld soldier used to
nursing. ^' And don't whisper in the room," said hu ;
" nothing irritates them worse ; and don't let anybody
play a piano within hearing ; but in a day or two you
may try him with slow and continuous music on the
flute or violin if you like. Don't touch his bed sud-
denly ; don't sit on it or lean on it. Dole sunlight into
his room by degrees ; and when he can bear it, drench
him with it. Never mind what the old school tell you.
About these things they know a good deal less than
nothing."
Lady Cicely received all this like an oracle.
The cure w\as telegraphed to Dr. Barr, and he was
requested to settle the fee. He w^as not the man to
undersell the profession, and was jealous of nobody,
having a large practice, and a very wealthy wife. So he
telegraphed back — " Fifty guineas, and a guinea a mile
from London."
So, as Christopher Staines sat at an early breakfast,
Avith the carriage waiting to take him to the train, two
notes were brought him on a salver.
They were both directed by Lady Cicely Treherne.
One of them contained a few kind and feeling Avords of
gratitude and esteem ; the other, a check, drawn by the
earl's steward, for one hundred and thirty guineas.
He bowled up to London, and told it all to E,osa. She
sparkled with pride, affection, and joy.
"■ Now, w^ho says you are not a genius ? " she cried.
" A hundred and thirty guineas for one fee ! Now, if
you love your w^if e as she loves you — you will set up a
brougham."
148 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTEE VIII.
Doctor Staines begged leave to distinguisli ; he had
not said he would set up a carriage at the first one
hundred guinea fee, but only that he would not set up
one before. There are misguided people who would call
this logic : but Kosa said it was equivocating, and urged
him so warmly that at last he burst out, " Who can go
on forever saying ^ No/ to the only creature he loves ? "
— and caved. In forty-eight hours more a brougham
waited at Mrs. Staines's door. The servant engaged to
drive it was Andrew Pearman, a bachelor, and, hitherto,
an under-groom. He readily consented to be coachman,
and to do certain domestic work as well. So Mrs. Staines
had a man-servant as well as a carriage.
Ere long, three or four patients called, or wrote, one
after the other. These Kosa set down to brougham, and
crowed; she even crowed to Lady Cicely Treherne, to
whose influence, and not to brougham's, every one of
these patients was owing. Lady Cicely kissed her, and
demurely enjoyed the poor soul's self-satisfaction.
Staines himself, while he drove to or from these
patients, felt more sanguine, and buoyed as he was by
the consciousness of ability, began to hope he had turned
the corner.
He sent an account of Lord Ayscough's case to a
medical magazine : and so full is the world of flunkey-
ism, that this article, though he withheld the name,
retaining only the title, got the literary wedge in for
him at once : and in due course he became a paid con-
tributor to two medical organs, and used to study and
A SIMPLETON. 140
write more, and indent tlie little stone yard less than
lieretofore.
It was about this time circumstances made him
acquainted with Phoebe Dale. Her intermediate history
1 will dispose of in fewer words than it deserves. Her
ruin, Mr. Reginald Falcon, was dismissed from his club,
for marking high cards on the back with his nail. This
stopped his remaining resource — borrowing : so he got
more and more out at elbows, till at last he came down
to hanging about billiard-rooms, and making a little
money by concealing his game ; from that, hoAvever, he
rose to be a marker.
Having culminated to that, he wrote and proposed
marriage to Miss Dale, in a charming letter : she showed
it to her father with pride.
Now, if his vanity, his disloyalty, his falsehood, his
ingratitude, and his other virtues had not stood in the
way, he would have done this three years ago, and been
jumped at.
But the offer came too late; not for Phoebe — she
would have taken him in a moment — but for her friends.
A baited hook is one thing, a bare hook is another.
Farmer Dale had long discovered where Phoebe's money
went : he said not a word to her ; but went up to town
like a shot ; found Falcon out, and told him he mustn't
think to eat his daughter's bread. She should marry a
man that could make a decent livelihood; and if she
was to run away with him, why they'd starve together.
The farmer was resolute, and spoke very loud, like one
that expects opposition, and comes prepared to quarrel.
Instead of that, this artful rogue addressed him with'
deep respect and an affected veneration, that quite puz-
zled the old man ; acquiesced in every word, expressed
contrition for his past misdeeds, and told the farmer he
had quite determined to labor with his hands. ''You
150 A SIMPLETON.
know, farmer/' said he, " I am not the only gentleman
who has come to that in the present day. Now, all my
friends that have seen my sketches, assure me I am a
born painter ; and a painter I'll be — for love of Phoebe."
The farmer made a wry face. "Painter! that is a
sorry sort of a trade."
" You are mistaken. It's the best trade going. There
are gentlemen making their thousands a year by it."
" Not in our parts, there bain't. Stop a bit. What be
ye going to paint, sir ? Housen, or folk ? "
" Oh, hang it, not houses. Figures, landscapes."
" Well, ye might just make shift to live at it, I sup-
pose, with here and there a signboard. They are the
best paid, our way : but, Lord bless ye, they wants head-
piece. Well, sir, let me see your work. Then we'll talk
further."
" I'll go to work this afternoon," said Falcon eagerly ;
then with affected surprise, " Bless me ; I forgot. I
have no x^^l^tte, no canvas, no colors. You couldn't
lend me a couple of sovereigns to buy them, could you ? "
"Ay, sir; I could. But I woan't. I'll lend ye the
things, though, if you have a mind to go with me and
buy 'em."
Falcon agreed, with a lofty smile ; and the purchases
were made.
Mr. Falcon painted a landscape or two out of his
imagination. The dealers to whom he took them de-
clined them ; one advised the gentleman painter to color
tea-boards. " That's your line," said he.
"The world has no taste," said the gentleman painter:
" but it has got lots of vanity : I'll paint portraits."
He did ; and formidable ones : his portraits were
amazingly like the people, and yet unlike men and
women, especially about the face. One thing, he didn't
trouble with lights and shades, but went slap at the
features.
A SIMPLETON. 151
His brush would never liave kept liini ; but he carried
an instrument, in the use of which he was really an
artist, viz., his tongue. By wheedling and underselling
— for he only charged a pound for the painted canvas —
he contrived to live ; then he aspired to dress as well as
live. With this second object in view, he hit upon a
characteristic expedient.
He used to prowl about, and when he saw a young
woman sweeping the afternoon streets with a long silk
train, and, in short, dressed to ride in the park, yet
parading the streets, he would take his hat off to her,
with an air of i:>rofound respect, and ask permission to
take her portrait. Generally he met a prompt rebuff;
but if the fair was so unlucky as to hesitate a single
moment, he told her a melting tale ; he had once driven
his four-in-hand; but by indorsing his friends' bills,
was reduced to painting likeness, admirable likenesses
in oil, only a guinea each.
His piteous tale provoked more gibes than pity, but as
he had no shame, the rebuffs went for nothing : he actu-
ally did get a few sitters by his audacity: and some of
the sitters actually took the pictures, and paid for them ;
others declined them with fury as soon as they were
finished. These he took back with a piteous sigh, that
sometimes extracted half a crown. Then he painted
over the rejected one and let it dry ; so that sometimes
a paid portrait would present a beauty enthroned on the
debris of two or three rivals, and that is where few
beauties would object to sit.
All this time he wrote nice letters to Phoebe, and
adopted the tone of the struggling artist, and the true
lover, who wins his bride by patience, perseverance, and
indomitable industry ; a babbled of " Self Help."
Meantime, Phoebe was not idle : an excellent business
woman, she took immediate advantage of a new station
152 A SIMPLETON.
that was built near the farm, to send up milk, butter,
and eggs to London. Being genuine, they sold like wild-
fire. Observing that, she extended her operations, by
buying of other farmers, and forwarding to London:
and then, having of course an eye to her struggling
artist, she told her father she must have a shop in
London, and somebody in it she could depend upon.
" With all my heart, wench," said he ; " but it must
not be thou. I can't spare thee."
" May I have Dick, father ? "
" Dick ! he is rather young."
"But he is very quick, father, and minds every word
I tell him."
"Ay, he is as fond of thee as ever a cow was of a
calf. Well, you can try him."
So the love-sick woman of business set up a little
shop, and put her brother Dick in it, and all to see more
of her struggling artist. She stayed several days, to
open the little shop, and start the business. She adver-
tised pure milk, and challenged scientific analysis of
everything she sold. This came of her being a reader ;
she knew, by the journals, that we live in a sinful and
adulterating generation, and anything pure must be a
godsend to the poor poisoned public.
Now, Dr. Staines, though known to the profession as
a diagnost, was also an analyst, and this challenge
brought him down on Phoebe Dale. He told her he was
a physician, and in search of pure food for his own
family — would she really submit the milk to analysis ?
Phoebe smiled an honest country smile, and said,
"Surely, sir." She gave him every facility, and he
applied those simple tests which are commonly used in
France, though hardly known in England.
He found it perfectly pure, and told her so ; and gazed
at l*hoebe for a moment, as a phenomenon.
A SIISrPLETON. 153
She smiled again at that, her broad country smile.
" That is a wonder in London, I dare say. It's my
belief half the children that die here are perished with
watered milk. Well, sir, we shan't have that on our
souls, father and I ; he is a farmer in Essex. This
comes a many miles, this milk."
Staines looked in her face, with kindly approval
marked on his own eloquent features. She blushed a
little at so fixed a regard. Then he asked her if she
would supply him with milk, butter, and eggs.
"\\Tiy, if you mean sell you them, yes, sir, with
pleasure. But for sending them home to you in this big
town, as some do, I can't ; for there's only brother Dick
and me : it is an experiment like."
" Very well," said Staines : " I will send for them."
" Thank you kindly, sir. I hope you won't be offended,
sir ; but we only sell for ready money."
" All the better : my order at home is, no bills."
When he was gone, Phoebe, assuming vast experience,
though this was only her third day, told Dick that was
one of the right sort: "and oh, Dick," said she, "did
you notice his eye ? "
" Not particklar, sister."
" There noAv ; the boy is blind. "Why, 'twas like a
jewel. Such an eye I never saw in a man's head, nor
a woman's neither."
Staines told his wife about Phoebe and her brother,
and spoke of her with a certain admiration that raised
Kosa's curiosity, and even that sort of vague jealousy
that fires at bare praise. "I should like to see this phe-
nomenon,'' said she. "You shall," said he. "I have to
call on Mrs. Manly. She lives near. I will drop you at
the little shop, and come back for you."
He did so, and that gave llosa a quarter of an hour
to make her purchases. When he came back he found
154 A SIMPLETON.
her conversing with Phoebe, as if they were old friends,
and Dick glaring at his wife with awe and admiration.
He could hardly get her away.
She was far more extravagant in her praises than
Dr. Staines had been. "What a good creature!" said
she. " And how clever ! To think of her setting up a
shop like that all by herself; for her Dick is only
seventeen."
Dr. Staines recommended the little shop wherever
he Avent, and even extended its operations. He asked
Phoebe to get her own wheat ground at home, and send
the flour up in bushel bags. "These assassins, the
bakers," said he, " are putting copper into the flour now,
as well as alum. Pure flour is worth a fancy price to
any family. With that we can make the bread of life.
What you buy in the shops is the bread of death."
Dick was a good, sharp boy, devoted to his sister. He
stuck to the shop in London, and handed the money to
Phoebe, when she came for it. She worked for it in
Essex, and extended her country connection for supply
as the retail business increased.
Staines wrote an article on pure food, and incidentally
mentioned the shop as a place where flour, milk, and
butter were to be had pure. This article was published
in the Lancet., and caused quite a run upon the little
shop. By and by Phoebe enlarged it, for which there
were great capabilities, and made herself a pretty little
parlor, and there she and Dick sat to Falcon for tlieir
portraits; here, too, she hung his rejected landscapes.
They were fair in her eyes ; what matter whether they
were like nature ? his hand had painted them. She
knew, from him, that everybody else had rejected them.
W^ith all the more pride and love did she have them
framed in gold, and hung up with the portraits in her
little sanctum.
A SIMPLETON. 155
For a few montlis Phoebe Dale was as happy as she
deserved to be. Her lover was working, and faithful to
her — at least she saw no reason to doubt it. He came
to see her every evening, and seemed devoted to her :
would sit quietly with her, or walk with her, or take her
to a play, or a music-hall — at her expense.
She now lived in a quiet elysium, with a bright and
rapturous dream of the future ; for she saw she had hit
on a good vein of business, and should soon be inde-
pendent, and able to indulge herself with a husband, and
ask no man's leave.
She sent to Essex for a dairymaid, and set her to churn
milk into butter, coram j^ojmlo, at a certain hour every
morning. This made a new sensation. At other times
the woman was employed to deliver milk and cream to
a few favored customers.
Mrs. Staines dropped in now and then, and chatted
with her. Her sweet face and her naivete won Phoebe's
heart ; and one day, as happiness is apt to be communi-
cative, she let out to her, in reply to a feeler or two
as to whether she was quite alone, that she was engaged
to be married to a gentleman. "But he is not rich,
ma'am," said Phoebe plaintively ; " he has had trouble :
obliged to work for his living, like me ; he painted these
pictures, every one of them. If it was not making too
free, and you could spare a guinea — he charges no more
for the picture, only you must go to the expense of the
frame."
" Of course I will," said Eosa warmly. " I'll sit for it
here, any day you like."
Now, Kosa said this, out of her ever ready kindness,
not to wound Phoebe : but having made the promise, she
kept clear of the place for some days, hoping Phoebe
would forget all about it. Meantime she sent her
husband to buy.
156 A SIMPLETON.
In about a fortniglit slie called again, primed with
evasions if she should be asked to sit ; but nothing of
the kind was proposed. Phoebe was dealing when she
went in. The customers disposed of, she said to Mrs.
Staines, " Oh, ma'am, I am glad you are come. I have
something I should like to show you." She took her
into the parlor, and made her sit down : then she opened
a drawer, and took out a very small substance that looked
like a tear of ground glass, and put it on the table before
her. " There, ma'am," said she, " that is all he has had
for painting a friend's pioture."
"Oh! what a shame."
" His friend was going abroad — to Natal ; to his uncle
that farms out there, and does very well ; it is a first-rate
part, if you take out a little stock with you, and some
money ; so my one gave him credit, and Avhen the letter
came with that postmark, he counted on a five-pound
note ; but the letter only said he had got no money yet,
but sent him something as a keepsake : and there was
this little stone. Poor fellow ! he flung it down in a
passion ; he was so disappointed."
Phoebe's great gray eyes filled ; and Eosa gave a little
coo of sympathy that was very womanly and lovable.
Phoebe leaned her cheek on her hand, and said thought-
fully, " I picked it up, and brought it away ; for, after
all — don't you think, ma'am, it is very strange that a
friend should send it all that way, if it was worth nothing
at all ? "
" It is impossible. He could not be so heartless."
" And do you know, ma'am, when I take it up in
my fingers, it doesn't feel like a thing that was worth
nothing."
" No more it does : it makes my fingers tremble. May
I take it home, and show it my husband ? he is a great
physician and knows everything."
A SIMPLETON. ir>7
"I am sure I should bo obliged to you, ma'am."
Rosa drove home, on purpose to show it to Christopher.
She ran into his study : " Oh, Christopher, please look at
that. You know that good creature we have our flour
and milk and things of. She is is engaged, and he is a
painter. Oh, such daubs ! He painted a friend, and the
friend sent that home all the way from Natal, and he
dashed it down, and she picked it up, and what is it ?
ground glass, or a pebble, or what ? "
" Humph ! — by its shape, and the great — brilliancy
— and refraction of light, on this angle, where the stone
has got polished by rubbing against other stones, in the
course of ages, I'm inclined to think it is — a diamond."
" A diamond ! " shrieked Rosa. " Xo wonder my
fingers trembled. Oh, can it be ? Oh, you good, cold-
blooded Christie! — Poor things! — Come along. Dia-
mond ! Oh you beauty ! Oh you duck ! "
" Don't be in such a hurry. I only said I thought it
was a diamond. Let me weigh it against water, and
then I shall know.'''
He took it to his little laboratory, and returned in a
few minutes, and said, "Yes. It is just three times
and a half heavier than water. It is a diamond."
" Are you positive ? "
" I'll stake my existence."
"^\^at is it worth?"
"My dear, I'm not a jeweller : but it is very large and
pear-shaped, and I see no flaw : I don't think you could
buy it for less than three hundred pounds."
" Three hundred pounds 1 It is worth three hundred
pounds."
"Or sell it for more than a hundred and fifty
pounds."
" A hundred and fifty ! It is worth a hundred and
fifty pounds."
158 A STINIPLETON.
"Why, my clear, one would think you head invented
' the dicamond/ Show me how to crystallize carbon, and
I will share your enthusiasm."
"Oh, I leave you to carbonize crystal. I prefer to
gladden hearts : and I will do it this minute, with my
diamond."
" Do, dear ; and I will take that opportunity to finish
my article on Adulteration."
Kosa drove off to Phoebe Dale.
Now Phoebe was drinking tea with Eeginald Palcqn,
in her little parlor. " Who is that, I Avonder ? " said
she, when the carriage drew up.
Reginald drew back a corner of the gauze curtain
which had been drawn across the little glass door leading
from the shop.
" It is a lady, and a beautiful — Oh ! let me get out."
And he rushed out at the door leading to the kitchen,
not to be recognized.
This set Phoebe all in a flutter, and the next moment
Mrs. Staines tapped at the little door, then opened it,
and peeped. " Good news ! may I come in ? "
" Surely," said Phoebe, still troubled and confused by
Eeginald's strange agitation.
" There ! It is a diamond ! " screamed Eosa. " My
husband knew it directly. He knows everything. If
ever you are ill, go to him and nobody else — by the
refraction, and the angle, and its being three times and
a half as heavy as water. It is worth three hundred
pounds to buy, and a hundred and fifty pounds to
selL"
" Oh ! "
" So don't you go throwing it away, as he did. (In a
whisper.) Two teacups? Was that him? I have
driven him away. I am so sorry. I'll go; and then
you can tell him. Poor fellow ! "
A SIMPLETON. 159
^^Oli, ma'am, don't go yet," said Phcebe, trembling.
" I haven't half thanked you."
" Oh, bother thanks. Kiss me ; that is the way."
"May I?"
"You may, and must. There — and there — and
there. Oh dear, what nice things good luck and happi-
ness are, and how sweet to bring them for once."
Upon this Phoebe and she had a nice little cry together,
and ]\[rs. Staines went off refreshed thereby, and as gay
as a lark, pointing slyly at the door, and making faces
to Phoebe that she knew he was there, and she only
retired, out of her admirable discretion, that they might
enjoy the diamond together.
When she was gone, Reginald, whose eye and ear had
be(Mi at the keyhole, alternately gloating on the face and
drinking the accents of the only woman he had ever
really loved, came out, looking pale, and strangely
disturbed ; and sat down at table, without a word.
Phcebe came back to him, full of the diamond. " Did
you hear what she said, my dear ? It is a diamond ; it
is worth a hundred and fifty pounds at least. Why,
what ails you ? Ah ! to be sure ! you know that lady."
" I have cause to know her. Cursed jilt ! "
" You seem a good deal put out at the sight of her."
" It took me by surprise, that is all."
"It takes me by surprise too. I thought you were
cured. I thought my turn had come at last."
Heginald met this in sullen silence. Then Phoebe was
sorry she had said it ; for, after all, it wasn't the man's
fault if an old sweetheart had run into the room, and
given him a start. So she made him some fresh tea, and
pressed him kindly to try her home-made bread and
butter.
My lord relaxed his frown and consented, and of course
they talked diamond.
160 A SIMPLETON.
He told her, loftily, he must take a studio, and his
sitters must come to him, and must no longer expect to
be immortalized for one pound. It must be two pounds
for a bust, and three pounds for a kitcat.
" Nay, but, my dear," said Phoebe, " they will pay no
more because you have a diamond."
"Then they will have to go unpainted," said Mr.
Falcon.
This was intended for a threat. Phoebe instinctively
felt that it might not be so received ; she counselled
moderation. " It is a great thing to have earned a dia-
mond," said she : "but 'tis only once in a life. Now, be
ruled by me : go on just as you are. Sell the diamond,
and give me the money to keep for you. Why, you
might add a little to it, and so would I, till we made it
up two hundred pounds. And if you could only show
two hundred pounds you had made and laid by, father
would let us marry, and I might keep this shop — it pays
well, I can tell you — and keep my gentleman in a sly
corner ; you need never be seen in it."
" Ay, ay," said he, " that is the small game. But I
am a man that have always preferred the big game. I
shall set up my studio, and make enough to keep us both.
So give me the stone, if you please. I shall take it
round to them all, and the rogues won't get it out of me
for a hundred and fifty ; why, it is as big as a nut."
" No, no, Reginald. Money has always made mischief
between you and me. You never had fifty pounds yet,
you didn't fall into temptation. Do pray let me keep
it for you ; or else sell it — I know how to sell ; nobody
better — and keep the money for a good occasion."
" Is it yours, or mine ? " said he, sulkily.
" Why yours, dear ; you earned it."
" Then give it me, please." And he almost forced it
out of her hand.
A SIMPLETON. 161
So now she sat clown and crii'd over this piece of good
hick, for her heart filled with forebodings.
He laughed at her, but at last had the grace to console her,
and assure her she was tornientini' herself for nothincr.
•' Time will show," said she, sadly.
Time did show.
Three or four days he came, as usual, to laugh her out
of her forebodings. But presently his visits ceased. She
knew what that meant : he was living like a gentleman,
melting his diamond, and playing her false with the first
pretty face he met.
This blow, coming after she had been so happy, struck
Phabe Dale stupid with grief. The line on her high
forehead deepened ; and at night she sat with her hands
before her, sighing, and sighing, and listening for the
footsteps that never came.
" Oh, Dick ! " she said, " never you love any one. I
am aweary of my life. And to think that, but for that
diamond — oh, dear ! oh, dear ! oh, dear ! "
Then Dick used to try and comfort her in his way,
and often put his arm round her neck, and gave her his
rough but honest sympathy. Dick's rare affection was
her one drop of comfort ; it was something to relieve her
swelling heart.
" Oh, Dick ! " she said to him one night, " I wish I
had married him."
"What, to be ill-used ? "
" He couldn't use me worse. I have been wife, and
mother, and sweetheart, and all, to him ; and to be left
like this. He treats me like the dirt beneath his feet,"
""Tis your own fault, Phoebe, partly. You say the
word, and Pll break every bone in his carcass."
" What, do him a mischief ! Why, I'd rather die than
harm a hair of his head. You must never lift a hand to
him, or I shall hate you."
162 A SIMPLETON.
"Hate me, Phoebe?"
" Ay, boy : I should. God forgive me : 'tis no use
deceiving ourselves ; when a woman loves a man she
despises, never you come between them ; there's no
reason in her love, so it is incurable. One comfort, it
can't go on forever ; it must kill me, before my time ;
and so best. If I was only a mother, and had a little
Reginald to dandle on my knee and gloat upon, till he
spent his money, and came back to me. That's why I
said I wished I was his wife. Oh ! why does God fill a
poor woman's bosom with love, and nothing to spend it
on but a stone ; for sure his heart must be one. If I had
only something that would let me always love it, a little
toddling thing at my knee, that would always let me
look at it, and love it, something too young to be false
to me, too weak to run away from my long — ing — arms
— and — year — ning heart ! " Then came a burst of
agony, and moans of desolation, till poor puzzled Dick
blubbered loudly at her grief ; and then her tears flowed
in streams.
Trouble on trouble. Dick himself got strangely out
of sorts, and complained of shivers. Phoebe sent him to
bed early, and made him some white wine whey very hot.
In the morning he got up, and said he was better ; but
after breakfast he was violently sick, and suffered several
returns of nausea before noon. " One would think I
was poisoned," said he.
At one o'clock he was seized with a kind of spasm
in the throat that lasted so long it nearly choked him.
Then Phoebe got frightened, and sent to the nearest
surgeon. He did not hurry, and poor Dick had another
frightful spasm just as he came in.
" It is hysterical," said the surgeon. " No disease of
the heart, is there ? Give him a little sal-volatile every
half hour,"
A SIMPLETON. 1G3
In spite of the sal-volutile these terrible spasms seized
him every half hour ; and now he used to spring oft" the
bed with a cry of tenor when they came ; and each one
left him weaker and weaker j he had to be carried back
by the women.
A sad, sickening fear seized on Phoebe. She left Dick
with the maid, and tying on her bonnet in a moment,
rushed wildly down the street, asking the neighbors for
a great doctor, the best that could be had for money. One
sent her east a mile, another west, and she was almost
distracted, when who should drive up but Dr. and Mrs.
Staines, to make-purchases. She did not know his name,
but she knew he was a doctor. She ran to the window,
and cried, " Oh, doctor, my brother ! Oh, pray come to
him. Oh! oh I"
Dr. Staines got quickly, but calmly, out ; told his wife
to wait ; and followed Phoebe up-stairs. She told him in
a few agitated words how Dick ha<l been taken, and all
the symptoms ; especially what had alarmed her so, his
springing off the bed when the spasm came.
Dr. Staines told her to hold the patient up. He lost
not a moment, but opened his mouth resolutely, and
looked down.
" The glottis is swollen," said he : then he felt his
hands, and said, with the grave, terrible calm of expe-
rience, "He is dying."
" Oh, no ! no I Oh, doctor, save him ! save him ! "
" Nothing can save him, unless we had a surgeon on
the spot. Yes, I might save him, if you have the cour-
age : opening his windpipe before the next spasm is his
one chance."
" Open his windpipe ! Oh, doctor ! It will kill him.
Let me look at you."
She looked hard in his face. It gave her confidence.
" Is it the only chance ? "
164 A SIMPLETON.
" The only one : and it is flying while we chatter."
"Do IT."
" He whipped out his lancet.
" But I can't look on it. I trust to you and my
Saviour's mercy."
She fell on her knees, and bowed her head in prayer.
Staines seized a basin, put it by the bedside, made an
incision in the windpipe, and got Dick down on his
stomach, with his face over the bedside. Some blood
ran, but not much. " Now ! " he cried, cheerfully, " a
small bellows ! There's one in your parlor. Run."
Phoebe ran for it, and at Dr. Staines' direction lifted
Dick a little, while the bellows, duly cleansed, were
gently applied to the aperture in the windpipe, and the
action of the lungs delicately aided by this primitive but
effectual means.
He showed Phoebe how to do it, tore a leaf out of his
pocket-book, wrote a hasty direction to an able surgeon
near, and sent his wife off with it in the carriage.
Phoebe and he never left the patient till the surgeon
came with all the instruments required ; amongst the
rest, with a big, tortuous pair of nippers, with which he
could reach the glottis, and snip it. But they con-
sulted, and thought it wiser to continue the surer
method ; and so a little tube was neatly inserted into
Dick's windpipe, and his throat bandaged ; and by this
aperture he did his breathing for some little time.
Phoebe nursed him like a mother ; and the terror and
the joy did her good, and made her less desolate.
Dick was only just well when both of them were sum-
moned to the farm, and arrived only just in time to
receive their father's blessing and his last sigh.
Their elder brother, a married man, inherited the farm,
and was executor. Phoebe and Dick were left fifteen
hundred pounds apiece, on condition of their leaving
England and going to Natal.
A SOIPLETON. 1G5
Tliey knew directly Avliat that meant. Plioebe was to
be parted from a bad man, and Dick was to comfort her
for the loss.
When this part of the will was read to Phoebe, slie
turned faint, and only her health and bodily vigor kept
her from swooning right away.
But she yielded. "It is the will of the dead," said
she, " and I will obey it ; for, oh, if I had but listened to
him more when he was alive to advise me, I should not
sit here now, sick at heart and dry-eyed, when I ought
to be thinking only of the good friend that is gone."
When she had come to this she became feverishly
anxious to be gone. She busied herself in purchasing
agricultural machines, and stores, and even stock ; and
to see her pinching the beasts' ribs to find their con-
dition, and parrying all attempts to cheat her, you would
never have believed she could be a love-sick woman.
Dick kept her up to the mark. He only left her to
bargain with the master of a good vessel ; for it was no
trifle to take out horses and cows, and machines, and
bales of cloth, cotton, and linen.
When that was settled they came in to town together,
and Phoebe bought shrewdly, at wholesale houses in the
city, for cash, and would have bargains : and the little
shop in Street was turned into a warehouse.
They were all ardor, as colonists should be ; and what
pleased Dick most, she never mentioned Falcon ; yet he
learned from the maid that worthy had been there twice,
looking very seedy.
The day drew near. Dick was in high spirits.
" We shall soon make our fortune out there," he said ;
" and I'll get you a good husband."
She shuddered, but said nothing.
The evening before they were to sail, Phoebe sat alone,
in her black dress, tired with work, and asking herself.
166 A SIMPLETON,
sick at heart, could she ever really leave England, when
the door opened softly, and Reginald Falcon, shabbily
dressed, came in, and threw himself into a chair.
She started up with a scream, then sank down again,
trembling, and turned her face to the wall.
" So you are going to run away from me ! " said he
savagely.
" Ay, Reginald," said she meekly.
" This is your fine love, is it ? "
" You have worn it out, dear," she said softly, without
turning her head from the wall.
" I wish I could say as much ; but, curse it, every time
I leave you I learn to love you more. I am never really
happy but when I am with you."
" Bless you for saying that, dear. I often thought you
7nust find that out one day ; but you took too long."
" Oh, better late than never. Phoebe ! Can you have
the heart to go to the Cape, and leave me all alone in
the world, with nobody that really cares for me ? Surely
you are not obliged to go."
" Yes ; my father left Dick and me fifteen hundred
pounds apiece to go : that was the condition. Poor Dick
loves his unhappy sister. He won't go without me — I
should be his ruin — poor Dick, that really loves me ;
and he lay a-dying here, and the good doctor and me —
God bless him — we brought him back from the grave.
All, you little know what I have gone through. You
were not here. Catch you being near me when I am in
trouble. There, I must go. I must go. I will go ; if I
fling mj^self into the sea half way."
" And, if you do, I'll take a dose of poison ; for I have
thrown away the truest heart, the sweetest, most unself-
ish, kindest, generous — oh ! oh ! oh ! "
And he began to howl.
This set Phoebe sobbing. " Don't cry, dear," she mur-
A SIMPLETON. 167
mured through her tears ; " if you have really auy love
for me, come with me."
" What, leave England, and go to a desert ? "
" Love can make a desert a garden."
" Phoebe, I'll do anything else. I'll swear not to leave
your side. I'll never look at any other face but yours.
But I can't live in Africa."
"I know you can't. It takes a little real love to go
there with a poor girl like me. Ah, well, I'd have made
you so happy. We are not poor emigrants. I have a
horse for you to ride, and guns to shoot; and me and
Dick would do all the work for you. But there are
others here you can't leave for me. Well, then, good-by,
dear. In Africa, or here, I shall always love you ; and
many a salt tear I shall shed for you yet, many a one I
have, as well you know. God bless you. Pray for poor
Phoebe, that goes against her will to Africa, and leaves
her heart with thee."
This was too much even for the selfish Reginald. He
kneeled at her knees, and took her hand, and kissed it,
and actually shed a tear or two over it.
She could not speak. He had no hope of changing
her resolution ; and presently he heard Dick's voice out-
side, so he got up to avoid him. " I'll come again in the
morning, before you go."
" Oh, no ! no ! " she gasped. " Unless you want me to
die at your feet. I am almost dead now."
Reginald slipped out by the kitchen.
Dick came in, and found his sister leaning with her
head back against the wall. "Why, Phoebe," said he,
"whatever is the matter?" and he took her by the
shoulder.
She moaned, and he felt her all limp and powerless.
" What is it, lass ? Whatever is the matter ? Is it
about going away ? "
168 A SIMPLETON.
She would not speak for a long time.
When she did speak, it was to say something for
which my male reader may not be prepared. But it will
not surprise the women.
" Dick — forgive me ! "
"Why, what for?"
" Forgive me, or else kill me : I don't care which."
"I do, though. There, I forgive you. Now what's
your crime ? "
" I can't go. Forgive me ! "
"Can't go?"
" I can't. Forgive me ! "
" I'm blessed if I don't believe that vagabond has been
here tormenting of you again."
" Oh, don't miscall him. He is penitent. Yes, Dick,
he has been here crying to me — and I can't leave him.
I can't — I can't. Dear Dick ! you are young and stout-
hearted ; take all the things over, and make your fortune
out there, and leave your poor foolish sister behind. I
should only fling myself into the salt sea if I left him
now, and that would be peace to me, but a grief to
thee."
" Lordsake, Phoebe, don't talk so. I can't go without
you. And do but think, why, the horses are on board by
now, and all the gear. It's my belief a good hiding is all
you want, to bring you to your senses ; but I han't the
heart to give you one, worse luck. Blessed if I know
what to say or do."
" I won't go ! " cried Phoebe, turning violent all of a
sudden. " No, not if I am dragged to the ship by the
hair of my head. Forgive me ! " And with that word
she was a mouse again.
" Eh, but women are kittle cattle to drive," said poor
Dick ruefully. And down he sat at a nonplus, and very
unhappy.
A SIMPLETON. 100
Phoebe sat opposite, sullen, heart-sick, wretched to the
core ; but determined not to leave Eeginald.
Then came an event that might have been foreseen,
yet it took them both by surprise.
A light step was heard, and a graceful, though seedy,
figure entered the room with a set speech in his mouth :
"Phoebe, you are right. I owe it to your long and faith-
ful affection to make a sacrifice for you. I will go to
Africa with you. I will go to the end of the world,
sooner than you shall say I care for any woman on earth
but you."
Both brother and sister were so unprepared for this,
that they could hardly realize it at first.
Phoebe turned her great, inquiring eyes on the speaker,
and it was a sight to see amazement, doubt, hope, and
happiness animating her features, one after another.
" Is this real ? " said she.
" I will sail with you to-morrow, Phoebe ; and I will
make you a good husband, if you will have me."
"That is spoke like a man," said Dick. "You take
him at his word, Phoebe ; and if he ill-uses you out there,
I'll break every bone in his skin."
" How dare you threaten him ? " said Phoebe. " You
had best leave the room."
Out went poor Dick, with the tear in his eye at being
snubbed so. AMiile he was putting up the shutters,
Phoebe was making love to her pseudo penitent. " My
dear," said she, " trust yourself to me. You don't know
all my love yet ; for I have never been your wife, and I
would not be your jade ; that is the only thing I ever
refused you. Trust yourself to me. Why, you never
found happiness with others ; try it with me. It shall
be the best day's work you ever did, going out in the
ship with me. You don't know how happy a loving wife
can make her husband. I'll pet you out there as man
170 • A SIMPLETON.
was nerer petted. And besides, it isn't for life; Dick
and me will soon make a fortune out there, and tlien I'll
bring you home, and see you spend it any way you like
but one. Oh, how I love you ! do you love me a little ?
I worship the ground you walk on. I adore every hair
of your head ! " Her noble arm went round his neck in
a moment, and the grandeur of her passion electrified
him so far that he kissed her affectionately, if not quite
so warmly as she did him : and so it was all settled.
The maid was discharged that night instead of the morn-
ing, and Eeginald was to occupy her bed. Phoebe went
up-stairs with her heart literally on fire, to prepare his
sleeping-room, and so Dick and Eeginald had a word.
" I say, Dick, how long will this voyage be ? "
^' Two months, sir, I am told."
" Please to cast your eyes on this suit of mine. Don't
you think it is rather seedy — to go to Africa with?
Why, I shall disgrace you on board the ship. I say,
Dick, lend me three sovs., just to buy a new suit at the
slop-shop."
"Well, brother-in-law," said Dick, "I don't see any
harm in that. I'll go and fetch them for you."
What does this sensible Dick do but go up-stairs to
Phoebe, and say, " He wants three pounds to buy a suit ;
am I to lend it him ? "
Phoebe was shaking and patting her penitent's pillow.
She dropped it on the bed in dismay. " Oh, Dick, not
for all the world ! Why, if he had three sovereigns, he'd
desert me at the water's edge. Oh, God help me, how I
love him ! God forgive me, how I mistrust him ! Good
Dick ! kind Dick ! say we have suits of clothes, and
we'll fit him like a prince, as he ought to be, on board
ship ; but not a shilling of money : and, my dear, don't
put the weight on vie. You understand ? "
" Ay, mistress, I understand."
A SIMPLETON. 171
"Good Dick!"
"Oh, all right! and then don't you snap this here
good, kind Dick's nose off at a word again."
" Never. I get wild if anybody threatens him. Then
I'm not myself. Forgive my hasty tongue. You know
I love you, dear ! "
" Oh, ay ! you love me well enough. But seems to me
your love is precious like cold' veal, and your love for
that chap is hot roast beef."
«Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
" Oh, ye can laugh now, can ye ? "
"Ha, ha, ha!"
"Well, the more of that music, the better for me."
" Yes, dear ; but go and tell him."
Dick went down, and said, "I've got no money to
spare, till I get to the Cape ; but Phoebe has got a box
full of suits, and I made her promise to keep it out.
She will dress you like a prince, you may be sure."
"Oh, that is it, is it ? " said Reginald dryly.
Dick made no reply.
At nine o'clock they were on board the vessel ; at ten
she weighed anchor, and a steam-vessel drew her down
the river about thirty miles, then cast off, and left her to
the south-easterly breeze. Up went sail after sail ; she
nodded her lofty head, and glided away for Africa.
Phoebe shed a few natural tears at leaving the shores
of Old England ; but they soon dried. She was demurely
happy, watching her prize, and asking herself had she
really secured it, and all in a few hours ?
They had a i^rosperous voyage : were married at Cape
Town, and went up the country, bag and baggage, look-
ing out for a good bargain in land. Eeginald was mounted
on an English horse, and allowed to zigzag about, and
shoot, and play, while his wife and brother-in-law marched
slowly with their cavalcade.
172 A SIMrLETON.
AVliat with air, exercise, wliolesome food, and smiles
of welcome, and delicions petting, tins egotist enjoyed
himself finely. He admitted as much. Says he, one
evening to his wife, who sat by him for the pleasure of
seeing him feed, " It sounds absurd ; but I never Avas so
happy in all my life."
At that, the celestial expression of her pastoral face,
and the maternal gesture 'with which she drew her pet's
head to her queenly bosom, was a picture for celibacy to
gnash the teeth at.
A SIMPLETON. 17^
CHAPTER IX.
During this period, the most remarkable things that
happened to Dr. and ]Mrs. Staines were really those which
I have related as connecting them with Phcebe Dale and
her brother ; to which I will now add that Dr. Staines
detailed Dick's case in a remarkable paper, entitled
" CEdema of the Glottis," and showed how the patient
had been brought back from the grave by tracheotomy
and artificial respiration. He received a high price for
this article.
To tell the truth, he was careful not to admit that it
was he who had opened the windpipe ; so the credit of
the whole operation was given to Mr. Jenkyn ; and this
gentleman was naturally pleased, and threw a good many
consultation fees in Staines's way.
The Lucases, to his great comfort — for he had an
instinctive aversion to Miss Lucas — left London for
Paris in August, and did not return all the year.
In February he reviewed his year's work and twelve
months' residence in the Bijou. The pecuniary result
was, outgoings, nine hundred and fifty pounds ; income,
from fees, two hundred and eighty pounds ; writing,
ninety pounds.
He showed these figures to ^Nlrs. Staines, and asked
her if she could suggest any diminution of expenditure.
Could she do with less housekeeping money ?
" Oh, impossible ! You cannot think how the servants
eat ; and they won't touch our home-made bread."
"The fools! Why?
^' Oh, because they think it costs us less. Servants
174 A SIMPLETON-
seem to me always to liate tlie people whose bread tliey
eat."
"More likely it is tlieir vanity. Nothing that is not
paid for before their eyes seems good enough for them.
Well, dear, the bakers will revenge us. But is there any
other item Ave could reduce ? Dress ? "
" Dress ! Why, I spend nothing."
" Forty-five pounds this year."
" Well, I shall want none next year."
" Well, then, Kosa, as there is nothing we can reduce,
I must write more, and take more fees, or we shall be in
the wrong box. Only eight hundred and sixty pounds
left of our little capital ; and, mind, we have not another
shilling in the world. One comfort, there is no debt.
We pay ready money for everything."
Eosa colored a little, but said nothing.
Staines did his part nobly. He read ; he wrote ; he
paced the yard. He wore his old clothes in> the house ;
he took off his new ones when he came in. He was all
genius, drudgery, patience.
How Phoebe Dale would have valued him, co-operated
with him, and petted him, if she had had the good luck
to be his wife !
The season came back, and with it Miss Lucas, towing
a brilliant bride, Mrs. Vivian, young, rich, pretty, and
gay, with a waist you could span, and athirst for pleasure.
This lady was the first that ever made Eosa downright
jealous. She seemed to have everything the female
heart could desire ; and she was No. 1 with Miss Lucas
this year. Now, Eosa was No. 1 last season, and had
weakly imagined that was to last forever. But Miss
Lucas had always a sort of female flame, and it never
lasttid two seasons.
Eosa did not care so very much for Miss Lucas before,
except as a convenient friend; but now she was mortified
A STMrL?:TON. 175
to tears at finding INIiss Lucas made more fuss with
anotlier tlian with her.
This foolish feeling spurred her to attempt a rivalry
with :Mrs. Vivian, in the very things where rivalry was
hopeless.
Miss Lucas gave both ladies tickets for a flower-
show, Avhere all the great folk were to be, princes and
princesses, etc.
" But I have nothing to wear," sighed Eosa.
"Then you must get something, and mind it is not
pink, please; for we must not clash in colors. You
know I'm dark, and pink becomes me. (The selfish
young brute was not half so dark as Kosa.) Mine is
coming from AVortli's, in Paris, on purpose. And this
new Madame Cie, of Kegent Street, has suck a duck of
a bonnet, just come from Paris. She wanted to make
me one from it ; but I told her I would have none but
the pattern bonnet — and she knows very w^ell she can't
pass a copy off on me. Let me drive you up there, and
you can see mine, and order one, if you like it."
"Oh, thank you! let me just run and speak to my
husband first."
Staines Avas writing for the bare life, and a number of
German books about him, slaving to make a few pounds
— when in comes the buoyant figure and beaming face
his soul delighted in.
He laid down his work, to enjoy the sunbeam of love.
"Oh, darling, I've only come in for a minute. We
are going to a flow^er-show on the 13th ; everybody will
be so beautifully dressed — especially that Mrs. Vivian.
I have got ten yards of beautiful blue silk in my ward-
robe, but that is not enough to make a whole dress —
everything takes so much stuff now. Madame Cie does
not care to make u}) dresses unless she finds the silk, but
Miss Lucas says she thinks, to oblige a friend of hers,
176 A SIMPLETON.
slie would do it for once in a way. You know, dear, it
would only take a few yards more, and it would last as a
dinner-dress for ever so long."
Then she clasped him round the neck, and leaned her
head upon his shoulder, and looked lovingly up in his
face. ''I know you would like your Eosa to look as
well as Mrs. Vivian."
"No one ever looks as well, in my eyes, as my E-osa.
There, the dress will add nothing to your beauty ; but
go and get it, to please yourself; it is very considerate
of you to have chosen something of which you have ten
yards, already. See, dear, I'm to receive twenty pounds
for this article ; if research was paid it ought to be a
hundred. I shall add it all to your allowance for dresses
this year. So no debt, mind ; but come to me for every-
thing."
The two ladies drove off to Madame Cie's, a pretty
shop lined with dark velvet and lace draperies.
In the back room they were packing a lovely bridal
dress, going off the following Saturday to New York.
" What, send from America to London ? "
" Oh, dear, yes ! " exclaimed Madame Cie. " The
American ladies are excellent customers. They buy
everything of the best, and the most expensive."
" I have brought a new customer," said Miss Lucas ;
" and I want you to do a great favor, and that is to match
a blue silk, and make her a pretty dress for the flower-
show on the 13th."
Madame Cie produced a white muslin polonaise, which
she was just going to send home to the Princess , to
be worn over mauve.
" Oh, how pretty and simple ! " exclaimed Miss Lucas.
" I have some lace exactly like that," said Mrs. Staines.
" Then why don't you have a polonaise ? The lace is
the only expensive part, the muslin is a mere nothing j
A SIMPLETON. 177
and it is siicli a useful dress, it can be worn over any
silk."
It was agreed Madame Cie was to send for the blue
silk and the lace, and the dresses were to be tried on on
Thursday.
On Tliursday, as Rosa went gayly into iMadame Cie's
back room to have the dresses tried on, ^Madame Cie
said, "You have a beautiful lace shawl, but it wants
arranging; in five minutes I could astonish you with
what I could do to that shawl."
"Oh, pray do," said Mrs. Staines.
The dressmaker kept her word. By the time the blue
dress was tried on, Madame Cie had, with the aid of a
few pins, plaits, and a bow of blue ribbon, transformed
the half lace shawl into one of the smartest and dlstmrjuk
things imaginable ; but when the bill came in at Christ-
mas, for that five minutes' labor and distlnrjue touch, she
charged one pound eight.
Madame Cie then told the ladies, in an artfully confi-
dential tone, she had a quantity of black silk coming
home, which she had purchased considerably below cost
price ; and that she should like to make them each a
dress — not for her own sake, but theirs — as she knew
they would never meet such a bargain again. "'You
know. Miss Lucas," she continued, " we don't want our
money, when we know our customers. Christmas is
soon enough for us."
"Christmas is a long time off," thought the young
wife, " nearly ten months. I think I'll have a black silk,
Madame Cie ; but I must not say anything to the doctor
about it just yet, or he might think me extravagant."
"Xo one can ever think a lady extravagant for buying
a black silk; it's such a useful dress; lasts forever —
almost."
-Days, weeks, and months rolled on, and with them an
178 A SENIPLETON.
ever-rolling tide of flower-shows, clinnerS; at-homes, balls,
operas, lawn-parties, concerts, and theatres.
Strange that in one house there should be two people
who loved each other, yet their lives ran so far apart,
except while they were asleep : the man all industry,
self-denial, patience ; the woman all frivolity, self-indul-
gence, and amusement ; both chained to an oar, only —
one in a working boat, the other in a painted galley.
The woman got tired first, and her charming color
waned sadly. She came to him for medicine to set her
up. " I feel so languid."
" No, no," said he ; " no medicine can do the work of
wholesome food and rational repose. You lack the
season of all natures, sleep. Dine at horae three days
running, and go to bed at ten."
On this the doctor's wife went to a chemist for advice.
He gave her a pink stimulant ; and, as stimulants have
two effects, viz., first to stimulate, and then to weaken,
this did her no lasting good. Dr. Staines cursed the
London season, and threatened to migrate to Liver-
pool.
But there was worse behind.
Keturning one day to his dressing-room, just after
Eosa had come down-stairs, he caught sight of a red stain
in a wash-hand-basin. He examined it ; it was arterial
blood.
He went to her directly, and expressed his anxiety.
" Oh, it is nothing," said she.
" ISTothing ! Pray, how often has it occurred ? "
"Once or twice. I must take your advice, and be
quiet, that is all."
Staines examined the housemaid; she lied instinc-
tively at first, seeing he was alarined ; but, being urged
to tell the truth, said she had seen it repeatedly, and had
told the cook.
A SIMPLKTUX. 17D
He Avent down-stairs again, and sat down, looking
wretched.
" Oh, dear ! " said Rosa. " What is the matter now ? "
" Rosa," said he, very gravely, " there are two jjeoijle
a woman is mad to deceive — her husband and her phy-
sician. You have deceived both.^'
180 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER X.
I SUSPECT Dr. Staines merely meant to say tliat she
had concealed from him an alarming symptom for several
weeks ; but she answered in a hurry, to excuse herself,
and let the cat out of the bag — excuse my vulgarity.
" It was all that Mrs. Vivian's fault. She laughed at
me so for not wearing them ; and she has a waist you
can span — the wretch ! "
"Oh, then, you have been wearing stays clandes-
tinely ? "
" ^Y\lJ, you know I have. Oh, what a stupid ! I have
let it all out.''
" How could you do it, when you knew, by experience,
it is your death ? "
" But it looks so beautiful, a tiny waist."
" It looks as hideous as a Chinese foot, and, to the eye
of science, far more disgusting; it is the cause of so
many unlovely diseases."
"Just tell me one thing; have you looked at Mrs.
Vivian ? "
"Minutely. I look at all your friends with great
anxiety, knowing no animal more dangerous than a fool.
Vivian — a skinny woman, Avith a pretty face, lovely
hair, good teeth, dying eyes " —
"Yes, lovely!"
" A sure proof of a disordered stomach — and a waist
pinched in so unnaturally, that I said to myself, ' Where
on earth does this idiot put her liver ? ' Did you ever
read of the frog who burst, trying to swell to an ox ?
Well, here is the rivalry reversed; Mrs. Vivian is a bag
A SIMPLETON. 181
of bones in a balloon; slio can machine herself into a
wasp ; but a line young woman like you, with flesh and
muscle, must kill yourself three or four times before
you can make your body as meagre, hideous, angular,
and unnatural as Vivian's. But all you ladies are mono-
maniacs ; one might as well talk sense to a gorilla. It
brought you to the ed^e of the grave. I saved you. Yet
you could go and — God grant me patience. So I sup-
pose these unprincipled women lent you their stays to
deceive your husband ? "
"^N'o. But they laughed at me so that — Oh,
Christie, I'm a wretch ; I kept a pair at the Lucases,
and a pair at Madame Cie's, and I put them on now and
then.''
" But you never appeared here in them ? "
" What, before my tyrant ? Oh no, I dared not."
" So you took them off before you came home ? "
Rosa hung her head, and said "Yes" in a reluctant
whisper.
" You spent your daylight dressing. You dressed to
go out ; dressed again in stays ; dressed again without
them; and all to deceive your husband, and kill your-
self, at the bidding of two shallow, heartless women,
who would dance over your grave without a pang of
remorse, or sentiment of any kind, since they live, like
midges, oiil?/ to dance in the sunj and suck some worker's
blood:'
" Oh, Christie ! Pm so easily led. I am too great a
fool to live. Kill me !"
And she kneeled down, and renewed the request, look-
ing up in his face with an expression that might have
disarmed Cain ipsum.
He smiled superior. " The question is, are you sorry
you have been so thoughtless ? "
" Yes, dear. Oh ! oh ! "
182 A SIMrLETON.
" Will you be very good to make up ? "
"Oh, yes. Only tell me how; for it does not come
natural to poor me."
" Keep out of those women's way for the rest of the
season."
"I will."
" Bring your stays home, and allow me to do what I
like with them."
" Of course. Cut them in a million pieces."
" Till you are recovered, you must be my patient, and
go nowhere without me."
" That is no punishment, I am sure."
" Punishment ! Am I the man to punish you ? I only
want to save you."
" Well, darling, it won't be the first time."
" No ; but I do hope it will be the last."
A SIMPLETON. 183
CHAPTEK XI.
^' Sublatd causa toUitur ejfectusP The stays being
gone, and dissipation moderated, IVIrs. Staines bloomed
again, and they gave one or two unpretending little
dinners at the Bijou. Dr. Staines admitted no false
friends to these. They never Avent beyond eight; five
gentlemen, three ladies. By this arrangement the terri-
ble discursiveness of the fair, and man's cruel disposi-
tion to work a subject threadbare, were controlled and
modified, and a happy balance of conversation established.
Lady Cicely Treherne was always invited, and always
managed to come ; for she said, " They were the most
agweeable little paaties in London, and the host and
hostess both so intewesting." In the autumn, Staines
worked double tides with the pen, and found a vehicle
for medical narratives in a weekly magazine that did
not profess medicine.
This new vein put him in heart. His fees, towards
the end of the year, were less than last year, because
there was no hundred-guinea fee ; but there was a
marked increase in the small fees, and the unflagging
Xjen had actually earned him two hundred pounds, or
nearly. So he was in good spirits.
Not so Mrs. Staines ; for some time she had been
uneasy, fretful, and like a person with a weight on her
mind.
One Sunday she said to him, " Oh, dear, I do feel so
dull. Nobody to go to church with, nor yet to the
Zoo."
" I'll go with you," said Staines.
184 A SIMPLETON.
"You will! To which?"
" To both ; in for a penny, in for a pound."
So to church they went ; and Staines, whose motto was
^^ Hoc age,^^ minded his book. Kosa had intervals of
attention to the words, but found plenty of time to
study the costumes.
During the Litany in bustled Clara, the housemaid,
with a white jacket on so like her mistress's, that Eosa
clutched her own convulsively, to see whether she had
not been skinned of it by some devilish sleight-of-hand.
No, it was on her back ; but Clara's was identical.
In her excitement, Bosa pinched Staines, and with her
nose, that went like a water-wagtail, pointed out the
malefactor. Then she whispered, " Look ! How dare
she ? My very jacket ! Earrings too, and brooches, and
dresses her hair like mine."
" Well, never mind," whispered Staines. " Sunday is
her day. We have got all the week to shine. There,
don't look at her — ^From all evil speaking, lyiug, and
slandering ' " —
" I can't keep my eyes off her."
" Attend to the Litany. Do you know, this is really a
beautiful composition ? "
" I'd rather do the work fifty times over myself."
" Hush ! people will hear you."
When theyAvalked home after church; Staines tried to
divert her from the consideration of her wrongs ; but
no — all other topics were too flat by comparison.
She mourned the hard fate of mistresses — unfortu-
nate creatures that could not do without servants.
"Is not that a confession that servants are good,
useful creatures, with all their faults ? Then as to the
mania for dress, why, that is not confined to them. It
is the mania of the sex. Are you free from it ? "
" No, of course not. But I am a lady, if you please."
A SIMPLETON. 185
"Then she is your intellectual inferior, and more
excusable. Anyway, it is wise to connive at a thing we
can't help."
" What keep her, after this ? no, never."
" My dear, pray do not send her away, for she is tidy
in the house, and quick, and better than any one we have
had this last six months ; and you know you have tried
a great number."
" To hear you speak, one would think it was my fault
that we have so many bad servants."
"I never said it was your fault; but I think, dearest,
a little more forbearance in trifles " —
" Trifles ! trifles — for a mistress and maid to be seen
dressed alike in the same church ? You take the serv-
ants' part against me, that you do."
" You should not say that, even in jest. Come now,
do you really think a jacket like yours can make the
servant look like you, or detract from your grace and
beauty ? There is a very simple way ; put your jacket
by for a future occasion, and wear something else in its
stead at church."
"A nice thing, indeed, to give in to these creatures.
I won't do it."
" Why won't you, this once ? "
"Because I won't — there !"
" That is unanswerable," said he.
Mrs. Staines said that ; but when it came to acting,
she deferred to her husband's wish ; she resigned her
intention of sending for Clara and giving her warning.
On the contrary, when Clara let her in, and the white
jackets rubbed together in the narrow passage, she
actually said nothing, but stalked to her own room, and
tore her jacket off, and flung it on the floor.
Unfortunately, she was so long dressing for the Zoo,
that Clara came in to arrange the room. She picks up
186 A SIMPLETON.
the white jacket, takes it in both hands, gives it a flap,
and proceeds to hang it up in the wardrobe.
Then the great feminine heart burst its bounds.
"You can leave that alone. I shall not wear that
again."
Thereupon ensued an uneven encounter, Clara being
one of those of Avliom the Scripture says, " The poison
of asps is under their tongues."
" La, ma'am," said she, " why, 'tain't so very dirty."
"No ; but it is too common."
" Oh, because I've got one like it. Ay. Missises can't
abide a good-looking servant, nor to see 'em dressed
becoming."
" Mistresses do not like servants to forget their place,
nor wear what does not become their situation."
" My situation ! Why, I can pay my way, go where I
will. I don't tremble at the tradesmen's knock, as
some do."
" Leave the room ! Leave it this moment."
" Leave the room, yes — and I'll leave the house too,
and tell all the neighbors what I know about it."
She flounced out and slammed the door ; and Kosa
sat down, trembling.
Clara rushed to the kitchen, and there told the cook
and Andrew Pearman how she had given it to the
mistress, and every word she had said to her, with a
good many more she had not.
The cook laughed and encouraged her.
But Andrew Pearman was wroth, and said, " You to
affront our mistress like that ! Why, if I had heard you,
I'd have twisted your neck for ye."
" It would take a better man than you to do that. You
mind your own business. Stick to your one-horse chay."
'■' Well, I'm not above my place, for that matter. But
you gals must always be aping your betters."
A SIMPLETON. 187
" T have got a proper pride, that is all, and you haven't.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself to do two men's
work ; drive a brougham and wait on a horse, and then
come in and wait at table, You are a tea-kettle groom,
that is what you are. Why, my brother was coachman
to Lord Fitz-James, and gave his lordship notice tlie first
time he had to drive the children. Says he, 'I don't
object to the children, iliy lord, but with her ladyship in
the carriage.' It's such servants as you as spoil places.
No servant as knows what's due to a servant ought to
know you. They'd scorn your 'quaintance, as I do, Mr.
Pearman."
" You are a stuck-up hussy, and a soldier's jade," roared
Andrew.
" And you are a low tea-kettle groom."
This expression wounded the great equestrian soul to
the quick ; the rest of Sunday he pondered on it ; the
next morning he drove the doctor, as usual, but with a
heavy heart.
Meantime, the cook made haste and told the baker
Pearman had " got it hot " from the housemaid, and she
had called him a tearkettle groom ; and in less than half
an hour after that it was in every stable in the mews.
Why, as Pearman was taking the horse out of the
brougham, didn't two little red-headed urchins call out,
" Here, come and see the tea-kettle groom ! " and at
night some mischievous boy chalked on the black door
of the stable a large white tea-kettle, and next morning
a drunken, idle fellow, with a clay pipe in his mouth,
and a dirty pair of corduroy trousers, no coat, but a shirt
very open at the chest, showing inflamed skin, the effect
of drink, inspected that work of art with blinking eyes
and vacillating toes, and said, "This comes of a chap
doing too much. A few more like you, and work would
be scarce. A fine thing for gentlefolks to make one man
188 A SIMPLETON.
fill two places ! but it ain't the gentlefolks' fault, it's tlie
man as humors 'em."
Pearman was a peaceable man, and made no reply,
but went on with his work ; only during the day he. told
his master that he should be obliged to him if he would
fill his situation as soon as convenient.
The master inquired the cause, and the man told him,
and said the mews was too hot for him.
The doctor offered him five pounds a year more, know-
ing he had a treasure ; but Pearman said, Avith sadness
and firmness, that he had made up his mind to go, and
go he would.
The doctor's heart fairly sank at the prospect of losing
the one creature he could depend upon.
Next Sunday evening Clara was out, and fell in with
friends, to whom she exaggerated her grievance.
Then they worked her up to fury, after the manner of
servants' friends. She came home, packed her box,
brought it down, and then flounced into the room to
Doctor and Mrs. Staines, and said, "I shan't sleep
another night in this house."
Eosa was about to speak, but Dr. Staines forbade her :
he said, " You had better think twice of that. You are
a good servant, though for once you have been betrayed
into speaking disrespectfully. Why forfeit your charac-
ter, and three weeks' wages ? "
" I don't care for my wages. I won't stay in such a
house as this."
" Come, you must not be impertinent."
"I don't mean to, sir," said she, lowering her voice
suddenly ; then, raising it as suddenly, " There are my
keys, ma'am, and you can search my box."
"Mrs. Staines' will not search your box ; and you will
retire at once to your own part of the house."
"I'll go farther than that," said she, and soon after
the street door was slammed; the Bijou shook.
A SIMPLETON. 1^^
At six o'clock next morning, she came for her box.
It had been put away for safety. Pearman told her she
must wait till the doctor came down. She did not wait,
but went at eleven a.m. to a police-magistrate, and took
\ out a summons against Dr. Staines, for detaining a box
containing certain articles specified — value under fifteen
pounds.
When Dr. Staines heard she had been for her ])ox, but
left no address, he sent Pearman to hunt for her. He
coidd not find her. She avoided the house, but sent a
woman for her diurnal love letters. Dr. Staines sent
the w^oman back to fetch her. She came, received her
box, her letters, and the balance of her wages, which
was small, for Staines deducted the three weeks' wages.
Two days afterwards, to his surprise, the summons
was served.
Out of respect for a court of justice, however humble.
Dr. Staines attended next Monday to meet the sum-
mons.
The magistrate was an elderly man, w^ith a face shaped
like a hog's, but much richer in color, being purple and
pimply ; so foul a visage Staines had rarely seen, even
in the lowest class of the community.
Clara swore that her box had been opened, and certain
things stolen out of it ; and that she had been refused
the box next morning.
' Staines swore that he had never opened the box, and
that, if any one else had, it was with her consent, for
she had left the keys for that purpose. He bade the
magistrate observe that if a servant went away like this,
and left no address, she put it out of the master's poiver
to send her box after her ; and he proved he had some
trouble to force the box on her.
The pig-faced beak showed a manifest leaning towards
the servant, but there wasn't a leg to stand on ; and he
190 A SIMPLETON.
did not believe, nor was it credible, that anything had
been stolen out of her box.
At this moment, Pearman, sent by Eosa, entered the
court with an old gown of Clara's that had been discov-
ered in the scullery, and a scribbling-book of the doc-
tor's, which Clara had appropriated, and written amorous
verses in, very superior — in number — to those that
have come down to us from Anacreon.
" Hand me those," said the pig-faced beak.
" What are they. Dr. Staines ? "
" I really don't know. I must ask my servant."
" Why, more things of mine that have been detained/'
said Clara.
" Some things that have been found since she left,"
said Staines.
" Oh ! those that hide know where to find."
"Young woman," said Staines, "do not insult those
whose bread you have eaten, and who have given you
many presents besides your wages. Since you are so
ready to accuse people of stealing, permit me to say that
this book is mine, and not yours ; and yet, you see, it is
sent after you because you have written your trash in it."
The purple, pig-faced beak went instantly out of the
record, and wasted a deal of time reading Clara's poetry,
and trying to be witty. He raised the question whose
book this was. The girl swore that it was given her by
a lady who was now in E-ome. Staines swore he bought
it of a certain stationer, and happening to have his pass-
book in his pocket, produced an entry corresponding
with the date of the book.
The pig-faced beak said that the doctor's was an im-
probable story, and that the gown and the book were
quite enough to justify the summons. Verdict, one
guinea costs.
"What, because two things she never demanded have
A SIMPLETON. 191
been found and sent after her ? This is monstrous. I
shall appeal to your superiors."
" If you are impertinent I'll fine you five pounds."
" Very well, sir. Now hear me : if this is an honest
judgment, I pray God I may be dead before the year's
out ; and, if it isn't, I pray God you may be."
Then the pig-faced beak fired up, and threatened to
fine him for blaspheming.
He deigned no reply, but paid the guinea, and Clara
swept out of the court, with a train a yard long, and
leaning on the arm of a scarlet soldier who avenged Dr.
Staines with military promptitude.
Christopher went home raging internally, for hitherto
he had never seen so gross a case of injustice.
One of his humble patients followed him, and said, " I
wish I had known, sir ; you shouldn't have come here to
be insulted. Why, no gentleman can ever get justice
against a servant girl when he is sitting. It is notorious,
and that makes these hussies so bold. I've seen that
jade here with the same story twice afore."
Staines reached home more discomposed than he could
have himself believed. The reason was that barefaced
injustice in a court of justice shook his whole faith in
man. He opened the street door with his latch-key, and
found two men standing in the passage. He inquired
what they wanted.
"Well, sir," said one of them, civilly enough, "we
only want our due."
"For what?"
"For goods delivered at this house, sir. Balance of
account." And he handed him a butcher's bill, £88,
ll5. ^d.
" You must be mistaken ; we run no bills here. We
pay ready money for everything."
" Well, sir," said the butcher, " there have been pay-
192 A SIMPLETON.
meiits; but the balance has always been gaining; and
we have been put off so often, we determined to see the
master. Show you the books, sir, and welcome."
" This instant, if you please." He took the butcher's
address, who then retired, and the other tradesman, a
grocer, told him a similar tale ; balance, sixty pounds
odd.
He went to the butcher's, sick at heart, inspected the
books, and saw that, right or wrong, they were incontro-
vertible ; that debt had been gaining slowly, but surely,
almost from the time he confided the accounts to his
wife. She had kept faith with him about five weeks, no
more.
The grocer's books told a similar tale.
The debtor put his hand to his heart, and stood a
moment. The very grocer pitied him, and said, " Tliere's
no hurry, doctor ; a trifle on account, if settlement in full
not convenient just now. I see you have been kept in
the dark."
" No, no," said Christopher; " I'll pay every shilling."
He gave one gulp, and hurried away.
At the fishmonger's, the same story, only for a smaller
amount.
A bill of nineteen pounds at the very pastrycook's ; a
place she had promised him, as her physician, never to
enter.
At the draper's, thirty-seven pounds odd.
In short, wherever she had dealt, the same system:
l)artial payments, and ever-growing debt.
Eemembering Madame Cie, he drove in a cab to Eegent
Street, and asked for Mrs. Staines's account.
" Shall I send it, sir ? "
" No ; I will take it with me."
"Miss Edwards, make out Mrs. Staines's account, if
you please."
A SIMPLETON. 193
Miss Edwards was a good while making it out; ])ut
it was ready at last. He thrust it into his pocket, with-
out daring to look at it there ; but he went into Verrey's,
and asked for a cup of coffee, and perused the document.
The principal items were as follows : —
I s-
May -i. Re-shaping and repairing elegant lace mantle, 1 8
Chip bonnet, feather, and flowers .... 4 4
Maij 20. Making and trimming blue silk dress — mate-
rial part found 19 19
Five yards rich blue silk to match .... 4 2
June 1. Polonaise and jacket trimmed with lace —
material part found 17 17
June 8. One black silk dress, handsomely trimmed
with jet guipure and lace 49 18
A few shreds and fragments of finery, bought at odd
times, swelled the bill to £99 11^. 6d. — not to terrify the
female mind with three figures.
And let no unsophisticated young lady imagine that
the trimmings, which constituted three-fourths of this
bill, were worth anything. The word " lace," in Madame
Cie's bill, invariably meant machine-made trash, worth
tenpence a yard, but charged eighteen shillings a yard
for one pennyworth of work in putting it on. Where
real lace was used, Madame Cie always let her customers
know it. Miss Lucas's bill for this year contained the
two following little items : —
£ s.
Rich gros de cecile polonaise and jacket to match,
trinnned with Chantilly lace and Valenciennes . . .68 5
Superb robe de chambre, richly trimmed with skunk fur, 40 .
The customer found the stuff; viz., two shawls. Caro-
lina found the nasty little pole-cats, and got twenty -four
shillings for them ; ]\radame Cie found the rest.
But Christopher Staines had not Miss Lucas's bill to
194 A SIMPLETON.
compare his wife's with. He could only compare the
latter with their income, and Avith male notions of
common sense and reason.
He went home, and into his studio, and sat down on
his hard beech chair ; he looked round on his books and
his work, and then, for the first time, remembered how
long and how patiently he had toiled for every hundred
pounds he had made ; and he laid the evidences of his
wife's profusion and deceit by the side of those signs of
painful industry and self-denial, and his soul filled with
bitterness. " Deceit ! deceit ! "
IMrs. Staines heard he was in the house, and came to
know about the trial. She came hurriedly in, and caught
him with his head on the table, in an attitude of prostra-
tion, quite new to him ; he raised his head directly he
heard her, and revealed a«face, pale, stern, and wretched.
" Oh ! what is the matter now ? " said she.
"The matter is what it has always been, if I could
only have seen it. You have deceived me, and disgraced
yourself. Look at those bills."
"What bills? Oh!"
" You have had an allowance for housekeeping."
" It wasn't enough."
" It was plenty, if you had kept faith with me, and
paid ready money. It was enough for the first five
weeks. I am housekeeper now, and I shall allow myself
two pounds a week less, and not owe a shilling either."
" Well, all I know is, I couldn't do it : no woman
could."
" Then, you should have come to me, and said so ; and
I would have shown you how. Was I in Egypt, or at
the North Pole, that you could not find me, to treat me
like a friend ? You have ruined us : these debts will
sweep away the last shilling of our little capital ; but it
isn't that, oh, no ! it is the miserable deceit."
^r >vv
-A
/•^
?b=-
A SIMPLETON. 195
Rosa's eye caught the sum total of Madame Cie's bill,
and she turned pale. " Oh, what a cheat that woman is ! "
But she turned i^iler when Christopher said, " That is
the one honest bill ; for I gave you leave. It is these
that part us : these ! these ! Look at them, false heart !
There, go and pack up your things. We can live here
no longer; we are ruined. I must send you back to
your father."
"I thought you would, sooner or later," said INTrs.
Staines, panting, trembling, but showing a little fight.
" He told you I wasn't fit to be a poor man's wife."
" An honest man's wife, you mean : that is what you
are not fit for. You will go home to your father, and I
shall go into some humble lodging to work for you.
I'll contrive to keep you, and find you a hundred a year
to spend in dress — the only thing your heart can really
love. But I won't have an enemy here in the disguise
of a friend ; and I won't have a wife about me I must
treat like a servant, and watch like a traitor."
The words were harsh, but the agony with which they
were spoken distinguished them from \Tilgar vituperation.
They overpowered poor Rosa ; she had been ailing a
little some time, and from remorse and terror, coupled
with other causes, nature gave w^ay. Her lips turned
white, she gasped inarticulately, and, with a little piteous
moan, tottered, and swooned dead away.
He was walking wildly about, ready to tear his hair,
when she tottered ; he saw her just in time to save her,
and laid her gently on the floor, and kneeled over her.
Away went anger and every other feeling but love and
pity for the poor, weak creature that, with all her faults,
was so lovable and so loved.
He applied no remedies at first : he knew they were
useless and unnecessary. He laid her head quite low,
and opened door and window, and loosened all her di-ess,
sighing deeply all the time at her condition.
196 A SIMrLETON.
While he was thus employed, suddenly a strange cry
broke from him : a cry of horror, remorse, joy, tender-
ness, all combined : a cry compared with which language
is inarticulate. His swift and practical eye had made a
discovery.
He kneeled over her, witli his eyes dilating and his
hands clasped, a picture of love and tender remorse.
She stirred.
Then he made haste, and applied his remedies, and
brought her slowly back to life ; he lifted her u]3, and
carried her in his arms quite away from the bills and
things, that, when she came to, she might see nothing to
revive her distress. He carried her to the drawing-room,
and kneeled down and rocked her in his arms, and pressed
her again and again gently to his heart, and cried over
her. " my dove, my dove ! the tender creature God
gave me to love .and cherish, and have I used it harshly ?
If I had only knoAvn ! if I had only known ! "
While he was thus bemoaning her, and blaming him-
self, and crying over her like the rain, — he, whom she
had never seen shed a tear before in all his troubles, —
she was coming to entirely, and her quick ears caught
his words, and she^^pened her lovely eyes on him.
"I forgive you, dear," she said feebly. "But I hope
YOU WILL BE A KINDER FATHER THAN A HUSBAND."
These quiet words, spoken with rare gravity and soft-
ness, went through the great heart like a knife.
He gave a sort of shiver, but said not a word.
But that night he made a solemn vow to God that no
harsh word from his lips should ever again strike a being
so weak, so loving, and so beyond his comprehension.
Why look for courage and candor in a creature so timid
and shy, she could not even tell her husband that until,
with her subtle sense, she saw he had discovered it ?
A SESIPLETON. 197
CHAPTER XII.
To be a father ; to have an image of his darling Rosa,
and a fruit of their love to live and work for : this gave
the sore heart a heavenly glow, and elasticity to bear.
Should this dear object be born to an inheritance of
debt, of poverty ? Never.
He began to act as if he was even now a father. He
entreated Rosa not to trouble or vex herself ; he would
look into their finances, and set all straight.
He paid all the bills, and put by a quarter's rent and
taxes. Then there remained of his little capital just
ten pounds.
He went to his printers, and had a thousand order-
checks printed. These forms ran thus : —
"Dr. Staines, of 13 Dear Street, Mayfair (blank for
date), orders of (blank here for tradesman and goods
ordered), for cash. Received same time (blank for
tradesman's receipt). Notice: Dr. Staines disowns all
orders not printed on this form, and paid for at date of
order."
He exhibited these forms, and warned all the trades-
people, before a witness whom he took round for that
purpose.
He paid off Pearman on the spot. Pearman had met
Clara, dressed like a pauper, her soldier having emptied
her box to the very dregs, and he now offered to stay.
But it was too late.
Staines told the cook Mrs. Staines was in delicate
health, and must not be troubled with anything. She
must come to him for all orders.
198 A SIMPLETON.
" Yes, sir," said she. But she no sooner comprehended
the check system fully than .she gave warning. It
put a stop to her wholesale pilfering. Eosa's cooks had
made fully a hundred pounds out of her amongst them
since she began to keep accounts.
Under the male housekeeper every article was weighed
on delivery, and this soon revealed that the butcher aud
the fishmonger had habitually delivered short weiglit
from the first, besides putting down the same thing
twice. The things were sent back that moment, with a
printed form, stating the nature and extent of the fraud.
The washerwoman, who had been pilfering wholesale
so long as Mrs. Staines and her sloppy-headed maids
counted the linen, and then forgot it, was brought up
with a run, by triplicate forms, and by Staines counting
the things before two witnesses, and compelling the
washerwoman to count them as well, and verify or dis-
pute on the spot. The laundress gave warning — a plain
confession that stealing had been part of her trade.
He kept the house well for three pounds a week,
exclusive of coals, candles, and wine. His wife had had
five pounds, and whatever slie asked for dinner-parties,
yet found it not half enough upon her method.
He kept no coachman. If he visited a patient, a man
in the yard drove him at a shilling per hour.
By these means, and by working like a galley slave,
he dragged his expenditure down almost to a level with
his income.
Eosa was quite content at first, and thought herself
lucky to escape reproaches on such easy terms.
But by and by so rigorous a system began to gall her.
One day she fancied a Bath bun; sent the new'niaid to
the pastry-cook's. Pastry-cook asked to see the doctor's
order. Maid could not show it, and came back bunless.
Eosa came into the study to complain to her husband.
A Sr>rPLETON. 100
" A Bath bun," said Staines. " Wliy, they are colored
with annotto, to save an egg, and annotto is adulterated
with chromates that are poison. Adulteration upon
adulteration. 7 '11 make you a real Bath bun." Off coat,
and into the kitchen, and made her three, pure, but
rather heavy. He brought them her in due course.
She declined them languidly. She was off the notion,
as they say in Scotland.
" If I can't have a thing when I want it, I don't care
for it at all." Such was the principle she laid down for
his future guidance.
He sighed, and went back to his work ; she cleared
the plate.
One day, when she asked for the carriage, he told her
the time was now come for her to leave off carriage
exercise. She must walk with him every day, instead.
" But I don't like walking."
'' I am sorry for that. But it is necessary to you, and
by and by your life may depend on it."
Quietly, but inexorably, he dragged her out walking
every day.
In one of these walks she stopped at a shop window,
and fell in love with some baby's things. " Oh ! I must
have that," said she. " I must. I shall die if I don't ;
you'll see now."
" You shall," said he, " when I can pay for it," and
drew her away.
The tears of disappointment stood in her eyes, and his
heart yearned over her. But he kept his head.
He changed the dinner hour to six, and used to go out
directly afterwards.
She began to complain of his leaving her alone like that.
"Well, but wait a bit," said he; "suppose I am
making a little money by it, to buy you something you
have set your heart on, poor darling ! "
200 A SIMPLETON.
In a. very few days after tliis, he brought her a little
box with a slit in it. He shook it, and money rattled ;
then he unlocked it, and poured out a little pile of
silver. "There," said he, "put on your bonnet, and
come and buy those things."
She put on her bonnet, and on the way she asked how
it came to be all in silver.
" That is a puzzler," said he, " isn't it ? "
" And how did you make it, dear ? by writing ? "
"No."
" By fees from the poor people ? "
"What, undersell my brethren! Hang it, no! My
dear, I made it honestly, and some day I will tell you
how I made it ; at present, all I will tell you is this :
I saw my darling longing for something she had a right
to long for ; I saw the tears in her sweet eyes, and —
oh, come along, do. I am wretched till I see you with
the things in your hand."
They went to the shop ; and Staines sat and watched
Kosa buying baby-clothes. Oh, it was a pretty sight to
see this modest young creature, little more than a child
hei'self, anticipating maternity, but blushing every now
and then, and looking askant at her lord and master.
How his very bowels yearned over her !
' And when they got home, she spread the things on a
table, and they sat hand in hand, and looked at them,
and she leaned her head on his shoulder, and went quietly
to sleep there.
And yet, as time rolled on, she became irritable at
times, and impatient, and wanted all manner of things
she could not have, and made him unhappy.
Then he Avas out from six o'clock till one, and she
took it into her head to be jealous. So many hours to
spend away from her! Now that she wanted all his
comfort.
A SIISIPLETON. 201
Presently, Ellen, the new maid, got gossiping in the
yard, and a groom told her her master had a sweetheart
CD the sly, he thought ; for he drove the brougham out
every evening himself; "and," said the man, "he wears
a mustache at night."
Ellen ran in, brimful of this, and told the cook ; the
cook told the washerwoman ; the washerwoman told a
dozen families, till about two hundred people knew it.
At last it came to Mrs. Staines in a roundabout way,
at the very moment when she was complaining to Lady
Cicely Treherne of her hard lot. She had been telling
her she was nothing more than a lay-figure in the house.
" My husband is housekeeper now, and cook, and all,
and makes me delicious dishes, I can tell you; S7cch
curries ! I couldn't keep the house with five pounds a
week, so now he does it with three : and I never get the
carriage, because walking is best for me ; and he takes
it out every night to make money. I don't understand
it"
Lady Cicely suggested that perhaps Dr. Staines
thought it best for her to be relieved of all worry, and
so undertook the housekeeping.
"No, no, no," said Eosa ; "I used to pay them all a
part of their bills, and then a little more, and so I kept
getting deeper ; and I was ashamed to tell Christie, so
that he calls deceit ; and oh, he spoke to me so cruelly
once! But he was very sorry afterwards, poor dear!
Why are girls brought up so silly ? all piano, and no
sense; and why are men sillier still to go and marry
such silly things ? A wife ! I am not so much as a
servant. Oh, I am finely humiliated, and," with a sudden
hearty naivete all her own, "it serves me just right."
While Lady Cicely was puzzling this out, in came a
letter. Rosa opened it, read it, and gave a cry like
a wounded deer.
202 A SOIPLETON.
" Oh ! " slie cried, " I am a miserable woman. What
will become of me ? '^
The letter informed her blnntly that her hnsband
drove his brougham out every night to pursue a criminal
amour.
While Eosa was wringing her hands in real anguish
of heart, Lady Cicely read the letter carefully.
" I don't believe this," said she quietly.
" Not true ! Why, who would be so wicked as to stab
a poor, inoffensive wretch like me, if it wasn't true ? "
*'The first ugly woman Avould, in a minute. Don't
you see the witer can't tell you where he goes ? Dwives
his bwougham out ! That is all your inf aumant knows."
" Oh, my dear friend, bless you ! What have I been
complaining to you about ? All is light, except to lose
his love. What shall I do ? I will never tell him. I
will never affront him by saying I suspected him."
" Wosa, if you do that, you will always have a serpent
gnawing you. No ; you must put the letter quietly into
his hand, and say, ^ Is there any truth in that ? ' "
"Oh, I could not;. I haven't the courage. If I do
that, I shall know by his face if there is any truth in it."
"Well, and you must know the twuth. You shall
know it. I want to know it too ; for if he does not love
you twuly, I will nevaa twust m^^self to anything so
deceitful as a man."
Rosa at last consented to follow this advice.
After dinner she put the letter into Christopher's hand,
and asked him quietly was there any truth in that : then
her hands trembled, and her eyes drank him.
Christopher read it, and frowned; then he looked
Tip, and said, " No, not [i word. What scoundrels there
are in the world ! To go and tell you that, noiu I Why,
you little goose ! have you been silly enough to believe
it?"
A SIMPLETON. 203
" No, " said she irresolutely. " But do you drive the
brougham out every night ? "
" Except Sunday."
" Where ? "
"My dear wife, I never loved you as I love you
now ; and if it was not for you, I should not drive the
brougham out of nights. Tliat is all I shall tell you at
jn-esent ; but some day I'll tell you all about it."
He took such a calm high hand with her about it, that
she submitted to leave it there ; but from this moment
the serpent doubt nibbled her.
It had one curious effect, though. She left off com-
plaining of trifles.
Now it happened one night that Lady Cicely Treherne
and a friend were at a concert in Hanover Square. The
other lady felt rather faint, and Lady Cicely offered to
take her home. The carriages had not yet arrived, and
Miss Macnamara said to walk a few steps would do her
good : a smart cabman saw them from a distance and
drove up, and touching his hat said, " Cab, ladies ? "
It seemed a very superior cab, and Miss Macnamara
said " Yes " directly.
The cabman bustled down and opened the door ; Miss
Macnamara got in first, then Lady Cicely ; her eye fell
on the cabman's face, which was lighted full by a street-
lamp, and it was Christopher Staines !
He started and winced ; but the woman of the world
never moved a muscle.
" Where to ? " said Staines, averting his head.
She told him where, and when they got out, said, "I'll
send it you by the servant."
A flunkey soon after appeared with half-a-crown, and
the amateur coachman drove away. He said to him-
self, "Come, my mustache is a better disguise than 1
thought."
204 A SIISirLETON.
Next day, and tlie day after, he asked Eosa, with
affected carelessness, had she heard anything of Lady
Cicely.
" No, dear ; but I dare say she will call this afternoon :
it is her day."
She did call at last, and after a few words with Rosa,
became a little restless, and asked if she might consult
Dr. Staines.
" Certainly, dear. Come to his studio."
" No ; might I see him here ? "
" Certainly." She rang the bell, and told the servant
to ask Dr. Staines if he would be kind enough to step
into the drawing-room.
Dr. Staines came in, and bowed to Lady Cicely, and
eyed her a little uncomfortably.
She began, however, in a way that put him quite at
his ease. " You remember the advice you gave us about
my little cousin Tadcastah."
"Perfectly: his life is very precarious ; he is bilious,
consumptive, and, if not watched, will be epileptical;
and he has a foncl,"weak mother, who will let him kill
himself."
" Exactly : and you wecommended a sea voyage, with
a medical attendant to w\atch his diet, and contwol his
habits. Well, she took other advice, and the youth is
worse ; so now she is fwightened, and a month ago she
asked me to pwopose to you to sail about with Tadcastah ;
and she offered me a thousand pounds a year. I put on
my stiff look, and said, ' Countess, with every desiah to
oblige you, I must decline to cawwy that offali to a man
of genius, learning, and weputation, who has the ball at
his feet in London.' "
" Lord forgive you. Lady Cicely."
" Lord bless her for standing up for my Christie."
Lady Cicely continued: "Now, this good lady, you
A SIMPLETON". 205
must know, is not exactly one of us : the Late carl
mawwied into cotton, or wool, or something. So she
said, ' Xame your price for him.' I shwugged my
shoulders, smiled affably, and as affectedly as you like,
and changed the subject. But since then things have
happened. I am afwaid it is my duty to make you the
judge whether you choose to sail about with that little
cub — Eosa, I can beat about the bush no longer. Is it
a fit thing that a man of genius, at whose feet we ought
all to be sitting with reverence, should drive a cab in the
public streets ? Yes, Rosa Staines, your husband drives
his brougham out at night, not to visit any other lady,
as that anonymous wretch told you, but to make a few
misewable shillings for you."
" Oh, Christie ! ''
" It is no use. Dr. Staines ; I must and will tell her.
My dear, he di*ove me three nights ago. He had a cab-
man's badge on his poor arm. If you knew what I suf-
fered in those five minutes ! Indeed it seems cruel to
speak of it — but I could not keep it from Eosa, and the
reason I muster courage to say it before you, sir, it is
because I know she has other friends who keep you out
of their consultations ; and, after all, it is the world that
ought to blush, and not you."
Her ladyship's kindly bosom heaved, and she wanted
to cry ; so she took her handkerchief out of her pocket
without the least hurry, and pressed it delicately to her
eyes, and did cry quietly, but without any disguise, like
a brave lady, who neither cried nor did anything else
she was ashamed to be seen at.
As for Eosa, she sat sobbing round Christopher's neck,
and kissed him with all her soul.
" Dear me I " said Christopher. " You are both very
kind. But, begging your pardon, it is much ado about
nothing."
206 A SIMPLETON.
Lady Cicely took no notice of tliat observation. " So,
Kosa dear," said she, " I think you are the person to
decide whether he had not better sail about with that
little cub, than — oh ! "
" I will settle that," said Staines. " I have one beloved
creature to provide for. I may have another. I must
make money. Turning a brougham into a cab, w^hatever
you may think, is an honest way of making it, and I am
not the first doctor who has coined his brougham at
night. But if there is a good deal of money to be made
by sailing with Lord Tadcaster, of course I should prefer
that to cab-driving, for I have never made above twelve
shillings a night."
" Oh, as to that, she shall give you fifteen hundred a
year."
"Then I jump at it."
" What ! and leave me ? "
" Yes, love : leave you — for your good ; and only for
a time. Lady Cicely, it is a noble offer. My darling
Eosa will have every comfort — ay, every luxury, till I
come home, and then we will start afresh with a good
balance, and with more experience than we did at first."
Lady Cicely gazed on him with wonder. She said,
" Oh ! what stout hearts men have ! No, no ; don't let
him go. See ; he is acting. His great heart is torn
with agony. I will have no hand in parting man and
wife — no, not for a day." And she hurried away in
rare agitation.
Eosa fell on her knees, and asked Christopher's pardon
for having been jealous ; and that day she was a flood of
divine tenderness. She repaid him richly for driving
the cab. But she was unnaturally cool about Lady
Cicely ; and the exquisite reason soon came out. " Oh
yes ! She is very good ; very kind ; but it is not for me
now ! No ! you shall not sail about witli her cuIj of a
cousin, and leave me at such a time."
A SLMTLETON. 207
Christopher groaned.
"Christie, you sliall not see that lady again. She
came liere to part us. Site is in love with you. I was
blind nut to see it before."
Next day, as Lady Cicely sat alone in the morning-
room tliinking over this very scene, a footman brouglit
in a card and a note. " Dr. Staines begs particularly to
see Lady Cicely Treherne."
The lady's pale cheek colored ; she stood irresolute a
single moment. " I will see Dr. Staines," said she.
Dr. Staines came in, looking pale and worn; he had
not slept a wink since she saw him last.
She looked at him full, and divined this at a glance.
She motioned him to a seat, and sat down herself, with
her white hand pressing her forehead, and her head
turned a little away from him.
208 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER XIII.
He told her tie had. come to thank her for her great
kindness, and to accept the offer.
She sighed. " I hoped it was to decline it. Think of
the misery of separation, both to you and her."
" It will be misery. But we are not happy as it is,
and she cannot bear poverty, ^or is it fair she should,
when I can give her every comfort by just playing the
man for a year or two." He then told Lady Cicely there
were more reasons than he chose to mention : go he must,
and would; and he implored her not to let the affair
drop. In short, he was sad but resolved, and she found
she must go on Avith it, or break faith with him. She
took her desk, and wrote a letter concluding the bargain
for him. She stipulated for half the year's fee in
advance. She read Dr. Staines the letter.
" You are a friend ! " said he. " I should never have
ventured on that ; it will be a godsend to my poor Eosa.
You will be kind to her when I am gone ? "
"I will."
" So will Uncle Philip, I think. I will see him before
I go, and shake hands. He has been a good friend to
me; but he was too hard upon her; and I could not
stand that."
Then he thanked and blessed her again, with the tears
in his eyes, and left her more disturbed and tearful than
she had ever been since she grew to woman. " cruel
poverty!" she thought, "that such a man should be
torn from his home, and thank me for doing it — all
for a little money — and here are we poor commonplace
creatures rolling in it."
A SIMPLETON. 209
Staines hurried home, and tohl his wife. She chmg
to him convulsively, and wept bitterly ; but she made no
direct attempt to shake his resolution ; she saw, by his
iron look, that she could only afflict, not turn him.
Next day came Lady Cicely to see her. Lady Cicely
was very uneasy in her mind, and wanted to know
whether Eosa was reconciled to the separation.
Eosa received her with a forced politeness and an icy
coldness that petrified her. She could not stay long in
face of such a reception. At parting, she said, sadly,
"You look on me as an enemy."
"^\Tiat else can you expect, when you part my husband
and me ? " said Eosa, with quiet sternness.
" I meant well," said Lady Cicely sorrowfully ; " but I
wish I had never interfered."
" So do I," and she began to cry.
Lady Cicely made no answer. She went quietly away,
hanging her head sadly.
Eosa was unjust, but she was not rude nor vulgar;
and Lady Cicely's temper was so well governed that it
never blinded her heart. She withdrew, but without
the least idea of quarrelling with her afflicted friend, or
abandoning her. She went quietly home, and wrote to
Lady , to say that she should be glad to receive
Dr. Staines's advance as soon as convenient, since Mrs.
Staines would have to make fresh arrangements, and
the money might be useful.
The money was forthcoming directly. Lady Cicely
brought it to Dear Street, and handed it to Dr. Staines.
His eyes sparkled at the sight of it.
" Give my love to Eosa," said she softly, and cut her
visit very short. .
Staines took the money to Eosa, and said, " See wliat
our best friend has brought us. You shall have four
hundred, and I hope, after the bitter lessons you have
14
210 A SIMPLETON.
had, you will be al)le to do witli tliat for some months.
The two hundred I shall keep as a reserve fund for you
to draw on."
"No, no!" said Eosa. "I shall go and live with my
father, and never spend a penny. Christie, if you
knew how I hate myself for the folly that is parting us !
Oh, why don't they teach girls sense and money, instead
of music and the globes ? "
But Christopher opened a banking account for her,
and gave her a check -book, and entreated her to pay
everything by check, and run no bills whatever; and she
promised. He also advertised the Bijou, and put a bill
in the window : " The lease of this house, and the furni-
ture, to be sold."
Kosa cried bitterly at sight of it, thinking how high in
hope they were, when they had their first dinner there,
and also when she went to her first sale to buy the fur-
niture cheap.
And now everything moved with terrible rajjidity.
Tlie Amphitrite was to sail from Plymouth in five days ;
and, meantime, there was so much to be done, that the
days seemed to gallop away.
Dr. Staines forgot nothing. He made his will in
duplicate, leaving all to his wife ; he left one copy at
Doctors' Commons and another with his lawyer ; inven-
toried all his furniture and effects in duplicate, too;
wrote to Uncle Philip, and then called on him to seek a
reconciliation. Unfortunately, Dr. Philip was in Scot-
land. At last this sad pair went down to Plymouth
together, there to meet Lord Tadcaster and go on board
PI. M.S. Amphitrite, lying out at anchor, under orders for
the Australian Station.
They met at the inn, as appointed ; and sent word of
their arrival on board the frigate, asking to remain on
shore till the last minute.
A SIMPLETON. 211
Dr. Staines presented liis patient to E/Osa; and after
a little while drew him apart and questioned him pro-
fessionally. He then asked for a private room. Here
he and Kosa really took leave ; for what could the poor
things say to each other on a crowded quay ? He begged
her forgiveness, on his knees, for having once spoken
liarshly to her, and she told him, with passionate sobs,
he had never spoken harshly to her; her folly it was had
parted them.
Poor wretches ! they clung together with a thousand
vows of love and constancy. They were to pray for each
other at the same hours : to think of some kind word or
loving act, at other stated hours ; and so they tried to
fight with their suffering minds against the cruel separa-
tion ; and if either should die, the other was to live
wedded to memory, and never listen to love from other
lips ; but no ! God was pitiful ; He would let them meet
again ere long, to part no more. They rocked in each
other's arms ; they cried over each other — it w^as pitiful.
At last the cruel summons came ; they shuddered, as
if it was their death-blow. Christopher, with a face of
agony, was yet himself, and would have parted then :
and so best. But Eosa could not. She would see the
last of him, and became almost wild and violent when
he opposed it.
Then he let her come with him to Milbay Steps ; but
into the boat he would not let her step.
The ship's boat lay at the steps, manned by six sailors,
all seated, with their oars tossed in two vertical rows. A
smart middy in charge conducted them, and Dr. Staines
and Lord Tadcaster got in, leaving Kosa, in charge of
her maid, on the quay.
" Shove off " — " Down " — " Give way."
Each order was executed so swiftly and surely that, in
as many seconds, the boat was clear, the oars struck the
212 A SIMPLETON.
water with a loud sj)lasli, and the husband was shot
away like an arrow, and the wife's despairing cry rang
on the stony quay, as many a poor woman's cry had rung
before.
In half a minute the boat shot under the stern of the
frigate.
They were received on the quarter-deck by Captain
Hamilton : he introduced them to the officers — a torture
to poor StaineS; to have his mind taken for a single
instant from his wife — the first lieutenant came aft,
and reported, "Eeady for making sail, sir."
Staines seized the excuse, rushed to the other side of
the vessel, leaned over the taffrail, as if he Avould fly
ashore, and stretched out his hands to his beloved Eosa ;
and she stretched out her hands to him. They were so
near, he could read the expression of her face. It was
wild and troubled, as one who did not yet realize the
terrible situation, but would not be long first.
'^ HaXDS make sail AWAY, ALOFT UP ANCHOR " —
rang in Christopher's ear, as if in a dream. All his
soul and senses were bent on that desolate young
creature. How young and amazed her lovely face ! Yet
this bewildered child was about to become a mother.
Even a stranger's heart might have yearned with pity
for her : how much more her miserable husband's !
The capstan was manned, and worked to a merry tune
that struck chill to the bereaved ; yards were braced for
casting, anchor hove, catted, and fished, sail was spread
with amazing swiftness, the ship's head dipped, and
slowly and gracefully paid off towards the breakwater,
and she stood out to sea under swiftly-swelling canvas
and a light north-westerly breeze.
Staines only felt the motion: his body was in the
ship, his soul with his Eosa. He gazed, he strained his
eyes to see her eyes, as the ship glided from England
A SIMPLETON. 213
and her. "Wliile he was thus gazint; and trembling all
over, up came to him a snuirt second lieutenant, with a
brilliant voice that struck him like a sword. ^'Captain's
orders to show you berths; please choose for Lord
Tadcaster and yourself."
The man's wild answer made the young officer stare.
" Oh, sir ! not now — try and do my duty when I have
quite lost her — my poor wife — a child — a mother —
there — sir — on the steps — there ! — there ! "
Now this officer always went to sea singing •' Oh be
joyful." But a strong man's agony, who can make light
of it ? It was a revelation to him ; but he took it
quickly. The first thing he did, being a man of action,
was to dash into his cabin, and come back with a short,
powerful double glass. " There ! " said he roughly, but
kindly, and shoved it into Staines's hand. He took it,
stared at it stupidly, then used it, without a word of
thanks, so wrapped was he in his anguish.
This glass prolonged the misery of that bitter hour.
When Eosa could no longer tell her husband from another,
she felt he was really gone, and she threw her hands aloft,
and clasped them above her head, with the wild abandon
of a woman Avho could never again be a child ; and Staines
saw it, and a sharp sigh burst from him, and he saw her
maid and others gather round her. He saw the poor
young thing led away, with her head all down, as lie had
never seen her before, and supported to the innj and
then he saw her no more.
His heart seemed to go out of his bosom in search of
her, and leave nothing but a stone behind : he hung over
the taffrail like a dead thing. A steady foot-fall slapped
his ear. He raised his white face and filmy eyes, and
saw Lieutenant Fitzroy marching to and fro like a senti-
nel, keeping everybody away from the mourner, with the
steady, resolute, business-like face of a man in whom
214 A SIMPLETON.
sentiment is confined to action; its phrases and its
flourishes being literally terrou incognita to the honest
fellow.
Staines staggered towards him, holding out both hands,
and gasped out, " God bless you. Hide me somewhere —
must not be seen 50 — got duty to do — Patient — can't
do it yet — one hour to draw my breath — oh, my God,
my God ! — one hour, sir. Then do my duty, if I die —
as you would."
Fitzroy tore him down into his own cabin, shut him in
and ran to the first lieutenant, with a tear in his eye.
" Can I have a sentry, sir ? "
" Sentry ! What for ? "
" The doctor — awfully cut up at leaving his wife : got
him in my cabin. Wants to have his cry to himself."
" Fancy a fellow crying at going to sea ! "
" It is not that, sir ; it is leaving his wife."
"Well, is he the only man on board that has got a
wife ? "
" Why, no, sir. It is odd, now I think of it. Perhaps
he has only got that oneP
"Curious creatures, landsmen," said the first lieutenant.
" However, you can stick a marine there."
"Yes, sir."
"And I say, shoAV the youngster the berths, and let
him choose, as the doctor's aground."
"Yes, sir."
So Fitzoy planted his marine, and then went after Lord
Tadcaster: he had drawn up alongside his cousin,
Captain Hamilton. The captain, being an admirer of
Lady Cicely, was mighty civil to his little lordship, and
talked to him more than was his wont on the quarter-
deck ; for though he had a good flow of conversation,
and dispensed with ceremony in his cabin, he was apt
to be rather short on deck. However, he told little
A SIMPLETON. 215
Taclcaster he was fortunate ; they had a good start, and,
if the wind held, might liope to be clear of the Channel
in twenty-four hours. " You will see Eddystone light-
house about four bells," said he.
^' Shall we go out of sight of land altogether ? "
inquired his lordship.
" Of course we shall, and the sooner the better." He
then explained to the novice that the only danger to a
good ship was from the land.
While Tadcaster was digesting this paradox, Captain
Hamilton proceeded to descant on the beauties of blue
water and its fine medicinal qualities, which, he said,
were particularly suited to young gentlemen with bilious
stomachs, but j)resently, catching sight of Lieutenant
Fitzroy standing apart, but with the manner of a lieu-
tenant not there by accident, he stopped, and said, civilly
but smartly, " Well, sir ? "
Fitzroy came forward directly, saluted, and said he had
orders from the first lieutenant to show Lord Tadcaster
the berths. His lordship must be good enough to choose,
because the doctor — couldn't.
"Why not?"
" Brought to, sir — for the present — by — well, by
grief."
" Brought to by grief ! Who the deuce is grief ? No
riddles on the quarter-deck, if. you please, sir."
" Oh no, sir. I assure you he is awfully cut up ; and
he is having his cry out in my cabin."
" Having his cry out ! why, what for ? "
" Leaving his wife, sir."
"Oh, is that all?"
" Well, I don't wonder," cried little Tadcaster warmly.
*' She is, oh, so beautiful ! " and a sudden blush o'erspread
his pasty cheeks. " Why on earth didn't we bring her
along with us here ? " said he, suddenly opening his
eyes with astonishment at the childish omission.
216 A SIMPLETON.
" Why, indeed ? " said the captain comically, and dived
below, attended by the well-disciplined laughter of Lieu-
tenant Fitzroy, who was too good an officer not to be
amused at his captain's jokes. Having acquitted him-
self of that duty — and it is a very difficult one some-
times — he took Lord Tadcaster to the main-deck, and
showed him two comfortable sleeping-berths that had
been screened off for him and Dr. Staines ; one of these
was fitted with a standing bed-place, the other had a cot
swung in it. Fitzroy offered him the choice, but hinted
that he himself preferred a cot.
" No, thank you," says my lord mighty dryly.
" All right," said Fitzroy cheerfully. " Take the other,
then, my lord."
His little lordship cocked his eye like a jackdaw, and
looked almost as cunning. " You see," said he, " I have
been reading up for this voyage."
" Oh, indeed ! Logarithms ? ''
" Of course not."
"What then?"
" Why, ' Peter Simple ' — to be sure."
"Ah, ha!" said Fitzroy, with a chuckle that showed
plainly he had some delicious reminiscences of youthful
stud}^ in the same quarter.
The little lord chuckled too, and put one finger on
Fitzroy's shoulder, and pointed at the cot with another.
" Tumble out the other side, you knoAV — slippery hitches
— cords cut — down you come flop in the middle of the
night."
Fitzroy's eye flashed merriment: but only for a
moment. His countenance fell the next. " Lord bless
you," said he sorrowfully, " all that game is over now.
Her Majesty's ship ! — it is a church afloat. The service
is going to the devil, as the old fogies say."
" Ain't you sorry ? " says the little lord, cocking his
eye again like the bird hereinbefore mentioned.
A SIMPLETON. 217
" Of course I am."
"Then I'll take the standing bed."
" All right. I say, you don't mind the doctor coming
down with a run, eh ? "
" He is not ill : I am. He is paid to take care of me :
I am not paid to take care of him," said the young lord
sententiously.
"I understand," re^^lied Fitzroy, dryly. "Well, every
one for himself, and Providence for us all — as the ele-
phant said when he danced among the chickens."
Here my lord was summoned to dine with the captain.
Staines was not there ; but he had not forgotten his duty ;
in the midst of his grief he had written a note to the
captain, hoping that a bereaved husband might not seem
to desert his post if he hid for a few hours the sorrow
he felt himself unable to control. jNIeantime he would
be grateful if Captain Hamilton would give orders that
Lord Tadcaster should eat no pastry, and drink only six
ounces of claret, otherwise he should feel that he was
indeed betraying his trust.
The captain was pleased and touched with this letter.
It recalled to him how his mother sobbed when she
launched her little middy, swelling with his first cocked
hat and dirk.
There was champagne at dinner, and little Tadcaster
began to pour out a tumbler. " Hold on ! " said Captain
Hamilton ; " you are not to drink that ; " and he quietly
removed the tumbler. " Bring him six ounces of claret."
While they were weighing the claret with scientific
precision, Tadcaster remonstrated ; and, being told it was
the doctor's order, he squeaked out, " Confound liim !
why did not he stay with his wife ? She is beautiful."
Nor did he give it up without a struggle. "Here's hos-
pitality ! " said he. " Six ounces ! "
Receiving no reply, he inquired of the third lieuten-
218 A SIMPLETON.
ant, which Wcas generally considered the greatest authority
in a ship — the captain, or the doctor.
The third lieutenant answered not, but turned his head
away, and, by violent exertion, succeeded in not splitting.
" I'll answer that,'' said Hamilton politely. " The
captain is the highest in his department, and the doctor
in his : now Doctor Staines is strictly within his depart-
ment, and will be supported by me and my officers. You
are bilious, and epileptical, and all the rest of it, and
you are to be cured by diet and blue water."
Tadcaster was inclined to snivel : however, he subdued
that weakness with a visible effort, and, in due course,
returned to the charge. " How would you look," qua-
vered he, " if there was to be a mutiny in this ship of
yours, and I was to head it ? '
" Well, I should look slimy — hang all the ringleaders
at the yardarm, clap the rest under hatches, and steer
for the nearest prison."
" Oh ! " said Tadcaster, and digested this scheme a
bit. At last he perked up again, and made his final hit.
" Well, I shouldn't care, for one, if you didn't flog us."
" In that case," said Captain Hamilton, " I'd flog yon
— and sto^:) your six ounces."
" Then curse the sea ; that is all I say."
" Why, you have not seen it ; you have only seen the
British Channel." It was Mr. Fitzroy who contributed
this last observation.
After dinner all but the captain went on deck, and saw
the Eddystone lighthouse ahead and to leeward. They
passed it. Fitzroy told his lordship its story, and that
of its unfortunate predecessors. Soon after this Lord
Tadcaster turned in.
Presently the captain observed a change in the ther-
mometer, which brought him on deck. He scanned the
water and the sky, and as these experienced commanders
A SIMPLETON. . 210
have a subtle insight into the weather, especially in
familiar latitudes, he remarked to the first lieutenant
that it looked rather unsettled ; and, as a matter of pru-
dence, ordered a reef in the topsails, and the royal yards
to be sent down : ship to be steered W. by S. This done,
he turned in, but told them to call him if there was any
change in the weather.
During the night the wind gradually headed ; and at
four bells in the middle watch a heavy squall came up
from the south-west.
This brought the captain on deck again : he found the
officer of the watch at his post, and at work. Sail was
shortened, and the ship made snug for heavy weather.
At four A.M. it was blowing hard, and, being too near
the French coast, they wore the ship.
Now, this operation was bad for little Tadcaster.
While the vessel was on the starboard tack, the side kept
him snug ; but, when they wore her, of course he had
no leeboard to keep him in. The ship gave a lee-lurch,
and shot him clean out of his bunk into the middle of
the cabin.
He shrieked and shrieked, with terror and pain, till
the captain and Staines, who were his nearest neighbors,
came to him, and they gave him a little brandy, and got
him to bed again. Here he suffered nothing but violent
sea-sickness for sowre hours.
As for Staines, he had been swinging heavily in his
cot ; but such was his mental distress that he would have
welcomed sea-sickness, or any reasonable bodily suffer-
ing. He was in that state when the sting of a wasp is
a touch of comfort.
Worn out with sickness, Tadcaster would not move.
Invited to breakfast, he swore faintly, and insisted on
dying in peace. At last exhaustion gave him a sort of
sleep, in spite of the motion, which was violent, for it
220 A SIMrLETON.
was now blowing great guns, a heavy sea on, and the
great waves dirty in color and crested with raging foam.
They had to wear ship again, always a ticklish manoeu-
vre in weather like this.
A tremendous sea struck her quarter, stove in the very
port abreast of which the little lord was lying, and
washed him clean out of bed into the lee scuppers, and
set all swimming around him.
Didn't he yell, and wash about the cabin, and grab at
all the chairs and tables and things that drifted about,
nimble as eels, avoiding his grasp!
In rushed the captain, and in staggered Staines. They
stopped his "voyage autour de sachambre," and dragged
him into the after saloon.
He clung to them by turns, and begged, with many
tears, to be put on the nearest land ; a rock would do.
" Much obliged," said the caj)tain ; " now is the very
time to give rocks a wide berth."
"A dead whale, then — a lighthouse — anything but a
beast of a ship."
They pacified him with a little brandy, and for the
next twenty-four hours he scarcely opened his mouth,
except for a purpose it is needless to dwell on. We can
trust to our terrestrial readers' personal reminiscences of
lee-lurches, weather-rolls, and their faithful concomitant.
At last they wriggled out of the Channel, and soon
after that the wind abated, and next day veered round to
the northward, and the ship sailed almost on an even
keel. The motion became as heavenly as it had been
diabolical, and the passengers came on deck.
Staines had suffered one whole day from sea-sickness,
but never complained. I believe it did his mind more
good than harm.
As for Tadcaster, he continued to suffer, at intervals,
for two days more, but on the fifth day out he appeared
A SIMPLETON. 221
with a little pink tinge on his cheek and a wolfish appe-
tite. Dr. Staines controlled his diet severely, as to
quality, and, when they had been at sea just eleven
days, the physician's heavy heart was not a little liglit-
ened by the niai-vellous change in him. The unthinking,
who believe in the drug system, should have seen what
a physician can do with air and food, when circumstances
enable him to enforce the diet he enjoins. Money will
sometimes buy even health, if you avoid drugs entirelijy
and go another road.
Little Tadcaster went on board, pasty, dim-eyed, and
very subject to fits, because his stomach was constantly
overloaded with indigestible trash, and the blood in his
brain-vessels was always either galloping or creeping,
under the first or second effect of stimulants adminis-
tered, at first, by thoughtless physicians. Behold him
now — bronzed, pinky, bright-eyed, elastic; and only
one fit in twelve days.
The quarter-deck was hailed from the " look-out " with
a cry that is sometimes terrible, but in this latitude and
weather welcome and exciting. " Land, ho ! "
" Where away ? " cried the officer of the watch.
" A point on the lee-bow, sir."
It was the island of Madeira : they dropped anchor in
Funchal Eoads, furled sails, squared yards, and fired a
salute of twenty-one guns for the Portuguese flag.
They went ashore, and found a good hotel, and were
no longer dosed, as in former days, with oil, onions, gar-
lic, eggs. But the wine queer, and no madeira to be got.
Staines wrote home to his wife : he told her how
deeply he had felt the bereavement ; but did not dwell
on that; his object being to cheer her. He told her it
promised to be a rapid and wonderful cure, and one that
might very well give him a fresh start in London. They
need not be parted a whole year, he thought. He sent
222 A SIMPLETON.
her a very long letter, and also such extracts from his
sea journal as he thought might please her. After clin-=
ner they inspected the town, and Y\^hat struck them most
was to find the streets paved with flag-stones, and most
of the carts drawn by bullocks on sledges. A man
every now and then would run. forward and drop a greasy
cloth in front of the sledge, to lubricate the Avay.
Next day, after breakfast, they ordered horses ; these
on inspection, proved to be of excellent breed, either
from Australia or America — very rough shod, for the
stony roads. Started for the Grand Canal — peeped
down that mighty chasm, which has the a2:)pearance of
an immense mass having been blown out of the centre
of the mountain.
They lunched under the great dragon tree near its
brink, then rode back admiring the bold mountain
scenery. Next morning at dawn; rode on horses up
the hill to the convent. Admired the beautiful gardens
on the way. Remained a short time ; then came down
in hand-sleighs — little baskets slung on sledges, guided
by two natives; these sledges run down the hill with
surprising rapidity, and the men guide them round cor-
ners by sticking out a foot to port or starboard.
Embarked at 11.30 a.m.
At 1.30, the men having dined, the ship was got under
way for the Cape of Good Hope, and all sail made for a
southerly course, to get into the north-east trades.
The weather was now balmy and delightful, and so
genial that everybody lived on deck, and could hardly
be got to turn in to their cabins, even for sleep.
Dr. Staines became a favorite with the officers. There
is a great deal of science on board a modern ship of war,
and, of course, on some points Staines, a Cambridge
wrangler, and a man of many sciences and books, was
an oracle. On others he was quite behind, but a ready
A SIMPLETON. 223
and quick pupil. He made up to the navigating officer,
and learned, with his help, to take observations. In
return he was always at any youngster's service in a
trigonometrical problem ; and he amused the midshipmen
and young lieutenants with analytical tests ; some of
these were applicable to certain liquids dispensed by the
paymaster. Under one of them the port wine assumed
some very droll colors and appearances not proper to
grape-juice.
One lovely night that the ship clove the dark sea into
a blaze of phosphorescence, and her wake streamed like
a comet's tail, a waggish middy got a bucketful hoisted
on deck, and asked the doctor to analyze that. He did
not much like it, but yielded to the general request;
and by dividing it into smaller vessels, and dropping
in various chemicals, made rainbows and silvery flames
and what not. But he declined to repeat the experi-
ment : " No, no ; once is philosophy ; twice is cruelty.
I've slain more than Samson already."
As for Tadcaster, science had no charms for him;
but fiction had ; and he got it galore ; for he cruised
about the forecastle, and there the quartermasters and
old seamen spun him yarns that held him breathless.
But one day my lord had a fit on the quarter-deck,
and a bad one ; and Staines found him smelling strong
of rum. He represented this to Captain Hamilton. The
captain caused strict inquiries to be made, and it came
out that my lord had gone among the men, with money
in both pockets, and bought a little of one man's grog,
and a little of another, and had been sipping the furtive
but transient joys of solitary intoxication.
Captain Hamilton talked to him seriously ; told him
it was suicide.
" Never mind, old boy," said the young monkey ; ^' a
short life and a merry one."
224 A SIMPLETON.
Then Hamilton represented that it was very ungentle-
manlike to go and tempt poor Jack with his money, to
offend discipline, and get flogged. " How will you feel,
Tadcaster, when you see their backs bleeding under the
cat ? "
"Oh, d n it all, George, don't do that," says the
young gentleman, all in a hurry.
Then the commander saw he had touched the right
chord. So he played on it, till he got Lord Tadcaster to
pledge his honor not to do it again.
The little fellow gave the pledge, but relieved his
mind as follows : " But it is a cursed tyrannical hole,
this tiresome old ship. You can't do what you like
in it."
" Well, but no more you can in the grave : and that is
the agreeable residence you were hurrying to but for this
tiresome old ship."
" Lord ! no more you can," said Tadcaster, with sudden
candor. ^^ I forgot tliat.^^
The airs were very light; the ship hardly moved. It
was beginning to get dull, when one day a sail was
sighted on the weather-bow, standing to the eastward:
on nearing her, she was seen, by the cut of her sails, to
be a man-of-war, evidently homeward bound : so Captain
Hamilton ordered the main-royal to be lowered (to ren-
der signal more visible) and the "demand" hoisted.
No notice being taken of this, a gun was fired to draw
her attention to the signal. This had the desired effect ;
down went her main-royal, up went her "number."
On referring to the signal book, she proved to be the
Vindictive from the Pacific Station.
This being ascertained. Captain Hamilton, being that
captain's senior, signalled " Close and prepare to receive
letters." In obedience to this she bore up, ran down, and
rounded to ; the sail in the Amphitrite was also short-
A SIMPLETON. 225
ened, the niainto})sail laid to tlie mast, and a boat low-
ered. The captain having finished his despatches, they,
with the letter-bags, were handed into the boat, which
shoved off, pulled to the lee side of the Vindictive, and
left the despatches, with Captain Hamilton's compli-
ments. On its return, both ships made sail on their
respective course, exchanging " bon voyage " by signal,
and soon the upper sails of the homeward-bounder were
seen dipping below the horizon : longing eyes followed
her on board the Amphitrite.
How many hurried missives had been written and de-
spatched in that half-hour. But as for Staines, he was a
man of forethought, and had a volume ready for his dear
wife.
Lord Tadcaster wrote to Lady Cicely Treherne. His
epistle, though brief, contained a plum or two.
He wrote : " What with sailing, and fishing, and eating
nothing but roast meat, I'm quite another man."
This amused her ladyship a little, but not so much as
the postscript, which was indeed the neatest thing in its
way she had met with, and she had some experience, too.
"P.S. — I say, Cicely, I think I should like to marry
you. Would you mind ? "
Let us defy time and space to give you Lady Cicely's
reply: "I should enjoy it of all things, Taddy. But,
alas ! I am too young."
N.B. — She was twenty-seven, and Tad sixteen. To
be sure, Tad was four feet eleven, and she Avas only five
feet six and a half.
To return to my narrative (with apologies), this meet-
ing of the vessels caused a very agreeable excitement
that day ; but a greater was in store. In the afternoon,
Tadcaster, Staines, and the principal officers of the ship,
being at dinner in the captain's cabin, in came the officer of
the watch, and reported a large spar on the weather-bow.
226 A SIMPLETON.
"Well, close it, if you can; and let me know if it
looks worth picking up."
He then explained to Lord Tadcaster that, on a cruise,
he never liked to pass a spar, or anything that might
possibly reveal the fate of some vessel or other.
In the middle of his discourse the officer came in
again, but not in the same cool business way : he ran in
excitedly, and said, " Captain, the signalman reports it
alive ! "
"Alive ? — a spar ! What do you mean ? Something
alive on it, eh ? "
"No, sir; alive itself."
" How can that be ? Hail him again. Ask him what
it is."
The officer went out, and hailed the signalman at the
mast-head. " What is it ? "
" Sea-sarpint, I think."
This hail reached the captain's ears faintly. However,
he waited quietly till the officer came in and reported it ;
then he burst out, "Absurd! there is no such creature
in the universe. What do you say, Dr. Staines ? — It is
in your department."
" The universe in my department, captain ? "
" Haw ! haw ! haw ! " went Fitzroy and two more.
"No, you rogue, the serpent."
Dr. Staines, thus appealed to, asked the captain if he
had ever seen small snakes out at sea.
"Why, of course. Sailed through a mile of them
once, in the archipelago."
" Sure they were snakes ? "
" Quite sure ; and the biggest was not eight feet long."
"Very well, captain; then sea-serpents exist, and it
becomes a mere question of size. Now which produces
the larger animals in every kind, — land or sea ? The
grown elephant weighs, I believe, about five tons. The
A SIMPLETON. 227
very smallest of the whale tribe weighs ten ; and they
go as high as forty tons. There are smaller fish than
the whale, that are four times as heavy as the elephant.
Why doubt, then, that the sea can breed a snake to
eclipse the boa-constrictor? Even if the creature had
never been seen, I should, by mere reasoning from anal-
ogy, expect the sea to produce a serpent excelling the
boa-constrictor, as the lobster excels a crayfish of our
rivers: see how large things grow at sea! the salmon
born in our rivers weighs in six months a quarter of a
pound, or less ; it goes out to sea, and comes back in one
year weighing seven pounds. So far from doubting the
large sea-serpents, I believe they exist by the million.
The only thing that puzzles me is, why they should evei
show a nose above water ; they must be very numerous,
I think."
Captain Hamilton laughed, and said, "Well, this is
new. Doctor, in compliment to your opinion, we will go
on deck, and inspect the rex)tile you think so common."
He stopped at the door, and said, " Doctor, the saltcellar
is by you. Would you mind bringing it on deck ? We
shall want a little to secure the animal."
So they all went on deck right merrily.
The captain went up a few ratlines in the mizzen
rigging, and looked to windward, laughing all the time :
but, all of a sudden, there was a great change in his
manner. " Good heavens, it is alive — Luff ! "
The helmsman obeyed ; the news spread like wildfire.
Mess kids, grog kids, pipes, were all let fall, and some
three hundred sailors clustered on the rigging like bees,
to view the long-talked-of monster.
It was soon discovered to be moving lazily along, the
propelling part being under water, and about twenty-five
feet visible. It had a small head for so large a body,
and, as they got nearer, rough scales were seen, ending
228 A SIMPLETON.
in smaller ones further down tlie body. It had a mane,
but not like a lion's, as some have pretended. If you
have ever seen a pony with a hog-mane, that was more
the character of this creature's mane, if mane it was.
They got within a hundred yards of it, and all saw it
plainly, scarce believing their senses.
When they could get no nearer for the wind, the cap-
tain yielded to that instinct which urges man always to
kill a curiosity, "to encourage the rest," as saith the
witty Voltaire. "Get ready a gun — best shot in the
ship lay and fire it."
This was soon done. Bang went the gun. The shot
struck the water close to the brute, and may have struck
him under water, for aught I know. Any way, it sorely
disturbed him ; for he reared into the air a column of
serpent's flesh that looked as thick as the maintopmast
of a seventy-four, opened a mouth that looked capacious
enough to swallow the largest buoy anchor in the ship,
and, with a strange grating noise between a bark and a
hiss, dived, and was seen no more.
When he was gone, they all looked at one another like
men awaking from a dream.
Staines alone took it quite coolly. It did not surprise
him in the least. He had always thought it incredible
that the boa-constrictor should be larger than any sea-
snake. That idea struck him as monstrous and absurd.
He noted the sea-serpent in his journal, but with this
doubt, " Semble — more like a very large eel."
Next day they crossed the line. Just before noon a
young gentleman burst into Staines's cabin, apologizing
for want of ceremony ; but if Dr. Staines would like to
see the line, it was now in sight from the mizzentop.
"Glad of it, sir," said Staines; "collect it for me in
the ship's buckets, if you please I want to send a line
to friends at home."
A SIMPLETON. 229
Young gentleman buried liis liantls in liis pockets,
walked out in solemn silence, and resumed his position
on the lee-side of the quarter-deck.
Kevertheless, this opening, coupled with what he had
heard and read, made Staines a little uneasy, and he
went to his friend Fitzroy, and said, " Now, look here :
/ am at the service of you experienced and humorous
mariners. I plead guilty at once to the crime of never
having passed the line ; so, make ready your swabs, and
lather me ; your ship's scraper, and shave me ; and let us
iret it over. But Lord Tadcaster is nervous, sensitive,
prouder than he seems, and I'm not going to have him
driven into a fit for all the Xeptunes and Amphitrites in
creation."
Fitzroy heard him out, then burst out laughing. " Why,
there is none of that game in the Royal Xa\y," said he.
'' Hasn't been this twent}^ years."
" I'm so sorry," said Dr. Staines. *' If there's a form
of wit I revere, it is practical joking."
'' Doctor, you are a satirical beggar."
Staines told Tadcaster, and he went forward and chaffed
his friend the quartermaster, who was one of the fore-
castle wits.
" I say, quartermaster, why doesn't Neptune come on
board ? "
Dead silence.
" I wonder what has become of poor old Nep ? "
" Gone ashore ! " growled the seaman. " Last seen in
Eatcliff Highway. Got a shop there — lends a shilling
in the pound on seamen's advance tickets."
" Oh ! and Amphitrite ? "
*' Married the sexton at AYapping."
" And the Nereids ? "
^' Neruds ! " (scratching his head.) " I liarn't kept my
eye on them small craft. But I believe they are selling
oysters in the port of Leith."
230 A SIMPLETON.
A liglit breeze carried them across tlie equator; but
soon after tlioy got becalmed, and it was dreary work,
and the ship rolled gently, but continuously, and upset
Lord Tadcaster's stomach again, and quenched his manly
spirit.
At last they were fortunate enough to catch the south-
east trade, but it was so languid at first that the ship
barely moved through the water, though they set every
stitch, and studding sails alow and aloft, till really she
was acres of canvas.
While she was so creeping along, a man in the mizzen-
top noticed an enormous shark gliding steadily in her
wake. This may seem a small incident, yet it ran through
the ship like wildfire, and caused more or less uneasiness
in three hundred stout hearts ; so near is every seaman
to death, and so strong the persuasion in their supersti-
tious minds, that a shark does not follow a ship perti-
naciously without a prophetic instinct of calamity.
Uiifortunately, the quartermaster conveyed this idea to
Lord Tadcaster, and confirmed it by numerous examples
to prove that there was always death at hand when a
shark followed the ship.
Thereupon Tadcaster took it into his head that he was
under a relapse, and the shark was waiting for his dead
body : he got quite low-spirited.
Staines told Fitzroy. Fitzroy said, " Shark be hanged !
I'll have him on deck in half an hour." He got leave
from the captain : a hook was baited Avith a large piece
of pork, and towed astern by a stout line, experienced
old hands attending to it by turns.
The shark came up leisurely, surveyed the bait, and, I
apprehend, ascertained the position of the hook. At all
events, he turned quietly on his back, sucked the bait oft',
and retired to enjoy it.
Every officer in the ship tried him in turn, but with-
A SIMPLETON. 231
out success; for, if thoy got ready for him, and, the
moment he took the bait, jerked the rope hard, in that
case he opened his enormous mouth so wi(h^ that the
bait and hook came out clear. But, sooner or Liter, he
always got the bait, and left his captors the hook.
This went on for days, and his huge dorsal fin always
in the ship's wake.
Then Tadcaster, who had watched these experiments
with hope, lost his spirit and appetite.
Staines reasoned with him, but in vain. Somebody
was to die ; and, although there were three hundred and
more in the ship, he must be the one. At last he actu-
ally made his will, and threw himself into Staines's arms,
and gave him messages to his mother and Lady Cicely ;
and ended by frightening himself into a fit.
This roused Staines's pity, and also put him on his
mettle. What, science be beaten by a shark !
He pondered the matter with all his might ; and at
last an idea came to him.
He asked the captain's permission to try his hand. This
was accorded immediately, and the ship's stores placed at
his disposal very politely, but with a sly, comical grin.
Dr. Staines got from the carpenter some sheets of zinc
and spare copper, and some flannel: these he cut into
three-inch squares, and soaked the flannel in acidulated
water. He then procured a quantity of bell-wire, the
greater part of which he insulated by wrapping it round
with hot gutta percha. So eager was he, that he did not
turn in all night.
In the morning he prepared what he called an electric
fuse — he filled a soda-water bottle with gunpowder,
attaching some cork to make it buoyant, put in the fuse
and bung, made it water-tight, connected and insulated
his main wires — enveloped the bottle in pork — tied a
line to it, and let the bottle overboard.
232 A SIMPLETON.
The captain and officers shook their heads mysteriously.
Tlie tars peeped and grinned from every rope to see a
doctor try and catch a shark with a soda-water bottle
and no hook ; but somehow the doctor seemed to know
what he was about, so they hovered round, and awaited
the result, mystified, but curious, and showing their
teeth from ear to ear.
" The only thing I fear," said Staines, " is that, the
moment he takes the bait, he will cut the wire before I
can complete the circuit, and fire the fuse."
Nevertheless, there was another objection to the success
of the experiment. The shark had disappeared.
"Well," said the captain, "at all events, you have
frightened him away."
»' No," said little Tadcaster, white as a ghost ; " he is
only under water, I know; waiting — waiting."
" There he is," cried one in the ratlines.
There was a rush to the taffrail — great excitement.
" Keep clear of me," said Staines quietly but firmly.
" It can only be done at the moment before he cuts the
wire."
The old shark swam slowly round the bait.
He saw it was something new.
He swam round and round it.
" He won't take it," said one.
"He suspects something."
" Oh, yes, he will take the meat somehow, and leave
the pepper. Sly old fox ! "
" He has eaten many a poor Jack, that one."
The shark turned slowly on his back, and, instead of
grabbing at the bait, seemed to draw it by gentle suction
into that capacious throat, ready to blow it out in a
moment if it was not all right.
The moment the bait was drawn out of sight, Staines
completed the circuit j the bottle exploded with a fury
A SIMPLETON. 233
that surprised him and everybody who saw it ; a ton of
water flew into the air, and came down in spray, and a
gory carcass floated, belly uppermost, visibly staining
the blue water.
There was a roar of amazement and applause.
The carcass was towed alongside, at Tadcaster's urgent
request, and then the power of the explosion was seen.
Confined, first by the bottle, then by the meat, then by
the fish, and lastly by the water, it had exploded with
tenfold power, had blown the brute's head into a million
atoms, and had even torn a great furrow in its carcass,
exposing three feet of the backbone.
Taddy gloated on his enemy, and began to pick up
again from that hour.
The wind improved, and, as usual in that latitude,
scarcely varied a point. They had a pleasant time, —
private theatricals and other amusements till they got
to latitude 26° S. and longitude 27' W. Then the trade
wind deserted them. Light and variable winds succeeded.
The master complained of the chronometers, and the
captain thought it his duty to verify or correct them;
and so shaped his course for the island of Tristan
d'Acunha, then lying a little way out of his course. I
ought, perhaps, to explain to the general reader that tlie
exact position of this island being long ago established
and recorded, it was an infallible guide to go by in veri-
fying a ship's chronometers.
Next day the glass fell all day, and the captain said
he should double-reef topsails at nightfall, for something
was brewing.
The weather, however, was fine, and the ship was
sailing very fast, when, about half an hour before sunset,
the mast-head man hailed that there was a bulk of timber
in sight, broad on the weather-bow.
The signalman was sent up, and said it looked like a
raft.
234 A SIMPLETON.
The captain, who was on deck, levelled his glass at it,
and made it out a raft, with a sort of rail to it, and the
stump of a mast.
He ordered the officer of the watch to keep the ship
as close to the wind as possible. He should like to
examine it if he could.
The master represented, respectfully, that it would be
unadvisable to beat to windward for that. " I have no
faith in our chronometers, sir, and it is important to
make the island before dark; fogs rise here so suddenly.'^
" Very well, Mr. Bolt ; then I suppose we must let the
raft go."
*' Man on the raft to windward ! " hailed the
signalman.
This electrified the ship. The captain ran up the
mizzen rigging, and scanned the raft, now nearly abeam.
" It is a man ! " he cried, and was about to alter the
ship's course when, at that moment, the signalman hailed
again, —
^'It js a corpse."
" How d'ye know ? "
"By the gulls."
Then succeeded an exciting dialogue between the
captain and the master, who, being in his department,
was very firm ; and went so far as to say he would not
answer for the safety of the ship, if they did not sight
the land before dark.
The captain said, "Very well," and took a turn or two.
But at last he said, " No. Her Majesty's ship must not
pass a raft with a man on it, dead or alive."
He then began to give the necessary orders ; but before
they were all out of his mouth, a fatal interruption
occurred.
Tadcaster ran into Dr. Staines's cabin, crying, " A raft
with a corpse close by ! "
A SIMPLETON. 235
Staines sprang to tht^ (quarter port to see, and craning
eagerly out, the lower port chain, which had not been
well secured, slipped, the port gave way, and as his
whole weight rested on it, canted him headlong into tlie
sea.
A smart seaman in the forechains saw the accident,
and instantly roared out, " Man overboard ! " a cry that
sends a thrill through a ship's very ribs.
Another smart fellow cut the life-buoy adrift so quickly
that it struck the water within ten yards of Staines.
The officer of the watch, without the interval of half a
moment, gave the right orders, in the voice of a stentor :
"Let go life-buoy.
" Life-boat's crew away.
" Hands shorten sail.
" Mainsel up.
" Main tops el to mast."
These orders were executed with admirable swiftness.
Meantime there was a mighty rush of feet throughout
the frigate, every hatchway was crammed with men eager
to force their w^ay on deck.
In five seconds the middy of the watch and half
her crew were in the lee cutter, fitted with Clifford's
apparatus.
" Lower away ! '' cried the excited officer ; " the others
will come down by the pendants.''
The man stationed, sitting on the bottom boards, eased
away roundly, when suddenly there was a hitch — the
boat would go no farther.
"Lower away there in the cutter! Why don't you
lower ? " screamed the captain, who had come over to
leeward expecting to see the boat in the water.
"The rope has swollen, sir, and the pendants won't
unreeve," cried the middy in agony.
" Volunteers for the weather-boat ! " shouted the first
236 A SIMPLETON.
lieutenant ; but the order was unnecessary, for more tlian
the proper number were in her already.
" Plug in — lower away."
But mishaps never come singly. Scarcely had this
boat gone a foot from the davit, than the volunteer who
was acting as coxswain, in reaching out for something,
inadvertently let go the line, which, in Kynaston's appa-
ratus, keeps the tackles hooked ; consequently, down
went the boat and crew twenty feet, with a terrific crash ;
the men were struggling for their lives, and the boat was
stove.
But, meantime, more men having been sent into the
lee cutter, their weight caused the pendants to render,
and the boat got afloat, and was soon employed picking
up the struggling crew.
Seeing this. Lieutenant Fitzroy collected some hands,
and lowered the life-boat gig, which Avas fitted with
common tackles, got down into her himself by the falls,
and pulling round to windward, shouted to the signalman
for directions.
The signalman was at his post, and had fixed his eye
on the man overboard, as his duty Avas ; but his mess-
mate was in the stove boat, and he had cast one anxious
look down to see if he was saved, and, sad to relate, in
that one moment he had lost sight of Staines ; the sudden
darkness — there was no twilight — confused him more,
and the ship had increased her drift.
Fitzroy, however, made a rapid calculation, and pulled
to windward with all his might. He was followed in
about a minute by the other sound boat powerfully
manned, and both boats melted away into the night.
There was a long and anxious suspense, during which
it became pitch dark, and the ship burned blue lights to
mark her position more plainly to the crews that were
groping the sea for that beloved passenger.
A SIMPLETON. 1337
Captain Hamilton had no doubt that the fate of Staines
was decided, one way or other, long before this ; but he
kept quiet until he saw the plain signs of a squall at
hand. Then, as he was responsible for the safety of
boats and ship, he sent up rockets to recall them.
The cutter came alongside first. Lights were poured
on her, and quavering voices asked, "Have you got
him ? "
The answer was dead silence, and sorrowful, drooping
heads.
Sadly and reluctantly was the order given to hoist the
boat in.
Then the gig came alongside. Fitzroy seated in her,
with his hands before his face ; the men gloomy and sad.
"Goxe! Gone!"
Soon the ship was battling a heavy squall.
At midnight all quiet again, and hove to. Then, at
the request of many, the bell was tolled, and the ship's
company mustered bareheaded, and many a stout seaman
in tears, as the last service was read for Christopher
SUiines.
238 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER XIV.
Rosa fell ill with grief at tlie hotel, and could not
move for some days ; but the moment she was strong
enough, she insisted on leaving Plymouth: like all
wounded things, she must drag herself home.
But what a home ! How empty it struck, and she
heart-sick and desolate. Now all the familiar places
wore a new aspect: the little yard, where he had so
walked and waited, became a temple to her, and she
came out and sat in it, and now first felt to the full how
much he had suffered there — with what fortitude. She
crept about the house, and kissed the chair he had sat
in, and every much-used place and thing of the departed.
Her shallow nature deepened and deepened under this
bereavement, of which, she said to herself, with a shud-
der, she was the cause. And this is the course of nature ;
there is nothing like suffering to enlighten the giddy-
brain, widen the narrow mind, improve the trivial heart.
As her regrets were tender and deep, so her vows of
repentance were sincere. Oh, what a wife she would
make when he came back ! how thoughtful ! how pru-
dent ! how loyal ! and never have a secret. She who had
once said, "What is the use of your writing? nobody
will publish it," now collected and perused every written
scrap. With simple affection she even locked up his
very waste-paper basket, full of fragments he had torn,
or useless papers he had thrown there, before he went to
Plymouth.
In the drawer of his writing-table she found his diary.
It was a thick quarto : it began with their marriage, and
A SIMPLETON. 239
ended with his leaving home — for then he took another
vohime. This diary became lier Bilde ; she studied it
daily, till her tears hid his lines. The entries were very
miscellaneous, very exact; it was a map of their married
life. But what she studied most was his observations
on her own character, so scientific, yet so kindly ; and
his scholar-like and wise reflections. The book was an
unconscious picture of a great mind she had hitliert(j
but glanced at : now she saw it all plain before her ;
saw it, understood it, adored it, mourned it. Such women
are shallow, not for want of a head upon their shoulders,
but of attention. They do not really study anything :
they have been taught at their schools the bad art of
skimming ; but let their hearts compel their brains to
think and think, the result is considerable. The deepest
philosopher never fathomed a character more thoroughl}^
than this poor child fathomed her philosopher, when
she had read his journal ten or eleven times, and bedewed
it with a thousand tears.
One passage almost cut her more intelligent heart in
twain : —
" This dark day I have done a thing incredible. I
have spoken with brutal harshness to the innocent
creature I have sworn to protect. She had run in debt,
through inexperience, and that unhappy timidity which
makes women conceal an error till it ramifies, by con-
cealment, into a fault ; and I must storm and rave at
her, till she actually fainted away. Brute ! Euffian !
Monster ! And she, how did she punish me, poor lamb ?
By soft and tender words — like a lady, as she is. Oh,
my sweet Eosa, I wish you could know how you are
avenged. Talk of the scourge — the cat ! I would be
thankful for two dozen lashes. Ah! there is no need,
I think, to punish a man who has been cruel to a woman.
Let him alone. He will punish himself more than you
can, if he is really a man."
240 A SIMPLETON.
From the date of that entry, this self-reproach and
self-torture kept cropping up every now and then in the
diary ; and it appeared to have been not entirely without
its influence in sending Staines to sea, though the main
reason he gave was that his Eosa might have the com-
forts and luxuries she had enjoyed before she married
him. *
One day, while she was crying over this diary, Uncle
Philip called ; but not to comfort her, I promise you.
He burst on her, irate, to take her to task. He had
returned, learned Christopher's departure, and settled
the reason in his own mind : that uxorious fool was gone
to sea by a natural reaction ; his eyes were open to his
wife at last, and he was sick of her folly ; so he had fled
to distant climes, as who would not, that could ?
" So, ma'am," said he, " my nephew is gone to sea,
I find — all in a hurry. Pray may I ask what he has
done that for ? "
It was a very simple question, yet it did not elicit
a very plain answer. She only stared at this abrupt
inquisitor, and then cried, piteously, " Oh, Uncle Philip ! "
and burst out sobbing.
"AVhy, what is the matter ? "
"You tvill hate me now. He is gone to make money
for vie ; and I would rather have lived on a crust. Uncle
— don't hate me. I'm a poor, bereaved, heart-broken
creature, that repents."
" Repents ! heigho ! why, what have you been up to
now, ma'am ? No great harm, I'll be bound. Flirting
a little with some fool — eh ? "
" Flirting ! Me ! a married woman."
"Oh, to be sure; I forgot. Why, surely he has not
deserted you."
" My Christopher desert me ! He loves me too well ;
far more than I deserve j but not more than I will.
A SIMPLETON. 241
Uncle Pliilip, I am too confused and wretched to tell
you all tluit has lia})i)eut'd ; but I know you love liini,
though you had a titt": uncle, he called on you, to shake
hands and ask your forgiveness, poor fellow ! He was
so sorry you were away. Please read his dear diary :
it will tell you all, better than his poor foolish wife can,
I know it by heart. I'll show you where you and he
quarrelled about me. There, see." And she showed him
the passage with her finger. " He never told me it was
that, or I would have come and begged your pardon on
my knees. But see how sorry he was. There, see.
And now I'll show j^ou another place, where my Chris-
topher speaks of your many, many acts of kindness.
There, see. And now please let me show you how he
longed for reconciliation. There, see. And it is the
same through the book. And now I'll show you how
grieved he was to go without your blessing. I told him
I was sure you would give him that, and him going
away. Ah, me ! will he ever return ? Uncle dear, don't
hate me. "What shall I do, now he is gone, if you disown
me ? WTiy, you are the only Staines left me to love."
" Disown you, ma'am ! that I'll never do. You are a
good-hearted young woman, I find. There, run and dry
your eyes ; and let me read Christopher's diary all
through. Then I shall see how the land lies."
Rosa complied with his proposal ; and left him alone
while she bathed her eyes, and tried to compose herself,
for she was all trembling at this sudden irruption.
When she returned to the drawing-room, he was walk-
ing about, looking grave and thoughtful.
" It is the old story," said he, rather gently : " a m is-
under standing. How wise our ancestors were that first
used that word to mean a quarrel! for, look into twenty
quarrels, and you shall detect a score of mis-under-stand-
ings. Yet our American cousins must go and substitute
16
242 A SIMPLETON.
the un-ideaecl word ^ difficulty ; ' tliat is wonderful. I
head no quarrel with him : delighted to see either of you.
But I had called twice on him ; so I thought he ought to
get over his temper, and call on a tried friend like me.
A misunderstanding ! Now, my dear, let us have no
more of these misunderstandings. You will always be
Avelcome at my house, and I shall often come here and
look after you and your interests. What do you mean
to do, I wonder ? ^'
" Sir, I am to go home to my father, if he will be
troubled with me. I have written to him."
"And what is to become of the Bijou ?"
" My Christie thought I should like to part with it, and
the furniture — but his own writing-desk and his chair,
no, I never will, and his little clock. Oh ! oh ! oh ! —
But I remember what you said about agents, and I don't
know what to do ; for I shall be away."
" Then, leave it to me. I'll come and live here with
one servant ; and I'll soon sell it for you."
" You, Uncle Philip ! "
" Well, why not ? " said he roughly.
" That will be a great trouble and discomfort to you,
I'm afraid."
" If I find it so,. I'll soon drop it. I'm not the fool to
put myself out for anybody. When you are ready to go
out, send me word, and I'll come in."
Soon after this he bustled off. He gave her a sort of
hurried kiss at parting, as if he was ashamed of it, and
wanted it over as quickly as possible.
Next day her father came, condoled with her politely,
assured her there was nothing to cry about ; husbands
were a sort of functionaries that generally went to sea
at some part of their career, and no harm ever came of
it. On the contrary, "Absence makes the heart grow
fonder," said this judicious parent.
A SlMrLKTON. 243
This sentiment happened to be just a little too true,
and set the daughter crying bitterly. But she fought
against it. " Oh no ! " said she, " I mustnH. I will not
be always crying in Kent Villa."
" Lord forbid ! "
" I shall get over it in time — a little."
" Why, of course you will. But as to your coming to
Kent Villa, I am afraid you would not be very comfort-
able there. You know I am superannuated. Only got
my pension now."
" I know that, papa : and — why, that is one of the
reasons. I have a good income now ; and I thought if
we put our means together " —
" Oh, that is a very different thing. You will want a
carriage, I suppose. I have put mine down."
" No carriage ; no horse ; no footman ; no luxury of
any kind till my Christie comes back. I abhor dress ; I
abhor expense ; I loathe everything I once liked too well ;
I detest every folly that has parted us ; and I hate my-
self worst of all. Oh ! oh ! oh ! Forgive me for crying
so."
"Well, I dare say there are associations about this
place that upset you. I shall go and make ready for
you, dear ; and then you can come as soon as you like."
He bestowed a paternal kiss on her brow, and glided
doucely away before she could possibly cry again.
The very next week Eosa was at Kent Villa, with the
relics of her husband about her ; his chair, his writing-
table, his clock, his waste-paper basket, a very deep and
large one. She had them all in her bedroom at Kent
Villa.
Here the days glided quietly but heavily.
She derived some comfort from Uncle Philip. His
rough, friendly way was a tonic, and braced her. He
called several times about the Bijou. Told her he had
244 A SIMPLETON.
put up enormous boards all over tlie house, and puffed it
finely. " I have had a hundred agents at me/' said he ;
" and the next thing, I hope, will be one customer ; that
is about the proportion." At last he wrote her he had
hooked a victim, and sold the lease and furniture for
nine hundred guineas. Staines had assigned the lease to
E-osa, so she had full powers ; and Philip invested the
money, and two hundred more she gave him, in a little
mortgage at six per cent.
Now came the letter from Madeira. It gave her new
life. Christopher was well, contented, hox^eful. His
example should animate her. She would bravely bear
the present, and share his hopes of the future : with
these brighter views Nature co-operated. The instincts
of approaching maternity brightened the future. She
fell into gentle reveries, and saw her husband return,
and saw herself place their infant in his arms with all a
wife's, a mother's pride.
In due course came another long letter from the equa-
tor, with a full journal, and more words of hope. Home
in less than a year, with reputation increased by this
last cure ; home, to part no more.
Ah ! what a changed wife he should find ! how frugal,
how candid, how full of appreciation, admiration, and
love, of the noblest, dearest husband that ever breathed !
Lady Cicely Treherne waited some weeks, to let
kinder sentiments return. She then called in Dear
Street, but found Mrs. Staines was gone to Gravesend.
She wrote to her.
In a few days she received a reply, studiously polite
and cold.
This persistent injustice mortified her at last. She
said to herself, " Does she think his departure was no loss
to me? It was to her interests, as well as his, I sacri-
ficed my own selfish wishes. I will write to her no more."
A SIMPLETON. 245
Tliis resolution she steadily maintained. It was
shaken for a moment, wlien she Inward, by a side wind,
that iNIrs. Staines was fast approaching the great pain
and peril of women. Then she wavered. But no. She
l)rayed for her by name in the Liturgy, but she troubled
her no more.
This state of things lasted some six weeks, when she
received a letter from her cousin Tadcaster, close on the
heels of his last, to which she had replied as I have in-
dicated. She knew his handwriting, and opened it with
a smile.
That smile soon died off her horror-stricken face. The
letter ran thus : —
Tristan d'Acunha, Jan. 5.
Dear Cicely, — A terrible thing has just happened. We
signalled a raft, with a body on it, and poor Dr. Staines leaned
out of the port^hole, and fell overboard. Three boats were let
down after him ; but it all went wrong, somehow, or it was too
late. They could never find him, he was drowned ; and the
funeral service was read for the poor fellow.
We are all sadly cut up. Everybody loved him. It was
dreadful next day at dinner, when his chair was empty. The
very sailors cried at not finding him.
First of all, I thought I ought to write to his wife. I know
where she lives ; it is called Kent Villa, Gravesend. But I
was afraid ; it might kill her : and you are so good and sensi-
l)le, I thought I had better write to you, and perhaps you could
break it to her by degrees, before it gets in all the papers.
I send this from the island, by a small vessel, and paid him
ten pounds to take it.
Your affectionate cousin,
Tadcaster.
Words are powerless to describe a blow like this : the
amazement, the stupor, the reluctance to believe — the
rising, swelling, surging horror. She sat like a woman
of stone, crumpling the letter. " Dead ! — dead ? "
246 A SIMPLETON.
For a long time tliis was all lier mind could realize —
that Cliristoi)lier Staines was dead. He who had been
so full of life and thought and genius, and worthier to
live than all the world, was dead ; and a million no-
bodies were still alive, and he was dead.
She lay back on the sofa, and all the power left her
limbs. She could not move a hand.
But suddenly she started up ; for a noble instinct told
her this blow must not fall on the wife as it had on her,
and in her time of peril.
She had her bonnet on in a moment, and for the first
time in her life, darted out of the house without her
maid. She flew along the streets, scarcely feeling the
ground. She got to Dear Street, and obtained Philip
Staines's address. She flew to it, and there learned he
was down at Kent Villa. Instantly she telegraphed to
her maid to come down to her at Gravesend, with things
for a short visit, and wait for her at the station ; and she
went down by train to Gravesend.
Hitherto she had walked on air, driven by one over-
powering impulse. JSTow, as she sat in the train, she
thought a little of herself. What was before her ? To
break to Mrs. Staines that her husband was dead. To
tell her all her misgivings were more than justified.
To encounter her cold civility, and let her know, inch by
inch, it must be exchanged for curses and tearing of
hair ; her husband was dead. To tell her this, and in
the telling of it, perhaps reveal that it was her great
bereavement, as well as the wife's, for she had a deeper
affection for him than she ought.
Well, she trembled like an aspen leaf, trembled like
one in an ague, even as she sat. But she persevered.
A noble woman has her courage ; not exactly the same
as that which leads forlorn hopes against bastions
bristling with rifles and tongued with flames and
thunderbolts ; yet not inferior to it.
A SIMPLETON. 247
Tadcaster, small and dull, but nolde by birth and
instinct, had seen the right thing for her to do ; and she,
of the same breed, and nobler far, had seen it too ; and
the great soul steadily drew the recoiling heart and
quivering body to this fiery trial, this act of humanity —
to do which was terrible and hard, to shirk it, cowardly
and cruel.
She reached Gravesend, and drove in a fly to Kent
Villa.
The door was opened by a maid.
" Is Mrs. Staines at home ? "
" Yes, ma'am, she is at home : but — "
" Can I see her ? "
" Why, no, ma'am, not at present."
"But I must see her. I am an old friend. Please
take her my card. Lady Cicely Treherne."
The maid hesitated, and looked confused. " Perhaps
.you don't know, ma'am. Mrs. Staines, she is — the
doctor have been in the house all day."
"Ah, the doctor! I believe Dr. Philip Staines is
here."
" A^Tiy, that is the doctor, ma'am. Yes, he is here."
" Then, pray let me see him — or no ; I had better see
Mr. Lusignan."
"Master have gone out for the day, ma'am; but if
you'll step in the drawing-room, I'll tell the doctor." ^
Lady Cicely waited in the drawing-room some time,
heart-sick and trembling.
At last Dr. Philip came in, with her card in his hand,
looking evidently a little cross at the interruption.
"Now, madam, please tell me, as briefly as you can,
what I can do for you."
" Are you Dr. Philip Staines ? "
"I am, madam, at your service — for five minutes.
Can't quit my patient long, just now."
248 A SIMPLETON.
" Oh, sir, thank God I have found you. Be prepared
for ill news — sad news — a terrible calamity — I can't
speak. Eead that, sir." And she handed him Tadcaster's
note.
He took it, and read it.
He buried his face in his hands. " Christopher ! my
poor, poor boy ! " he groaned. But suddenly a terrible
anxiety seized him. " Who knows of this ? " he asked.
" Only myself, sir. I came here to break it to her."
" You are a good, kind lady, for being so thoughtful.
Madam, if this gets to my niece's ears, it will kill her,
as sure as we stand here."
" Then let us keep it from her. Command me, sir.
I will do anything. I will live here — take the letters
in — the journals — anything."
" No, no ; you have done your part, and God bless you
for it. You must not stay here. Your ladyship's very
presence, and your agitation, would set the servants
talking, and some idiot-fiend among them babbling —
there is nothing so terrible as a fool."
"May I remain at the inn, sir; just one night ? "
" Oh yes, I wish you would ; and I will run over, if
all is well with her — well with her ? poor unfortunate
girl!"
Lady Cicely saw he wished her gone, and she went
directly.
At nine o'clock that same evening, as she lay on a sofa
in the best room of the inn, attended by her maid, Dr.
Philip Staines came to her. She dismissed her maid.
Dr. Philip was too old, in other words, had lost too
many friends, to be really broken down by bereavement ;
but he was strangely subdued. The loud tones were out
of him, and the loud laugh, and even the keen sneer.
Yet he was the same man ; . but with a gentler surface ;
and this was not without its pathos.
A SIMPLETON. 249
" Well, madam," said ho gravely and quietly. " It is
as it always has been. * As is the race of leaves, so that
of man.' When one falls, another comes. Here's a little
Cliristopher come, in place of him that is gone : a brave,
beautiful boy, ma'am ; the finest but one I ever brought
into the world. He is come to take his father's place in
our hearts — I see you valued his poor father, ma'am —
but he comes too late for me. At your age, ma'am,
friendships come naturally ; they spring like loves in
the soft heart of youth : at seventy, the gate is not so
open; the soil is more sterile. I shall never care for
another Christopher; never see another grow to man's
estate."
"The mother, sir," sobbed Lady Cicely; "the poor
mother ? "
" Like them all — poor creature : in heaven, madam ;
in heaven. New life ! new existence ! a new character.
All the pride, glory, rapture, and amazement of maternity
— thanks to her ignorance, which we must prolong, or
I would not give one straw for her life, or her son's. I
shall never leave the house till she does know it, and
come when it may, I dread the hour. She is not framed
by nature to bear so deadly a shock."
" Her father, sir. Would he not be the best person to
break it to her ? He was out to-day."
" Her father, ma'am ? I shall get no help from him.
He is one of those soft, gentle creatures, that come into
the world with what your canting fools call a mission ;
and his mission is to take care of number one. Not
dishonestly, mind you, nor violently, nor rudely, but
doucely and calmly. The care a brute like me takes
of his vitals, that care Lusignan takes of his outer cuticle.
His number one is a sensitive plant. No scenes, no
noise ; nothing painful — by-the-by, the little creature
that writes in the papers, and calls calamities j9a/?i/(f^/, is
250 A SIMPLETON.
of Lusignan's breed. Out to-day ! of course he was out,
ma'am : he knew from me his daughter would be in peril
all day, so he visited a friend. He knew his own tender-
ness, and evaded paternal sensibilities : a self -de fender.
I count on no help from that charming man."
" A man ! I call such creachaas weptiles ! " said Lady
Cicely, her ghastly cheek coloring for a moment.
" Then you give them a false importance.'^
In the course of this interview, Lady Cicely accused
herself sadly of having interfered between man and wife,
and with the best intentions brought about this cruel
calamity. " Judge, then, sir," said she, " how grateful
I am to you for undertaking this cruel task. I was her
schoolfellow, sir, and I love her dearly ; but she has
turned against me, and now, oh, with what horror she
will regard me ! "
" Madam," said the doctor, " there is nothing more
mean and unjust than to judge others by events that
none could foresee. Your conscience is clear. You did
your bftst for my poor nephew : but Fate willed it other-
wise. As for my niece, she has many virtues, but justice
is one you must not look for in that quarter. Justice
requires brains. It's a virtue the heart does not deal in.
You must be content with your own good conscience,
and an old man's esteem. You did all for the best;
and this very day you have done a good, kind action.
God bless you for it ! "
Then he left her ; and next day she went sadly home,
and for many a long day the hollow world saw nothing
of Cicely Treherne.
When Mr. Lusignan came home that night, Dr. Philip
told him the miserable story, and his fears. He received
it, not as Philip had expected. The bachelor had counted
without his dormant paternity. He was terror-stricken
— abject — fell into a chair, and wrung his hands, and
A SIMPLETON. 251
wept piteously. To keijp it from his daughter till she
should be strouger, seemed to him chimerical, impossible.
However, Philip insisted it must be done ; and he must
make some excuse for keeping out of her way, or his
manner would rouse her suspicions. He consented
readily to that, and indeed left all to Dr. Philip.
Dr. Philip trusted nobody ; not even his own confiden-
tial servant. He allowed no journal to come into the
house without passing through his hands, and he read
them all before he would let any other soul in the house
see them. He asked Eosa to let him be her secretary
and open her letters, giving as a pretext that it would
be as well she should have no small worries or trouble
just now.
" Why," said she, " I was never so well able to bear
them. It must be a great thing to put me out now. I
am so happy, and live in the future. Well, dear uncle,
you can if you like — what does it matter ? — only there
must be one exception : my own Christie's letters, you
know."
" Of course," said he, wincing inwardly.
The very next day came a letter of condolence from
Miss Lucas. Dr. Philip intercepted it, and locked it up,
to be shown her at a more fitting time.
But how could he hope to keep so. public a thing as
this from entering the house in one of a hundred news-
papers ?
He went into Gravesend, and searched all the news-
papers, to see wdiat he had to contend with. To his
horror, he found it in several dailies and weeklies, and
in two illustrated papers. He sat aghast at the difficulty
and the danger.
The best thing he could think of was to buy them all,
and cut out the account. He did so, and brought all the
papers, thus mutilated, into the house, and sent them
252 A SIMPLETON.
into the kitchen. He said to his ohl servant, "These
may amuse Mr. Lusignan's people, and I have extracted
all that interests me.''
By these means he hoped that none of the servants
would go and buy more of these same papers else-
where.
Notwithstanding these precautions, he took the nurse
apart, and said, " Now, you are an experienced woman,
and to be trusted about an excitable patient. Mind, I
object to any female servant entering Mrs. Staines's room
with gossip. Keep them outside the d@or for the present,
please. Oh, and nurse, if anything should happen, likely
to grieve or to worry her, it must be kept from her
entirely : can I trust you ? "
" You may, sir."
"I shall add ten guineas to your fee, if she gets
through the month without a shock or disturbance of
any kind."
She stared at him, inquiringly. Then she said, —
"You may rely on me, doctor."
" I feel I may. Still, she alarms me. She looks quiet
enough, but she is very excitable."
Not all these precautions gave Dr. Philip any real
sense of security ; still less did they to Mr. Lusignan.
He was not a tender father, in small things, but the idea
of actual danger to his only child was terrible to him ;
and he now passed his life in a continual tremble.
This is the less to be wondered at, when I tell you
that even the stout Philip began to lose his nerve, his
a})petite, his sleep, under this hourly terror and this
hourly torture.
Well did the great imagination of antiquity feign a
torment, too great for the mind long to endure, in the
sword of Damocles sus})ended by a single hair over his
head. Here the sword hung over an innocent creature,
A SIMPLETON. 253
who smiled beneath it, fearless ; hnt these two old men
must sit and watch the sword, and ask themselves how
long before that subtle salvation shall snap.
"Ill news travels fast," says the proverb. "The birds
of the air shall carry the matter," says Holy Writ ; and
it is so. No bolts nor bars, no promises nor precautions,
can long shut out a great calamity from the ears it is to
blast, the heart it is to wither. The very air seems full
of it, until it falls.
Rosa's child was more than a fortnight old ; and she
was looking more beautiful than ever, as is often the
case with a very young mother, and Dr. Philip compli-
mented her on her looks. " Xow," said he, " you reap
the advantage of being good, and obedient, and keeping
quiet. In another ten days or so, I may take you to the
seaside for a week. I have the honor to inform you
that from about the fourth to the tenth of ]\Iarch there
is always a week of fine weather, which takes everybody
by surprise, except me. It does not astonish me, because
I observe it is invariable. Now, what w^ould you say if
I gave you a week at Heme Bay, to set you up
altogether ? "
" As you please, dear uncle," said Mrs. Staines, with a
sweet smile. " I shall be very hapjiy to go, or to stay.
I shall be happy everywhere, w^th my darling boy, and
the thought of my husband. Why, I count the days till
he shall come back to me. No, to us ; to us, my pet.
How dare a naughty mammy say to 'me,' as if 'me ' was
half the 'portance of oo, a precious pets ! "
Dr. Philip w\as surprised into a sigh.
" What is the matter, dear ? " said Rosa, very quickly.
" The matter ? "
" Yes, dear, the matter. You sighed ; you, the laugh-
ing philosopher."
" Did I ? " said he, to gain time. " Perhaps I remem-
254 A SIMPLETON.
bered the uncertainty of liunican life, and of all mortal
hopes. The old will have their thoughts, my dear.
They have seen so much trouble.'^
"But, uncle dear, he is a very healthy child."
"Very."
" And you told me yourself carelessness was the cause
so many children die."
"That is true."
She gave him a curious and rather searching look;
then, leaning over her boy, said, "Mammy's not afraid.
Beautiful Pet was not born to die directly. He will
never leave his mam-ma. No, uncle, he never can. For
my life is bound in his and his dear father's. It is a
triple cord : one go, go all."
She said this with a quiet resolution that chilled
Uncle Philip.
At this moment the nurse, who had been bending so
pertinaciously over some work that her eyes were invisi-
ble, looked quickly up, cast a furtive glance at Mrs.
Staines, and finding she was employed for the moment,
made an agitated signal to Dr. Philip. All she did was
to clench her two hands and lift them half was to her
face, and then cast a frightened look towards the door ;
but Philip's senses were so sharpened by constant alarm
and watching, that he saw at once something serious was
the matter. But as he had asked himself what he
should do in case of some sudden alarm, he merely gave
a nod of intelligence to the nurse, scarcely perceptible,
then rose quietly from his seat, and went to the window.
"Snow coming, I think," said he. "Por all that we
shall have the March summer in ten days. You mark
my words." He then went leisurely out of the room ;
at the door he turned, and, with all the cunning he was
master of, said, " Oh, by the by, come to my room, nurse,
when you are at leisure."
A SLMPLETON. 255
" Yes, doctor," said the nurse, but never moved. She
was too bent on hiding the agitation she really felt.
" Had you not better go to him, nurse ? "
"Perhaps I had, madam."
She rose with feigned indifference, and left the room.
She walked leisurely down the x)assage, then, casting a
hasty glance behind her, for fear Mrs. Staines should be
watching her, hurried into the doctor's room. They met
at once in the middle of the room, and Mrs. Briscoe
burst out, "Sir, it is known all over the house ! "
" Heaven forbid ! A^^at is known ? "
" What you would give the world to keep from her.
Wh}^, sir, the moment you cautioned me, of course I saw
there was trouble. But little I thought — sir, not a serv-
ant in the kitchen or the stable but knows that her
husband — poor thing ! poor thing ! — Ah ! there goes
the housemaid — to have a look at her."
" Stop her ! "
Mrs. Briscoe had not waited for this ; she rushed after
the woman, and told her Mrs. Staines was sleeping, and
the room must not be entered on any account.
" Oh, very well," said the maid, rather sullenly.
Mrs. Briscoe saw her return to the kitchen, and came
back to Dr. Staines ; he was pacing the room in torments
of anxiety.
" Doctor," said she, " it is the old story : ' Servants'
friends, the master's enemies.' An old servant came
here to gossip with her friend the cook (she never could
abide her while they were together, by all accounts),
and told her the w^hole story of his being drowned at
sea."
Dr. Philip groaned, " Cursed chatterbox ! " said he.
" What is to be done ? Must we break it to her now ?
Oh, if I could only buy a few days more ! The heart to
be crushed while the body is weak ! It is too cruel.
256 A SIMPLETOK.
Advise me, Mrs. Briscoe. You are an experienced
woman, and I think you are a kind-liearted woman."
" Well, sir," said Mrs. Briscoe, " I had the name of it,
when I was younger — before Briscoe failed, and I took
to nursing ; which it hardens, sir, by use, and along of
the patients themselves ; for sick folk are lumps of self-
ishness ; we see more of them than you do, sir. But
this I unll say, 'tisn't selfishness that lies now in that
room, waiting for the blow that will bring her to death's
door, I'm sore afraid; but a sweet, gentle, thoughtful
creature, as ever supped sorrow ; for I don't know how
'tis, doctor, nor why 'tis, but an angel like that has
always to sup sorrow."
" But you do not advise me," said the doctor, in agita-
tion, " and something must be done."
" Advise you, sir ; it is not for me to do that. I am
sure I'm at my wits' ends, poor thing ! Well, sir, I don't
see what you can do, but try and break it to her. Better
so, than let it come to her like a clap of thunder. But
I think, sir, I'd have a wet-nurse ready, before I said
much : for she is very quick — and ten to one but the
first word of such a thing turns her blood to gall. Sir,
I once knew a poor Avoman — she was a carpenter's wife
— a-nursing her child in the afternoon — and in runs a
foolish woman, and tells her he was killed dead, off a
scaffold. 'Twas the man's sister told her. Well, sir,
she was knocked stupid like, and she sat staring, and
nursing of her child, before she could take it in rightly.
The child was dead before supper-time, and the woman
was not long after. The whole family was swept away,
sir, in a few hours, and I mind the table was not cleared
he had dined on, when they came to lay them out. Well-
a-day, nurses see sorrow ! "
"We all see sorrow that live long, Mrs. Briscoe. I
am heart-broken myself; I am desperate. You are a
A SlMrLETON. 1^57
good soul, and I'll tell you. When my nephew married
this poor girl, I was very angry with him ; and I soon
found she was not fit to be a struggling man's wife ; and
then I was very angry with her. She had spoiled a first-
rate physician, I thought. But, since I knew her better,
it is all changed. She is so lovable. How I shall ever
tell her this terrible thing, God knows. All I know is,
that I will not throw a chance away. Her body shall be
stronger, before I break her heart. Cursed idiots, that
could not save a single man, Avith their boats, in a calm
sea ! Lord forgive me for blaming peo^jle, when I was
not there to see. I say I will give her every chance.
She shall not know it till she is stronger : no, not if I
live at her door, and sleep there, and all. Good God !
inspire me with something. There is always something
to be done, if one could but see it."
Mrs. Briscoe sighed and said, " Sir, I think anything
is better than for her to hear it from a servant — and
they are sure to blurt it out. Young women are such
fools."
" Ko, no ; I see what it is," said Dr. Philip. " I have
gone all wrong from the first. I have been acting like a
woman, when I should have acted like a man. Why, I
only trusted you by halves. There was a fool for you.
Never trust people by halves."
" That is true, sir."
" Well, then, now I shall go at it like a man. I have
a vile opinion of servants ; but no matter. I'll try them :
they are human, I suppose. I'll hit them between the
eyes like a man. Go to the kitchen, Mrs. Briscoe, and
tell them I wish to speak to all the servants, indoors or
out."
"Yes, sir."
She stopped at the door, and said, '^I had better get
back to her, as soon as I have told them."
258 A SUNIPLETON.
" Certainly."
" And what shall I tell her, sir ? Her first word will
be to ask me what you wanted me for. I saw that in her
eye. She was curious : that is why she sent me after
you so quick."
Dr. Philip groaned. He felt he was walking among
pitfalls. He rapidly flavored some distilled water with
orange-flower, then tinted it a beautiful pink, and bottled
it. " There," said he ; "I was mixing a new medicine.
Tablespoon, four times a day : had to filter it. Any lie
you like."
Mrs. Briscoe went to the kitchen, and gave her
message : then went to Mrs. Staines with the mix-
ture.
Dr. Philip went down to the kitchen, and spoke to
the servants very solemnly. He said, " My good friends,
I am come to ask your help in a matter of life and
death. There is a poor young woman up-stairs ; she is a
widow, and does not know it ; and must not know it yet.
If the blow fell noAV, I think it would kill her : indeed,
if she hears it all of a sudden, at any time, that might
destroy her. We are in so sore a strait that a feather
may turn the scale. So we must try all we can to gain
a little time, and then trust to God's mercy after all.
Well, now, what do you say ? Will you help me keep it
from her, till the tenth of March, say ? and then I will
break it to her by degrees. Forget she is your mistress.
Master and servant, that is all very well at a proper
time ; but this is the time to remember nothing but that
we are all one flesh and blood. We lie down together
in the churchyard, and we hope to rise together where
there will be no master and servant. Think of the poor
unfortunate creature as your own flesh and blood, and
tell me, will you help me try and save her, under this
terrible blow ? "
A SIMTLETON. 259
"Ay, (loftor, that we will/' said the footman. "Only
you give ns our orders, and you will see."
" I have no right to give you orders ; but I entreat you
not to show her by word or look, that calamity is upon
her. Alas ! it is only a reprieve you can give her and to
me. The bitter hour must come when I must tell her
she is a widow, and her boy an orphan. When that day
comes, I will ask you all to pray for me that I may find
words. But now I ask you to give me that ten days'
reprieve. Let the poor creature recover a little strength,
before the thunderbolt of affliction falls on her head.
Will you promise me ? "
They promised heartily; and more than one of the
women began to cry.
" A general assent will not satisfy me," said Dr. Philip.
" I want every man, and every Avoman, to give me a hand
upon it ; then I shall feel sure of you."
The men gave him their hands at once. The women
wiped their hands with their aprons, to make sure they
were clean, and gave him their hands too. The cook
said, " If any one of us goes from it, this kitchen will
be too hot to hold her."
" Nobody will go from it, cook," said the doctor. " I'm
not afraid of that; and now since you have promised
me, out of your own good hearts, I'll try and be even
with you. If she knows nothing of it by the tenth of
March, five guineas to every man and woman in this
kitchen. You shall see that, if you can be kind, we can
be grateful."
He then hurried away. He found Mr. Lusignan in
the drawing-room, and told him all this. Lusignan was
fluttered, but grateful. " Ah, my good friend," said he,
" this is a hard trial to two old men, like you and me."
" It is," said Philip. " It has shown me my age. I
declare I am trembling ; I, whose nerves were iron. But
260 A SIMPLETON.
I liave a particular contempt for servants. Mercenary
wretclies ! I tliink Heaven inspired me to talk to them.
After all, who knows ? perhaps we might find a way to
their hearts, if we did not eternally shock their vanity,
and forget that it is, and must be, far greater than our
own. The women gave me their tears, and the men were
earnest. Not one hand lay cold in mine. As for your
kitchen-maid, I'd trust my life, to that girl. What a
grip she gave me ! What strength ! What fidelity was
in it ! My hand was never (jvasiied before. I think we
are safe for a few days more."
Lusignan sighed. " What does it all come to ? We
are pulling the trigger gently, that is all."
" No, no ; that is not it. Don't let us confound the
matter with similes, please. Keep them for children."
Mrs. Staines left her bed ; and would have left her
room, but Dr. Philip forbade it strictly.
One day, seated in her arm-chair, she said to the nurse,
before Dr. Philip, "Nurse, why do the servants look so
curiously at me ? "
Mrs. Briscoe cast a hasty glance at Dr. Philip, and
then said, "I don't know, madam. I never noticed
that."
"Uncle, why did nurse look at you before she
answered such a simple question ? "
" I don't know. What question ? "
"About the servants."
" Oh, about the servants ! " said he contemptuously.
" You should not turn up your nose at them, for they
are all most kind and attentive. Only, I catch them
looking at me so strangely ; really — as if they — "
" Eosa, you are taking me quite out of my depth. The
looks of servant girls ! Why, of course a lady in your
condition is an object of especial interest to them. I
dare say they are saying to one another, ^I wonder
A SIMPLETON. 2G1
when my turn will come ! ^ A fellow-feeling makes us
wondrous kind — that is a proverb, is it not ? "
" To be sure. I forgot that."
She said no more ; but seemed thoughtful, and not
quite satisfied.
On this Dr. Philip begged the maids to go near her as
little as possible. " You are not aware of it," said he,
" but your looks, and your manner of sx)eaking, rouse her
attention, and she is quicker than I thought she was,
and observes very subtly."
This was done ; and then she complained that nobody
came near her. She insisted on coming down-stairs ; it
was so dull.
Dr. Phili]) consented, if she would be content to
receive no visits for a week.
She assented to that ; and now passed some hours every
day in the drawing-room. In her morning wrappers, so
fresh and crisp, she looked lovely, and increased in
health and strength every day.
Dr. Philip used to look at her, and his very flesh
would creep at the thought that, ere long, he must hurl
this fair creature into the dust of afliiction ; must, Avith
a word, take the ruby from her lips, the rose from her
cheeks, the sparkle from her glorious eyes — eyes that
beamed on him with sweet affection, and a mouth that
never opened, but to show some simplicity of mind, or
some pretty burst of the sensitive heart.
He put off, and put off, and at last cowardice began to
whisper, " Why tell her the whole truth at all ? Why
not take her through stages of doubt, alarm, and, after
all, leave a grain of hope till her child gets so rooted
in her heart that" — But conscience and good sense
interrupted this temporary thought, and made him see
to what a horrible life of suspense he should condemn a
human creature, and live a perpetual lie, and be always
at the edge of some pitfall or other.
262 A SIMPLETON.
One day, while lie sat looking at her, with all these
thoughts, and many more, coursing through his mind,
she looked up at him, and surprised him. " Ah ! " said
she gravely.
" What is the matter, my dear ? "
'' Oh, nothing," said she cunningly.
" Uncle, dear," said she presently, " when do we go to
Heme Bay?"
Now, Dr. Philip had given that up. He had got the
servants at Kent Villa on his side, and he felt safer
here than in any strange place : so he said, " I don't
know: that all depends. There is plenty of time."
" No, uncle," said Eosa gravely. " I wish to leave this
house. I can hardly breathe in it."
" What ! your native air ? "
" Mystery is not my native air ; and this house is full
of mystery. Voices whisper at my door, and the people
don't come in. The maids cast strange looks at me, and
hurry away. I scolded that pert girl Jane, and she
answered me as meek as Moses. I catch you looking at
me, with love, and something else. What is that some-
thing — ? It is Pity: that is what it is. Do you
think, because I am called a simpleton, that I have no
eyes, nor ears, nor sense ? What is this secret which
you are all hiding from one person, and that is me ?
Ah ! Christopher has not written these five weeks. Tell
me the truth, for I will know it," and she started up in
wild excitement.
Then Dr. Philip saw the hour was come.
He said, " My poor girl, you have read us right. I am
anxious about Christopher, and all the servants know it."
"Anxious, and not tell me; his wife; the woman
whose life is bound up in his."
" Was it for us to retard your convalescence, and set
you fretting, and perhaps destroy your child? Eosa,
A SIMPLETON. 203
my darling, think what a treasure Heaven has sent yon,
to love and care for."
"Yes," said she, trembling, "Heaven has been good to
me ; I hope Heaven will always be as good to me. I
don't deserve it; but then I tell God so. I am very
grateful, and very penitent. I never forget that, if I
had been a good wife, my husband — five weeks is a long
time. Why do you tremble so ? Why are you so pale
— a strong man like you ? Calamity ! calamity ! "
Dr. Philip hung his head.
She looked at him, started wildly up, then sank back
into her chair. So the stricken deer leaps, then falls.
Yet even now she put on a deceitful calm, and said,
" Tell me the truth. I have a right to know."
He stammered out, " There is a report of an accident
at sea."
She kept silence.
. " Of a passenger drowned — out of that ship. This,
coupled with his silence, fills our hearts with fear."
"It is worse — you are breaking it to me — you have
gone too far to stop. One word : is he alive ? Oh, say
he is alive ! "
Philip rang the bell hard, and said in a troubled voice,
"liosa, think of your child."
" Not when my husband — Is he alive or dead ? "
" It is hard to say, with such a terrible report about,
and no letters," faltered the old man, his courage failing
him.
" What are you afraid of ? Do you think I can't die,
and go to him ? Alive, or dead ? " and she stood before
him, raging and quivering in every limb.
The nurse came in. •
" Fetch her child," he cried ; " God have mercy on her."
" Ah, then he is dead," said she, with stony calmness.
" I drove him to sea, and he is dead."
264 A SIMPLETON.
The nurse rushed in, and held the child to her.
She would not look at it.
"Dead!"
" Yes, our poor Christie is gone — but his child is
here — the image of him. Do not forget the mother.
Have pity on his child and yours."
" Take it out of my sight ! " she screamed. " Away
with it, or I shall murder it, as I have murdered its
father. My dear Christie, before all that live ! I have
killed him. I shall die for him. I shall go to him."
She raved and tore her hair. Servants rushed in. Rosa
was carried to her bed, screaming and raving, and her
black hair all down on both sides, a piteous sight.
Swoon followed swoon, and that very night brain fever
set in with all its sad accompaniments ; a poor bereaved
creature, tossing and moaning ; pale, anxious, but reso-
lute faces of the nurse and the kitchen-maid Avatching :
on one table a pail of ice, and on another the long, thick
raven hair of our poor Simpleton, lying on clean silver
paper. Dr. Philip had cut it all off with his own hand,
and he was now folding it up, and crying over it ; for he
thought to himself, " Perhaps in a few days more only
this will be left of her on earth."
A SIMrLETON. 2G5
CHAPTER XV.
Staixes fell head-foremost into the sea with a heavy-
plunge. Being an excellent swimmer, he struck out the
moment he touched ths water, and that arrested his dive,
and brought him up with a slant, shocked and panting,
drenched and confused. The next moment he saAv, as
through a fog — his eyes being full of water — something
fall from the ship. He breasted the big waves, and swam
towards it : it rose on the top of a wave, and he saw
it was a life-buoy. Encumbered with wet clothes, he
seemed impotent in the big waves ; they threw him up
so high, and down so low.
Almost exhausted, he got to the life-buoy, and clutched
it with a fierce grasp and a wild cry of delight. He got
it over his head, and, placing his arms round the buoyant
circle, stood with his breast and head out of water,
gasping.
He now drew a long breath, and got his wet hair out
of his eyes, already smarting with salt water, and, rais-
ing himself on the buoy, looked out for help.
He saw, to his great concern, the ship already at a
distance. She seemed to have flown, and she was still
drifting fast away from him.
He saw no signs of help. His heart began to turn as
cold as his drenched body. A horrible fear crossed him.
But presently he saw the weather-boat filled, and fall
into the water ; and then a wave rolled between him and
the ship, and he only saw her topmast.
The next time he rose on a mighty wave he saw the
boats together astern of the vessel, but not coming his
266 A SIMPLETON.
way ; and the gloom was thickening, the ship becoming
indistinct, and all was doubt and horror.
A life of agony passed in a few minutes.
He rose and fell like a cork on the buoyant waves —
rose and fell, and saw nothing but the ship's lights, now
terribly distant.
But at last, as he rose and fell, he caught a few fitful
glimpses of a smaller light rising and falling like him-
self. " A boat ! " he cried, and raising himself as high
as he could, shouted, cried, implored for help. He
stretched his hands across the water. ^^ This way ! this
way ! "
The light kept moving, but it came no nearer. They
had greatly underrated the drift. The other boat had no
light.
Minutes passed of suspense, hope, doubt, dismay,
terror. Those minutes seemed hours.
In the agony of suspense the quaking heart sent beads
of sweat to the brow, though the body was immersed. •
And the gloom deepened, and the cold waves flung
him up to heaven with their giant arms, and then down
again to hell : and still that light, his only hope, was
several hundred yards from him.
Only for a moment at a time could his eyeballs, strain-
ing with agony, catch this will-o'-the-wisj), the boat's
light. It groped the sea up and down, but came no
near.
When what seemed days of agony had passed, sud-
denly a rocket rose in the horizon — so it seemed to him.
The lost man gave a shriek of joy ; so prone are we
to interpret things hopefully.
Misery ! The next time he saw that little light, that
solitary spark of hope, it was not quite so near as before.
A mortal sickness fell on his heart. The ship had
recalled the boats by rocket.
A SIMPLETON. 2G7
He shrieked, he cried, he screamed, he raved. "Oh,
Rosa ! Rosa ! for her sake, men, men, do not leave me.
I am here ! here ! "
In vain. The miserable man saw the boat's little
light retire, recede, and melt into the ship's larger light,
and that light glided away.
Then, a cold, deadly stupor fell on him. Then^ death's
icy claw seized his heart, and seemed to run from it to
every part of him. He was a dead man. Only a ques-
tion of time. Nothing to gain by floating.
But the despairing mind could not quit the world in
peace, and even here in the cold, cruel sea, the quivering
body clung to this fragment of life, and winced at death's
touch, though more merciful.
He despised this weakness ; he raged at it ; he could
not overcome it.
Unable to live or to die, condemned to float slowly,
hour by hour, down into death's jaws.
To a long, death-like stupor succeeded frenzy. Fury
seized this great and long-suffering mind. It rose
against the cruelty and injustice of his fate. He cursed
the world, whose stupidity had driven him to sea; he
cursed remorseless nature ; and at last he railed on the
God who made him, and made the cruel water, that was
waiting for his body. " God's justice ! God's mercy !
God's power ! they are all lies," he shouted, " dreams,
chimeras, like Him the all-powerful and good, men babble
of by the fire. If there was a God more powerful than
thfe sea, and only half as good as men are, he would pity
my poor Rosa and me, and send a hurricane to drive
those caitiffs back to the wretch they have abandoned.
Nature alone is mighty. Oh, if I could have her on my
side, and only God against me ! But she is as deaf to
prayer as He is : as mechanical and remorseless. I am
a bubble melting into the sea. Soul I have none j my
268 A SIMPLETON.
body will soon be notbing, nothing. So ends an honest,
loving life. I always tried to love my fellow-creatures.
Curse them ! curse them ! Curse the earth ! Curse the
sea I Curse all nature : there is no other God for me to
curse."
The moon came out.
He raised his head and staring eyeballs, and cursed
her.
The wind began to whistle, and flung spray in his face.
He raised his fallen head and staring eyeballs, and
cursed the wind.
While he was thus raving, he became sensible of a
black object to windward.
It looked like a rail, and a man leaning on it.
He stared, he cleared the wet hair from his eyes, and
stared again.
The thing, being larger than himself and partly out
of water, was drifting to leeward faster than himself.
He stared and trembled, and at last it came nearly
abreast, black, black.
He gave a loud cry, and tried to swim towards it ; but
encumbered with his life-buoy, he made little progress.
The thing drifted abreast of him, but ten yards distant.
As they each rose high upon the waves, he saw it
plainly.
It was the very raft that had been the innocent cause
of his sad fate.
He shouted with hope, he swam, he struggled ; he got
near it, but not to it ; it drifted past, and he lost his
chance of intercepting it. He struggled after it. The
life-buoy would not let him catch it.
Then he gave a cry of agony, rage, despair, and flung
off the life-buoy, and risked all on this one chance.
He gains a little on the raft.
He loses.
A SIMPLETON. 2G9
He gains : he cries, " Rosa ! Rosa ! " and struggles
with all his soul, as well as his body : he gains.
But when almost within reach, a wave half drowns
him, and he loses.
He cries, " Rosa ! Rosa ! " and swims high and strong.
^'Rosa! Rosa! Rosa!"
He is near it. He cries, " Rosa ! Rosa ! " and with all
the energy of love and life flings himself almost out of
the water, and catches hold of the nearest thing on the
raft.
It was the dead man^s leg.
It seemed as if it would come away in his grasp. He
dared not try to i)^iil himself up by that. But he held
on by it, panting, exhausting, faint.
This faintness terrified him. "Oh," thought he, "if
I faint now, all is over."
Holding by that terrible and strange support, he made
a grasp, and caught hold of the woodwork at the bottom
of the rail. He tried to draw himself up. Impossible.
He was no better off than with his life-buoy.
But in situations so dreadful, men think fast ; he
worked gradually round the bottom of the raft by his
hands, till he got to leeward, still holding on. There he
found a solid block of wood at the edge of the raft. He
prised himself carefully up ; the raft in that part then
sank a little : he got his knee upon the timber of the
raft, and with a wild cry seized the nearest upright, and
threw both arms round it and clung tight. Then first
he found breath to speak. " Thaxk God ! " he cried,
kneeling on the timber, and grasping the upright post —
" Oh, thank God ! thank God ! "
270 A SLMPLETON.
CHAPTER XVI.
" Thank God ! " why, according to Ms tlieory, it
should have been " Thank Nature." But I observe that,
in such cases, even philosophers are ungrateful to the
mistress they worship.
Our philosopher not only thanked God, but being on
his knees, prayed forgiveness for his late ravings, prayed
hard, with one arm curled round the upright, lest the
sea, which ever and anon rushed over the bottom of the
raft, should swallow him up in a moment.
Then he rose carefully, and wedged himself into the
corner of the raft opposite to that other figure, ominous
relic of the wild voyage the new-comer had entered
upon ; he put both arms over the rail, and stood erect.
The moon Avas now up ; but so was the breeze : fleecy
clouds flew with vast rapidity across her bright face, and
it was by fitful though vivid glances Staines examined
the raft and his companion.
The raft was large, and well made of timbers tied and
nailed together, and a strong rail ran round it resting on
several uprights. There were also some blocks of a very
light wood screwed to the horizontal timbers, and these
made it float high.
But Avhat arrested and fascinated the man's gaze was
his dead companion, sole survivor, doubtless, of a horri-
ble voyage, since the raft was not made for one, nor by
one.
It was a skeleton, or nearly, whose clothes the sea-
birds had torn, and pecked every limb in all the fleshy
parts J the rest of the body had dried to dark leather on
A SIIMPLETON. 271
lihe bones. The head was little more than an eyeless
skull ; but in the fitful moonlight, those liuge hollow
caverns seemed gigantic lamp-like eyes, and glared at
him fiendishly, appallingly.
He sickened at the sight. He tried not to look at it ;
but it would be looked at, and threaten him in the moon-
light, with great lack-Kistre eyes.
The wind whistled, and lashed his face with spray
torn olf the big waves, and the water was nearly up to
his knees, and the raft tossed so wildly, it was all he
could do to hold on in his corner: in which struggle,
still those monstrous lack-lustre eyes, like lamps of
death, glared at him in the moon; all else was dark,
except the fiery crests of the black mountain-billows,
tumbling and raging all around.
"Wliat a night !
But, before morning, the breeze sank, the moon set,
and a sombre quiet succeeded, with only that grim figure
in outline dimly visible. Owing to the motion still
retained by the waves, it seemed to nod and rear, and be
ever preparing to rush upon him.
The sun rose glorious, on a lovely scene ; the sk}^ was
a very mosaic of colors sweet and vivid, and the tranquil,
rippling sea, peach-colored to the horizon, with lines of
diamonds where the myriad ripples broke into smiles.
Staines was asleep, exhausted. Soon the light awoke
him, and he looked up. Wliat an incongruous j^icture
met his eye : that heaven of color all above and around,
and right before him, like a devil stuck in mid-heaven,
that grinning corpse, whose fate foreshadowed his own.
But daylight is a great strengthener of the nerves ;
the figure no longer appalled him — a man who had long
learned to look with Science's calm eye upon the dead.
Wlien the sea became like glass, and from peach-color
deepened to rose, he walked along the raft, and inspected
272 A SIMrLETON.
the dead man. He found it was a man of color, but not
a black. The body was not kept in its place, as he hiid
supposed, merely by being jammed into the angle caused
by the rail; it was also lashed to the corner upright by
a long, stout belt. Staines concluded this had kept the
body there, and its companions had been swept away.
This was not lost on him : he removed the belt for his
own use : he then found it was not only a belt, but a
rece})tacle ; it was nearly full of small, hard substances
that felt like stones.
AYhen he had taken it off the body, he felt a compunc-
tion. " Ought he to rob the dead, and expose it to be
swept into the sea at the first wave, like a dead dog ? "
He Avas about to replace the belt, when a middle course
occurred to him. He was a man who always carried
certain useful little things about him, viz., needles,
thread, scissors, and string. He took a piece of string,
and easily secured this poor light skeleton to the raft.
The belt he strapped to the rail, and kept for his own
need.
And now hunger gnawed him. No food was near.
There was nothing but the lovely sea and sky, mosaic
with color, and that grim, ominous skeleton.
Hunger comes and goes many times before it becomes
insupportable. All that day and night, and the next
day, he suffered its pangs ; and then it became torture,
but the thirst maddening.
Towards night fell a gentle rain. He spread a hand-
kerchief and caught it. He sucked the handkerchief.
This revived him, and even allayed in some degree the
pangs of hunger.
Next day was cloudless. A hot sun glared on his
unprotected head, and battered down his enfeebled frame.
He resisted as well as he could. He often dipped his
head, and as often the persistent sun, with cruel glare,
made it smoke again.
A SIMPLETON. 273
Next day the same : but the strength to meet it was
waning. He lay down and thought of Eosa, and wept
bitterly. He took the dead num's belt, and lashed him-
self to the upright. That act, and his tears for his
beloved, were almost his last acts of perfect reason : for
next day came the delusions and the dreams that succeed
when hunger ceases to torture, and the vital powers
begin to ebb. He lay and saw pleasant meadows with
meandering streams, and clusters of rich fruit that
courted the hand and melted in the mouth.
Ever and anon they vanished, and he saw grim death
looking down on him with those big cavernous eyes.
By and by, whether his body's eye saw the grim skel-
eton, or his mind's eye the juicy fruits, green meadows,
and p>early brooks, all was shadowy.
So, in a placid calm, beneath a blue sky, the raft
drifted dead, with its dead freight, upon the glassy pur-
})le, and he drifted, too, towards the world unknown.
There came across the waters to that dismal raft a
thing none too common, by sea or land — a good man.
He was tall, stalwart, bronzed, and had hair like snow,
before his time, for he had known trouble. He com-
manded a merchant steamer, bound for Calcutta, on the
old route.
The man at the mast-head descried a floating wreck,
and hailed the deck accordingly. The captain altered
his course without one moment's hesitation, and brought
up alongside, lowered a boat, and brought the dead, and
the breathing man, on board.
A young middy lifted Staines in his arms from the
wreck to the boat ; he whose person I described in chap-
ter one weighed now no more than that.
]\[en are not alwaj's rougher than women. Their
strength and nerve enable them now and then to be
gentler than buttery-fingered angels, who drop frail
18
274 A SENirLETON.
things tlirough sensitive agitation, and break them.
These rough men saw Staines was hovering between
life and death, and the}^ handled him like a thing the
ebbing life might be shaken out of in a moment. It
was pretty to see how gingerly the sailors carried the
sinking man up the ladder, and one fetched swabs, and
the others laid him down softly on them at their captain's
feet.
" Well done, men," said he. " Poor fellow ! Pray
Heaven, we may not have come too late. Now stand
aloof a bit. Send the surgeon aft."
The surgeon came, and looked, and felt the heart. He
shook his head, and called for brandy„ He had Staines's
head raised, and got half a spoonful of diluted brandy
down his throat. But there was an ominous gurgling.
After several such attempts at intervals, he said i)lainly
the man's life could not be saved by ordinary means.
"Then try extraordinary," said the captain. "My
orders are that he is to be saved. There is life in him.
You have only got to keep it there. He 7mtst be saved ;
he shall be saved."
" I should like to try Dr. Staines's remedy," said the
surgeon.
" Try it, then : what is it ? "
«A bath of beef-tea. Dr. Staines says he applied it
to a starved cliild — in the Lancet."
" Take a hundred-weight of beef, and boil it in the
coppers."
Thus encouraged, the surgeon went to the cook, and
very soon beef was steaming on a scale and at a rate
unparalleled.
Meantime, Captain Dodd had the patient taken to his
own cabin, and he and his servant administered weak
brandy and water with great caution and skill.
There was no perceptible result. But at all events
A SlMl'LETON. 275
there was life and vital instinct left, or lie could not
liave swallowed.
Thus they hovered about him for some hours, and then
the bath was ready.
The captain took charge of the patient's clothes : the
surgeon and a sailor bathed him in lukewarm beef-tea,
and then covered him very warm with blankets next the
skin. Guess how near a thing it seemed to them, when
I tell you they dared not rub him.
Just before sunset his i^ulse became perceptible. The
surgeon administered half a spoonful of egg-flip. The
patient swallowed it.
By and by he sighed.
"He must not be left, day or night," said the captain.
" I don't know who or what he is, but he is a man ; and
I could not bear him to die now."
That night Captain Dodd overhauled the patient's
clothes, and looked for marks on his linen. There were
none.
" Poor devil ! " said Captain Dodd. " He is a bachelor."
Captain Dodd found his pocket-book, with bank-notes,
two hundred pounds. He took the numbers, made a
memorandum of them, and locked the notes up.
He lighted his lamp, examined the belt, unripped it,
and poured out the contents on his table.
They were dazzling. A great many large pieces of
amethyst, and some of white topaz and rock crystal ; a
large number of smaller stones, carbuncles, chrysolites,
and not a few emeralds. Dodd looked at them with
pleasure, sparkling in the lamplight.
" What a lot ! " said he. " I wonder what they are
worth ! " He sent for the first mate, who, he knew, did
a little private business in precious stones. "Master-
ton," said he, " oblige me by counting these stones with
me, and valuing them,"
276 A SIMPLETON.
Mr. Masterton stared, and liis mouth watered. How-
ever, he named the various stones and vahied them. He
said there was one stone, a large enierakl, without a
flaw, that was worth a heavy sum by itself; and the
pearls, very fine : and looking at the great number, they
must be worth a thousand pounds.
Captain Dodd then entered the whole business care-
fully in the ship's log: the living man he described
thus : " About five feet six in height, and about fifty
years of age." Then he described the notes and the
stones very exactly, and made Masterton, the valuer,
sign the log.
Staines took a good deal of egg-flip that night, and
next day ate solid food; but they questioned him in
vain; his reason was entirely in abeyance: he had be-
come an eater, and nothing else. Whenever they gave
him food, he showed a sort of fawning animal gratitude.
Other sentiment he had none, nor did words enter his
mind any more than a bird's. And since it is not pleas-
ant to dwell on the wreck of a fine understanding, I will
only say that they landed him at Cape Town, out of
bodily danger, but weak, and his mind, to all appearance,
a hopeless blank.
They buried the skeleton, — read the service of the
English Church over a Malabar heathen.
Dodd took Staines to the hospital, and left twenty
pounds with the governor of it to cure him. But he
deposited Staines's money and jewels with a friendly
banker, and begged that the principal cashier might see
the man, and be able to recognize him, should he apply
for his own.
The cashier came and examined him, and also the
ruby ring on his finger — a parting gift from Eosa —
and remarked this was a new way of doing business.
" Why, it is the only one, sir," said Dodd. " How can
A SIMPLETON. 277
we give you his signature ? He is not in liis riglit
mind."
" Nor never will be."
" Don't say that, sir. Let us hope for the best, poor
fellow."
Having made these provisions, the worthy captain
weighed anchor, Avith a warm heart and a good con-
science. Yet the image of the man he had saved pur-
sued him, and he resolved to look after him next time
he should coal at Cape Town, homeward bound.
Staines recovered his strength in about two months ;
but his mind returned in fragments, and very slowly.
For a long, long time he remembered nothing that had
preceded his great calamity. His mind started afresh,
aitled only by certain fixed habits ; for instance, he could
read and write : but, strange as it may appear, he had
no idea who he w^as ; and when his memory cleared a
little on that head, he thought his surname was Christie,
but he was not sure.
Nevertheless, the presiding physician discovered in
him a certain progress of intelligence, which gave him
great hopes. In the fifth month, having shown a marked
interest in the other sick patients, coupled with a dispo-
sition to be careful and attentive, they made him a
nurse, or rather a sub-nurse under the special orders of
a responsible nurse. I really believe it was done at first
to avoid the alternative of sending him adrift, or trans-
ferring him to the insane ward of the hospital. In this
congenial pursuit he showed such watchfulness and skill,
that by and by they found they had got a treasure. Two
months after that he began to talk about medicine, and
astonished them still more. He became the puzzle of
the establishment. The doctor and surgeon would con-
verse with him, and try and lead him to his past life ;
but when it came to that, he used to put his hands to
278 A SIMPLETON.
liis liead with a face of great distress, and it was clear
some impassable barrier lay between his growing intelli-
gence and the past events of his life. Indeed, on one
occasion, he said to his kind friend the doctor, "The
past ! — a black wall ! a black wall ! "
Ten months after his admission he was promoted to
be an attendant, with a salary.
He put by every shilling of it 5 for he said, " A voice
from the dark past tells me money is everything in this
world."
A discussion was held by the authorities as to whether
he should be informed he had money and jewels at the
bank or not.
Upon the whole, it was thought advisable to postpone
this information, lest he should throw it away ; but they
told him he had been picked up at sea, and both money
and jewels found on him ; they were in safe hands, only
the person was away for the time. Still, he was not to
look upon himself as either friendless or moneyless.
At this communication he showed an almost childish
delight, that confirmed the doctor in his opinion he was
acting prudently, and for the real benefit of an amiable
and afflicted person, not yet to be trusted with money
and jewels.
A SIMPLETON. 279
CHAPTER XVII.
In his quality of attendant on the sick, Staines some-
times conducted a weak but convalescent patient into the
open air ; and he was always pleased to do this, for the
air of the Cape carries health and vigor on its wings.
He had seen its fine recreative properties, and he divined,
somehow, that the minds of convalescents ought to be
amused, and so he often begged the doctor to let him
take a convalescent abroad. Sooner than not, he would
draw the patient several miles in a Bath chair. He
rather liked this; for he was a Hercules, and had no
egotism or false pride where the sick were concerned.
Now, these open-air walks exerted a beneficial influence
on his own darkened mind. It is one thing to struggle
from idea to idea; it is another when material objects
mingle with the retrospect ; they seem to supply stepping-
stones in the gradual resuscitation of memory and reason.
The ships going out of port were such a stepping-
stone to him, and a vague consciousness came back to
him of having been in a ship.
Unfortunately, along with this reminiscence came a
desire to go in one again; and this sowed discontent in
his mind, and the more that mind enlarged, the more he
began to dislike the hosi)ital and its confinement. The
feeling grew, and bade fair to disqualify him for his
humble ofiice. The authorities could not fail to hear of
this, and they had a little discussion about parting with
him ; but they hesitated to turn him adrift, and they
still doubted the propriety of trusting him with money
and jewels.
280 A SIMPLETON.
While matters were in tliis state a remarkable event
occurred. He drew a sick patient down to the quay one
morning, and watched the business of the port with the
keenest interest. A ship at anchor was unloading, and
a great heavy boat was sticking to her side like a black
leech. Presently this boat came away, and moved slug-
gishly towards the shore, rather by help of the tide than
of the two men who went through the form of propelling
her with two monstrous sweeps, while a third steered her.
She contained English goods: agricultural implements,
some cases, four horses, and a buxom young woman with
a thorough English face. The woman seemed a little
excited, and as she neared the landing-place, she called
out in jocund tones. to a young man on the shore, "It is
all right, Dick ; they are beauties," and she patted the
beasts as people do who are fond of them.
She stepped lightly ashore, and then came the slower
work of landing her imports. She bustled about, like a
hen over her brood, and wasn't always talking, but put
in her word every now and then, never crossly, and always
to the point.
Staines listened to her, and examined her with a sort
of puzzled look; but she took no notice of him; her
whole soul was in the cattle.
They got the things on board well enough; but the
horses were frightened at the gangway, and jibbed. Then
a man was for driving them, and poked one of them in
the quarter ; he snorted and reared directly.
" Man alive ! " cried the young woman, " that is not the
way. They are docile enough, but frightened. Encourage
'em, and let 'em look at it. Give 'em time. More haste
less speed, with timorous cattle."
"That is a very pleasant voice," said poor Staines,
rather more dictatorially than became the present state
of his intellect. He added softly, "a true woman's
A SIMPLETON. 281
voice;" then gloomily, "a voice of tlie past — the dark,
dark past."
At this speech intruding itself upon the short sentences
of business, there was a roar of laughter, and Phoebe
Falcon turned sharply round to look at the speaker. She
stared at him ; she cried " Oh ! " and clasped her hands,
and colored all over. "Why, sure," said she, "I can't be
mistook. Those eyes — 'tis you, doctor, isn't it ? "
" Doctor ? " said Staines, with a puzzled look. " Yes ;
I think they called me doctor once. I'm an attendant in
the hospital now."
"Dick!" cried Phoebe, in no little agitation. "Come
here this minute."
"What, afore I get the horses ashore ?"
"Ay, before you do another thing, or say another word.
Come here, now." So he came, and she told him to take a
good look at the man. "Now," said she, "who is that?"
" Blest if I know," said he.
"What, not know the man who saved your own life!
Oh, Dick, what are your eyes worth ? "
This discourse brought the few persons within hearing
into one band of excited starers.
Dick took a good look, and said, " I'm blest if I don't,
though ; it is the doctor that cut my throat."
This strange statement drew forth quite a shout of
ejaculations.
"Oh, better breathe through a slit than not at all,"
said Dick. " Saved my life with that cut, he did, didn't
he, Pheeb ? "
" That he did, Dick. Dear heart, I hardly know whether
I am in my senses or not, seeing hiin a-looking so blank.
You try him."
Dick came forward. " Sure you remember me, sir.
Dick Dale. You cut my throat, and saved my life."
" Cut your throat I why, that would kill you."
282 A SIMPLETON.
"Not the way you done it. Well, sir, you ain't the
man you was, that is clear ; but you was a good friend
to me, and there's my hand."
" Thank you, Dick," said Staines, and took his hand. " I
don't remember you. Perhaps you are one of the past.
The past is dead wall to me — a dark dead wall," and he
put his hands to his head with a look of distress.
Everybody there now suspected the truth, and some
pointed mysteriously to their own heads.
Phoebe whispered an inquiry to the sick person.
He said a little pettishly, "All I know is, he is the
kindest attendant in the ward, and very attentive.'^
" Oh, then, he is in the public hospital."
" Of course he is."
The invalid, with the selfishness of his class, then
begged Staines to take him out of all this bustle doAvn
to the beach. Staines complied at once, with the utmost
meekness, and said, "Good-by, old friends; forgive me
for not remembering you. It is my great affliction that
the past is gone from me — gone, gone." And he went
sadly away, drawing his sick charge like a patient mule.
Phoebe Falcon looked after him, and began to cry.
" Nay, nay, Phoebe," said Dick ; " don't ye take on
about it."
"I wonder at you," sobbed Phoebe. "Good people,
I'm fonder of my brother than he is of himself, it
seems ; for I can't take it so easy. Well, the world is
full of trouble. Let us do what we are here for. But I
shall pray for the poor soul every night, that his mind
may be given back to him."
So then she bustled, and gave herself to getting the
cattle on shore, and the things put on board her wagon.
But when tliis was done, she said to her brother,
"Dick, I did not think anything on earth could take my
heart oft" the cattle and the things we have got from
A SDVirLETON. ^«^
home ; but I can't leave this without going to the hosi)i-
tal about our poor dear doctor : and it is late for making
a start, any way — and you mustn't forget the news-
papers for Reginald — he is so fond of them — and you
must contrive to have one sent out regular after this,
and I'll go to the hospital."
She went, and saw the head doctor, and told him he
had got an attendant there she had known in England
in a very different condition, and she had come to see if
there was anything she could do for him — for she felt
very grateful to him, and grieved to see him so.
The doctor was pleased and surprised, and jjut several
questions.
Then she gave him a clear statement of what he had
done for Dick in England.
" Well," said the doctor, " I believe it is the same man ;
for, now you tell me this — yes, one of the nurses told
me he knew more about medicine than she did. His
name, if you please."
" His name, sir ? "
" Yes, his name. Of course you know his name. Is
it Christie ? "
"Doctor," said Phoebe, blushing, "I don't know what
you will think of me, but I don't know his name. Laws
forgive me, I never had the sense to ask it."
A shade of suspicion crossed the doctor's face.
Phoebe saw it, and colored to the temples. " Oh, sir,"
she cried piteously, " don't go for to think I have told
you a lie ! why should I ? and indeed I am not of that
sort, nor Dick neither. Sir, I'll bring him to you, and
he will say the same. Well, we were all in terror and
confusion, and I met him accidentally in the street.
He was only a customer till then, and paid ready money,
BO that is how I never knev/ his name, but if I hadn't
been the greatest fool in England, I should have asked
his wife."
284 A SIMPLETON.
"What! he has a wife?"
" Ay, sir, the loveliest lady you ever clapped eyes on,
and he is almost as handsome ; has eyes in his head like
jewels ; 'twas by them I knew him on the quay, and I
think he knew my voice again, said as good as he had
heard it in past times."
" Did he ? Then we have got him," cried the doctor
energetically.
" La, sir."
"Yes; if he knows your voice, you will be able in
time to lead his memory back ; at least, I think so. Do
you live in Cape Town ? "
" Dear heart, no. I live at my own farm, a hundred
and eighty miles from this."
" What a pity ! "
"Why, sir?"
"Well— hum!"
" Oh, if you think I could do the poor doctor good by
having him with me, you have only to say the word, and
out he goes with Dick and me to-morrow morning. We
should have started for home to-night, but for this."
" Are you in earnest, madam ? " said the doctor, open-
ing his eyes. " Would you really encumber yourself with
a person whose reason is in suspense, and may never
return ? "
"But that is not his fault, sir. Why, if a dog had
saved my brother's life, I'd take it home, and keep it all
its days ; and this is a man, and a worthy man. Oh, sir,
Avlien I saw him brought down so, and his beautiful eyes
clouded like, my very bosom yearned over the poor soul ;
a kind act done in dear old England, who can see the
man in trouble here, and not repay it — ay, if it cost
one's blood. But indeed he is strong and healthy, and
hands are always scarce our way, and the odds are
he will earn his meat one way or t'other; and if he
A SIMPLETON. 285
doesn't, why, all the better for me ; I shall have the
pleasure of serving him for nought that once served me
for neither money nor reward."
" You are a good woman," said the doctor warmly.
" There's better, and there's worse," said Phoebe
quietly, and even a little coldly.
" More of the latter," said the doctor dryly. " Well,
Mrs. ? "
" Falcon, sir."
" We shall hand him over to your care : but first —
just for form — if you are a married woman, we should
like to see Dick here : he is your husband, I presume."
Phoebe laughed merrily. " Dick is my brother ; and
he can't be spared to come here. Dick ! he'd say black
was white if I told him to."
"Then let us see your husband about it — just for
form."
" My husband is at the farm. I could not venture so
far away, and not leave him in charge." If she ha,d
said, " I will not bring him into temptation," that would
have been nearer the truth. " Let that fly stick on the
wall, sir. What I do, my husband will approve.'^
" I see how it is. You rule the roost."
Phoebe did not reply point-blank to that ; she merely
said, " All my chickens are happy, great and small," and
an expression of lofty, womanly, innocent pride illu-
minated her face and made it superb for a moment.
In short, it was settled that Staines should accompany
her next morning to Dale's Kloof Farm, if he chose.
On inquiry, it appeared that he had just returned to the
hospital with his patient. He was sent for, and Phoebe
asked him sweetly if he would go with her to her house,
one hundred and eighty miles away, and she woidd be
kind to him.
" On the water ? "
286 A SIjSIPLETON.
" Nay, by land ; but 'tis a fine country, and you will
see beautiful deer and things running across tlie plains,
and" —
" Shall I find the past again, the past again ? "
" Ay, poor soul, that we shall, God willing. You and
I, we will hunt it together."
He looked at her, and gave her his hand. " I will go
with you. Your face belongs to the past, so does your
voice."
He then inquired, rather abruptly, had she any chil-
dren. She smiled.
" Ay, that I have, the loveliest little boy you ever saw.
When you are as you used to be, you will be his doctor,
won't you ? "
" Yes, I will nurse him, and you will help me find the
past."
Phoebe then begged Staines to be ready to start at six
in the morning. She and Dick would take him up on
their Avay.
While she was talking to him the doctor sli2)ped out,
and to tell the truth he went to consult with another
authority, whether he should take this opportunity of
telling Staines that he had money and jewels at the
bank : he himself was half inclined to do so ; but the
other, who had not seen Phoebe's face, advised him to do
nothing of the kind. " They are always short of money,
these colonial farmers," said he ; " she Avould get every
shilling out of him."
" Most would ; but this is such an honest face."
" Well, but she is a mother, you say."
" Yes."
" Well, what mother could be just to a lunatic, with
her own sweet angel babes to provide for ? "
" That is true," said Dr. . " Maternal love is apt
to modify the conscience."
A SIMPLETON. 287
" What I would do, — I would take her address, and
make her promise to write if he gets well, and if he does
get well then write to hlniy and tell him all about it."
Dr. acted on this shrewd advice, and ordered a
bundle to be made up for the traveller out of the hos-
pital stores : it contained a nice light summer suit and
two changes of linen.
288 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Next morning, Staines and Dick Dale walked tlirougli
the streets of Cape Town side by side. Dick felt tlie
uneasiness of a sane man, not familiar witli tlie mentally
afEicted, who suddenly finds himself alone with one.
Insanity turns men oftenest into sheep and hares ; but it
does now and then make them wolves and tigers ; and that
has saddled the insane in general with a character for
ferocity. Young Dale, then, cast many a suspicious
glance at his comrade, as he took him along. These
glances were reassuring: Christopher's face had no
longer the mobility, the expressive changes, that mark
the superior mind ; his countenance was monotonous :
but the one expression was engaging ; there was a sweet,
patient, lamb-like look : the glorious eye a little troubled
and perplexed, but wonderfully mild. Dick Dale looked
and looked, and his uneasiness vanished. And the more
he looked, the more did a certain wonder creep over him,
and make him scarce believe the thing he knew; viz.,
that a learned doctor had saved him from the jaws of
death by rare knowledge, sagacity, courage, and skill
combined : and that mighty man of wisdom was brought
down to this lamb, and would go north, south, east, or
west, with sweet and perfect submission, even as he,
Dick Dale, should appoint. With these reflections honest
Dick felt his eyes get a little misty, and, to use those
words of Scripture, which nothing can surpass or equal,
his bowels yearned over the man.
As for Christopher, he looked straight forward, and
said not a word till they cleared the town ; but when he
A SIMPLETON. 289
saw the Vcast flowery vale, and the far-off violet hills,
like Scotland glorified, he turned to Dick with an
ineffable expression of sweetness and good fellowship,
and said, " Oh, beautiful ! We'll hunt the past together."
(( We — will — 50," said Dick, with a sturdy and indeed
almost a stern resolution.
Now, this he said, not that he cared for the past, nor
intended to waste the present by going upon its prede-
cessor's trail ; but he had come to a resolution — full
three minutes ago — to humor his companion to the top
of his bent, and say "Yes" with hypocritical vigor to
everything not directly and immediately destructive to
him and his.
The next moment they turned a corner and came upon
the rest of their party, hitherto hidden by the apricot
hedge and a turning in the road. A blue-black Kafir,
with two yellow Hottentot drivers, man and boy, was
harnessing, in the most primitive mode, four horses on
to the six oxen attached to the wagon ; and the horses
were flattening their ears, and otherwise resenting the
incongruity. Meantime a fourth figure, a colossal young
Kafir woman, looked on superior with folded armS;, like
a sable Juno looking down with that absolute composure
upon the struggles of man and other animals, which
Lucretius and his master Epicurus assigned to the
Divine nature. Without jesting, the grandeur, majesty,
and repose of this figure were unsurpassable in nature,
and such as have vanished from sculpture two thousand
years and more.
Dick Dale joined the group immediately, and soon
arranged the matter. Meantime, Phoebe descended from
the wagon, and welcomed Christopher very kindly, and
asked him if he would like to sit beside her, or to
walk.
He glanced into the wagon ; it was covered and cur-
290 A SIMPLETON.
tainecl, and cLark as a cupboard. "I think," said lie,
timidly, " I shall see more of the past out here."
" So you will, poor soul," said Phoebe kindly, " and
better for your health : but you must not go far from the
wagon, for I'm a fidget ; and I have got the care of
3^ou now, you know, for want of a better. Come, Ucatella ;
you must ride with me, and help me sort the things;
they are all higgledy-piggledy." So those two got into
the wagon through the back curtains. Then the Kafir
driver flourished his kambok, or long whip, in the air,
and made it crack like a pistol, and the horses reared,
and the oxen started and slowly bored in between them,
for they whinnied, and kicked, and spread out like a fan
all over the road ; but a flick or two from the terrible
kambok soon sent them bleeding and trembling and
rubbing shoulders, and the oxen, mildly but persistently
goring their recalcitrating haunches, the intelligent
animals went ahead, and revenged themselves by
breaking the harness. But that goes for little in Cape
travel.
'Jthe body of the wagon was long and low and very
stout. The tilt strong and tight-made. The roof inside,
and most of the sides, lined with green baize. Curtains
of the same to the little window and the back. There
was a sort of hold literally built full of purchases ; a small
fireproof safe; huge blocks of salt; saws, axes, pick-
axes, adzes, flails, tools innumerable, bales of wool and
linen stuff, hams, and two hundred empty sacj^s strewn
over all. In large pigeon-holes fixed to the sides were
light goods, groceries, collars, glaring cotton handker-
chiefs for Phoebe's aboriginal domestics, since not every
year did she go to Cape Town, a twenty days' journey
by wagon : things dangled from the very roof ; but no
hard goods there, if you please, to batter one's head in a
spill. Outside were latticed grooves with tent, tent-poles,
A SIMPLETON. 291
and rifles. Great pieces of cork, and bags of hay and
corn, liung dangling from mighty hooks — tlie latter to
feed the cattle, should they be compelled to camp out on
some sterile spot on the Veldt, and methinks to act as
buffers, should the whole concern roll down a nullah <jr
little precipice, no very uncommon incident in the blessed
region they must pass to reach Dale's Kloof.
Harness mended; fresh start. The Hottentots and
Kafir vociferated and yelled, and made the unearthly
row of a dozen wild beasts wrangling : the horses drew
the bullocks, they the wagon ; it crawled and creaked,
and its appendages wobbled finely.
Slowly they creaked and wobbled past apricot hedges
and detached houses and huts, and got into an open
country without a tree, but here and there a stunted
camel-thorn. The soil was arid, and grew little food for
man or beast ; yet, by a singular freak of nature, it put
forth abundantly things that here at home we find it
harder to raise than homely grass and oats ; the ground
was thickly clad with flowers of delightful hues ; pyra-
mids of snow or rose-color bordered the track ; yellow
and crimson stars bejewelled the ground, and a thousand
bulbous plants burst into all imaginable colors, and
spread a rainbow carpet to the foot of the violet hills ;
and all this glowed, and gleamed, and glittered in a sun
shining with incredible brightness and purity of light,
but, somehow, without giving a headache or making the
air sultry.
Christopher fell to gathering flowers, and interrogating
the past by means of them ; for he had studied botany :
the past gave him back some pitiably vague ideas. He
sighed. "Never mind," said he to Dick, and tapped his
forehead : " it is here : it is only locked up."
" All right," said Dick j " nothing is lost when you
know where 'tis."
292 A SIMPLETON.
" This is a beautiful country/' suggested Christoplier.
" It is all flowers. It is like the garden of — the garden
of — locked up."
"It is de — light — ful," replied the self -compelled
optimist sturdily. But here nature gave way ; he was
obliged to relieve his agricultural bile by getting into
the cart and complaining to his sister. " 'Twill take us
all our time to cure him. He have been bepraising this
here soil, which it is only fit to clean the women's kettles.
'Twouldn't feed three larks to an acre, I know ; no, nor
half so iiianyP
" Poor soul ! mayhap the flowers have took his eye. Sit
here a bit, Dick. I want to talk to you about a many
things."
While these two were conversing, Ucatella, who was
very fond of Phoebe, but abhorred wagons, stepped out
and stalked by the side, like an ostrich, a camelopard, or
a Taglioni ; nor did the effort with which she subdued
her stride to the pace of the procession appear : it was
the poetry of walking. Christopher admired it a moment ;
but the noble expanse tempted him, and he strode forth
like a giant, his lungs inflating in the glorious air, and
soon left the wagon far behind.
The consequence w^as that when they came to a halt,
and Dick and Phoebe got out to release and water the
cattle, there w^as Christopher's figure retiring into
space.
"Hanc rem segre tulit Phoebe," as my old friend Livy
would say. " Oh dear ! oh dear ! if he strays so far from
us, he will be eaten up at nightfall by jackals, or lions,
or something. One of you must go after him."
" Me go, missy," said Ucatella zealously, pleased with
an excuse for stretching her magnificent limbs.
"Ay, but mayhap he will not come back with you:
will he, Dick ? "
A SIMPLETON. 293
" That he will, like a lamb." Dick wanted to look
after the cattle.
" Yiike, my girl," said Phoebe, " listen. He has been
a good friend of ours in trouble ; and now he is not quite
right liere. So be very kind to him, but be sure and
bring him back, or keep him till we come."
" Me bring him back alive, certain sure," said Ucatella,
smiling from ear to ear. She started with a sudden glide,
like a boat taking the water, and appeared almost to
saunter away, so easy was the motion ; but when you
looked at the ground she was covering, the stride, or
glide, or whatever it was, was amazing.
*♦ She seem'd in walking to devour the way."
Christopher walked fast, but nothing like this ; and as
he stopped at times to botanize and gaze at the violet
hills, and interrogate the past, she came up with him
about five miles from the halting-place.
She laid her hand quietly on his shoulder, and said,
with a broad genial smile, and a musical chuckle, " Uca-
tella come for you. Missy want to speak you."
" Oh ! very well ; " and he turned back with her,
directly 5 but she took him by the hand to make sure ;
and they marched back peaceably, in silence, and hand
in hand. But he looked and looked at her, and at last
he stopped dead short, and said, a little arrogantly,
" Come, I know you. You are not locked up ; " and he
inspected her point-blank. She stood like an antique
statue, and faced the examination. " You are ' the noble
savage,' " said he, having concluded his inspection.
" Nay," said she. " I be the housemaid."
"The housemaid?"
"Iss, the housemaid, Ucatella. So come on." And
she drew him along, sore perplexed.
294 A SIMPLETON.
Tlio}^ met the cavalcade a mile from tlie halting-place,
and Phoebe apologized a little to Cliristopher. " I hope
you'll excuse me, sir," said she, ''but I am just for all
the world like a hen with her chickens; if but one
strays, I'm all in a flutter till I get him back."
" Madam," said Christoj^her, " I am very unhappy at
the way things are locked up. Please tell me truly, is
this ' the housemaid,' or ' the noble savage ' ? "
"Well, she is both, if you go to that, and the best
creature ever breathed."
" Then she is ' the noble savage ' ? "
" Ay, so they call her, because she is black."
" Then, thank Heaven,'^ said Christopher, " the past is
not all locked up."
That afternoon they stopped at an inn. But Dick
slept in the cart. At three in the morning they took
the road again, and creaked along supernaturally loud
under a purple firmament studded with huge stars, all
bright as moons, that lit the way quite clear, and showed
black things innumerable flitting to and fro ; these made
Phoebe shudder, but were no doubt harmless ; still Dick
carried his double rifle, and a revolver in his belt.
They made a fine march in the cool, until some slight
mists gathered, and then they halted and breakfasted
near a silvery kloof, and watered the cattle. While thus
employed, suddenly a golden tinge seemed to fall like a
lash on the vapors of night ; they scudded away directly,
as jackals before the lion; the stars paled, and with one
incredible bound, the mighty sun leaped into the horizon,
and rose into the sky. In a moment all the lesser lamps
of heaven were out, though late so glorious, and there
was nothing but one vast vaulted turquoise, and a great
flaming topaz mounting with eternal ardor to its
centre.
This did not escape Christopher. "What is this?"
A SIIVfTLETON. 295
said ho. "No twiliglit. The tropics!" He managed
to dig that word out of the past in a moment.
At ten o'clock the sun was so hot that they halted, and
let the oxen loose till sun-down. Then they began to
climb the mountains.
The way was steep and rugged ; indeed, so rough in
places, that the cattle had to jump over the holes, and as
the wagon could not jump so cleverly, it jolted appall-
ingly, and many a scream issued forth.
Near the summit, when the poor beasts were dead
beat, they got into clouds and storms, and the wind
rushed howling at them through the narrow pass with
such fury it flattened the horses' ears, and bade fair to
sweep the whole cavalcade to the plains below.
Christopher and Dick walked close behind, under the
lee of the wagon. Christopher said in Dick's ear, " D'ye
hear that ? Time to reef topsails, captain."
"It is time to do somethlng,^^ said Dick. He took
advantage of a jutting rock, drew the wagon half behind
it and across the road, propped the wheels with stones,
and they all huddled to leeward, man and beast indis-
criminately.
" Ah ! " said Christopher, approvingly ; " we are lying
to : a ver}^ — proper — course."
They huddled and shivered three hours, and then the
sun leaped into the sky, and lo ! a transformation scene.
The cold clouds were first rosy fleeces, then golden ones,
then gold-dust, then gone ; the rain was big diamonds,
then crystal sparks, then gone ; the rocks and the bushes
sparkled with gem-like drops, and shone and smiled.
The shivering party bustled, and toasted the potent
luminary in hot coffee ; for Phoebe's wagon had a stove
and chimney ; and then they yoked their miscellaneous
cattle again, and breasted the hill. With many a jump,
and bump, and jolt, and scream from inside, they reached
29G ' A SEMPLETON.
the summit, and looked down on a vast slope, flowering
but arid, a region of gaudy sterility.
The descent was more tremendous than the ascent,
and Phoebe got out, and told Christopher she w^ould
liever cross the ocean twice than this dreadful mountain
once.
The Hottentot with the reins was now bent like a bow
all the time, keeping the cattle from flowing diverse over
precipices, and the Kafir with his kambok was here, and
there, and everywhere, his whip flicking like a lancet,
and cracking like a horse-pistol, and the pair vied like
Apollo and Pan, not which could sing sweetest, but swear
loudest. Having the lofty hill for some hours between
tliem and the sun, they bumped, and jolted, and stuck in
mud-holes, and flogged and swore the cattle out of them
again, till at last they got to the bottom, where ran a
turbid kloof or stream. It was fordable, but the recent
rains had licked away the slope ; so the existing bank
was two feet above the stream. Little recked the demon
drivers or the parched cattle ; in they plunged promiscu-
ously, with a flop like thunder, followed by an awful
splashing. The wagon stuck fast in the mud, the horses
tied themselves in a knot, and rolled about in the stream,
and the oxen drank imperturbably.
" Oh, the salt ! the salt ! " screamed Phoebe, and the
rocks re-echoed her lamentations.
The wagon was inextricable, the cattle done up, the
savages lazy, so they stayed for several hours. Chris-
topher botanized, but not alone. Phoebe drew Ucatella
apart, and explained to her that when a man is a little
wrong in the head, it makes a child of him : " So," said
she, " you must think he is your child, and never let him
out of your sight."
"All right," said the sable Juno, who spoke English
ridiculously well, and rapped out idioms j especially
*^ Come on," and " All right."
A SIMPLETON. 297
About dusk, what the drivers had foreseen, though
tliey had not the sense to explain it, took place ; the
kloof dwindled to a mere gutter, and the wagon stuck
high and dry. Phoebe waved her handkerchief to Uca-
tella. Ucatella, who had dogged Christopher about four
hours without a word, now took his hand, and said, " My
child, missy wants us ; come on ; " and so led him unre-
sistingly.
The drivers, flogging like devils, cursing like troopers,
and yelling like hyenas gone mad, tried to get the wagon
off ; but it was fast as a rock. Then Dick and the Hot-
tentot put their shoulders to one wheel, and tried to
prise it up, while the Kafir encouraged the cattle with
his thong. Observing this, Christopher went in, with
his sable custodian at his heels, and heaved at the other
embedded wheel. The wagon Avas lifted directly, so that
the cattle tugged it out, and they got clear. On examin-
ation, the salt had just escaped.
Says Ucatella to Phoebe, a little ostentatiously, "My
child is strong and useful ; make little missy a good
slave." '
" A slave ! Heaven forbid ! " said Phoebe. " He'll be
a father to us all, once he gets his head back ; and I do
think it is coming — but very slow."
The next three days offered the ordinary incidents of
African travel, but nothing that operated much on Chris-
topher's mind, which is the true point of this narrative ;
and as there are many admirable books of African travel,
it is the more proper I should confine myself to what
may be called the relevant incidents of the journey.
On the sixth day from Cape Town, they came up with
a large wagon stuck in a mud-hole. There was quite a
party of Boers, Hottentots, Kafirs, round it, armed with
whips, shamboks, and oaths, lashing and cursing without
intermission, or any good effect; and there were the
298 A SIMPLETON.
wretched beasts straining in vain at their choking yokes,
moaning with anguish, trembling with terror, tlieir poor
mikl eyes dilated with agony and fear, and often, when
the blows of the cruel shamboks cut open their bleeding
flesh, they bellowed to Heaven their miserable and vain
23rotest against this devil's Avork.
Then the past opened its stores, and lent Christopher
a word.
" Barbarians ! " he roared, and seized a gigantic Kafir
by the throat, just as his shambok descended for the
hundredth time. There was a mighty struggle, as of
two Titans ; dust flew round the combatants in a cloud ;
a whirling of big bodies, and down they both went with
an awful thud, the Saxon uppermost, by Nature's law.
The Kafir's companions, amazed at first, began to roll
their eyes and draw a knife or two ; but Dick ran for
ward, and said, " Don't hurt him : he is wrong Aere."
This representation pacified them more readily than
one might have expected. Dick added hastily, "We'll
get you out of the hole our way, and cry quits."
The proposal was favorably received, and the next
minute Christopher and Ucatella at one wheel, 'and Dick
and the Hottentot at the other, with no other help than
two pointed iron bars bought for their shepherds, had
effected what sixteen oxen could not. To do this Dick
Dale had bared his arm to the shoulder; it was a,
stalwart limb, like his sister's, and he now held it out all
swollen and corded, and slapped it Avith his other hand.
" Look'ee here, you chaps," said he : " the worst use a man
can put that there to is to go cutting out a poor beast's
heart for not doing more than he can. You are good
fellows, you Kafirs ; but I think you have sworn never
to put your shoulder to a wheel. But, bless your poor
silly hearts, a little strength put on at the right place is
better than a deal at the wrong."
A SIMPLETON. 299
" You hear that, you Kafir chaps ? " inquired Ucatella,
a little arrogantly — for a Kafir.
The Kafirs, who had stood quite silent to imbibe these
remarks, bowed their heads with all the dignity and
politeness of Roman senators, Spanish grandees, etc. ;
and one of the party replied gravely, " The words of the
white man are always wise."
" And his arm blanked ^ strong," said Christopher's late
opponent, from whose mind, however, all resentment had
vanished.
Thus spake the Kafirs ; yet to this day never hath a
man of all their tribe put his shoulder to a wheel, so
strong is custom in South Africa ; probably in all Africa ;
since I remember St. Augustin found it stronger than he
liked, at Carthage.
Ucatella went to Phoebe, and said, " Missy, my child is
good and brave."
" Bother you and your child ! " said poor Phoebe. " To
think of his flying at a giant like that, and you letting
of him. I'm all of a tremble from head to foot : " and
Phoebe relieved herself with a cry.
" Oh, missy ! " said Ucatella.
" There, never mind me. Do go and look after your
child, and keep him out of more mischief. I wish we
were safe at Dale's Kloof, I do."
Ucatella complied, and went botanizing with Dr.
Staines ; but that gentleman, in the course of his scien-
tific researches into camomile flowers and blasted heath,
which were all that lovely region afforded, suddenly suc-
cumbed and stretched out his limbs, and said, sleepily,
" Good-night — U — cat — " and was off into the land of
Xod.
The w^agon, which, by the wa}', had passed the larger
1 I take tliis very useful expression from a delightful volume by Sir.
Boyle.
300 A SIMPLETON.
Init slower veliicle, found him fast asleep, and Ucatella
standing by liini as ordered, motionless and grand.
" Oh, dear ! Avhat now ? " said Phoebe : but being a
sensible woman, though in the hen and chickens line,
she said, " 'Tis the fighting and the excitement. 'Twill
do him more good than harm, I think : " and she had
him bestowed in the wagon, and never disturbed him
night nor day. He slept thirty-six hours at a stretch ;
and when he awoke, she noticed a slight change in liis
eye. He looked at her with an interest he had not
shown before, and said, "Madam, I know you."
"Thank God for that," said Phoebe.
" You kept a little shop, in the other world."
Phoebe opened her eyes with some little alarm.
" You understand — the world that is locked up — for
the present."
"Well, sir, so I did; and sold you milk and butter.
Don't you mind ? "
"No — the milk and butter — they are locked up."
The country became wilder, the signs of life miserably
sparse ; about every twenty miles the farmhouse or hut
of a degenerate Boer, whose children and slaves pigged
together, and all ran jostling, and the mistress screamed
in her shrill Dutch, and the Hottentots all chirped
together, and confusion reigned for want of method :
often they went miles, and saw nothing but a hut or
two, with a nude Hottentot eating flesh, burnt a little,
but not cooked, at the door ; and the kloofs became
deeper and more turbid, and Phoebe was in an agony
about her salt, and Christopher advised her to break it
in big lumps, and hang it all about the wagon in sacks ;
and she did, and Ucatella said profoundly, " My child is
wise ; " and they began to draw near home, and Phoebe
to fidget; and she said to Christopher, "Oh, dear! I
hope they are all alive and well : once you leave home,
A SIMPLETON. 301
you don't know wliat may have happened by then you
come back. One comfort, I've got Soi)hy : she is very
dependable, and no beauty, thank my stars."
That night, the hast they had to travel, was cloudy, for
a wonder, and they groped with lanterns.
Ucatella and her child brought up the rear. Presently
there was a light pattering behind them. The swift-
eared Ucatella clutched Christopher's arm, and turning
round, pointed back, with eyeballs white and rolling.
There were full a dozen animals following them, whose
bodies seemed colorless as shadows, but their eyes little
balls of flaming lime-light.
"Gux!" said Christie, and gave the Kafir's arm a
pinch. She flew to the caravan ; he walked backwards,
facing the foe. The wagon was halted, and Dick ran
back with two loaded rifles. In his haste he gave one
to Christopher, and repented at leisure ; but Christopher
took it, and handled it like an experienced person, and
said, with delight, "Volunteer." But with this the
cautious animals had vanished like bubbles. But Dick
told Christopher they would be sure to come back ; he
ordered Ucatella into the wagon, and told her to warn
Phoebe not to be frightened if guns should be fired.
This soothing message brought Phoebe's white face out
between the curtains, and she implored them to get into
the wagon, and not tempt Providence.
"Not till I have got thee a kaross of jackal's fur."
" I'll never wear it ! " said Phoebe violently, to divert
him from his purpose.
"Time will show," said Dick dryly. "These varmint
are on and off like shadows, and as cunning as Old Nick.
We two will walk on quite unconcerned like, and as soon
as ever the varmint are at our heels you give us the
ofiice ; and we'll pepper their fur — won't we, doctor ? "
«"VVe — will — pepper — their fur," said Christopher;
302 A SIMPLETON.
repeating what to him was a lesson in the ancient and
venerable English tongue.
So they walked on expectant ; and by and by the four-
footed shadows with large lime-light eyes came stealing
on ; and Phoebe shrieked, and they vanished before the
men could draw a bead on them.
"Thou's no use at this work, Pheeb," said Dick.
"Shut thy eyes, and let us have Yuke."
" Iss, master : here I be."
" You can bleat like a lamb ; for I've heard ye."
" Iss, master. I bleats beautiful ; " and she showed
snowy teeth from ear to ear.
" Well, then, when the varmint are at our heels, draw
in thy woolly head, and bleat like a young lamb. They
won't turn from that, I know, the vagabonds."
Matters being thus prepared, they sauntered on ; but
the jackals were very wary. They came like shadows,
so departed — a great many times : but at last being
re-enforced, they lessened the distance, and got so close,
that Ucatella withdrew her head, and bleated faintly
inside the wagon. The men turned, levelling their rifles,
and found the troop within twenty yards of them. They
wheeled directly : but the four barrels poured their flame,
four loud reports startled the night, and one jackal lay
dead as a stone, another limped behind the flying crowd,
and one lay kicking. He was soon despatched, and both
carcasses flung over the patient oxen; and good-by
jackals for the rest of that journey.
Ucatella, with all a Kafir's love of fire-arms, clapped
her hands with delight. "My child shoots loud and
strong," said she.
" Ay, ay," replied Phoebe ; " they are all alike ;
wherever there's men, look for quarrelling and firing oft'.
We had only to sit quiet in the wagon."
"Ay," said Dick, "the cattle especially — for it is
A SEVIPLETON. 303
them the varmint were after — and let 'em eat my
Hottentots.''
At this picture of the cattle inside the wagon, and
the jackals su})ping on cold Hottentot alongside, rhoeljt',
who had no more humor than a cat, but a heart of gold,
shut up, and turned red with confusion at her false
estimate of the recent transaction in fur.
When the sun rose they found themselves in a tract
somewhat less arid and inhuman ; and, at last, at the
rise of a gentle slope, they saw, half a mile before them,
a large farmhouse partly clad with creepers, and a little
plot of turf, the fruit of eternal watering ; item, a
flower-bed ; item, snow-white palings ; item, an air of
cleanliness and neatness scarcely known to those dirty
descendants of clean ancestors, the Boers. At some
distance a very large dam glittered in the sun, and a
troop of snow-white sheep were watering at it.
" England ! " cried Christopher.
" Ay, sir," said Phoebe ; " as nigh as man can make
it." But soon she began to fret : " Oh, dear ! where are
they all ? If it was me, I'd be at the door looking out.
Ah, there goes Yuke to rouse them up."
"Come, Pheeb, don't you fidget," said Dick kindly.
" AVliy, the lazy lot are scarce out of their beds by this
time."
" More shame for 'em. If they were away from me,
and coming home, I should be at the door day and night,
I know. Ah ! "
She uttered a scream of delight, for just then, out
came Ucatella, with little Tommy on her shoulder, and
danced along to meet her. As she came close, she raised
the chubby child high in the air, and he crowed ; and
then she lowered him to his mother, who rushed at him,
seized, and devoured him with a hundred inarticulate
cries of joy and love unspeakable.
304 A SIMPLETON.
" Nature ! " said Christopher dogmatically, recog-
nizing an old acquaintance, and booking it as one more
conquest gained over the past. But there was too much
excitement over the cherub to attend to him. So he
watched the woman gravely, and began to moralize with
all his might. " This," said he, " is what we used to
call maternal love ; and all animals had it, and that is
why the noble savage went for him. It was very
good of you. Miss Savage," said the poor soul senten-
tiously.
" Good of her ! " cried Phoebe. " She is all goodness.
Savage, find me a Dutchwoman like her ! I'll give her a
good cuddle for it ; " and she took the Kafir round the
neck, and gave her a hearty kiss, and made the little boy
kiss her too.
At this moment out came a collie dog, hunting Ucatella
by scent alone, which process landed him headlong in
the group ; he gave loud barks of recognition, fawned
on Phoebe and Dick, smelt poor Christopher, gave a
growl of suspicion, and lurked about squinting, dissatis-
fied, and lowering his tail.
" Thou art wrong, lad, for once," said Dick ; " for he's
an old friend, and a good one."
" After the dog, perhaps some Christian will come to
welcome us," said poor Phoebe.
Obedient to the wish, out walked Sophy, the English
nurse, a scraggy woman, with a very cocked nose and
thin, pinched lips, and an air of respectability and pert-
ness mingled. She dropped a short courtes}^, shot the
glance of a basilisk at Ucatella, and said stifily, " You
are welcome home, ma'am." Then she took the little
boy as one having authority. Not that Phoe])e would
have surrendered him ; but just then Mr. Falcon strolled
out, with a cigar in his mouth, and Phoebe, with her
heart in her mouth, flew to meet him. There was a
A SIMPLETON. 305
rapturous conjugal embrace, followed by mutual in-
quiries ; and the wagon drew up at the door. Then, for
the first time, Falcon observed Staines, saw at once he
was a gentleman, and touched his hat to him, to which
Christopher responded in kind, and remembered he had
done so in the locked-up past.
Phffibe instantly drew her husband apart by the sleeve.
" Who do you tliink that is ? You'll never guess. 'Tis
the great doctor that saved Dick's life in England with
cutting of his throat. But, oh, my dear, he is not the
man he was. He is afflicted. Out of his mind partly.
AVell, we must cure him, and square the account for Dick.
I'm a proud woman at finding him, and bringing him
here to make him all right again, I can tell you. Oh, I
am happy, I am happy. Little did I think to be so happy
as I am. And, my dear, I have brought you a whole sack-
ful of newspapers, old and new.''
" That is a good girl. But tell me a little more about
him. What is his name ? '^
" Christie."
'' Dr. Christie ? "
" No doubt. He wasn't an apothecary, or a chemist,
you may be sure, but a high doctor, and the cleverest
ever was or ever will be : and isn't it sad, love, to see
him brought down so ? My heart yearns for the poor
man : and then his wife — the sweetest, loveliest creature
you ever — oh!" Phoebe stopped very short, for she
remembered something all of a sudden ; nor did she ever
again give Falcon a chance of knowing that the woman,
whose presence had so disturbed him, was this very Dr.
Christie's wife. " Curious ! " thought she to herself,
" the world to be so large, and yet so small : " then aloud,
" They are unpacking the wagon ; come, dear. I don't
think I have forgotten anything of yours. Tliere's
cigars, and tobacco, and powder, and shot, and bullets.
20
306 A SIMPLETON.
and everything to make you comfortable, as my duty
'tis ; and — oh, hut I'm a happy woman."
Hottentots, big and little, clustered about the wagon.
Treasure after treasure was delivered with cries of
delight; the dogs found out it was a joyful time, and
' barked about the wheeled treasury; and the place did
not quiet down till sunset.
A plain but tidy little room was given to Christopher,
and he slept there like a top. Next morning his nurse
called him up to help her water the grass. She led the
way with a tub on her head and two buckets in it. She
took him to the dam ; when she got there she took out
the buckets, left one on the bank, and gave the other to
Christie. She then went down the steps till the water
was up to her neck, and bade Christie fill the tub. He
poured eight bucketsful in. Then she crane slowly out,
straight as an arrow, balancing this tub full on her head.
Then she held out her hands for the two buckets. Chris-
tie filled them, wondering, and gave them to her. She
took them like toy buckets, and glided slowly home with
this enormous weight, and never spilled a drop. Indeed,
the walk was more smooth and noble than ever, if possible.
When she reached the house, she hailed a Hottentot,
and it cost the man and Christopher a great effort of
strength to lower her tub between them.
" What a vertebral column you must have ! " said
Christopher.
" You must not speak bad words, my child," said she.
" Now, you water the grass and the flowers." She gave
him a watering-pot, and watched him maternally; but
did not j)ut a hand to it. She evidently considered this
part of the business as child's play, and not a fit exercise
of her powers.
It was only by drowning that little oasis twice a day
that the grass was kept green and the flowers alive.
A SIMPLETON. 307
She found him other jobs in course of the day, and
indeed he was always lielping somebody or other, and
became quite ruddy, bronzed, and plump of cheek, and
wore a strange look of happiness, except at times when
he got apart, and tried to recall the distant past. Then
he would knit his brow, and looked perplexed and sad.
The}^ were getting quite used to him, and he to them,
when one day he did not come in to dinner. Phoebe sent
out for him; but they could not find him.
The sun set. Phoebe became greatly alarmed, and
even Dick was anxious.
They all turned out, with guns and dogs, and hunted
for him beneath the stars.
Just before daybreak Dick Dale saw a fire sparkle by
the side of a distant thicket. He went to it, and there
was Ucatella seated, calm and grand as antique statue,
and Christopher lying by her side, with a shawl thrown
over him. As Dale came hurriedly up, she put her
finger to her lips, and said, " My child sleeps. Do not
wake him. When he sleeps, he hunts the past, as Collie
liunts the springbok."
" Here's a go," said Dick. Then, hearing a chuckle,
he looked up, and was aware of a comical appendage to
the scene. There hung, head downwards, from a branch,
a Kafir boy, who was, in fact, the brother of the stately
Ucatella, only went further into antiquity for his models
of deportment ; for, as she imitated the antique marbles,
he reproduced the habits of that epoch when man roosted,
and was arboreal. Wheel somersaults, and, above all,
swinging head downwards from a branch, were the
sweeteners of his existence.
" Oh ! you are there, are you ? " said Dick.
" Iss," said Ucatella. ^' Tim good boy. Tim found
my child."
" W^ell," said Dick, " he has chosen a nice place. This
308 A SIMPLETOK.
is the clump the last lion came out of, at least they say
so. For my part, I never saw an African lion ; Falcon
says they've all took ship, and gone to England. How-
ever, I shall stay here with my rifle till daybreak. 'Tis
tempting Providence to lie down on the skirt of a wood
for Lord knows what to jump out on ye unawares."
Tim was sent home for Hottentots, and Christopher
was carried home, still sleeping, and laid on his own
bed.
He slept twenty-four hours more, and, when he was
fairly awake, a sort of mist seemed to clear away in
places, and he remembered things at random. He
remembered being at sea on the raft with the dead body ;
that picture was quite vivid to him. He remembered,
too, being in the hospital, and meeting Phoebe, and every
succeeding incident ; but as respected the more distant
past, he could not recall it by any effort of his will. His
mind could only go into that remoter past by material
stepping-stones ; and what stepping-stones he had about
him here led him back to general knowledge, but not to
his private history.
In this condition he puzzled them all strangely at the
farm ; his mind was alternately so clear and so obscure.
He would chat with Phoebe, and sometimes give her a
good practical hint ; but the next moment, helpless for
want of memory, that great faculty without which judg-
ment cannot act, having no material.
After some days of this, he had another great sleerp.
It brought him back the distant past in chapters. His
wedding-day. His wife's face and dress upon that day.
His parting with her : his whole voyage out : but, strange
to say, it swept away one-half of that which he had
recovered at his last sleep, and he no longer remembered
clearly how he came to be at Dale's Kloof.
Thus his mind might be compared to one climbing a
A SIMPLETON. 300
slippery place, who gains a foot or two, then slips back ;
but on the whole gains more than he loses.
He took a great liking to Falcon. That gentleman
had the art of pleasing, and the tact never to offend.
Falcon alfected to treat the poor soul's want of memory
as a common infirmity ; pretended he was himself very
often troubled in tlie same way, and advised him to read
the newspapers. '' My good wife," said he, " has brought
me a whole file of the Cajye Gazette. I'd read them if
I was you. The deuce is in it, if you don't rake up
something or other."
Christopher thanked him warmly for this : he got the
papers to his own little room, and had always one or two
in his i)ocket for reading. At first he found a good many
hard words that puzzled him ; and he borrowed a pencil
of Phoebe, and noted them down. Strange to say, the
words that puzzled him were always common words,
that his unaccountable memory had forgotten: a hard
word, he was sure to remember that.
One day he had to ask Falcon the meaning of " spend-
thrift." Falcon told him briefly. He could have illus-
trated the word by a striking example ; but he did not.
He added, in his polite way, " No fellow can understand
all the words in a newspaper. Now, here's a word in
mine — 'Anemometer;' who the deuce can understand
such a word ? "
" Oh, that is a common word enough," said poor
Christopher. "It means a machine for measuring the
force of the Avind."
" Oh, indeed," said Falcon ; but did not believe a word
of it.
One sultry day Christopher had a violent headache,
and complained to Ucatella. She told Phoebe, and they
bound his brows with a wet handkerchief, and advised
him to keep in-doors. He sat down in the coolest part
310 A SENITLETON".
of the house, and held his head with his hands, for it
seemed as if it Avould explode into two great fragments.
All in a moment the sky was overcast with angry
clouds, whirling this way and that. Huge drops of hail
pattered down, and the next minute came a tremendous
flash of lightning, accompanied, rather than followed,
by a crash of thunder close over their heads.
This was the opening. Down came a deluge out of
clouds that looked mountains of pitch, and made the
day night but for the fast and furious strokes of light-
nins: that fired the air. The scream of wind and awful
peals of thunder completed the horrors of the scene.
In the midst of this, by what agency I know no more
than science or a sheex3 does, something went off inside
Christopher's head, like a pistol-shot. He gave a sort of
scream, and dashed out into the weather.
Phoebe heard his scream and his flying footstep, and
uttered an ejaculation of fear. The whole household
was alarmed, and, under other circumstances, would have
followed him ; but you could not see ten yards.
A chill sense of impending misfortune settled on the
house. Phoebe threw her apron over her head, and
rocked in her chair.
Dick himself looked very grave,
Ucatella would have tried to follow him ; but Dick
forbade her. " 'Tis no use," said he. '^ When it clears,
we that be men will go for him."
"Pray Heaven you may find him alive !''
" I don't think but what we shall. There's nowhere
he can fall down to hurt himself, nor yet drown himself,
but our dam ; and he has not gone that way. But " —
« But what?"
" If we do find him, we must take him back to Cape
Town, before he does himself, or some one, a mischief.
Why, Phoebe, don't you see the man has gone raving
mad?"
A SIMPLETON. 311
CHAPTER XIX.
The electrified man rushed out into the storm, but he
scarcely felt it in his body ; the effect on his mind over-
powered hail-stones. The lightning seemed to light up
the past; the mighty explosions of thunder seemed
cannon strokes knocking down a wall, and letting in his
whole life.
Six hours the storm raged, and, before it ended, he
had recovered nearly his whole past, excei)t his voyage
with Captain Dodd — that, indeed, he never recovered —
and the things that happened to him in the hospital
before he met Phoebe Falcon and her brother: and as
soon as he had recovered his lost memory, his body began
to shiver at the hail and rain. He tried to find his way
home, but missed it ; not so much, however, but that he
recovered it as soon as it began to clear, and just as they
were coming out to look for him, he appeared before
them, dripping, shivering, very pale and worn, with the
handkerchief still about his head. ^
At sight of him, Dick slipped back to his sister, and
said, rather roughly, " There now, you may leave off cry-
ing : he is come home ; and to-morrow I take him to
Cape Town."
Christopher crept in, a dismal, sinister figure.
" Oh, sir," said Phoebe, " was this a day for a Christian
to be out in ? How could you go and frighten us so ? "
" Forgive me, madam," said Christopher humbly ; " I
was not myself."
" The best thing yon can do now is to go to bed, and
let us send you up something warm."
312 A SIMPLETON.
" You are very good," said Cliristox^lier, and retired
with the air of one too full of great amazing thoughts
to gossip.
He slept thirty hours at a stretch, and then, awaking
in the dead of night, he saw the past even more clear and
vivid ; he lighted his candle and began to grope in the
Caj^e Gazette. As to dates, he now remembered when
he had sailed from England, and also from Madeira.
Following up this clew, he found in the Gazette a notice
that H. M. ship Amphitrite had been spoken off the
Cape, and had reported the melancholy loss of a prom-
ising physician and man of science. Dr. Staines.
The account said every exertion had been made to
save him, but in vain.
Staines ground his teeth with rage at this. " Every
exertion ! the false-hearted curs. They left me to drown,
without one manly effort to save me. Curse them, and
curse all the world."
Pursuing his researches rapidly, he found a much
longer account of a raft picked up by Captain Dodd,
with a white man on it and a dead body, the white man
having on him a considerable sum in money and jewels.
Then a new anxiety chilled him. There was not a
word to identify him with Dr. Staines. The idea had
never occurred to the editor of the Cai^e Gazette. Still
less would it occur to any one in England. At this
moment his wife must be mourning for him. " Poor —
poor Rosa ! "
But perhaps the fatal news might not have reached
her.
That hope was dashed away as soon as found. Wliy,
these were all old neicspa2')ers. That gentlemanly man
who had lent them to him had said so.
Old ! yet they completed the year 1867.
He now tore throui^rh them for the dates alone, and
A SIMPLETON.
soon found they went to 1868. Yet they were ohl papers.
He had sailed in May, 1867.
"My God!" he cried, in agony, "I have lost a
YEAR "
This thought crushed him. By and by he began to
carry this awful idea into details. " Uy Rosa has worn
mourning for me, and put it off again. I am dead to
her, and to all the world."
He wept long and bitterly.
Those tears cleared his brain still more. For all that,
he was not yet himself ; at least, I doubt it ; his insanity,
driven from the intellect, fastened one lingering claw
into his moral nature, and hung on by it. His soul filled
with bitterness and a desire to be revenged on mankind
for their injustice, and this thought possessed him more
than reason.
He joined the family at breakfast ; and never a word
all the time. But when he got up to go, he said, in a
strange, dogged way, as if it went against the grain,
" God bless the house that succors the afflicted." Then
he went out to brood alone.
"Dick," said Phoebe, "there's a change. I'll never
part with him : and look, there's Collie following him,
that never could abide him."
"Part with him?" said Reginald. "Of course not.
He is a gentleman, and they are not so common in
Africa."
Dick, who hated Palcon, ignored this speech entirely,
and said, "Well, Pheeb, you and Collie are wiser than I
am. Take your own way, and don't blame me if any-
thing liappens."
Soon Christopher paid the penalty of returning reason.
He suffered all the poignant agony a great heart can
endure.
So this was liis reward for his great act of self-denial
314 A SI]\rPLETON.
in leaving his beloved wife. He had lost his patient ;
he had lost the income from that patient ; his wife was
worse off than before, and had doubtless suffered the
anguish of a loving heart bereaved. His mind, which
now seemed more vigorous than ever, after its long rest,
placed her before his very eyes, pale, and worn with
grief, in her widow's cap.
At the picture, he cried like the rain. He could give
her joy, by writing ; but he could not prevent her from
suffering a whole year of misery.
Turning this over in connection with their poverty,
his evil genius whispered, "•' By this time she has re-
ceived the six thousand pounds for your death. She
would never think of that ; but her father has : and
there is her comfort assured, in spite of the caitiffs who
left her husband to drown like a dog."
" I know my Rosa," he thought. " She has swooned
— ah, my poor darling — she has raved — she has wept,"
he wept himself at the thought — " she has mourned
every indiscreet act, as if it was a crime. But she has
done all this. Her good and loving but shallow nature
is now at rest from the agonies of bereavement, and
nought remains but sad and tender regrets. She can
better endure that than poverty : cursed poverty, which
has brought her and me to this, and is the only real evil
in the world, but bodily pain."
Then came a struggle, that lasted a whole week, and
knitted his brows, and took the color from his cheek ;
but it ended in the triumph of love and liate, over con-
science and common sense. His Rosa should not be
poor ; and he would cheat some of tliose contemptible
creatures called men, Avho had done liim nothing but in-
justice, and at last had sacrificed his life like a rat's.
AVhen the struggle was over, and the fatal resolution
taken, then he became calmer, less solitary, and more
sociable.
A SIMPLETON. 315
Phoebe, who was secretly watching him with a woman's
eye, observed this change in liim, and, with benevolent
intentions, invited him one day to ride round the farm
with her. He consented readily. She showed him the
fields devoted to maize and wheat, and then the sheep-
folds. Tim's sheep were apparently deserted; but he
was discovered swinging head downwards from the branch
of a camel-thorn, and seeing him, it did strike one that
if he had had a tail he would have been swinging by
that. Phoebe called to him : he never answered, but set
off running to her, and landed himself under her nose
in a wheel somersault.
" I hope you are watching them, Tim," said his mis-
tress.
" Iss, missy, always washing 'em."
" Why, there's one straying towards the wood now."
" He not go far," said Tim coolly. The young monkey
stole off a little way, then fell flat, and uttered the cry
of a jackal, with startling precision. Back w^ent the
sheep to his comrades post haste, and Tim effected a
somersault and a chuckle.
" You are a clever boy," said Phoebe. " So that is how
you manage them."
" Dat one way, missy," said Tim, not caring to reveal
all his resources at once.
Then Phoebe rode on, and showed Christopher the
ostrich pan. It was a large basin, a form the soil often
takes in these parts; and in it strutted several full-
grown ostriches and their young, bred on the premises.
There was a little dam of water, and plenty of food
about. They were herded by a Kafir infant of about
six, black, glossy, fat, and clean, being in the water six
times a day.
Sometimes one of the older birds would show an incli-
nation to stray out of the pan. Then the infant rolled
316 A SIMPLETON.
after her, and tapped her ankles with a wand. She in-
stantly came back, but without any loss of dignity, for
she strutted with her nose in the air, affecting com-
pletely to ignore the inferior little animal, that Avas
nevertheless controlling her movements. "There's a
farce," said Phoebe. "But you would not believe the
money they cost me, nor the money they bring me in.
Grain will not sell here for a quarter its value : and we
can't afford to send it to Cape Town, twenty days and
back ; but finery, that sells everywhere. I gather sixty
pounds the year off those poor fowls' backs — clear
profit."
She showed him the granary, and told him there wasn't
such another in Africa. This farm had belonged to one
of the old Dutch settlers, and that breed had been going
down this many a year. "You see, sir, Dick and I
being English, and not downright in want of money, we
can't bring ourselves to sell grain to the middlemen for
nothing, so we store it, hoping for better times, that
maybe will never come. Now I'll show you how the
dam is made."
They inspected the dam all round. " This is our best
friend of all," said she. " Without this the sun would
turn us all to tinder, — crops, flowers, beasts, and folk."
"Oh, indeed," said Staines. "Then it is a pity you
have not built it more scientifically. I must have a look
at this."
" Ay do, sir, and advise us if you see anything wrong.
But hark ! it is milking time. Come and see that." So
she led the way to some sheds, and there they found sev-
eral cows being milked, each by a little calf and a little
Hottentot at the same time, and both fighting and jos-
tling each other for the udder. Now and then a young
cow, unused to incongruous twins, would kick impatiently
at both animals and scatter them.
A SIMPLETON. 317
« That is their way," said Phoebe : " they have got it
into their silly Hottentot heads as kye won't yield their
milk if the calf is taken away ; and it is no use arguing
with 'em ; they will have their own way ; but they are
very trusty and honest, poor things. We soon found
that out. When we came here first it was in a hired
wagon, and Hottentot drivers: so when we came to
settle I made ready for a bit of a wrangle. But my maid
Sophy, that is nurse now, and a great despiser of heath-
ens, she says, 'Don't you trouble; them nasty ignorant
blacks never charges more than their due.' 'I for-
give 'em,' says I; 'I wish all white folk was as nice.'
However, I did give them a trifle over, for luck: and
then they got together and chattered something near the
door, hand in hand. ' La, Sophy,' says I, ' what is up
now ? ' Says she, ' They are blessing of us. Things is
come to a pretty pass, iot ignorant Muslinmen heathen
to be blessing Christian folk.' ' Well,' says I, ' it won't
hurt us any.' ' I don't know,' says she. ' I don't want
the devil prayed over me.' So she cocked that long nose
of hers and followed it in a doors."
By this time they were near the house, and Phoebe
was obliged to come to her postscript, for the sake of
which, believe me, she had uttered every syllable of this
varied chat. "Well, sir," said she, affecting to proceed
without any considerable change of topic, "and how do
you find yourself ? Have you discovered the past ? "
"' I have, madam. I remember every leading incident
of my life."
" And has it made you happier ? " said Phoebe softly.
"Ko," said Christopher gravely. " Memory has brought
me misery."
" I feared as much ; for you have lost your fine color,
and your eyes are hollow, and lines on your poor brow
that were not there before. Are you not sorry you ha\ e
discovered the past ? "
318 A SIMPLETON.
"No, Mrs. Falcon. Give me the sovereign gift of
reason, with all the torture it can inflict. I thank God
for returning memory, even with the misery it brings."
Phoebe was silent a long time : then she said in a low,
gentle voice, and with the indirectness of a truly femi-
nine nature, "I have plenty of writing-paper in the
house ; and the post goes south to-morrow, such as 'tis."
Christopher struggled with his misery, and trembled.
He was silent a long time. Then he said, " No. It
is her interest that I should be dead."
" Well, but, sir — take a thought."
"Not a word more, I implore you. I am the most
miserable man that ever breathed." As he spoke, two
bitter tears forced their way.
Phoebe cast a look of pity on him, and said no more ;
but she shook her head. Her plain common sense
revolted.
However, it did not follow he would be in the same
mind next week : so she was in excellent spirits at her
protege's recovery, and very proud of her cure, and cele-
brated the event with a roaring supper, including an
English ham, and a bottle of port wine ; and, ten to one,
that was English too.
Dick Dale looked a little incredulous, but he did not
spare the ham any the more for that.
After supper, in a pause of conversation, Staines
turned to Dick, and said, rather abruptly, " Suppose that
dam of yours were to burst and empty its contents,
would it not be a great misfortune to you ? "
"Misfortune, sir! Don't talk of it. Why, it would
ruin us, beast and body."
"Well, it will burst, if it is not looked to."
" Dale's Kloof dam burst ! tlie biggest and strongest
for a hundred miles round."
"You deceive yourself. It is not scientifically built,
A SIMPLETON. 319
to begin, and there is a cause at work that will infallibly
burst it, if not looked to in time."
"And what is that, sir?"
" The dam is full of crabs."
" So 'tis ; but what of them ? "
" I detected two of them that had perforated the dyke
from the wet side to the dry, and water was trickling
through the channel they had made. Now, for me to
catch two that had come right through, there must be a
great many at work honeycombing your dyke ; those
channels, once made, will be enlarged by the permeating
water, and a mere cupful of water forced into a dyke by
the great pressure of a heavy column has an expansive
power quite out of proportion to the quantity forced in.
Colossal dykes have been burst in this way with dis-
astrous effects. Indeed, it is only a question of time,
and I would not guarantee your dyke twelve hours. It
is full, too, with the heavy rains."
" Here's a go ! " said Dick, turning pale. " Well, if it
is to burst, it must."
" Why so ? You can make it safe in a few hours.
You have got a clumsy contrivance for letting off the
excess of water : let us go and relieve the dam at once
of two feet of water. That will make it safe for a day
or two, and to-morrow we will puddle it afresh, and
demolish those busy excavators."
He spoke with such authority and earnestness, that
they all got up from table ; a horn was blown that soon
brought the Hottentots, and they all proceeded to the
dam. With infinite difficulty they opened the waste
sluice, lowered the water two feet, and so drenched the
arid soil that in forty-eight hours flowers unknown
sprang up.
Next morning, under the doctor's orders, all the black
men and boys were diving with lumps of stiff clay and
320 A SIMPLETON.
puddling the endangered wall with a thick wall of it.
This took all the people the whole day.
Next day the clay wall was carried two feet higher,
and then the doctor made them work on the other side
and buttress the dyke with supports so enormous as
seemed extravagant to Dick and Phoebe ; but, after all,
it was as well to be on the safe side, they thought : and
soon they were sure of it, for the whole work was hardly
finished when the news came in that the dyke of a
neighboring Boer, ten miles off, had exploded like a
cannon, and emptied itself in five minutes, drowning
the farm-yard and floating the furniture, but leaving
them all to perish of drought; and indeed the Boer's
cart came every day, with empty barrels, for some time,
to beg water of the Dales. Ucatella pondered all this,
and said her doctor child was wise.
This brief excitement over, Staines went back to his
own gloomy thoughts, and they scarcely saw him, except
at supper-time.
One evening he surprised them all by asking if they
would add to all their kindness by lending him a horse,
and a spade, and a few pounds to go to the diamond
fields.
Dick Dale looked at his sister. She said, "We had
rather lend them you to go home with, sir, if you must
leave us ; but, dear heart, I was half in hopes — Dick
and I were talking it over only yesterday — that jou
would go partners like with us ; ever since you saved the
dam."
" I have too little to offer for that, Mrs. Falcon ; and,
besides, I am driven into a corner. I must make money
quickly, or not at all: the diamonds are only three hun-
dred miles off : for heaven's sake, let me try iny luck."
They tried to dissuade him, and told him not one in
fifty did any good at it.
A SIMPLETON.
321
"Ay, but / shall," said he. "Great bad luck is fol-
lowed by great good luck, and I feel my turn is come.
Not tluit I rely on luck. An accident directed my at-
tention to tlie diamond a few years ago, and I read a
number of prime works upon the subject that told me of
things not known to the miners. It is clear, from the
Gape journals, that they are looking for diamonds in the
river only. Now, I am sure that is a mistake. Dia-
monds, like gold, have their matrix, and it is compara-
tively few gems that get washed into the river. I am
confident that I shall ti.nd the volcanic matrix, and per-
haps make my fortune in a Aveek or two."
When the dialogue took this turn, Keginald Falcon's
cheek began to flush, and his eyes to glitter.
Christopher continued : " You who have befriended me
so will not turn back, I am sure, when I have such a
chance before me ; and as for the small sum of money I
shall require, I will repay you some day, even if " —
" La, sir, don't talk so. If you put it that way, why,
the best horse ^ve have, and fifty pounds in good English
gold, they are at your service to-morrow."
" And pick and spade to boot," said Dick, " and a
double rifle, for there are lions, and Lord knows what,
between this and the Vaal river."
" God bless you both ! " said Christopher. " I will
start to-morrow."
" And I'll go with you," said Eeginald Falcon.
21
322 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER XX.
" Heaven forbid ! " said Phoebe. " No, my dear, no
more diamonds for us. We never had but one, and it
brought us trouble."
" Nonsense, Phoebe," replied Falcon ; " it was not the
diamond's fault. You know I have often wanted to go
there, but you objected. You said you were afraid some
evil would befall me. But now Solomon himself is going
to the mines, let us have no more of that nonsense. We
will take our rifles and our pistols."
" There — there — rifles and pistols," cried Phoebe ;
"that shows."
" And we will be there in a week ; stay a month, and
home with our pockets full of diamonds."
" And find me dead of a broken heart."
" Broken fiddlestick ! We have been parted longei
than that, and yet here we are all right."
" Ay, but the pitcher that goes too often to the well
gets broke at last. No, Eeginald, now I have tasted
three years' happiness and peace of mind, I cannot go
through Avhat I used in England. Oh, doctor ! have you
the heart to part man and wife, that have never been a
day from each other all these years ? "
" Mrs. Falcon, I would not do it for all the diamonds
in Brazil. No, Mr. Falcon, I need hardly say how
charmed I should be to have your company : but that
is a pleasure I shall certainly deny myself, after what
your good wife has said. I owe her too much to cause
her a single pang."
"Doctor," said the charming Eeginald, "you are a
A SIMPLETON. 323
gentleman and side with the lady. Quite riglit. It adds
to my esteem, if possible. Make your mind easy ; I will
'-•o alone. I am not a farmer. I am dead sick of this
monotonous life ; and, since I am compelled to speak my
mind, a little ashamed, as a gentleman, of living on my
wife and her brother, and doing nothing for myself. So
I shall go to the Vaal river, and see a little life ; here
there's nothing but vegetation — and not much of that.
Not a word more, Phoebe, if you x^lease. I am a good,
easy, aifectionate husband, but I am a man, and not a
child to be tied to a woman's apron-strings, however
much I may love and respect her."
Dick put in his word : " Since you are so independent,
you can loalk to the Vaal river. I can't spare a couple
of horses."
This hit the sybarite hard, and he cast a bitter glance
of hatred at his brother-in-law, and fell into a moody
silence.
But when he got Phoebe to himself, he descanted on
her selfishness, Dick's rudeness, and his own wounded
dignity, till he made her quite anxious he should have
his own w^ay. She came to Staines, with red eyes, and
said, " Tell me, doctor, will there be any w^omen up there
— to take care of you ? "
" Not a petticoat in the place, I believe. It is a very
rough life ; and how Falcon could think of leaving you
and sweet little Tommy, and this life of health, and
peace, and comfort — "
" Yet you do leave us, sir."
"I am the most unfortunate man upon the earth;
Falcon is one of the happiest. Would I leave wife and
child to go there ? Ah me ! I am dead to those I love.
This is my one chance of seeing my darling again for
many a long year perhaps. Oh, I must not speak of her
— it unmans me. My good, kind friend, I'll tell you
824 A SIMPLETON.
what to do. When we are all at supper, let a horse be
saddled and left in the yard for me. I'll bid you all
good-night, and I'll put fifty miles between us before
morning. Even then he need not be told I am gone ; he
will not follow me."
'^ You are very good, sir," said Phoebe ; " but no. Too
much has been said. I can't have him humbled by my
brother, nor any one. He says I am selfish. Perhaps I
am ; though I never was called so. I can't bear he should
think me selfish. He ivill go, and so let us have no ill
blood about it. Since he is to go, of course I'd much
liever he should go with you than by himself. You are
sure there are no women up there — to take care of —
you — both ? You must be purse-bearer, sir, and look
to every penny. Pie is too generous when he has got
money to spend."
In short, Keginald had played so upon her heart, that
she now urged the joint expedition, only she asked a
delay of a day or two to equip them, and steel herself to
the separation.
Staines did not share those vague fears that overpow-
ered the wife, whose bitter experiences were unknown to
him ; but he felt uncomfortable at her condition — for
now she was often in tears — and he said all he could to
comfort her ; and he also advised her how to profit by
these terrible diamonds, in her way. He pointed out to
her that her farm lay right in the road to the diamonds,
yet the traffic all shunned her, passing twenty miles to
the westward. Said he, " You should profit by all your
resources. You have wood, a great rarity in Africa;
order a portable forge ; run up a building where miners
can sleep, another where they can feed; the grain you
have so wisely refused to sell, grind it into flour."
" Dear heart ! why, there's neither wind nor water to
turn a mill."
A SI^IPLETON. 325
"But there are oxen. I'll show you how to make an
ox-mill. Send your Cape cart into Cape Town for iron
lathes, for coffee and tea, and groceries by the hundred-
weight. The moment you are ready — for success depends
on the order in which we act — then prepare great boards,
and plant them twenty miles south. Write or paint on
them, very large, ' The nearest way to the Diamond jMines,
through Dale's Kloof, where is excellent accommodation
for man and beast. Tea, coffee, home-made bread, fresh
butter, etc., etc' Do this, and you will soon leave off
decrying diamonds. This is the sure way to coin them.
I myself take the doubtful way ; but I can't help it. I
am a dead man, atid swift good fortune will give me life.
You can afford to go the slower road and the surer."
Then he drew her a model of an ox-mill, and of a
miner's dormitory, the partitions six feet six apart, so
that these very partitions formed the bedstead, the bed-
sacking being hooked to the uprights. He drew his
model for twenty bedrooms.
The portable forge and the ox-mill pleased Dick Dale
most, but the partitioned bedsteads charmed Phoebe.
She said, " Oh, doctor, how can one man's head hold so
many things ? If there's a man on earth I can trust my
husband with, 'tis you. But if things go cross up there,
promise me you will come back at once and cast in your
lot with us. We have got money and stock, and you
have got headpiece; we might do very well together.
Indeed, indeed we might. Promise me. Oh, do, please,
promise me ! "
"I promise you."
And on this understanding, Staines and Falcon were
equipped with rifles, pickaxe, shovels, waterproofs, and
full saddle-bags, and started, with many shakings of tlie
hand, and many teaj.'S from. Phoebe, for the diamond
washings.
326 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER XXI.
Phcebe's tears at parting made Staines feel uncomfort-
able, and lie said so.
" Pooh, pooh ! " said Falcon, " crying for nothing does
a woman good."
Christopher stared at him.
Falcon's spirits rose as they proceeded. He was like
a boy let loose from school. His fluency and charm of
manner served, however, to cheer a singularly dreary
journey.
The travellers soon entered on a vast and forbidding
region, that wearied the eye ; at their feet a dull, rusty
carpet of dried grass and wild camomile, with pale-red
sand peeping through the burnt and scanty herbage.
On the low mounds, that looked like heaps of sifted
ashes, struggled now and then into sickliness a ragged,
twisted shrub. There were flowers too, but so sparse,
that they sparkled vainly in the colorless waste, which
stretched to the horizon. The farmhouses were twenty
miles apart, and nine out of ten of them were new ones
built by the Boers since they degenerated into white sav-
ages : mere huts, with domed kitchens behind them. In
the dwelling-house the whole family pigged together, with
raw flesh drying on the rafters, stinking skins in a corner,
parasitical vermin of all sorts blackening the floor, and
particularly a small, biting, and odoriferous tortoise, com-
pared with which the insect a London washerwoman
brings into your house in her basket, is a stroke with a
feather — and all this without the excuse of penury ; for
many of these were shepherd kings, sheared four thou-
A SIMPLETON. 327
sand fleeces a year, and owned a hundred horses and
horned cattle.
These Boers are compelled, by unwritten law, to receive
travellers and water their cattle ; but our travellers, after
one or two experiences, ceased to trouble them; for,
added to the dirt, the men were sullen, the women moody,
silent, brainless ; the whole reception churlish. Staines
detected in them an uneasy consciousness that they had
descended, in more ways than one, from a civilized race ;
and the superior bearing of a European seemed to remind
them what they had been, and might have been, and were
not ; so, after an attempt or tw^o, our adventurers avoided
the Boers, and tried the Kafirs. They found the savages
socially superior, though their moral character does not
rank high.
The Kafir cabins they entered were caves, lighted only
by the door, but deliciously cool, and quite clean ; the
floors of puddled clay or ants' nests, and very clean. On
entering these cool retreats, the flies that had tormented
them shirked the cool grot, and buzzed off to the nearest
farm to batten on congenial foulness. On the fat, round,
glossy babies, not a speck of dirt, whereas the little
Boers were cakes thereof. The Kafir would meet them
at the door, his clean black face all smiles and welcome.
The women and grown girls would fling a spotless hand-
kerchief over their shoulders in a moment, and display
their sno^vy teeth, in unaffected joy at sight of an
Englishman.
At one of these huts, one evening, they met with
something St. Paul ranks above cleanliness even, viz.,
Christianity. A neighboring lion had just eaten a
Hottentot f ante de mieux; and these good Kafirs wanted
the Europeans not to go on at night and be eaten for
dessert. But they could not speak a word of English,
and pantomimic expression exists in theory alone. In
328 A SIMPLETON.
vain the women held our travellers by the coat-tails, and
pointed to a distant wood. In vain Kafir ^jez-e went on
all-fours and growled sore. But at last a savage youth
ran to the kitchen — for they never cook in the house —
and came back with a brand, and sketched, on the wall
of the hut, a lion with a mane down to the ground, and
a saucer eye, not loving. The creature's paw rested on a
hat and coat and another fragment or two of a European.
The rest was fore-shortened, or else eaten.
The picture completed, the females looked, aj^proved,
and raised a dismal howl.
" A lion on the road," said Christopher gravely.
Then the undaunted Falcon seized the charcoal, and
drew an Englishman in a theatrical attitude, left foot
well forward, firing a gun, and a lion rolling head over
heels like a buck rabbit, and blood squirting out of a hole
in his perforated carcass.
The savages saAv, and exulted. They were so off their
guard as to confound representation with fact ; they danced
round the white warrior, and launched him to victory.
" Aha ! " said Falcon, " I took the shine out of their
lion, didn't I ? "
" You did : and once there was a sculptor who showed
a lion his marble group, a man trampling a lion, extract-
ing his tongue, and so on ; but report says it did not
convince the lionP
" Why, no ; a lion is not an ass. But, for your com-
fort, there are no lions in this part of the world. They
are myths. There were lions in Africa. But now they
are all at the Zoo. And I Avish I was there too."
" In what character — of a discontented animal — with
every blessing ? They would not take you in ; too
common in England. Hallo! this is something new.
What lots of bushes ! We should not have much chance
with a lion here."
A SBIPLETON. 320
"There are no lions : it is not the Zoo," said Falcon;
but he spurred on faster.
The country, however, did not change its feature ;
bushes and little acacias prevailed, and presently dark
forms began to glide across at intervals.
The travellers held their breath, and pushed on ; Imt
at last their horses flagged ; so they thought it best to
stop and light a fire and stand upon their guard.
They did so, and Falcon sat with his rifle cocked, while
Staines boiled coffee, and they drank it, and after two
hours' halt, pushed on ; and at last the bushes got more
scattered, and they were on the dreary plain again.
Falcon drew the rein, with a sigh of relief, and they
Avalked their horses side by side.
" Well, what has become of the lions ? " said Falcon
jauntily. He turned in his saddle, and saw a large
animal stealing behind them with its belly to the very
earth, and eyes hot coals ; he uttered an eldrich screech,
fired both barrels, with no more aim than a baby, and
spurred away, yelling like a demon. The animal fled
another way, in equal trepidation at those tongues of
flame and loud reports, and Christopher's horse reared
and plunged, and deposited him promptly on the sward ;
but he held the bridle, mounted again, and rode after his
companion. A stern chase is a long chase ; and for that
or some other reason he could never catch him again till
sunrise. Being caught, he ignored the lioness, with cool
hauteur : he said he had ridden on to find comfortable
quarters : and craved thanks.
This was literally the only incident worth recording
that the companions met with in three hundred miles.
On the sixth day out, towards afternoon, they found
by inquiring they were near the diamond washings, and
the short route was pointed out by an exceptionally civil
Boer.
330 A SIMPLETON.
But Christopher's eye had lighted upon a sort of chain
of knolls, or little round hills, devoid of vegetation, and
he told Falcon he would like to inspect these, before
going farther.
" Oh," said the Boer, " they are not on my farm, thank
goodness! they are on my cousin Bulteel's;" and he
pointed to a large white house about four miles distant,
and quite off the road. Nevertheless, Staines insisted
on going to it. But first they made up to one of these
knolls, and examined it ; it was about thirty feet high,
and not a vestige of herbage on it ; the surface was
composed of sand and of lumps of gray limestone very
hard, diversified with lots of quartz, mica, and other old
formations.
Staines got to the top of it with some difficulty, and
examined the surface all over. He came down again,
and said, " All these little hills mark hot volcanic action
— why, they are like boiling earth-bubbles — Avliich is
the very thing, under certain conditions, to turn carbon-
ate of lime into diamonds. Now here is plenty of lime-
stone unnaturally hard ; and being in a diamond country,
I can fancy no place more likely to be the matrix than
these earth-bubbles. Let us tether the horses, and use
our shovels."
They did so ; and found one or two common crystals,
and some jasper, and a piece of chalcedony all in little
bubbles, but no diamond. Falcon said it was wasting
time.
Just then the proprietor, a gigantic, pasty colonist,
camiC up, with his pipe, and stood^ calmly looking on.
Staines came down, and made a sort of apology. Bulteel
smiled quietly, and asked what harm they could do him,
raking that rubbish. " Rake it all avay, mine vriends,"
said he : " ve shall thank you moch."
He then invited them languidly to his house. They
A SIMPLETON. 331
went witli liim, and as he volunteered no more remarks,
they qiiestioned him, and learned his father had l)een a
Hollander, and so had his vrow's. This accounted for
the size and comparative cleanliness of his place. It was
stuccoed with the lime of the country outside, and was
four times as large as the miserable farmhouses of the
degenerate Boers. For all this, the street door opened
on the principal room, and that room was kitchen and
parlor, only very large and wholesome. " But, Lord,"
as poor dear Pepys used to blurt out — " to see how some
folk understand cleanliness ! " ' The floor was made of
powdered ants' nests, and smeared with fresh cow-dung
every day. Yet these people were the cleanest Boers in
the colony.
The vrow met them, with a snow-white collar and
cuffs of Hamburgh linen, and the brats had pasty faces
round as pumpkins, but shone with soap. The vrow was
also pasty-faced, but gentle, and welcomed them with a
smile, languid, but unequivocal.
The Hottentots took their horses, as a matter of course.
Their guns were put in a corner. A clean cloth was
spread, and they saw they were to sup and sleep there,
though the words of invitation were never spoken.
At supper, sun-dried flesh, cabbage, and a savory dish
the travellers returned to with gusto. Staines asked
what it was: the vrow told him — locusts. They had
strijiped her garden, and filled her very rooms, and fallen
in heaps under her walls ; so she had pressed them, by
the million, into cakes, had salted them lightly, and
stored them, and they were excellent, baked.
After supper, the accomi)lished Heginald, observing a
wire guitar, tuned it with some difiiculty, and so twanged
it, and sang ditties to it, that the flabby giant's pasty
face wore a look of dreamy content over his everlasting
pipe ; and in the morning, after a silent breakfast, he
332 A SIMPLETON.
said, " Mine vriends, stay here a year or two, and rake
in mine rubbish. Ven you are tired, here are springbok
and antelopes, and you can shoot mit your rifles, and ve
vil cook them, and you shall zing us zongs of Vaderland."
They thanked him heartily, and said they would stay
a few days, at all events.
The placid Boer went a- farming ; and the pair shoul-
dered their pick and shovel, and worked on their heap
all day, and found a number of pretty stones, but no
diamond.
" Come," said Falcon, " we must go to the river ; " and
Staines acquiesced. " I bow to experience," said he.
At the threshold they found two of the little Bulteels,
playing with j)ieces of quartz, crystal, etc., on the door-
stone. One of these stones caught Staines's eye directly.
It sparkled in a different way from the others : he exam-
ined it : it was the size of a white haricot bean, and one
side of it polished by friction. He looked at it, and
looked, and saw that it refracted the light. He felt
convinced it was a diamond.
"Give the boy a penny for it," said the ingenious
Falcon, on receiving the information.
" Oh ! " said Staines. " Take advantage of a child ? "
He borrowed it of the boy, and laid it on the table,
after supper. " Sir," said he, " this is what we were
raking in your kopjes for, and could not find it. It
belongs to little Hans. Will you sell it us ? We are
not experts, but we think it may be a diamond. We
will risk ten pounds on it."
" Ten pounds ! " said the farmer. " Nay, we rob not
travellers, mine vriend."
" But if it is a diamond, it is worth a hundred. See
how it gains fire in the dusk."
In short, they forced the ten pounds on him, and next
day went to work on another kopje.
A SIMPLETON. 333
But the simple farmer's conscience smote him. It
was a slack time ; so he sent four Hottentots, with
shovels, to help these friendly maniacs. These worked
away gayly, and the white men set up a sorting table,
and sorted the stuff, and hammered the nodules, and at
last found a little stone as big as a pea that refracted the
light. Staines showed this to the Hottentots, and their
quick eyes discovered two more that day, only smaller.
Next da}^, nothing but a splinter or two.
Then Staines determined to dig deeper, contrary to
the general impression. He gave his reason : " Diamonds
don't fall from the sky. They work up from the ground ;
and clearly the heat must be greater farther down."
Acting on this, they tried the next strata, but found it
entirely barren. After that, however, they came to a
fresh layer of carbonate, and here, Falcon hammering a
large lump of conglomerate, out leaped, all of a sudden,
a diamond big as a nut, that ran along the earth, gleam-
ing like a star. It had polished angles and natural
facets, and even a novice, with an eye in his head, could
see it was a diamond of the purest water. Staines and
Falcon shouted with delight, and made the blacks a
present on the spot.
They showed the prize, at night, and begged the farmer
to take to digging. There was ten times more mon^^y
beneath his soil than on it.
Not he. He was a farmer : did not believe in diamonds.
Two days afterwards, another great find. Seven small
diamonds.
Next day, a stone as large as a cob-nut, and with
strange and beautiful streaks. They carried it home to
dinner, and set it on the table, and told the family it
was worth a thousand pounds. Bulteel scarcely looked
at it; but the vrow trembled and all the young folk
glowered at it.
334 A SIMPLETON.
In the middle of dinner, it exploded like a cracker,
and went literally into diamond-dust.
" Dere goes von tousand pounds,'- said Bulteel, with-
out moving a muscle.
Falcon swore. But Staines showed fortitude. "It
was laminated," said he, "and exposure to the air was
fatal."
Owing to the invaluable assistance of the Hottentots,
they had in less than a month collected four large stones
of pure water, and a wineglassful of small stones, when,
one fine day, going to work calmly after breakfast, they
found some tents pitched, and at least a score of dirty
diggers, bearded like the pard, at work on the ground.
Staines sent Falcon back to tell Bulteel, and suggest that
he should at once order them off, or, better still, make
terms with them. The phlegmatic Boer did neitlier.
In twenty-four hours it was too late. The place was
rushed. In other words, diggers swarmed to the spot,
with no idea of law but digger's law.
A thousand tents rose like mushrooms; and poor
Bulteel stood smoking, and staring amazed, at his own
door, and saw a veritable procession of wagons, Cape
carts, and powdered travellers file past him to take pos-
session of his hillocks. Him, the proprietor, they simply
ignored ; they had a committee who were to deal with
all obstructions, landlords and tenants included. They
themselves measured out Bulteel's farm into thirty-foot
claims, and went to work with shovel and pick. They
held Staines's claim sacred — tliat was diggers' law ;
but they confined it strictly to thirty feet square.
Had the friends resisted, their brains would have
been knocked out. However, they gained this, that
dealers poured in, and the market not being yet glutted,
the price was good. Staines sold a few of the small
stones for two hundred pounds. He showed one of the
A SIMPLETON. 335
larger stones. The dealer's eye glittered, but he offered
only three hundred pounds, and this was so wide of the
ascending scale, on which a stone of that importance is
priced, that Staines reserved it for sale at Cape Town.
Nevertheless, he afterwards doubted whether he had
not better have taken it; for the multitude of diggers
turned out such a prodigious number of diamonds at
Bulteel's pan, that a sort of panic fell on the market.
These dry diggings were a revelation to the world.
Men began to think the diamond perhaps was a com-
moner stone than any one had dreamed it to be.
As to the discovery of stones, Staines and Falcon lost
nothing by being confined to a thirty-foot claim. Com-
pelled to dig deeper, they got into a rich strata, where
they found garnets by the pint, and some small dia-
monds, and at last, one lucky day, their largest diamond.
It weighed thirty-seven carats, and was a rich yellow.
]S"ow, when a diamond is clouded or off color, it is terri-
bly depreciated ; but a diamond with a positive color is
called a fancy stone, and ranks with the purest stones.
"I wish I had this in Cape Town," said Staines.
"Why, I'll take it to Cape Town, if you like," said
the changeable Falcon.
" You will ? " said Christopher, surprised.
" ^Vhy not ? I'm not much of a digger. I can serve
our interest better by selling. I could get a thousand
pounds for this at Cape Town."
" We will talk of that quietly," said Christopher.
Xow, the fact is. Falcon, as a digger, was not worth a
pin. He could not sort. His eyes would not bear the
blinding glare of a tropical sun upon lime and dazzling
bits of mica, quartz, crystal, white topaz, etc., in the
midst of which the true glint of the royal stone had to
be caught in a moment. He could not sort, and he had
not the heart to dig. The only way to make him earn
336 A SJ3IPLET0N.
liis half was to turn Mm into the travelling and selling
partner.
Christopher was too generous to tell him this ; but he
acted on it, and said he thought his was an excellent
2)roposal; indeed, he had better take all the diamonds
they had got to Dale's Kloof first, and show them to his
wife, for her consolation : " And perhaps," said he, " in a
matter of this importance, she will go to Cape Town
with you, and try the market there."
" All right," said Falcon.
He sat and brooded over the matter a long time, and
said, " Why make two bites of a cherry ? They will
only give us half the value at Cape Town ; why not go
by the steamer to England, before the London market
is glutted, and all the world finds out that diamonds are
as common as dirt ? "
" Go to England ! What ! without your wife ? I'll
never be a party to that. Me part man and wife ! If
you knew my own story " —
" Why, who wants you ? " said Reginald. " You don't
understand, Phoebe is dying to visit England again;
but she has got no excuse. If you like to give her one,
she will be much obliged to you, I can tell you."
" Oh, that is a very different matter. If Mrs. Falcon
can leave her farm " —
" Oh, that brute of a brother of hers is a very honest
fellow, for that matter. She can trust the farm to him.
Besides, it is only a month's voyage by the mail steamer."
This suggestion of Falcon's set Christopher's heart
bounding, and his eyes glistening. But he restrained
himself, and said, " This takes me by surprise ; let me
smoke a pipe over it."
He not only did that, but he lay awake all night.
The fact is that for some time past, Christopher had
felt sharp twinges of conscience, and deep misgivings as
A SiML'LETON. 337
to the course lie had pursued in leaviug his wife a single
day in the dark. Conii)lete convalescence had cleared
his moral sentiments, and perhaps, after all, the discovery
of the diamonds had co-operated ; since now the insur-
ance money was no longer iiecessary to keep his wife
from starving.
"Ah!" said he; "faith is a great quality; and how I
have lacked it ! "
To do him justice, he knew his wife's excitable nature,
and was not without fears of some disaster, should the
news be communicated to her unskilfully.
But this proposal of Falcon's made the way clearer.
Mrs. Falcon, though not a lady, had all a lady's delicacy,
and all a woman's tact and tenderness. He knew no one
in the world more fit to be trusted with the delicate task
of breaking to his Kosa that the grave, for once, was
baffled, and her husband lived. He now became quite
anxious for Falcon's departure, and ardently hoped that
worthy had not deceived himself as to Mrs. Falcon's
desire to visit England.
In short, it was settled that Falcon should start for
Dale's Kloof, taking with him the diamonds, believed to
be worth altogether three thousand pounds at Cape
Town, and nearly as much again in England, and a long
letter to Mrs. Falcon, in which Staines revealed his true
story, told her wl^ere to find his wife, or hear of her,
viz., at Kent Villa, G-ravesend, and sketched an outline
of instructions as to the way, and cunning degrees, by
which the joyful news should be broken to her. With
this he sent a long letter to be given to Eosa herself,
but not till she should know all : and in this letter he
enclosed the ruby ring she had given him. That ring
had never left his finger, by sea or land, in sickness or
health.
The letter to Bosa was sealed. The two letters made
22
338 A SIMPLETON.
quite a packet ; for, in the letter to his beloved Eosa, he
told her everything that had befallen him. It was a
romance, and a picture of love ; a letter to lift a loving
woman to heaven, and almost reconcile her to all her
bereaved heart had suffered.
This letter, written with many tears from the heart
that had so suffered, and was now softened by good
fortune and bounding with joy, Staines entrusted to
Falcon, together with the other diamonds, and with many
warm shakings of the hand, started him on his way.
'^But mind, Falcon," said Christopher, "I shall expect
an answer from Mrs. Falcon in twenty days at farthest.
I do not feel so sure as you do that she wants to go to
England ; and, if not, I must write to Uncle Philip. Give
me your solemn promise, old fellow, an answer in twenty
days — if you have to send a Kafir on horseback."
" I give you my honor," said Falcon superbly.
^^ Send it to me at Bulteel's Farm."
" All right. ' Dr. Christie, Bulteel's Farm.' "
"Well — no. Why should I conceal my real name
any longer from such friends as you and your wife ?
Christie is short for Christopher — that is my Chris-
tian name; but my surname is Staines. Write to
'Dr. Staines.'"
"Dr. Staines!"
" Yes. Did you ever hear of me ? "
Falcon wore a strange look. " I almost think I have.
Down at Gravesend, or somewhere."
" That is curious. Yes, I married my Kosa there ;
poor thing! God bless her; God comfort her. She
thinks me dead."
His voice trembled, he grasped Falcon's cold hand till
the latter winced again, and so they parted, and Falcon rode
off muttering, "Dr. Staines ! so then you are Dr. Staines."
A iSlMi'LETON. 'Sod
CHAPTER XXII.
EosA Staines had youtli on her side, and it is an old
saying that youth will not be denied. Youth struggled
with death for her, and won the battle.
But she came out of that terrible fight weak as a child.
The sweet pale face, the widow's cap, the suit of deep
black — it was long ere these came down from the sick-
room. And when they did, oh, the dead blank ! The
weary, listless life ! The days spent in sighs, and tears,
and desolation. Solitude ! solitude ! Her husband was
gone, and a strange woman played the mother to her
child before her eyes.
Uncle Philip was devotedly kind to her, and so was
her father ; but they could do nothing for her.
Months rolled on, and skinned the wound over.
Months could not heal. Her boy became dearer and
dearer, and it v/as from him came the first real drops of
comfort, however feeble.
She used to read her lost one's diary every day, and
worship, in deep sorrow, the mind she had scarcely
respected until it was too late. She searched in his
diary to find his will, and often she mourned that he had
written on it so few things she could obey. Her desire
to obey the dead, whom, living, she had often disobeyed,
was really simple and touching. She would mourn to
her father that there were so few commands to her in his
diary. " But," said she, " memory brings me back his
will in many things, and to obey is now the only sad
comfort I have."
It was in this spirit she now forced herself to keep
340 A SIMPLETON.
accounts. No fear of lier wearing stays now ; no
X^owder ; no trimmings ; no waste.
After tlie usual delay, lier father told lier slie should
instruct a solicitor to apply to the insurance company for
the six thousand pounds. She refused with a burst of
agony. '• The price of his life," she screamed. " Never !
I'd live on bread and water sooner than touch that vile
money."
Her father remonstrated gently. But she was immov-
able. " No. It would be like consenting to his death."
Then Uncle Philip was sent for.
He set her child on her knee ; and gave her a pen.
^^Come," said he, sternly, "be a woman, and do your
duty to little Christie."
She kissed the boy, cried, and did her duty meekly.
But when the money was brought her, she flew to Uncle
Philip, and said, " There ! there ! " and threw it all
before him, and cried as if her heart would break. He
waited patiently, and asked her what he was to do with
all that : invest it ?
" Yes, yes ; for my little Christie."
" And pay you the interest quarterly."
"Oh, no, no. Dribble us out a little as we want it.
That is the way to be truly kind to a simpleton. I hate
that word."
"And suppose I run off with it? Such confiding
geese as you corrupt a man."
"I shall never corrupt you. Crusty people are the
soul of honor."
" Crusty people ! " cried Philip, affecting amazement.
"\\Tiat are they?"
She bit her lip and colored a little; but answered
adroitly, " They are people that pretend not to have good
hearts, but have the best in the world ; far better ones
than your smooth ones : that's crusty people."
A SIMPLETON. 341
' ^' Very well," said riiilip; "and I'll tell y(3ii what sim-
pletons are. Tliey are little transparent-looking creatures
that look shallow, but are as deep as Old Niek, and make
you love them in spite of your judgment. They are the
most artful of their sex ; for they always achieve its
great object, to be loved — the very thing that clever
women sometimes fail in."
" Well, "and if we are not to be loved, why live at all —
such useless things as I am ? " said Rosa simply.
So Philip took charge of her money, and agreed to
help her save money for her little Christopher. Poverty
should never destroy him, as it had his father.
As months rolled on, she crept out into public a little ;
but always on foot, and a very little way from home.
Youth and sober life gradually restored her strength,
but not her color, nor her buoyancy.
Yet she was perhaps more beautiful than ever ; for a
holy sorrow chastened and sublimed her features : it was
now a sweet, angelic, pensive beauty, that interested
every feeling person at a glance.
She would visit no one ; but a twelvemonth after her
bereavement, she received a few chosen visitors.
One day a young gentleman called, and sent up his
card, " Lord Tadcaster," with a note from Lady Cicely
Treherne, full of kindly feeling. Uncle Philip had
reconciled her to Lady Cicely; but they had never
met.
Mrs. Staines was much agitated at the very name of
Lord Tadcaster ; but she would not have missed seeing
him for the world.
She received him with her beautiful eyes wide open,
to drink in every lineament of one who had seen the
last of her Christopher.
Tadcaster was wonderfully improved : he had grown
six inches out at sea, and though still short, was not
342 A SIMPLETON.
diminutive ; he was a small Apollo, a model of symmetry,
and had an engaging, girlish beauty, redeemed from
downright effeminacy by a golden mustache like silk,
and a tanned cheek that became him wonderfully.
He seemed dazzled at first by Mrs, Staines, but mur-
mured that Lady Cicely had told him to come, or he
would not have ventured.
" Who can be so welcome to me as you ? " said she,
and the tears came thick in her eyes directly.
Soon, he hardly knew how, he found himself talking
of Staines, and telling her what a favorite he was, and
all the clever things he had done.
The tears streamed down her cheeks, but she begged
him to go on telling her, and omit nothing.
He complied heartily, and was even so moved by the
telling of his friend's virtues, and her tears and sobs,
that he mingled his tears with hers. She rewarded him
by giving him her hand as she turned away her tearful
face to indulge the fresh burst of grief his sympathy
evoked.
When he was leaving, she said, in her simple way,
'' Bless you " — " Come again," she said : " you have
done a poor widow good.'^
Lord Tadcaster was so interested and charmed, he
would gladly have come back next day to see her ; but
he restrained that extravagance, and waited a week.
Then he visited hei again. He had observed the villa
was not rich in flowers, and he took her down a magnifi-
cent bouquet, cut from his father's hot-houses. At sight
of him, or at sight of it, or both, the color rose for
once in her pale cheek, and her pensive face wore a
sweet expression of satisfaction. She took his flowers,
and thanked him for them, and for coming to see her.
Soon they got on the only topic she cared for, and, in
the course of this second conversation, he took her into
A SIMPLETON. 343
his confidence, and told her he owed everything to Dr.
Staines. "I was on the wrong road altogether, and lie
put me right. To tell you the truth, I used to disobey
him now and then, while he was alive, and I was always
the w^orse for it ; now he is gone, I never disobey him.
I have written down a lot of wise, kind things he said
to me, and I never go against any one of them. I call it
my book of oracles. Dear me, I might have brought it
with me."
" Oh, yes ! why didn't you ? " rather reproachfully.
" I will bring, it next time.''
" Pray do."
Then she looked at him with her lovely swimming
eyes, and said tenderly, "And so here is another that
disobeyed him living, but obeys him dead. What will
you think when I tell you that I, his wife, who now
worship him when it is too late, often thwarted and
vexed him when he was alive ? "
" No, no. He told me- you were an angel, and I believe
it."
" An angel ! a good-for-nothing, foolish woman, wdio
sees everything too late."
" Nobody else should say so before me," said the little
gentleman grandly. " I shall take his word before yours
on this one subject. If ever there was an angel, you are
one ; and oh, what Avould I give if I could but say or do
anything in the world to comfort you ! "
" You can do nothing for me, dear, but come and see
me often, and talk to me as you do — on the one sad
theme my broken heart has room for."
This invitation delighted Lord Tadcaster, and the
sweet word "dear," from her lovely lips, entered his
heart, and ran through all his veins like some rapturous
but dangerous elixir. He did not say to himself, " She
is a widow with a child, feels old with grief, and looks
344 A SIMPLETON.
on 1110 as a boy who lias been kind to her." Such pru-
dence and wariness were hardly to be expected from his
age. He had admired her at first sight, very nearly
loved her at their first interview, and now this sweet
word opened a heavenly vista. The generous heart that
beat ill his small frame burned to console her with a
life-long devotion and all the sweet offices of love.
He ordered his yacht to Gravesend — for he had become
a sailor — and then he called on Mrs. Staines, and told
her, with a sort of sheepish cunning, that now, as his
yacht hxq^pened to be at Gravesend, he could come and
see her very often. He watched her timidly, to see how
she would take that proposition.
She said, with the utmost simplicity, " I'm very glad
of it."
Then he produced his oracles : and she devoured them.
Such precepts to Tadcaster as she could apply to her own
case she instantly noted in her memory, and they became
her law from that moment.
Then, in her simplicity, she said, "And I will show
you some things, in his own handwriting, that may be
good for you; but I can't show you the whole book:
some of it is sacred from every eye but his wife's. His
wife's ? Ah me ! his widow's."
Then she pointed out passages in the diary that she
thought might be for his good ; and he nestled to her
side, and followed her white finger with loving eyes, and
was in an elysium — which she would certainly have
put a stop to at that time, had she divined it. But all
wisdom does not come at once to an unguarded woman.
Rosa Staines was wiser about her husband than she had
been, but she had plenty to learn.
Lord Tadcaster anchored off Gravesend, and visited
Mrs. Staines nearly every day. She received him with
a pleasure that was not at all lively, but quite undis-
A SIMrLETON. 34^
guised. He could not doiil)t his welcome ; for once,
when he came, she said to the servant, " Kot at home," a
plain proof she did not wish liis visit to be cut short hy
any one else.
And so these visits and devoted attentions of every
kind went on unobserved by Lord Tadcaster's friends,
because Eosa would never go out, even with him ; but at
last Mr. Lusignan saw plainly how this would end, unless
he interfered.
Well, he did not interfere ; on the contrary, he was
careful to avoid putting his daughter on her guard : he
said to himself, "Lord Tadcaster does her good. I'm
afraid she would not marry him, if he was to ask her
now ; but in time she might. She likes him a great deal
better than any one else."
As for Philip, he was abroad for his own health, some-
what impaired by his long and faithful attendance on
Rosa.
So now Lord Tadcaster was in constant attendance on
Rosa. She was languid, but gentle and kind ; and, as
mourners, like invalids, are apt to be egotistical, she saw
nothing but that he was a comfort to her in her affliction.
While matters were so, the Earl of Miltshire, who
had long been sinking, died, and Tadcaster succeeded to
his honors and estates.
Rosa heard of it, and, thinking it was a great bereave-
ment, wrote him one of those exquisite letters of con-
dolence a lady alone can write. He took it to Lady
Cicely, and showed it her. She highly approved it.
He said, " The only thing — it makes me ashamed, I
do not feel my poor father's death more ; but you know
it has been so long expected." Then he was silent a
long time ; and then he asked her if such a woman as
that would not make him happy, if he could win her.
It was on her ladyship's tongue to say, " She did not
346 A SIMPLETON.
make her first happy ; " but slie forbore, and said coldly^
that was maw than she coukl say.
Tadcaster seemed disappointed by that, and by and by
Cicely took herself to task. She asked herself what
were Tadcaster's chances in the lottery of wives. The
heavy army of scheming mothers, and the light cavalry
of artful daughters, rose before her cousinly and disin-
terested eyes, and she asked herself what chance poor
little Tadcaster would have of catching a true love, with
a hundred female artists manoeuvring, wheeling, ambus-
cading, and charging upon his wealth and titles. She
returned to the subject of her own accord, and told him
she saw but one objection to such a match : the lady had
a son by a man of rare merit and misfortune. Could
he, at his age, undertake to be a father to that son ?
" Othahwise," said Lady Cicely, '" mark my words, you
will quail over that poor child ; and you will have two
to quail with, because I shall be on her side."
Tadcaster declared to her that child should be quite
the opposite of a bone of contention. "■ I have thought
of that," said he, " and I mean to be so kind to that boy,
I shall make her love me for that."
On these terms Lady Cicely gave her consent.
Tlien he asked her should he write, or ask her in
person.
Lady Cicely reflected. "If you write, I think she
will say no."
"But if I go?"
" Then, it will depend on how you do it. Kosa Staines
is a true mourner. Whatever you may think, I don't
believe the idea of a second union has ever entered her
head. But then she is very unselfish : and she likes
you better than any one else, I dare say. I don't think
your title or your money will weigh with her now. I>ut,
if you show her your happiness depends on it, she may,
A STMPr.KTON. o47
perhaps, cwy and sob at the very idea of it, and then,
after all, say, 'Well, why not — if I can make the poor
soul happy ? ' "
So, on this advice, Tadcaster went down to Gravesend,
and Lady Cicely felt a certain self-satisfaction ; for, her
well-meant interference having lost Kosa one husband,
she was pleased to think she had done something to
give her another.
Lord Tadcaster came to Rosa Staines; he found her
seated with her head upon her white hand, thinking
sadly of the past.
At sight of him in deep mourning, she started, and
said, " Oh ! "
Then she said tenderly, "We are of one color now,"
and gave him her hand.
He sat down beside her, not knowing how to begin.
"I am not Tadcaster now. I am Earl of Miltshire."
" Ah, yes ; I forgot," said she indifferently.
" This is my first visit to any one in that character."
"Thank you."
" It is an awfully important visit to me. I could not
feel myself independent, and able to secure your com-
fort and little Christie's, without coming to the lady, the
only lady I ever saw, that — oh, Mrs. Staines — Rosa —
who could see you, as I have done — mingle his tears
with yours, as I have done, and not love you, and long
to offer you his love ? "
" Love ! to me, a broken-hearted woman, with nothing
to live for but his memory and his child."
She looked at him with a sort of scared amazement.
" His child shall be mine. His memory is almost as
dear to me as to you."
J' iSTonsense, child, nonsense ! " said she, almost sternly.
" Was he not my best friend ? Shoidd I have the
health I enjoy, or even be alive, but for him ? Oh, Mrs.
348 A SIMPLETON.
Staines — Kosa, you will not live all your life unmarried;
and who will love you as I do ? You are my first and
only love. My happiness depends on you."
" Your happiness depend on me ! Heaven forbid — a
woman of my age, that feels so old, old, old."
" You are not old ; you are young, and sad, and beauti-
ful, and my happiness depends on you." She began to
tremble a little. Then he kneeled at her knees, and im-
plored her, and his hot tears fell upon the hand she put
out to stop him, while she turned her head away, and
the tears began to run.
Oh ! never can the cold dissecting pen tell what rushes
over the heart that has loved and lost, when another true
love first kneels and implores for love, or pity, or any-
thing the bereaved can give.
A SlMrLETOK.
CHAPTER XXTII.
Whex Falcon went, luck seemed to desert their claim :
day after day went by without a find ; and the discov-
eries on every side made this the more mortifying.
By this time the diggers at Bulteel's pan were as mis-
cellaneous as the audience at Drury Lane Theatre, only
mixed more closely ; the gallery folk and the stalls
worked cheek by jowl. Here a gentleman with an af-
fected lisp, and close by an honest fellow, who could not
deliver a sentence without an oath, or some still more
horrible expletive that meant nothing at all in reality,
but served to make respectable flesh creep : interspersed
with these, Hottentots, Kafirs, and wild blue blacks
gayly clad in an ostrich feather, a scarlet ribl)on, and a
Tower musket sold them by some good Christian for a
modern rifle.
On one side of Staines were two swells, who lay on
their backs and talked opera half the day, but seldom
condescended to work without finding a diamond of
some sort.
After a week's deplorable luck, his Kafir boy struck
work on account of a sore in his leg ; the sore was due
to a very common cause, the burning sand had got into
a scratch, and festered. Staines, out of humanity, ex-
amined the sore ; and proceeding to clean it, before
bandaging, out popped a diamond worth forty pounds,
even in the depreciated market. Staines quietly pocketed
it, and bandaged the leg. This made him suspect his
blacks had been cheating him on a large scale, and he
borrowed Hans Bulteel to watch them, giving him a
350 A SIMPLETON.
third, with which Master Hans was mightily pleased.
But they could only find small diamonds, and by this
time prodigious slices of luck were reported on every
side. Kafirs and Boers that would not dig, but traversed
large tracts of ground when the sun was shining, stumbled
over diamonds. One Boer pointed to a wagon and eight
oxen, and said that one lucky glance on the sand had
given him that lot : but day after day Staines returned
home, covered with dust, and almost blinded, yet with
little or nothing to show for it.
One evening, complaining of his change of luck, lUilteel
quietly proposed to him migration. " I am going," said
he resignedly : "and you can come with me."
" You leave your farm, sir ? Why, they pay you ten
shillings a claim, and that must make a large return ;
the pan is fifteen acres."
"Yes, mine vriend," said the poor Hollander, "they
pay; but deir money it cost too dear. Vere is mine
peace ? Dis farm is six tousand acres. If de cursed
diamonds was farther off, den it vas veil. But dey are
too near. Once I could smoke in peace, and zleep. Now
diamonds is come, and zleep and peace is fled. Dere is
four tousand tents, and to each tent a dawg ; dat dawg
bark at four tousand other dawgs all night, and dey bark
at him and at each oder. Den de masters of de dawgs dey
get angry, and fire four tousand pistole at de four tousand
dawgs, and make my bed shake wid the trembling of
mine vrow. My vamily is with diamonds infected. Dey
vill not vork. Dey takes long valks, and always looks
on de ground. Mine childre shall be hump-backed,
round-shouldered, looking down for diamonds. Dey
shall forget Gott. He is on high : dere eyes are always
on de earth. De diggers found a diamond in mine plas-
ter of mine wall of mine house, Dat plaster vas lime-
stone ; it come from dose kopjes de good Gott made ia
A SIMPLETON. 351
His auger against man for his vickedness. I zay so.
Dey not believe me. Dey tink dem abominable stones
grow in mine house, and break out in mine plaster like
de measle : dey vaunt to dig in mine wall, in mine gar-
den, in mine floor. One day dey shall dig in mine body.
I vill go. Better I love peace dan money. Here is
English company make me offer for mine varm. Dey
forgive de diamonds.''
" You have not accepted it ? " cried Staines in alarm.
" No, but I vill. I have said I shall tink of it. Dat
is my vay. So I say yah."
" An English company ? They will cheat you without
mercy. No, they shall not, though, for I will have a
hand in the bargain."
He set to work directly, added up the value of the
claims, at ten shillings per month, and amazed the poor
Hollander by his statement of the value of those fifteen
acres, capitalized.
And to close this part of the subject, the obnoxious
diamonds obtained him three times as much as his father
had given for the whole six thousand acres.
The company got a great bargain, but Bulteel received
what for him was a large capital, and settling far to the
south, this lineal descendant of le 'philosoijhe sans le
savoir carried his godliness, his cleanliness, and his love
of peace, out of the turmoil, and was happier than ever,
since now he could compare his placid existence with
one year of noise and clamor.
But long before this, events more pertinent to my
story had occurred.
One day, a Hottentot came into Bulteel's farm and
went out among the diggers, till he found Staines. The
Hottentot was one employed at Dale's Kloof, and knew
him. He brought Staines a letter.
Staines opened the letter, and another letter fell out j
it was directed to "Reginald Falcon, Esq."
352 A SIMPLETON.
"Why," thouglit Staines, "what a time this letter
must have been on the road ! So much for private mess-
engers."
The letter ran thus : —
Dear Sir, — This leaves us all well at Dale's Kloof, as I
hojje it shall find you and my dear husband at the digguigs.
Sir, I am happy to say 1 have good news for you. AVhen you
got well by God's mercy, I wrote to the doctor at the hospital
and told him so. I wrote unbeknown to you, because I had
promised him. Well, sir, he has written back to say you have
two hundred j^ounds in money, and a great many valuable
things, such as gold and jewels. They are all at the old bank
in Cape Town, and the cashier has seen you, and will deliver
them on demand. So that is the first of my good news, because
it is good news to you. But, dear sir, I think you will be
pleased to hear that Dick and I are thriving wonderfully,
thanks to your good advice. The wooden house it is built, and
a great oven. But, sir, the traffic came almost before we were
ready, and the miners that call here, coming and going, every
day, you would not believe, likewise wagons and carts. It is
all bustle, morn till night, and dear Reginald will never be
dull here now ; I hope you will be so kind as tell him so, for
1 do long to see you both home again.
Sir, we are making our fortunes. The grain we could not
sell at a fair price, we sell as bread, and higher than in England
ever so much. Tea and coftee the same ; and the poor things
Ijraise us, too, for being so moderate. So, sir, Dick bids mo
say that we owe this to you, and if so be you are minded to
share, why nothing would please us better. Head-piece is
always worth money in these parts ; and if it hurts your pride
to be our partner without money, why you can throw in what
you have at the Cape, though we don't ask that. And, besides,
we are offered diamonds a bargain every day, but are afraid to
deal, for want of experience ; but if you were in it with us, you
nuist know them well by this time, and we might turn many a
good pound that way. Dear sir, I hope you will not be otfended,
but 1 think this is the only way we have, Dick and I, to show
our respect and good- will.
A SIMPLETON. 353
Dear sir, digging is liard work, and not fit for you and
Kt'ginald, that are gentlemen, amongst a lot of rongli fellows,
that their talk makes my hair stand on end, though I dare say
they mean no harm.
Your bedroom is always ready, sir. I never will let it to
any of them, hoping now to see you every day. You that
know everything, can guess how I long to see you both liome.
My very good fortune seems not to taste like good fortune,
without those I love and esteem to share it. I shall count how
many days this letter will take to reach you, and then I shall
2)ray for your safety harder than ever, till the blessed hour
comes when I see my husband, and my good friend, never to
part again, I hope, in this world.
I am sir, your dutiful servant and friend,
Phcebe Dale.
P.S. There is regular travelling to and from Cape Town,
and a jDOst now to Pniel, but I thought it surest to send by one
that knows you.
Staines read this letter with great satisfaction. He
remembered his two hundred pounds, but his gold and
jewels puzzled him. Still it was good news, and pleased
him not a little. Phoebe's good fortune gratified him too,
and her offer of a partnership, especially in the purchase
of diamonds from returning diggers. He saw a large
fortune to be made ; and wearied and disgusted with
recent ill-luck, blear-eyed and almost blinded wdtli sort-
ing in the blazing sun, he resolved to go at once to Dale's
Kloof. Should Mrs. Falcon be gone to England with the
diamonds, he would stay there, and Eosa should come out
to him, or he would go and fetch her.
He w^ent home, and washed himself, and told Bulteel
he had had good news, and should leave the diggings at
once. He gave him up the claim, and told him to sell
it by auction. It was worth two hundred pounds still.
The good people sympathized with him, and he started
within an hour. He left his pickaxe and shovel, and
o54 A SIMPLETON.
took only his double rifle, an admirable one, some ammu-
idtion, including eonical bullets and projectile shells
given him by Falcon, a bag full of carbuncles and garnets
he had collected for Ucatella, a few small diamonds, and
one hundred pounds, — all that remained to him, since
he had been pa3dng wages and other things for months,
and had given Falcon twenty for his journey.
He rode away and soon put twenty miles between him
and the diggings.
He came to a little store that bought diamonds and
sold groceries and tobacco. He haltered his horse to a
hook, and went in. He oifered a small diamond for sale.
The master was out, and the assistant said there was a
glut of these small stones, he did not care to give money
for it.
"Well, give me three dozen cigars."
AVhile they were chaffering, in walked a Hottentot, and
said, " Will you buy this ? ^' and laid a clear, glittering
stone on the counter, as large as a walnut.
" Yes," said the young man. " How much ? "
" Two hundred pounds."
"Two hundred pounds ! Let us look at it;" he exam-
ined it, and said he thought it was a diamond, but these
large stones were so deceitful, he dared not give two
hundred pounds. "Come again in an hour," said he,
" then the master will be in."
" No," said the Hottentot quietly, and Avalked out.
Staines, Avho had been literally perspiring at the sight
of this stone, mounted his horse and followed the man.
When he came up to him, he asked leave to examine the
gem. The Hottentot quietly assented.
Staines looked at it all over. It had a rough side and
a polished side, and the latter was of amazing softness
and lustre. It made him tremble. He said, "Look here,
I have only one hundred pounds in my pocket."
A SIMPLETON. 355
The Hottentot shook his head.
" But if you will go back with ine to Bulteel's farm,
I'H borrow the other hundred."
The Hottentot declined, and told him he could get four
himdred pounds for it by going back to Puiel. " But,"
said he, "my face is turned so; and when Squat turn his
face so, he going home. Not can bear go the other way
then," and he held out his hand for the diamond.
Staines gave it him, and was in desimir at seeing such
a prize so near, yet leaving him.
He made one more effort. "Well, but," said he, "how
far are you going this way ? "
" Ten days."
" Why, so am I. Come with me to Dale^s Kloof, and
I will give the other hundred. See, I am in earnest, for
here is one hundred, at all events."
Staines made this proposal, trembling with excitement.
To his surprise and joy, the Hottentot assented, though
with an air of indifference ; and on these terms they be-
came fellow-travellers, and Staines gave him a cigar.
They w^ent on side by side, and halted for the night forty
miles from Bulteel's farm.
They slept in a Boer's out-house, and the vrow was
civil, and lent Staines a jackal's skin. In the morning
he bought it for a diamond, a carbuncle, and a score of
garnets ; for a horrible thought had occurred to him, if
they stopped at any place where miners were, somebody
might buy the great diamond over his head. This fear,
and others, grew on him, and with all his philosophy he
went on thorns, and was the slave of the diamond.
He resolved to keep his Hottentot all to himself if
possible. He shot a springbok that crossed the road,
and they roasted a portion of the animal, and the Hotten-
tot carried some on with him.
Seeing he admired the rifle, Staines offered it him for
356 A SIMPLETON.
the odd hundred pounds ; but though Squat's eye glittered
a moment, he declined.
Finding that they met too many diggers and carts,
Staines asked his Hottentot was there no nearer way to
reach that star, pointing to one he knew was just over
Dale's Kloof.
Oh, yes, he knew a nearer way, where there were trees,
and shade, and grass, and many beasts to shoot.
" Let us take that way," said Staines.
The Hottentot, ductile as wax, except about the price
of the diamond, assented calmly; and next day they
diverged, and got into forest scenery, and their eyes were
soothed with green glades here and there, wherever the
clumps of trees sheltered the grass from the panting sun.
Animals abounded, and were tame. Staines, an excellent
marksman, shot the Hottentot his supper without any
trouble.
Sleeping in the wood, with not a creature near but
Squat, a sombre thought struck Staines. Suppose this
Hottentot should assassinate him for his money, who
would ever know? The thought was horrible, and he
awoke with a start ten times that night. The Hottentot
slept like a stone, and never feared for his own life and
precious booty. Staines was compelled to own to himself
he had less faith in human goodness than the savage had.
He said to himself, ^' He is my superior. He is the master
of this dreadful diamond, and I am its slave."
Next day they went on till noon, and then they halted
at a really delightful spot; a silver kloof ran along a
bottom, and there was a little clump of three acacia-trees
that lowered their long tresses, pining for the stream,
and sometimes getting a cool grateful kiss from it when
the water was high.
They halted the horse, bathed in the stream, and lay
luxurious under the acacias. All was delicious languor
and enjoyment of life.
A SEVIPLETON. 357
The Hottentot made a fire, and burnt the remains of a
little sort of kangaroo Staines had shot him the evening
before ; but it did not suffice his maw, and looking about
him, he saw three elands leisurely feeding about three
hundred yards off. They were cropping the rich herbage
close to the shelter of a wood.
The Hottentot suggested that this was an excellent
opportunity. He would borrow Staines's rifle, steal into
the wood, crawl on his belly close up to them, and send
a bullet through one.
Staines did not relish the proposal. He had seen the
savage's eye repeatedly gloat on the rifle, and was not
without hopes he might even yet relent, and give the
great diamond for the hundred pounds and this rifle ;
and he was so demoralized by the diamond, and filled
with suspicion, that he feared the savage, if he once had
the rifle in his possession, might levant, and be seen no
more, in which case he, Staines, still the slave of the
diamond, might hang himself on the nearest tree, and so
secure his Kosa the insurance money, at all events. In
short, he had really diamond on the brain.
He hem'd and haw'd a little at Squat's proposal, and
then got out of it by saying, " That is not necessary. I
can shoot it from here."
"It is too far," objected Blacky.
" Too far ! This is an Enfield rifle. I could kill the
poor beast at three times that distance."
Blacky was amazed. " An Enfield rifle," said he, in
the soft musical murmur of his tribe, which is the one
charm of the poor Hottentot; "and shoot three times
so far."
"Yes," said Christopher. Then, seeing his compan-
ion's hesitation, he conceived a hope. "If I kill that
eland from here, will you give me the diamond for my
liorse and the wonderful rifle ? — no Hottentot has such
a rifle."
358 A SIMPLETON.
Squat became cold directly. " The price of the dia-
inoiul is two hundred pounds."
Staines groaned with disappointment, and thought to
himself with rage, '^Anybody but me would club the
rifle, give the obstinate black brute a stunner, and take
the diamond — God forgive me ! "
Says the Hottentot cunningly, "I can't think so far
as white man. Let me see the eland dead, and then I
shall know how far the rifle shoot."
" Very well," said Staines. But he felt sure the
savage only wanted his meal, and would never part Avith
the diamond, except for the odd money.
However, he loaded his left barrel with one of the
explosive projectiles Falcon had given him; it was a
little fulminating shell with a steel point. It was with
this barrel he had shot the murcat overnight, and he had
found he shot better with this barrel than the other.
He loaded his left barrel then, saw the powder well up,
capped it and cut away a strip of the acacia with his
knife to see clear, and lying down in volunteer fashion,
elbow on ground, drew his bead steadily on an eland
who presented him her broadside, her back being turned
to the wood. The sun shone on her soft coat, and never
was a fairer mark, the sportsman's deadly eye being in
the cool shade, the animal in the sun.
He aimed long and steadily. But just as he was about
to pull the trigger. Mind interposed, and he lowered the
deadly weapon. " Poor creature ! " he said, " I am going
to take her life — for what ? for a single meal. She is
as big as a pony ; and I am to lay her carcass on the
plain, tliat we may eat two pounds of it. This is how
the weasel kills the rabbit ; sucks an ounce of blood for
his food, and wastes the rest. So the demoralized sheep-
dog tears out the poor creature's kidneys, and wastes the
rest. Man, armed by science with such powers of slay-
A SIMPLETON. 350
ing, should be less egotistical than weasels and perverted
sheep-dogs. I will not kill her. I will not lay that
beautiful body of hers low, and glaze those tender, loving
eyes that never gleamed with hate or rage at man, and
fix those innocent jaws that never bit the life out of
anything, not even of the grass she feeds on, and does it
more good than harm. Feed on, poor innocent. And
you be blanked ; you and your diamond, that I begin to
wish I had never seen ; for it would corrupt an angel."
Squat understood one word in ten, but he managed to
rejAy. " This is nonsense-talk," said he, gravely. " The
life is no bigger in that than in the murcat you shot last
shoot."
"No more it is," said Staines. "I am a fool. It is
come to this, then; Kafirs teach us theology, and Hotten-
tots morality. I bow to my intellectual superior. I'll
shoot the eland." He raised his rifle again.
" No, no, no, no, no, no," murmured the Hottentot, in
a sweet voice scarcely audible, yet so keen in its entreaty,
that Staines turned hastily round to look at him. His
face was ashy, his teeth chattering, his limbs shaking.
Before Staines could ask him what was the matter, he
pointed through an aperture of the acacias into the
wood hard by the elands. Staines looked, and saw what
seemed to him like a very long dog, or some such animal,
crawling from tree to tree. He did not at all share the
terror of his companion, nor understand it. But a terri-
ble explanation followed. This creatui^e, having got to
the skirt of the wood, expanded, by some strange magic,
to an incredible size, and sprang into the open, with a
growl, a mighty lion; he seemed to ricochet from the
ground, so immense was his second bound, that carried
him to the eland, and he struck her one blow on the
head with his terrible paw, and felled her as if with a
thunderbolt : down went her body, Avith all the legs
360 A SIMPLETON.
doubled, and her poor head turned over, and the nose
kissed the ground. The lion stood motionless. Pres-
ently the eland, who was not dead, but stunned, began
to recover and struggle feebly up. Then the lion sprang
on her with a roar, and rolled her over, and with two
tremendous bites and a shake, tore her entrails out and
laid her dying. He sat composedly down, and contem-
plated her last convulsions, without touching her again.
At this roar, though not loud, the horse, though he
had never heard or seen a lion, trembled, and pulled at
his halter.
Blacky crept into the water ; and Staines was struck
with such an awe as he had never felt. Nevertheless,
the king of beasts being at a distance, and occupied, and
Staines a brave man, and out of sight, he kept his ground
and watched, and by those means saw a sight never to
be forgotten. The lion rose up, and stood in the sun
incredibly beautiful as well as terrible. He was not the
mangy hue of the caged lion, but a skin tawny, golden,
glossy as a race-horse, and of exquisite tint that shone
like pure gold in the sun ; his eye a lustrous jewel of
richest hue, and his mane sublime. He looked towards
the wood, and uttered a full roar. This was so tremen-
dous that the horse shook all over as if in an ague, and
began to lather. Staines recoiled, and his flesh crept,
and the Hottentot went under water, and did not emerge
for ever so long.
After a pause, the lion roared again, and call the beasts
and birds of prey seemed to know the meaning of that
terrible roar. Till then the place had been a solitude,
but now it began to fill in the strangest way, as if the
lord of the forest could call all his subjects together
with a trumpet roar : first came two lion cubs, to whom,
in fact, the roar had been addressed. The lion rubl)ed
himself several times against the eland, but did not eat
A SIMPLETON. 3G1
a morsel, and tlie cubs went in and feasted on the prey.
The lion politely and paternally drew back, and watched
the young people enjoying themselves.
Meantime approached, on tiptoe, jackals and hyenas,
but dared not come too near. Slate-colored vultures
settled at a little distance, but not a soul dared interfere
with the cubs ; they saw the lion was acting sentinel,
and they knew better than come near.
After a time, papa feared for the digestion of those
brats, or else his own mouth watered ; for he came up,
Idiocked them head over heels with his velvet paw, and
they took the gentle hint, and ran into the wood double
quick.
Then the lion began tearing away at the eland, and
bolting huge morsels greedily. This made the rabble's
mouth water. The hyenas, and jackals, and vultures
formed a circle ludicrous to behold, and that circle kept
narrowing as the lion tore away at his i)rey. They
increased in number, and at last hunger overcame pru-
dence ; the rear rank shoved on the front, as amongst
men, and a general attack seemed imminent.
Then the lion looked up at these invaders, uttered a
reproachful growl, and went at them, patting them right
and left, and knocking them over. He never touched a
vulture, nor indeed did he kill an animal. He was
a lion, and only killed to eat ; yet he soon cleared the
place, because he knocked over a few hyenas and jackals,
and the rest, being active, tumbled over the vultures before
they could spread their heavy wings. After this warning,
they made a respectful circle again, through which, in
due course, the gorged lion stalked into the wood.
A savage's sentiments change quickly, and the Hotten-
tot, fearing little from a full lion, was now giggling at
Staines's side. Staines asked him which he thought was
the lord of all creatures, a man or a lion.
362 A SIMPLETON.
"A lion/' said Blacky, amazed at such a sliallow
question.
Staines now got up, and proposed to continue tlieir
journey. But Blacky was for waiting till the lion was
gone to sleep after his meal.
While they discussed the question, the lion burst out
of the wood within hearing of their voices, as his
pricked-up ears showed, and made straight for them at
a distance of scarcely thirty yards.
Now, the chances are, the lion knew nothing about
them, and only came to drink at the kloof, after his
meal, and perhaps lie under the acacias : but who can
think calmly, when his first lion bursts out on him a
few paces off ? Staines shouldered his rifle, took a hasty,
flurried aim, and sent a bullet at him.
If he had missed him, perhaps the report might have
turned the lion ; but he wounded him, and not mortally.
Instantly the enraged beast uttered a terrific roar, and
came at him with his mane distended with rage, his eyes
glaring, his mouth open, and his whole body dilated with
fury.
At that terrible moment, Staines recovered his wits
enousch to see that what little chance he had was to fire
into the destroyer, not at him. He kneeled, and levelled
at the centre of the lion's chest, and not till he Avas
within five yards did he fire. Through the smoke he
saw the lion in the air above him, and rolled shrieking
into the stream and crawled like a worm under the bank,
by one motion, and there lay trembling. A few seconds
of sick stupor passed : all was silent. Had the lion lost
him ? Was it possible he might yet escape ?
All was silent.
He listened, in agony, for the sniffing of the lion, puz-
zling him out by scent.
No : all was silent.
^
. )
■t-<'3-jv;'.tV
3^^^' ' '*':^;#*>.- -^^feg,:
A SIMrLETON. 3G3
Staines looked round, and saw a woolly head, and two
saucer eyes and open nostrils close by him. It was the
Hottentot, more dead than alive.
Staines whispered him, " I think he is gone."
The Hottentot whispered, '• Gone a little way to watch.
He is wise as well as strong." With this he disappeared
beneath the water.
Still no sound but the screaming of the vultures, and
snarling of the hyenas and jackals over the eland.
" Take a look," said Staines.
" Yes," said Squat ; " but not to-day. Wait here a day
or two. Den he forget and forgive."
Now Staines, having seen the lion lie down and watch
the dying eland, was a great deal impressed by this ;
and as he had now good hopes of saving his life, he
would not throw away a chance. He kept his head just
above water, and never moved.
In this freezing situation they remained.
Presently there was a rustling that made both crouch.
It was followed by a croaking noise.
Christopher made himself small.
The Hottentot, on the contrary, raised his head, and
ventured a little way into the stream.
By these means he saw it was something very foul,
but not terrible. It was a large vulture that had settled
on the very top of the nearest acacia.
At this the Hottentot got bolder still, and to the great
surprise of Staines began to crawl cautiously into some
rushes, and through them up the bank.
Tlie next moment he burst into a mixture of yelling
and chirping and singing, and other sounds so manifestly
jubilant, that the vulture flapped heavily away, and
Staines emerged in turn, but very cautiously.
Could he believe his eyes ? There lay the lion, dead
as a stone, on his back, with his four legs in the air, like
364 A SIMPLETON.
wooden legs, tliey were so very dead ; and the valiant
Squat, dancing about him, and on him, and over him.
Staines, unable to change his sentiments so quickly,
eyed even the dead body of the royal beast with awe and
wonder. What ! had he already laid that terrible mon-
arch low, and with a tube made in a London shop by men
who never saw a lion spring, nor heard his awful roar
shake the air ? He stood with his heart still beating,
and said not a word. The shallow Hottentot whipped
out a large knife, and began to skin the king of beasts.
Staines wondered he could so profane that masterpiece
of nature. He felt more inclined to thank God for so
great a preservation, and then pass reverently on, and
leave the dead king undesecrated.
He was roused from his solemn thoughts by the reflec-
tion that there might be a lioness about, since there were
cubs : he took a piece of paper, emptied his remaining
powder into it, and proceeded to dry it in the sun. This
was soon done, and then he loaded both barrels.
By this time the adroit Hottentot had fla3^ed the car-
cass sufficiently to reveal the mortal injury. The pro-
jectile had entered the chest, and slanting upwards, had
burst among the vitals, reducing them to a gory pulp.
The lion must have died in the air, when he bounded on
receiving the fatal shot.
The Hottentot uttered a cry of admiration. " Not the
lion king of all, nor even the white man,'^ he said ; " but
Enfeel rifle ! "
Staines's eyes glittered. " You shall have it, and the
horse, for your diamond," said he eagerly.
The black seemed a little shaken ; but did not reply.
H@ got out of it by going on with his lion ; and Staines
eyed him, and was bitterly disappointed at not getting
the diamond even on these terms. He began to feel he
should never get it : they were near the high-road ; he
A SIMPLETON. 3G5
could not keep the Hottentot to himself much longer.
He felt sick at heart. He had wild and wicked thoughts ;
half hoped the lioness would come and kill the Hotten-
tot, and liberate the jewel that possessed his soul.
At last the skin was off, and the Hottentot said, " Me
take this to my kraal, and dey all say, ' Squat a great
shooter ; kill uni lion.' "
Then Staines saw another chance for him, and sum-
moned all his address for a last effort. " No, Squat,"
said he, " that skin belongs to me. I shot the lion, with
the only rifle that can kill a lion like a cat. Yet you
would not give me a diamond — a paltry stone for it.
No, Squat, if you were to go into your village with that
lion's skin, why the old men would bend their heads to
you, and say, ^ Great is Squat ! He killed the lion, and
wears his skin.' The young women w^ould all fight which
should be the wife of Squat. Squat would be king of
the village."
Squat's eyes began to roll.
" And shall I give the skin, and the glory that is my
due, to an ill-natured fellow, who refuses me his paltry
diamond for a good horse — look at him — and for the
rifle that kills lions like rabbits — behold it ; and a hun-
dred pounds in good gold and Dutch notes — see ; and
for the lion's skin, and glory, and honor, and a rich wife,
and to be king of Africa ? Never ! "
The Hottentot's hands and toes began to work convul-
sively. " Good master. Squat ask pardon. Squat was
blind. Squat wdll give the diamond, the great diamond
of Africa, for the lion's skin, and the king rifle, and the
little horse, and the gold, and Dutch notes every one of
them. Dat make just two hundred pounds."
"More like four hundred," cried Staines very loud.
"And how do I know it is a diamond? These large
stones are the most deceitful. Show it me, this instant/'
said he imperiously.
366 A SIMPLETON.
"Iss, master/' said the crushed Hottentot, with the
voice of a mouse, and lout the stone into his hand with
a chikl-like faith that almost melted Staines ; but he
saw he must be firm. " Where did you find it ? " he
bawled,
"Master," said poor Squat, in deprecating tones, "my
little master at the farm Avanted plaster. He send to
Bulteel's pan; dere was large lumps. Squat say to
miners, * May we take de large lumps ? Dey say, '• Yes ;
take de cursed lumps we no can break.' We took de
cursed lumps. We ride 'em in de cart to farm twenty
milses. I beat 'em with my hammer. Dey is very hard.
More dey break my heart dan I break their cursed heads.
One day I use strong words, like white man, and I hit
one large lump too hard ; he break, and out come de
white clear stone. Iss, him diamond. Long time we
know him in our kraal, because he hard. Long time
before ever white man knoAV him, tousand years ago, we
find him, and he make us lilly hole in big stone for make
wheat dust. Him a diamond, blank my eyes ! "
This was intended as a solemn form of asseveration
adapted to the white man's habits.
Yes, reader, he told the truth ; and strange to say, the
miners knew the largest stones were in these great lumps
of carbonate, but then the lumps were so cruelly hard,
they lost all patience with them, and so, finding it was
no use to break some of them, and not all, they rejected
them all, with curses; and thus this great stone was
carted away as rubbish from the mine, and found, like a
toad in a hole, by Squat.
" Well," said Christopher, " after all, you are an hon-
est fellow, and I think I will buy it ; but first you must
show me out of this wood ; I am not going to be eaten
alive in it for want of the king of rifles."
Squat assented eagerly, and they started at once.
A SIMPLETON. 3G7
They passed the skeleton of the eland; its very bones
were i^olished, and its head carried into the wood ; and
looking back they saw vultures busy on the lion. They
soon cleared the wood.
Squat handed Staines the diamond — when it touched
liis hand, as his own, a bolt of ice seemed to run down
his back, and hot water to follow it — and the money,
horse, rifle, and skin were made over to Squat.
" Shake hands over it. Squat," said Staines; "you are
hard, but you are honest."
" Iss, master, I a good much hard and honest," said
Squat.
" Good-by, old fellow."
" Good-by, master."
And Squat strutted away, with the halter in his hand,
horse following him, rifle under his arm, and the lion's
skin over his shoulders, and the tail trailing, a figure sub-
lime in his own eyes, ridiculous in creation's. So vanity
triumphed, even in the wilds of Africa.
Staines hurried forward on foot, loading his revolver
as he went, for the very vicinity of the wood alarmed
him now^ that he had parted with his trusty rifle.
That night he lay down on the open veldt, in his
jackal's skin, with no weapon but his revolver, and woke
with a start a dozen times. Just before daybreak he
scanned the stars carefully, and noting exactly where
the sun rose, made a rough guess at his course, and fol-
lowed it till the sun was too hot ; then he crept under a
ragged bush, hung up his jackal's skin, and sweated
there, parched with thirst, and gnawed with hunger.
When it was cooler, he crept on, and found water, but no
food. He was in torture, and began to be frightened,
for he was in a desert. He found an ostrich egg and
ate it ravenously.
Next day, hunger took a new form, faintness. He
368 A SIMPLETON.
could not walk for it ; his jackal's skin oppressed liim ;
he lay down exhausted. A horror seized his dejected
soul. The diamond ! It would be his death. No man
must so long for any earthly thing as he had for this
glittering traitor. " Oh ! my good horse ! my trusty
rifle ! " he cried. " For what have I thrown you aw^ay ?
For starvation. Misers have been found stretched over
their gold; and some day my skeleton will be found,
and nothing to tell the base death I died of and de-
served ; nothing but the cursed diamond. Ay, fiend,
glare in my eyes, do ! " He felt delirium creeping over
him ; and at that a new terror froze him. His reason,
that he had lost once, was he to lose it again ? He
prayed; he wept; he dozed, and forgot all. When he
woke again, a cool air was fanning his cheeks ; it revived
him a little ; it became almost a breeze.
And this breeze, as it happened, carried on its wings
the curse of Africa. There loomed in the north-west a
cloud of singular density, that seemed to expand in size
as it drew nearer, yet to be still more solid, and darken
the air. It seemed a dust-storm. Staines took out his
handkerchief, prepared to wrap his face in it, not to be
stifled.
But soon there was a whirring and a whizzing, and
hundreds of locusts flew over his head ; they were fol-
lowed by thousands, the swiftest of the mighty host.
They thickened and thickened, till the air looked solid,
and even that glaring sun was blackened by the rushing
mass. Birds of all sorts whirled above, and swooped
among them. They peppered Staines all over like shot.
They stuck in his beard, and all over him ; they clogged
the bushes, carpeted the ground, while the darkened air
sang as with the whirl of machinery. Every bird in the
air, and beast of the field, granivorous or carnivorous,
was gorged with them ; and to these animals was added
A SIMPLETON. 3G9
man, for Staines, being famished, and remembering tlic
vrow Bulteel, lighted a fire, and roasted a handful or
two on a flat stone ; they were delicious. The fire once
lighted, they cooked themselves, for they kept flying
into it. Three hours, without interruption, did they
darken nature, and, before the column ceased, all the
beasts of the field came after, gorging them so recklessly,
that Staines could have shot an antelope dead with his
pistol within a yard of him.
But to tell the horrible truth, the cooked locusts were
so nice that he preferred to gorge on them along with
the other animals.
He roasted another lot, for future use, and marched on
with a good heart.
But now he got on some rough, scrubby ground, and
damaged his shoes, and tore his trousers.
This lasted a terrible distance ; but at the end of it
came the usual arid ground ; and at last he came upon
the track of wheels and hoofs. He struck it at an acute
angle, and that showed him he had made a good line.
He limped along it a little way, slowly, being footsore.
By and by, looking back, he saw a lot of rough fellows
swaggering along behind him. Then he w^as alarmed,
terribly alarmed, for his diamond ; he tore a strip of his
handkerchief, and tied the stone cunningly under his
armpit as he hobbled on.
The men came up with him.
" Hallo, mate ! Come from the diggings ? "
"Yes."
" What luck ? "
" Very good."
" Haw ! haw ! What ! found a fifty-carat ? Show it
us."
" We found five big stones, my mate and me. He is
gone to Cape Town to sell them. I had no luck when
24
370 A SIMPLETON.
lie had left me, so I have cut it ; going to turn farmer.
Can you tell me liow far it is to Dale's Kloof ? "
No, they could not tell him that. They swung on;
and, to Staines, their backs were a cordial, as we say in
Scotland.
However, his travels were near an end. Next morn-
ing he saw Dale's Kloof in the distance ; and as soon as
the heat moderated, he pushed on, with one shoe and
tattered trousers; and half an hour before sunset he
hobbled up to the place.
It was all bustle. Travellers at the door ; their wagons
and carts under a long shed.
Ucatella was the first to see him coming, and came
and fawned on him with delight. Her eyes glistened,
her teeth gleamed. She patted both his cheeks, and
then his shoulders, and even his knees, and then flew
in-doors crying, " My doctor child is come home ! " This
amused three travellers, and brought out Dick, with a
hearty welcome.
" But Lordsake, sir, why have you come afoot ; and a
rough road too ? Look at your shoes. Hallo ! What
is come of the horse ? "
" I exchanged him for a diamond."
" The deuce you did ! And the rifle ? "
" Exchanged that for the same diamond."
" It ought to be a big 'un."
" It is.'^'
Dick made a wry face. " Well, sir, you know best.
You are w^elcome, on horse or afoot. You are just in
time ; Thoebe and me are just sitting down to dinner."
He took him into a little room they had built for their
own privacy, for they liked to be quiet now and then,
being country bred ; and Phoebe Avas putting their dinner
on the table, when Staines limped in.
She gave a joyful cry, and turned red all over. "Oh,
A SIMPLETON. 371
doctor ! " Then his travel-torn appearance struck hw.
" But, dear heart ! what a figure ! Where's Ilegiiuild ?
Oh, he's not far off, / know."
And she fiung open the window, and ahuost flew
through it in a moment, to look for her husband.
" Reginald ? " said Staines. Then turning to Dick
Dale, " Why, he is here — isn't he ? "
" No, sir : not without he is just come with you."
" With me ? — no. You know we parted at the dig-
gings. Come, Mr. Dale, he may not be here now ; but
he has been here. He must have been here."
Phoebe, who had not lost a word, turned round, with
all her high color gone, and her cheeks getting paler and
paler. " Oh, Dick ! what is this ? "
" I don't understand it," said Dick. " AYliatever made
you think he was here, sir ? "
" Why, I tell you he left me to come here."
" Left you, sir ! " faltered Phoebe. " Why, when ? —
where ? "
" At the diggings — ever so long ago."
" Blank him ! that is just like him ; the uneasy fool ! "
roared Dick.
" No, Mr. Dale, you should not say that ; he left me,
with my consent, to come to ISIrs. Palcon here, and con-
sult her about disposing of our diamonds."
'' Diamonds ! — diamonds ! " cried Phoebe. " Oh, they
make me tremble. How could you let him go alone !
You didn't let hiin go on foot, I hope ? "
" Oh, no, Mrs. Falcon ; he had his horse, and his rifle,
and money to spend on the road."
" How long ago did he leave you, sir ? "
"I — I am sorry to say it was five weeks ago."
" Five weeks ! and not come yet. Ah ! the wild
beasts ! — the diggers ! — the murderers I He is dead ! "
" God forbid ! " faltered Staines ; but his own blood
began to run cold.
372 A SIMPLETON.
"He is dead. He has died between this and the
dreadful diamonds. I shall never see my darling again :
he is dead. He is dead."
She rushed out of the room, and out of the house,
throwing her arms above her head in despair, and
uttering those words of agony again and again in every
variety of anguish.
At such horrible moments women always swoon — if
we are to believe the dramatists. I doubt if there is one
srrain of truth in this. Women seldom swoon at all,
unless their bodies are unhealthy, or weakened by the
reaction that follows so terrible a shock as this. At all
events, Phoebe, at first, was strong and wild as a lion,
and went to and fro outside the house, unconscious of
her body's motion, frenzied with agony, and but one
word on her lips, " He is dead ! — he is dead ! "
Dick followed her, crying like a child, but master of
himself ; he got his people about her, and half carried
her in again ; then shut the door in all their faces.
He got the poor creature to sit down, and she began
to rock and moan, with her apron over her head, and
her brown hair loose about her.
" Why should he be dead ? " said Dick. " Don't give
a man up like that, Phoebe. Doctor, tell us more about
it. Oh, man, how could you let him out of your sight ?
You knew how fond the poor creature was of him."
" But that was it, Mr. Dale," said Staines. " I knew
his wife must pine for him ; and we had found six large
diamonds, and a handful of small ones ; but the market
was glutted ; and to get a better price, he wanted to go
straight to Cape Town. But I said, ' No ; go and show
them to your wife, and see whether she will go to Cape
Town.' "
Phoebe began to listen, as was evident by her moaning
more softly.
A SIMPLETON. 373
" Might ho not liave gone straight to Cape Town ? "
Staines haz;ii'(h'd this timidly.
" Why should he do that, sir ? Dale's Kloof is on the
road."
"Only on one road. Mr. Dale, he was well armed,
with rifle and revolver; and I cautioned him not to
show a diamond on the road. Who would molest him ? *
Diamonds don't show, like gold. Who was to know he
had three thousand pounds hidden under his armpits,
and in two barrels of his revolver ? "
" Three thousand pounds ! " cried Dale. " You trusted
him with three thousand pounds ? "
" Certainly. They were worth about three thousand
pounds in Cape Town, and half as much again in " —
Phoebe started up in a moment. " Thank God ! " she
cried. " There's hope for me. Oh, Dick, he is not dead :
HE HAS OXLY DESERTED ME."
And with these strange and pitiable words, she fell to
sobbing as if her great heart would burst at last.
374 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Theke came a reaction, and Phoebe was prostrated
with grief and alarm. Her brother never doubted now
that Reginald had run to Cape Town for a lark. But
Phoebe, though she thought so too, could not be sure;
and so the double agony of bereavement and desertion
tortured her by turns, and almost together. For the first
time these many years, she was so crushed she could
not go about her business, but lay on a little sofa in her
own room, and had the blinds down, for her head ached
so she could not bear the light.
She conceived a bitter resentment against Staines;
and told Dick never to let him into her sight, if he did
not want to be her death.
In vain Dick made excuses for him : she would hear
none. For once she was as unreasonable as any other
living woman : she could see nothing but that she had
been happy, after years of misery, and should be happy
now if this man had never entered her house. "Ah,
Collie ! " she cried, " you were wiser than I was. You
as good as told me he would make me smart for lodging
and curing him. And I was so happy ! "
Dale communicated this as delicately as he could to
Staines. Christopher was deeply grieved and wounded.
He thought it unjust, but he knew it was natural : he
said, humbly, " I feel guilty myself, Mr. Dale ; and yet,
unless I had possessed omniscience, what could I do ? I
thought of her in all — poor thing ! poor thing ! "
The tears were in his eyes, and Dick Dale went
away scratching his head and thinking it over. The
A STMrLETON. 375
more he tlioiight, the less he was inclined to condemn
him.
Staines himself was mnch troubled in mind, and lived
on thorns. He wanted to be off to England; grudged
every day, every hour, he spent in Africa. But Mrs.
Falcon was his benefactress; he had been, for months
and months, garnering up a heap of gratitude towards
her. He had not the heart to leave her bad friends, and
in misery. He kept hoping Falcon would return, or
write.
Two days after his return, he was seated, disconsolate,
gluing garnets and carbuncles on to a broad tapering ])it
of lambskin, when Ucatella came to him and said, " Uj
doctor child sick ? "
"No, not sick: but miserable.'^ And he explained to
her, as w^ell as he could, what had passed. " But," said
he, " I would not mind the loss of the diamonds now, if
I was only sure he was alive. I think most of poor,
poor Mrs. Falcon."
While Ucatella pondered this, but with one eye of
demure curiosity on the coronet he was making, he told
her it was for her — he had not forgot her at the mines.
"These stones," said he, "are not valued there; but
see how glorious they are I "
In a few minutes he had finished the coronet, and gave
it her. She uttered a chuckle of delight, and with
instinctive art, bound it, in a turn of her hand, about
her brow ; and then Staines himself was struck dumb
with amazement. The carbuncles gathered from those
mines look like rubies, so full of fire are they, and of
enormous size. The chaplet had twelve great carbuncles
in the centre, and went off by gradations into smaller
garnets by the thousand. They flashed their blood-red
flames in the African sun, and the head of Ucatella,
grand before, became the head of the Sphinx, encircled
376 A SIMPLETON.
Avitli a coronet of fire. She bestowed a look of rapturous
gratitude on Staines, and then glided away, like the stately
Juno, to admire herself in the nearest glass like any other
coquette, black, brown, yellow, copper, or white.
That very day, towards sunset, she burst upon Staines
quite suddenly, with her coronet gleaming on her magni-
ficent head, and her eyes like coals of fire, and under
her magnificent arm, hard as a rock, a boy kicking and
struggling in vain. She was furiously excited, and, for
the first time, showed signs of the savage in the whites
of her eyes, which seemed to turn the glorious pupils
into semicircles. She clutched Staines by the shoulder
with her left hand, and swept along with the pair, like
dark Fate, or as potent justice sweeps away a pair of
culprits, and carried them to the little window, and cried
" Open — open ! "
Dick Dale was at dinner ; Phoebe lying down. Dick
got up, rather crossly, and threw open the window\
" What is up now ? '' said he crossly : he was like two
or three more Englishmen — hated to be bothered at
dinner-time.
"Dar,'^ screamed Ucatella, setting down Tim, but
holding him tight by the shoulder ; " now you tell what
you see that night, you lilly Kafir trash ; if you not tell,
I kill you DEAD ; '^ and she showed the whites of her
eyes, like a wild beast.
Tim, thoroughly alarmed, quivered out that he had
seen lilly master ride up to the gate one bright night,
and look in, and Tim thought he was going in : but he
changed his mind, and galloped away that way ; and the
monkey pointed south.
" And why couldn't you tell us this before ? " ques-
tioned Dick.
"Me mind de sheep," said Tim apologetically. "Me
not mind de lilly master : jackals not eat him."
A SIMPLETON. ?u7
"You no more sense dan a sheep yourself," said
Ucatella loftily.
" No, no : God bless you both," cried poor Phoebe :
" now I know the worst : " and a great burst of tears
relieved her suffering heart.
Dick went out softly. When he got outside the door,
he drew them all apart, and said, " Yuke, you are a good-
hearted girl. I'll never forget this while I live ; and,
Tim, there's a shilling for thee ; but don't you go and
spend it in Cape smoke ; that is poison to whites, and
destruction to blacks."
''"Xo, master," said Tim. "I shall buy much bread,
and make my tomach tiff ; " then, with a glance of
reproach <ic the domestic caterer, Ucatella, ^'I almost
never have my tomach tiff."
Dick left his sister alone an hour or two, to have her
cry out.
"\Yhen he went back to her there was a change : the
brave woman no longer lay prostrate. She went about
her business ; only she was always either crying or
drowning her tears.
He brought Dr. Staines in. Phoebe instantly turned
her back on him with a shudder there was no mistaking.
"I had better go,'^ said Staines. "Mrs. Falcon will
never forgive me."
"She will have to quarrel with me else," said Dick
steadily. " Sit you down, doctor. Honest folk like you
and me and Phoebe wasn't made to quarrel for want
of lookino^ a thinsr all round. Mv sister she hasn't looked
it all round, and I have. Come, Pheeb, 'tis no use your
blinding yourself. How was the poor doctor to know
your husba,nd is a blackguard ? "
" He is not a blackguard. How dare you say that to
my face ? "
" He is a blackguard^ and always was. And now h^
378 A SIMPLETON.
is a thief to boot. He has stolen those diamonds ; you
know that very welL"
" Gently, Mr. Dale j you forget : they are as much his
as mine."
"Well, and if half a sheep is mine, and I take the
whole and sell him, and keep the money, what is that
but stealing ? Why, I wonder at you, Pheeb. You Avas
always honest yourself, and yet you see the doctor robbed
by your man, and that does not trouble you. Wliat has
he done to deserve it ? He has been a good friend to us.
He has put us on the road. We did little more than
keep the pot boiling before he came — well, yes, we
stored grain ; but whose advice has turned that grain to
gold, I might say ? Well, what's his offence ? He
trusted the diamonds to your man, and sent him to you.
Is he the first honest man that has trusted a rogue ?
How was he to know ? Likely he judged the husband
by the wife. Answer me one thing, Pheeb. If he makes
away with fifteen hundred pounds that is his, or partly
yours — for he has eaten your bread ever since I knew
him — and fifteen hundred more that is the doctor's,
where shall we find fifteen hundred pounds, all in a
moment, to pay the doctor back his own ? "
" My honest friend," said Staines, " joii are torment-
ing yourself Avith shadows. I don't believe Mr. Falcon
will wrong me of a shilling; and, if he does, I shall
quietly repay myself out of the big diamond. Yes, my
dear friends, I did not throw away your horse, nor your
rifle, nor your money: I gave them all, and the lion's
skin — I gave them all — for this."
And he laid the big diamond on the table.
It was as big as a walnut, and of the purest water.
Dick Dale glanced at it stupidly. Phoebe turned her
back on it, with a cry of horror, and then came slowly
round by degrees ; and her eyes were fascinated by the
royal gem.
A SIMPLETON. ?u\)
" Yes," said Staines sadly, "I had to strip myself of
all to buy it, and, when I had got it, how proud I was,
and how happy I thought we should all be over it, for it
is half yours, half mine. Yes, Mr. Dale, there lies six
thousand pounds that belong to Mrs. Falcon."
" Six thousand pounds ! " cried Dick.
"I'm sure of it. And so, if your suspicions are cor-
rect, and poor Falcon should yield to a sudden tempta-
tion, and spend all that money, I shall just coolly deduct
it from your share of this wonderful stone : so make
your mind easy. But no ; if Falcon is really so wicked
as to desert his happy home, and so mad as to spend
thousands in a month or two, let us go and save him."
" That is my business," said Phoebe. " I am going in
the mail-cart to-morrow."
" Well, you won't go alone," said Dick.
" Mrs. Falcon," said Staines imploringly, " let me go
with you."
" Thank you, sir. My brother can take care of me."
" Me ! You had better not take me. If I catch hold
of him, by I'll break his neck, or his back, or his
leg, or something ; he'll never run away from you again,
if I lay hands on him," replied Dick.
" I'll go alone. You are both against me."
" No, Mrs. Falcon ; I am not," said Staines. " My
heart bleeds for you."
" Don't you demean yourself, praying her," said Dick.
" It's a public conveyance : you have no need to ask her
leave."
" That is true : I can't hinder folk from going to Cape
Town the same day," said Phoebe sullenly.
"If I might presume to advise, I would take little
Tommy."
" WHiat ! all that road ? Do you want me to lose my
child, as well as my man ? "
380 A SIMPLETON.
" Mrs. Falcon ! "
" Don't sj)eak to her, doctor, to get your nose snapped
off. Give her time. She'll come to her senses before
she dies."
Next day Mrs. Falcon and Staines started for Cape
Town. Staines paid her every attention, when oppor-
tunity offered. But she was sullen and gloomy, and
held no converse with him.
He landed her at an inn, and then told her he would
go at once to the jeweller's. He asked her piteously
would she lend him a pound or two to prosecute his
researches. She took out her purse, without a word, and
lent him two pounds.
He began to scour the town : the jewellers he visited
could tell him nothing. At last he came to a shop, and
there he found Mrs. Falcon making her inquiries inde-
pendently. She said coldly, " You had better come with
me, and get your money and things."
She took him to the bank — it happened to be the one
she did business with — and said, " This is Dr. Christie,
come for his money and jewels."
There was some demur at this ; but the cashier recog-
nized him, and Phoebe making herself responsible, the
money and jewels were handed over.
Staines whispered Phoebe, "Are you sure the jewels
are mine ? "
" They were found on you, sir."
Staines took them, looking confused. He did not
know what to think. When they got into the street
again, he told her it was very kind of her to think of his
interest at all.
No answer : she was not going to make friends with
him over such a trifle as that.
By degrees, however, Christopher's zeal on her behalf
broke the ice j and besides, as the search proved unavail-
A SIMPLETON. 381
ing, slie needed sympathy ; and he gave it her, and did
not abuse her husband as Dick Dale did.
One day, in the street, after a long thought, she said
to him, " Didn't you say, sir, you gave him a letter for
me?"
" I gave him two letters ; one of them was to you."
" Could you remember what you said in it ? "
"Perfectly. I begged you, if you should go to Eng-
land, to break the truth to my wife. She is very excit-
able ; and sudden joy has killed ere now. I gave you
particular instructions."
" And you were very wise. But whatever could make
you think I would go to England ? "
" He told me you only wanted an excuse."
" Oh I ! "
" When he told me that, I caught at it, of course. It
was all the world to me to get my Kosa told by such a
kind, good, sensible friend as you; and, Mrs. Falcon, I
had no scruple about troubling you, because I knew the
stones would sell for at least a thousand pounds more in
England than here, and that would pay your expenses."
" I see, sir ; I see. 'Twas very natural : you love your
wife."
" Better than my life."
" And he told you I only wanted an excuse to go to
England ? "
'• He did, indeed. It was not true ? "
"It was anything but true. I had suffered so in
England ; I had been so happy here : too happy to last.
Ah ! well, it is all over. Let us think of the matter in
hand. Sure that was not the only letter you gave my
husband ? Didn't you write to her ? "
" Of course I did ; but that was enclosed to you, and
not to be given to her until you had broken the joyful
news to her. Yes, Mrs. Falcon, I wrote and told her
382 A SIMPLETON.
everything : my loss at sea ; how I was saved, after, by
your kindness. Our journeys, from Cape Town, and
then to the diggings ; my sudden good fortune, my
hopes, my joy — .my poor Eosa ! and now I suppose
she will never get it. It is too cruel of him. I shall go
home by the next steamer. I canH stay here any longer,
for you or anybody. Oh, and I enclosed my ruby ring
that she gave me, for I thought she might not believe
you without that."
" Let me think," said Phoebe, turning ashy pale. " For
mercy's sake, let me think !
" He has read both those letters, sir.
" She will never see hers : any more than I shall see
mine."
She paused again, thinking harder and harder.
" We must take two places in the next mail steamer.
I must look after my husband, and you aftek your
WIFE."
A SlMl'LETON. 383
CHAPTEK XXV.
Mrs. Falcon's bitter feeling against Dr. Staines did
not subside j it merely went out of sight a little. They
were thrown together by potent circumstances, and in a
manner connected by mutual obligations ; so an open
rupture seemed too unnatural. Still Phoebe was a
woman, and, blinded by her love for her husband, could
not forgive the innocent cause of their present un-
happy separation ; though the fault lay entirely with
Falcon.
Staines took her on board the steamer, and paid her
every attention. She was also civil to him ; but it was
a cold and constrained civility.
About a hundred miles from land the steamer stopped,
and the passengers soon learned there was something
wrong with her machinery. In fact, after due consulta-
tion, the captain decided to put back.
This irritated and distressed Mrs. Falcon so that the
captain, desirous to oblige her, hailed a fast schooner,
that tacked across her bows, and gave Mrs. Falcon the
option of going back with him, or going on in the
schooner, with whose skipper he was acquainted.
Staines advised her on no account to trust to sails,
when she could have steam with only a delay of four or
five days ; but she said, " Anything sooner than go back.
I can't, I can't on such an errand."
Accordingly she was put on board the schooner, and
Staines, after some hesitation, felt bound to accompany
her.
It proved a sad error. Contrary winds assailed them
384 A SIMPLETON.
the very next day, and with such severity that they had
repeatedly to lie to.
On one of these occasions, with a ship reeling under
them like a restive horse, and the waves running moun-
tains high, poor Phoebe's terrors overmastered both her
hostility and her reserve. " Doctor," said she, " I believe
'tis God's will we shall never see England. I must try
and die more like a Christian than I have lived, forgiving
all who have wronged me, and you, that have been my
good friend and my worst enemy, but you did not mean
it. Sir, what has turned me against you so — your wife
was my husband's sweetheart before he married me."
" My wife your husband's — you are dreaming."
"Nay, sir, once she came to my shop, and I saw
directly I was nothing to him, and he owned it all to me ;
he had courted her, and she jilted him; so he said. Why
should he tell me a lie about that ? I'd lay my life 'tis
true. And now you have sent him to her your own self ;
and, at sight of her, I shall be nothing again. Well,
when this ship goes down, they can marry, and •! hope
he will be happy, happier than I can make him, that
tried my best, God knows."
This conversation surprised Staines not a little. How-
ever, he said, with great warmth, it was false. His wife
had danced and flirted with some young gentleman at
one time, when there was a brief misunderstanding
between him and her, but sweetheart she had never had,
except him. He courted her fresh from school. " Now,
my good soul," said he, "make your mind easy; the
ship is a good one, and well handled, and in no danger
whatever, and my wife is in no danger from your
husband. Since you and your brother tell me that he
is a villain, I am bound to believe you. But my wife
is an angel. In our miserable hour of parting, slie
vowed not to marry again, should I be taken from lier.
A SIMP J. ETON. 385
Marry again ! what am I talking of? Wliy, if lie visits
her at all, it will he to let her know I am alive, and give
her my letter. Do you mean to tell me she will listen
to vows of love from him, when her whole heart is in
rapture for me ? Such nonsense ! "
This burst of his did not affront her, and did not
comfort her.
At last the wind abated ; and after a wearisome calm,
a light breeze came, and the schooner crej^t home-
ward.
Phoebe restrained herself for several days ; but at last
she came back to the subject; this time it was in an
apologetic tone at starting. "I know you think me a
foolish woman," she said ; " but my poor Eeginald could
never resist a pretty face ; and she is so lovely ; and you
should have seen how he turned when she came in to my
place. Oh, sir, there has been more between them than
you know of ; and when I think that he will have been
in England so many months before we get there, oh,
doctor, sometimes I feel as I should go mad ; my head it
is like a furnace, and see, my brow is all wrinkled again."
Then Staines tried to comfort her; assured her she
was tormenting herself idly ; her husband would perhaps
have spent some of the diamond money on his amuse-
ment ; but what if he had ? he should deduct it out of
the big diamond, which was also their joint property,
and the loss would hardly be felt. "As to my wife,
madam, I have but one anxiety ; lest he should go blurt-
ing it out that I am alive, and almost kill her with joy."
" He will not do that, sir. He is no fool."
" I am glad of it ; for there is nothing else to fear."
"Man, I tell you there is everything to fear. You
don't know him as I do ; nor his power over women."
" Mrs, Falcon, are you bent on affronting me ? "
^^No, sir ; Heaven forbid ! "
386 A SIMPLETON.
"Then please to close this subject forever. In three
weeks we shall be in England."
" Ay ; but he has been there six months."
He bowed stiffly to her, Avent to his cabin, and avoided
the poor foolish woman as much as he could without
seeming too unkind.
A SIMPLETON. o87
CHAPTEK XXVI.
Mrs. Statnes made one or two movements — to stop
Lord Tadcaster — with her hand, that exi)ressive feature
with which, at such times, a sensitive woman can do all
but speak.
When at last he paused for her reply, she said, " Me
marry again ! Oh ! for shame ! "
"Mrs. Staines — Eosa — you will marry again, some
day."
" ISTever. Me take another husband, after such a man
as I have lost ! I should be a monster. Oh, Lord Tad-
caster, you have been so kind to me ; so sympathizing.
You made me believe you loved my Christopher, too;
and now you have spoiled all. It is too cruel."
" Oh ! Mrs. Staines, do you think me capable of feign-
ing — don't you see my love for you has taken you by
surprise ? But how could I visit you — look on you —
hear you — mingle my regrets with yours ; yours were
the deepest, of course ; but mine were honest."
" I believe it." And she gave him her hand. He held
it, and kissed it, and cried over it, as the young will, and-
implored her, on his knees, not to condemn herseK to
life-long widowhood, and him to despair.
Then she cried, too; but she was firm; and by
degrees she made him see that her heart was inac-
cessible.
Then at last he submitted with tearful eyes, but a
valiant heart.
She offered friendship timidly.
But he was too much of a man to fall into that trap.
388 A SIMPLETON.
"No," he said: "I could not, I could not. Love or
notliing."
"You are right," said she, pityingly. "Eorgive me.
In my selfishness and my usual folly, I did not see this
coming on, or I would have spared you this mortification."
" Never mind that," gulped the little earl. " I shall
always be proud I knew you, and proud I loved you, and
offered you my hand."
Then the magnanimous little fellow blessed her, and
left her, and discontinued his visits.
Mr. Lusignan found her crying, and got the truth out
of her. He was in despair. He remonstrated kindly,
but firmly. Truth compels me to say that she politely
ignored him. He observed that phenomenon, and said,
" Very well then, I shall telegraph for Uncle Philip."
" Do," said the rebel. " He is always welcome."
Philip, telegraphed, came down that evening; likewise
his little black bag. He found them in the drawing-
room : papa with the Pall Mall Gazette, Posa seated,
sewing, at a lamp. She made little Christie's clothes
herself, — fancy that !
Having ascertained that the little boy was well, Philip,
adroitly hiding that he had come down torn with anxiety
on that head, inquired with a show of contemptuous in-
difference, whose cat was dead.
• "Nobody's," said Lusignan crossly. Then he turned
and pointed the Gazette at his offspring. " Do you see
that young lady stitching there so demurely ? "
Philip, carefully wiped and then put on his spectacles.
"I see her," said he. "She does look a little too
innocent. None of them are really so innocent as all
that. Has she been swearing at the nurse, and boxing
her ears ? "
" Worse than that. She has been and refused the Earl
of Tadcaster."
A SIMPLETON. 389
"Refused liiiii — what! has that little monkey had
the audacity ? "
" The condescension, you mean. Yes."
"And she has refused him ? "
" And twenty thousand a year."
" What immorality ! "
" Worse. What absurdity ! "
" How is it to be accounted for ? Is it the old story ?
'I could never love him.' No; that's inadequate; for
they all love a title and twenty thousand a year."
Eosa sewed on all this time in demure and absolute
silence.
" She ignores us," said Philip. " It is intolerable.
She does not appreciate our politeness in talking at her.
Let us arraign her before our sacred tribunal, and have
her into court. Now, mistress, the Senate of Venice is
assembled, and you must be pleased to tell us why you
refused a title and twenty thousand a year, with a small
but symmetrical earl tacked on."
Rosa laid down her work, and said quietly, "Uncle,
almost the last words that passed between me and my
Christopher, we promised each other solemnly never to
marry again till death should us part. You know how
deej) my sorrow has been that I can find so few wishes
of my lost Christopher to obey. Well, to-day I have
had an opportunity at last. I have obeyed my own lost
one ; it has cost me a tear or two ; but, for all that, it
has given me one little gleam of happiness. Ah, foolish
woman, that obeys too late ! "
And with this the tears began to run.
All this seemed a little too high-flown to Mr. Lusignan.
" There," said he, " see on what a straw her mind turns.
So, but for that, you would have done the right thing,
and married the earl ? "
" I dare say I should — at the time — to stop his
crying."
390 A SEMPLETON.
And with this listless remark she quietly took up her
sewing again.
The sagacious Philip looked at her gravely. He thought
to himself how piteous it was to see so young and lovely
a creature, that had given up all hope of happiness for
herself. These being his real thoughts, he exj^ressed
himself as follows: "We had better drop this subject,
sir. This young lady will take us potent, grave, and
reverend seignors out of our depth, if we don't mind.*'
But the moment he got her alone he kissed her pater-
nally, and said, " Rosa, it is not lost on me, your fidelity
to the dead. As years roll on, and your deep wound first
closes, then skins, then heals — '^
" Ah, let me die first — "
" Time and nature will absolve you from that vow ;
but bless you for thinking this can never be. Eosa,
your folly of this day has made you my heir ; so never
let money tempt you, for you have enough, and will
have more than enough when I go."
He was as good as his word ; altered his will next day,
and made Eosa his residuary legatee. When he had
done this, foreseeing no fresh occasion for his services,
he prepared for a long visit to Italy. He was pa'cking
up his things to go there, when he received a line from
Lady Cicely Treherne, asking him to call on her pro-
fessionally. As the lady's servant brought it, he sent
back a line to say he no longer practised medicine, but
would call on her as a friend in an hour's time.
He found her reclining, the picture of lassitude. " How
good of you to come," she drawled.
" What's the matter ? " said he brusquely.
" I wish to cawnsult you about myself. I think if any-
body can brighten me up, it is you. I feel such a languaw
— such a want of spirit j and I get palaa, and that is not
desiwable.'^
A SIMPLETON. 301
He examined her tongiie and the white of her eye, and
told her, in his blunt way, she ate and drank too much.
" Excuse me, sir," said she stiffly.
"I mean too often. Now, let's see. Cup of tea in
bed, of a morning ? "
" Yaas."
" Dinner at two ? "
" We call it luncheon."
" Are you a ventriloquist ? "
"No."
"Then it is only your lips call it luncheon. Your poor
stomach, could it speak, would call it dinner. Afternoon
tea?"
"Yaas."
"At seven-thirty another dinner. Tea after that.
Your afflicted stomach gets no rest. You eat pastry?"
" I confess it."
" And sugar in a dozen forms ? "
She nodded.
"Well, sugar is poison to your temperament. Now
I'll set you up, if you can obey. Give up your morning
dram."
"Wliat dwam?"
" Tea in bed, before eating. Can't you see that is a
dram ? Animal food twice a day. No wine but a little
claret and water ; no pastry, no sweets, and play battle-
dore with one of your male subjects."
" Battledaw ! won't a lady do for that ? "
"No : you would get talking, and not iday ad siidoremJ^
" Ad sudawem ! what is that ? "
" In earnest."
"And will sudawem and the west put me in better
spiwits, and give me a tinge ? "
" It will incarnadine the lily, and make you the happi-
est young lady in England, as you are the best."
392 A SIMPLETON.
" I should like to be mucli happier than I am good, if
we could manage it among us."
" We will manage it among us ; for if the diet allowed
should not make you boisterously gay, I have a remedy
behind, suited to your temperament. I am old-fashioned,
and believe in the temperaments."
" And what is that weniedy ? "
" Try diet, and hard exercise, first."
" Oh, yes ; but let me know that wemedy."
" I warn you it is what we call in medicine an heroic
one."
"Never mind. I am despewate."
" Well, then, the heroic remedy — to be used only as a
desperate resort, mind — you must marry an Irishman."
This took the lady's breath away.
" Mawwy a nice man ? "
" A nice man ; no. That means a fool. Marry scien-
tifically — a precaution eternally neglected. Marry a
Hibernian gentleman, a being as mercurial as ^-ou are
lymphatic."
" Mercurial ! — lymphatic ! " —
" Oh, hard words break no bones, ma'am."
"No, sir. And it is very curious. No, I won't tell
you. Yes, I will. Hem ! — I think I have noticed
one."
" One what ? "
" One Iwishman — dangling after me."
" Then your ladyship has only to tighten the cord —
and he^s done for."
Having administered this prescription, our laughing
philosopher went off to Italy, and there fell in with
some countrymen to his mind, so he accompanied them
to Egypt and Palestine.
His absence, and Lord Tadcaster's, made E-osa Staines's
life extremely monotonous. Day followed day, and week
A SIMPLETON. 393
followed week, each so unvarying, that, on a retrospect,
three montlis seemed like one day.
And I think at last youth and nature began to rebel,
and secretly to crave some little change or incident to
ruffle the stagnant pool. Yet she would not go into
society, and would only receive tAvo or three dull people
at the villa ; so she made the very monotony which was
beginning to tire her, and nursed a sacred grief she had
no need to nurse, it was so truly genuine.
She was in this forlorn condition, when, one morning,
a carriage drove to the door, and a card was brought up
to her — "Mr. Keginald Falcon."
Falcon's history, between this and our last advices, is
soon disposed of.
When, after a little struggle with his better angel, he
rode past his wife's gate, he intended, at first, only to go
to Cape Town, sell the diamonds, have a lark, and bring
home the balance : but, as he rode south, his views
expanded. He could have ten times the fun in London,
and cheaper; since he could sell the diamonds for more
money, and also conceal the true price. This was the
Bohemian's whole mind in the business. He had no
designs whatever on Mrs. Staines, nor did he intend to
steal the diamonds, but to embezzle a portion of the
purchase-money, and enjoy the pleasures and vices of
the capital for a few months ; then back to his milch
cow, Phoebe, and lead a rpiiet life till the next uncon-
trollable fit should come upon him along with the means
of satisfying it.
On the way, he read Staines's letter to jVIrs. Falcon,
very carefully. He never broke the seal of the letter
to Mrs. Staines. That was to be given her when he had
broken the good news to her ; and this he determined to
do with such skill, as should niake Dr. Staines very
unwilling to look suspiciously or ill-naturedly into money
accounts.
394 A SIMPLETON.
He readied London ; and being a tliorough egotist,
attended first to his own interests ; lie never went near
Mrs. Staines until lie had visited every diamond mer-
chant and dealer in the metropolis ; he showed the small
stones to them all ; but he showed no more than one
large stone to each.
At last he got an offer of twelve hundred pounds for
the small stones, and the same for the large yellow stone^,
and nine hundred pounds for the second largest stone.
He took this nine hundred pounds, and instantly wrote
to Phoebe, telling her he had a sudden inspiration to
bring the diamonds to England, which he could not
regret, since he had never done a Aviser thing. He had
sold a single stone for eight hundred pounds, and had
sent the doctor's four hundred pounds to her account in
Cape Town ; and as each sale was effected, the half would
be so remitted. She would see by that, he was wiser
than in former days. He should only stay so long as
might be necessary to sell them all equally well. His
own share he would apply to paying off mortgages on
the family estate, of which he hoped some day to see
her the mistress, or he would send it direct to her,
whichever she might prefer.
Now the main object of this artful letter was to keep
Phoebe quiet, and not have her coming after him, of
which he felt she was very capable.
The money got safe to Ca^^e Town, but the letter to
Phoebe miscarried. How this happened was never posi-
tively known ; but the servant of the lodging-house was
afterwards detected cutting stamps off a letter ; so per-
haps she had played that game on this occasion.
By this means, matters took a curious turn. Falcon,
intending to lull his wife into a false security, lulled
himself into that state instead.
When he had taken care of himself, and got five hun-
A SIMPLETON. 395
dred pounds to play the fool with, then he condescended
to remember his errand of mercy; and he came down to
Gravesend, to see Mrs. Staines.
On the road, he gave his mind seriously to the delicate
and dangerous task. It did not, however, disquiet him
as it would you, sir, or you, madam. He had a great
advantage over you. He was a liar — a smooth, ready,
accomplished liar — and he knew it.
This was the outline he had traced in his mind : he
should appear very subdued and sad; should wear an
air of condolence. But, after a while, should say, " And
yet men have been lost like that, and escaped. A man
was picked up on a raft in those very latitudes, and
brought into Cape Town. A friend of mine saw him,
months after, at the hospital. His memory was shaken
— could not tell his name ; but in other respects he was
all right again."
If jNIrs. Staines took fire at this, he would say his
friend knew all the particulars, and he would ask him,
and so leave that to rankle till next visit. And having
planted his germ of hope, he would grow it, and water
it, by visits and correspondence, till he could throw off
the mask, and say he was convinced Staines was alive :
and from that, by other degrees, till he could say, on his
wife's authority, that the man picked up at sea, and
cured at her house, was the very physician who had saved
her brother's life : and so on to the overwhelming proof
he carried in the ruby ring and the letter.
I am afraid the cunning and dexterity, the subtlety
and tact required, interested him more in the commission
than did the benevolence. He called, sent up his card,
and composed his countenance for his part, like an actor
at the Wing.
"Not at home."
He stared with amazement.
396 A SIMPLETON.
The history of a " Not at home " is not, in general,
worth recording : but this is an excei)tion.
On receiving Falcon's card, Mrs. Staines gave a little
start, and colored faintly. She instantly resolved not to
see him. What ! the man she had flirted with, almost
jilted, and refused to marry — he dared to be alive when
her Christopher was dead, and had come there to show
her he was alive !
She said " Not at home " with a tone of unusual sharp-
ness and decision, Avhich left the servant in no doubt he
must be equally decided at the hall door.
Falcon received the sudden freezer with amazement.
" Nonsense," said he. " Not at home at this time of the
morning — to an old friend ! "
" Not at home," said the man doggedly.
" Oh, very well," said Falcon with a bitter sneer, and
returned to London.
He felt sure she was at home ; and being a tremendous
egotist, he said, "Oh! all right. If she would rather
not know her husband is alive, it is all one to me ; "
and he actually took no more notice of her for a full
week, and never thought of her, except to chuckle over
the penalty she was paying for daring to affront his
vanity.
However, Sunday came; he saw a dull day before
him, and so he relented, and thought he would give her
another trial.
He went down to Gravesend by boat, and strolled
towards the villa.
When he was about a hundred yards from the villa, a
lady, all in black, came out with a nurse and child.
Falcon knew her figure all that way off, and it gave
him a curious thrill that surprised him. He followed
her, and was not very far behind her when she reached
the church. She turned at the porch, kissed the child
A RTMPT.ETON. 397
earnestly, and c^ave tlio nurse some directions; tlicn
entered the church.
" Come," said Falcon, " I'll have a look at her, any
way."
He went into the church, and walked up a side aisle
to a pillar, from which he thought he might be al)le to
see the whole congregation ; and, sure enough, there she
sat, a few yards from him. She was lovelier than ever.
Mind had grown on her face with trouble. An angelic
expression illuminated her beauty; he gazed on her,
fascinated. He drank and drank her beauty two mortal
hours, and when the church broke up, and she went
home, he was half afraid to follow her, for he felt how
liard it would be to say anything to her but that the old
love had returned on him with doul)le force.
However, having watched her home, he walked slowly
to and fro composing himself for the interview.
He now determined to make the process of informing
her a very long one : he would spin it out, and so secure
many a sweet interview with her : and, who knows ? he
might fascinate her as she had him, and ripen gratitude
into love, as he understood that Avord.
He called, he sent in his card. The man went in, and
came back with a sonorous " Not at home."
" Not at home ? nonsense. Wliy, she is just come in
from church."
"Not at home," said the man, evidently strong in his
instructions.
Falcon turned white with rage at this second affront.
" All the worse for her," said he, and turned on liis
heel.
He went home, raging with disappointment and
wounded vanity, and — since such love as his is seldom
very far from hate — he swore she should never know
from him that her husband was alive. He even moral-
398 A SIMPLETON.
ized. " Tliis comes of being so unselfish/' said lie. " I'll
give that game up forever."
By and by, a mere negative revenge was not enough
for him, and he set his wits to work to make her smart.
He wrote to her from his lodgings : —
Dear Madam, — What a pity you are never at home to me.
I had something to say about your husband, that I thonglit
might interest you
Yours truly,
R. Falcon.
Imagine the effect of ihis abominable note. It was
like a rock flung into a placid pool. It set Eosa trem-
bling all over. What could he mean ?
She ran with it to her father, and asked him what Mr.
Falcon could mean.
" I have no idea," said he. " You had better ask him,
not me."
" I am afraid it is only to get to see me. You know
he admired me once. Ah, how suspicious I am getting."
Rosa wrote to Falcon : —
Dear Sir, — Since my bereavement I see scarcel}^ anj-body.
My servant did not know you ; so I hope you will excuse me.
If it is too mueli trouble to call again, would you kindly explain
your note to me ?
Yours resjDcctf ully,
Rosa Staines.
Falcon chuckled bitterly over this. "No, my lady,"
said he. " I'll serve you out. You shall run after me like
a little dog. I have got the bone that will draw you."
He wrote back coldly to say that the matter he had
wished to communicate was too delicate and important
to put on paper ; that he would try and get down to
Gravesend again some day or other, but was much occu-
A ST:MrT.KTON. 399
pied, and IkkT already put himself to inconvenience. He
added, in a postscript, that lie was always at home from
four to five.
Next day he got hold of the servant, and gave her
minute instructions, and a guinea.
Then the wretch got some tools and bored a hole in
the partition wall of his sitting-room. The paper had
large flowers. He was artist enough to conceal the trick
with water-colors. In his bed-room the hole came behind
the curtains.
That very afternoon, as he had foreseen, Mrs. Staines
called on him. The maid, duly instructed, said Mr.
FaJcon was out, but would soon return, and could she
wait his return? The maid being so very civil, Mrs.
Staines said she would wait a little while, and was im-
mediately ushered into Falcon's sitting-room. There she
sat down ; but was evidently ill at ease, restless, flushed.
She could not sit quiet, and at last began to walk up and
down the room, almost wildly. Her beautiful eyes glit-
tered, and the whole woman seemed on fire. The caitiff,
who was watching her, saw and gloated on all this, and
enjoyed to the full her beauty and agitation, and his
revenge for her "Not at homes."
But after a long time, there was a reaction : she sat
down and uttered some plaintive sounds inarticulate, or
nearly ; and at last she began to cry.
Then it cost Falcon an effort not to come in and com-
fort her ; but he controlled himself and kept quiet.
She rang the bell. She asked for writing paper, and
she wrote her unseen tormentor a humble note, begging
him, for old acquaintance, to call on her, and tell her
what his mysterious words meant that had filled her
with agitation.
This done, she went away, with a deep sigh, and Falcon
emerged, and pounced upon her letter.
400 A SIMPLETON.
He kissed it ; he read it a dozen times : he sat down
where she had sat, and his base passion overpowered
him. Her beauty, her agitation, her fear, her tears, all
combined to madden him, and do the devil's work in his
false, selfish heart, so open to violent passions, so dead
to conscience.
For once in his life he was violently agitated, and torn
by conflicting feelings : he walked about the room more
wildly than his victim had ; and if it be true that, in
certain great temptations, good and bad angels fight for
a mau, here you might have seen as fierce a battle of
that kind as ever was.
At last he rushed out into the air, and did not return
till ten o'clock at night. He came back pale and haggard,
and with a look of crime upon his face.
True Bohemian as he was, he sent for a pint of brandy.
So then the die was cast, and something was to be
done that called for brandy.
He bolted himself in, and drank a wine-glass of it
neat ; then another ; then another.
Now his pale cheek is flushed, and his eye glitters.
Drink forever ! great ruin of English souls as well as
bodies.
He put the poker in the fire, and heated it red hot.
He brought Staines's letter, and softened the sealing-
wax with the hot poker ; then with his pen-knife made a
neat incision in the wax, and opened the letter. He
took out the ring, and put it carefully away. Tlien he
lighted a cigar, and read the letter, and studied it.
Many a man, capable of murder in heat of passion,
could not have resisted the pathos of this letter. ]\Iany
a Newgate thief, after reading it, would have felt such
pity for the loving husband who had suffered to the
verge of death, and then to the brink of madness, and
for the poor bereaved wife, that he would have taken
A SIMPLIOTON. 401
the letter down to Gravesend tliat very night, though ho
picked two fresh pockets to defray the expenses of the
road.
But this was an egotist. Good nature had curbed liis
egotism a little while j but now vanity and passion luid
swept away all unselfish feelings, and the pure egotist
alone remained.
Now, the pure egotist has been defined as a man wlio
will burn down his neiyhhoi'^s house to cook himself avi
Q^^. jMurder is but egotism carried out to its natunil
climax. What is murder to a pure egotist; especially a
brandied one ?
I knew an egotist who met a female acquaintance in
Newhaven village. She had a one-pound note, and
offered to treat him. She changed this note to treat
him. Fish she gave him, and much whiskey. Cost her
four shillings. He ate and drank with her, at her ex-
pense ; and his aorta, or principal blood-vessel, being
warmed with her whiskey, he murdered her for the
change, the odd sixteen shillings.
I had the pleasure of seeing that egotist hung, with
these eyes. It was a slice of luck that, I grieve to say,
has not occurred again to me.
So much for a whiskied egotist.
His less truculent but equally remorseless brother in
villany, the brandied egotist, Falcon, could read that
poor husband's letter without blenching; the love and
the anticipations of rapture, these made him writhe a
little with jealousy, but they roused not a grain of pity.
He was a true egotist, blind, remorseless.
In this, his true character, he studied the letter pro-
foundly, and mastered all the facts, and digested them
well.
All manner of diabolical artifices presented themselves
to his brain, barren of true intellect, yet fertile in fraud ;
26
402 A SIISIPLETON.
in tliat, and all low cunning and subtlety, far more than
a match for Solomon or Bacon.
His sinister studies were pursued far into the night.
Then he went to bed, and his unbounded egotism gave
him the sleep a grander criminal would have courted in
vain on the verge of a monstrous and deliberate crime.
Next day he went to a fashionable tailor, and ordered
a complete suit of black. This was made in forty-eight
hours ; the interval was sjient mainly in concocting lies
to be incorporated with the number of minute facts he
had gained from Staines's letter, and in making close
imitations of his handwriting.
Thus armed, and crammed with more lies than the
'• Menteur " of Corneille, but not such innocent ones, he
went down to Gravesend, all in deep mourning, with
crape round his hat.
He presented himself at the villa.
The servant was all obsequiousness. Yes, Mrs. Staines
received few visitors ; but she was at home to hhn. He
even began to falter excuses. "Nonsense," said Falcon,
and slipped a sovereign into his hand ; " you are a good
servant, and obey orders."
The servant's respect doubled, and he ushered the
visitor into the drawing-room, as one wliose name was a
passport. " Mr. Eeginald Falcon, madam."
Mrs. Staines was alone. She rose to meet him. Her
color came and went, her full eye fell on him, and took
in all at a glance — that he was all in black, and that he
had a beard, and looked pale, and ill at ease.
Little dreaming that this Avas the anxiety of a felon
about to take the actual plunge into a novel crime, she
was rather prepossessed by it. The beard gave him dig-
nity, and hid his mean, cruel mouth. His black suit
seemed to say he, too, had lost some one dear to him j
and that was a ground of sympathy.
A SIMTLIOTON. 403
She received liiiii kindly, and thanked him for takin<^
the troiibk^ to eonie again. She beg<,a'd him to he seated;
and then, womanlike, she waited for him to explain.
But he was in no hurry, and waited for her. He knew
she would speak if he was silent.
She could not keep him waiting long. "Mr. Falcon,"
said she, hesitating a little, "you have something to say
to me about him I have lost."
"Yes," Said he softly. "I have something I could
say, and I think I ought to say it; but I am afraid: be-
cause I don't know what will be the result. I fear to
make you more unhappy."
" Me ! more unhap})y ? Me, whose dear husband lies
at the bottom of the ocean. Other poor wounded creat-
ures have the wretched comfort of knowing where he
lies — of carrying flowers to his tomb. But I — oh, iVIr.
Falcon, I am bereaved of all : even his poor remains lost,
— lost " — she could say no more.
Then that craven heart began to quake at what he
was doing ; quaked, yet persevered ; but his own voice
quivered, and his cheek grew ashy pale. No wonder.
If ever God condescended to pour lightning on a skunk,
surely now was the time.
Shakiiig and sweating with terror at his own act, he
stammered out, "Would it be the least comfort to you
to know that you are not denied that poor consolation ?
Suppose he died not so miserably as you think ? Sup-
pose he was picked up at sea, in a dying state ? "
"Ah!"
" Su]3pose he lingered, nursed by kind and sympathizing
hands, that almost saved him ? Suppose he was laid in
hallowed ground, and a great many tears shed over his
grave ? "
" Ah, that would indeed be a comfort. And it was to
say this you came. I thank you. I bless you. But, my
404 A SIMPLETON.
good, kind friend, you are deceived. You don't know
my husband. You never saw him. He perished at
sea."
" Will it be kind or unkind, to tell you why I think he
died as I tell you, and not at sea ? "
" Kind, but impossible. You deceive yourself. Ah, I
see. You found some poor sufferer, and were good to
him ; but it was not my x^oor Christie. Oh, if it w^ere,
I should worship you. But I thank you as it is. It
was very kind to want to give me this little, little crumb
of comfort ; for I know I did not behave well to you,
sir: but you are generous, and have forgiven a poor
heart-broken creature, that never was very wdse."
He gave her time to cry, and then said to her, " I only
wanted to be sure it ivould be any comfort to you. Mrs.
Staines, it is true I did not even knoAV his name ; nor
yours. When I met, in this very room, the great dis-
appointment that has saddened my owai life, I left Eng-
land directly. I collected funds, w^ent to Natal, and
turned land-owner and farmer. I have made a large
fortune, but I need not tell you I am not happy. Well,
I had a yacht, and sailing from Cape Town to Algoa Bay,
I picked up a raft, with a dying man on it. He Avas
perishing from exhaustion and exposure. I got a little
brandy between his lips, and kept him alive. I landed
with him at once : and we nursed him on shore. We
had to be very cautious. He improved. We got him to
take egg-flip. He smiled on us at first, and then he
thanked us. I nursed him day and night for ten days.
He got much stronger. He spoke to me, thanked him
again and again, and told me his name Avas Christopher
Staines. He told me that he should never get AvelL I
implored him to have courage. He said he did not Avant
for courage ; but nature had been tried too hard. We
got so fond of each other. Oh ! " — and the caitiff pre-
A SIMPLETON. 405
tended tu break down; and his feigned grief mingled
with Rosa's despairing sobs.
He made an apparent effort, and said, " He spoke to
jne of his wife, his darling Rosa. The name made me
start, but I coukl not» know it was you. At last he was
strong enough to write a few lines, and he made me
promise to take them to his wife."
" Ah ! " said Rosa. " Show them me."
" I win."
"This moment." And her hands began to work
convulsively.
" I cannot," said Falcon. " I have not brought them
with me."
Rosa cast a keen eye of suspicion and terror on him.
His not bringing the letter seemed monstrous ; and so
indeed it was. The fact is, the letter was not written.
Falcon affected not to notice her keen look. He flowed
on, " The address he put on that letter astonished me.
'Kent Villa.' Of course I knew Kent Villa: and he
called you ' Rosa.' "
"How could you come to me without that letter?"
cried Rosa, wringing her hands. " How am I to know ?
It is all so strange, so incredible."
" Don't you believe me ? " said Falcon sadly. '• Wliy
should I deceive you ? The first time I came down to
tell you all this, I did not know who Mrs. Staines was.
I suspected ; but no more. The second time I saw you
in the church, and then I knew; and followed you to
try and tell you all this ; and you were not at home
to me."
" Forgive me," said Rosa carelessly : then earnestly,
"The letter! when can I see it?"
'• I will send, or bring it."
"' Bring it ! I am in agony till I see it. Oh, my dar-
ling ! my darling ! It can't be true. It was not my
406 A SIMrLETON.
Christie. He lies in the depths of the ocean. Lord
Tadcaster was in the shij), and he says so ; everybody
says so."
" And I say he sleeps in hallowed ground, and these
hands laid him there."
Bosa lifted her hands to heaven, and cried piteously,
^' I don't knoAV what to think. You would not willingly
deceive me. But how can this be ? Oh, Uncle Philip,
why are you away from me ? Sir, you say he gave you
a letter ? "
" Yes."
" Oh, why, why did you not bring it ? "
" Because he told me the contents ; and I thought he
prized my poor efforts too highly. It did not occur to
me you would doubt my word."
'^ Oh, no : no more I do : but I fear it was not my
Christie."
^' I'll go for the letter at once, Mrs. Staines."
" Oh, thank you ! Bless you ! Yes, this minute ! "
The artful rogue did not go ; never intended.
He rose to go ; but had a sudden inspiration ; very
sudden, of course. "Had he nothing about him you
could recognize him by?"
" Yes, he had a ring I gave him."-
Falcon took a black-edged envelope out of his pocket.
" A ruby ring," said she, beginning to tremble at his
quiet action.
" Is that it ? " and he handed her a ruby ring.
A SIMPLETON. 40'
CHAPTER XXVII.
Mrs. Staines uttered a sharp cry and seized the ring.
Her eyes dilated over it, and she began to tremble in
every limb ; and at last she sank slowly back, and her
head fell on one side like a broken lily. The sudden
sight of the ring overpowered her almost to fainting.
Falcon rose to call for assistance j but she made him a
feeble motion not to do so.
She got the better of her faintness, and then she fell
to kissing the ring, in an agony of love, and wept over
it, and still held it, and gazed at it through her blinding
tears.
Falcon eyed her uneasily.
But he soon found he had nothing to fear. For a long
time she seemed scarcely aware of his presence ; and
when she noticed him, it was to thank him, almost
passionately.
" It was my Christie you were so good to : may Heaven
bless you for it : and you will bring me his letter, will
you not ? "
^' Of course I will."
" Oh, do not go yet. It is all so strange : so sad. I
seem to have lost my poor Christie again, since he did
not die at sea. But no, I am ungrateful to God, and
ungrateful to the kind friend that nursed him to the last.
Ah, I envj you that. Tell me all. Xever mind my
crying. I have seen the time I could not cry. It was
worse then than now. I shall always cry when I speak
of him, ay, to my dying day. Tell me, tell me all."
Her passion frightened the egotist, but did not tui-n
408 A SIMPLETON.
him. He had gone too far. He told her that, after
raising all their hopes, Dr. Staines had suddenly changed
for the worse, and sunk rapidly; that his last words
had been about her, and he had said, " My poor Eosa,
who will protect her ? '' That, to comfort him, he had
said he would protect her. Then the dying man had
managed to write a line or two, and to address it. Almost
his last words had been, " Be a father to my child."
" That is strange."
" You have no child ? Then it must have been you
he meant. He spoke of you as a child more than once."
" Mr. Falcon, I have a child ; but born since I lost my
poor child's father."
" Then I think he knew it. They say that dying men
can see all over the world: and I remember, when he
said it, his eyes seemed fixed very strangely, as if on
something distant. Oh, how wonderful all this is. May
I see his child, to whom I promised " —
The artist in lies left his sentence half completed.
Eosa rang, and sent for her little boy.
Mr. Falcon admired his beauty, and said quietly, '^ I
shall keep my vow."
He then left her, with a promise to come back early
next morning with the letter.
She let him go only on those conditions.
As soon as her father came in, she ran to him with
this strange story.
" I don't believe it," said he. " It is impossible."
She showed him the proof, the ruby ring.
Then he became very uneasy, and begged her not to
tell a soul. He did not tell her the reason, but he feared
the insurance office would hear of it, and require proofs
of Christopher's decease, whereas they had accepted it
without a murmur, on the evidence of Captain Hamilton
and the Amphitrite's log-book.
A SniPLETON. 409
As for Falcon^ he went carefully through Staines's two
letters, and wherever he found a word that suited his
purpose, he traced it by the usual process, and so, in the
course of a few hours, he concocted a short letter, all
the words in which, except three, were facsimiles, only
here and there a little shaky ; the three odd words he
had to imitate by observation of the letters. The sig-
nature he got to perfection by tracing.
He inserted this letter in the original enveloi:)e, and
sealed it very carefully, so as to hide that the seal had
been tampered with.
Thus armed, he went down to Gravesend. There he
hired a horse and rode to Kent Villa.
"VVhy he hired a horse, he knew how hard it is to
forge handwriting, and he chose to have the means of
escape at hand.
He came into the drawing-room, ghastly pale, and
almost immediately gave her the letter ; then turned his
back, feigning delicacy. In reality he was quaking with
fear lest she should suspect the handwriting. But the
envelope was addressed by Staines, and paved the way
for the letter j she was unsuspicious and good, and her
heart cried out for her husband's last written words : at
such a moment, what chance had judgment and suspicion
in an innocent and loving soul ?
Her eloquent sighs and sobs soon told the caitiff he
had nothing to fear.
The letter ran thus : —
My own Rosa, — All that a brother could do for a beloved
brother, Falcon has done. He nursed rae night and day. But
it is vain. 1 shall never see you again in this world. I send
you a protector, and a father to your child. Value him. He
"has promised to be your stay on earth, and my spirit shall
watch over 3'ou. — To my last breath, your loving husband,
C'lUiiSTuruER Staines.
410 A SIMPLETON.
Falcon rose, and began to steal on tiptoe out of the
room.
Eosa stopped liim. "You need not go/' said she.
"You are our friend. By and by I hope I shall find
words to thank you."
" Pray let me retire a moment," said the hypocrite.
"A husband's last words : too sacred — a stranger: " and
he went out into the garden. There he found the nurse-
maid Emily, and the little boy.
He stopped the child, and made love to the nursemaid ;
showed her his diamonds — he carried them all about
him — told her he had thirty thousand acres in Cape
Colony, and diamonds on them ; and was going to buy
thirty thousand more of the government. " Here, take
one," said he. "Oh, you needn't be shy. They are
common enough on my estates. I'll tell you what,
though, you could not buy that for less than thirty
pounds at any shop in London. Could she, my little
duck ? Never mind, it is no brighter than her eyes.
Now do you know what she will do with that. Master
Christie ? She will give it to some duffer to put in a
pin."
" She won't do nothing of the kind," said Emily,
flushing all over. " She is not such a fool." She then
volunteered to tell him she had no sweetheart, and did
not trouble her head about young men at all. He inter-
preted this to mean she was looking out for one. So
do I.
" No sweetheart ! " said he ; " and the prettiest girl I
have seen since I landed : then I put in for the situation."
Here, seeing the footman coming, he bestowed a most
paternal kiss on little Christie, and saying, " Not a word
to John, or no more diamonds from me ; " he moved
carefully away, leaving the girl all in a flutter with
extravagant hopes.
A SIMPLETON. 411
The next moment this wolf in the sheep-fohl entered
the drawing-room. Mrs. Staines was not there. He
waited, and waited, and began to get rather uneasy, as
men will who walk among pitfalls.
Tresently the footman came to say that Mrs. Staines
was with her father, in his study, but she would come to
him in five minutes.
This increased his anxiety. What ! She was taking
advice of an older head. He began to be very seriously
alarmed, and, indeed, had pretty well made up his mind
to go down and gallop off, when the door opened, and
Rosa came hastily in. Her eyes were very red with
weeping. She canie to him with both hands extended to
him; he gave her his, timidly. She pressed them with
such earnestness and power as he could not have sus-
pected ; and thanked him, and blessed him, with such a
torrent of eloquence, that he hung his head with shame ;
and, being unable to face it out, villain as he was, yet
still artful to the core, he pretended to burst out crying,
and ran out of the room, and rode away.
He waited two days, and then called again. Rosa
reproached him sweetly for going before she had half
thanked him.
"All the better,*' said he. "I have been thanked a
great deal too much already. Who would not do his best
for a dying countryman, and fight night and day to save
him for his wife and child at home ? If I had succeeded,
then I would be greedy of praise : but now it makes me
blush ; it makes me very sad."
" You did your best," said Rosa tearfully.
" Ah ! that I did. Indeed, I was ill for weeks after,
myself, through the strain upon my mind, and the dis-
appointment, and going so many nights without sleep.
But don't let us talk of that."
" Do you know what my darling says to me in my
letter ? "
412 A SIMPLETON.
" Would you like to see it ? "
" Indeed I should ; but I have no right."
"Every right. It is the only mark of esteem, worth
anything, I can show you."
She handed him the letter, and buried her own face in
her hands.
He read it, and acted the deepest emotion.
He handed it back, without a word.
A SIMPLETON. 413
CHAPTER XXVIII.
From this time Falcon was always welcome at Kent
Villa. He fascinated everybody in the house. He
renewed his acquaintance with Mr. Lusignan, and got
asked to stay a week in the house. He showed Rosa
and her father the diamonds, and, the truth must be
o^^^■led, they made Rosa's eyes sparkle for the first time
this eighteen months. He insinuated rather than declared
his enormous wealth.
In reply to the old man's eager questions, as the large
diamonds lay glittering on the table, and pointed every
word, he said that a few of his Hottentots had found
these for him ; he had made them dig on a diamondifer-
ous jjart of his estate, just by way of testing the matter ;
and this was the result ; this, and a much larger stone,
for which he had received eight thousand pounds from
Posno.
" If I was a young man," said Lusignan, " I would go
out directly, and dig on your estate."
" I would not let you do anything so paltry," said " le
Menteur." " Why, my dear sir, there are no fortunes to
be made by grubbing for diamonds ; the fortunes are
made out of the diamonds, but not in that way. Now,
I have thirty thousand acres, and am just concluding a
bargain for thirty thousand more, on which I happen to
know there are diamonds in a sly corner. Well, of my
thirty thousand tried acres, a hundred only are diamond-
iferous. P)Ut I have four thousand thirtj^-foot claims,
leased at ten shillings per month. Count that up."
" Why, it is twenty-four thousand pounds a year."
414 A SBIPLETON.
" Excuse me : you must deduct a thousand a year for
the expenses of collection. But this is only one phase
of the business. I have a large inn upon each of the
three great routes from the diamonds to the coast ; and
these imis are supplied with the produce of my own
farms. Mark the effect of the diamonds on property.
My sixty thousand acres, which are not diamondiferous,
will very soon be worth as much as sixty thousand Eng-
lish acres, say two pounds the acre per annum. That is
under the mark, because in Africa the land is not Ijur-
dened with poor-rates, tithes, and all the other iniquities
that crush the English land-OTVTier, as I know to my cost.
But that is not all, sir. Would you believe it ? even
after the diamonds were declared, the people out there
had so little foresight that they allowed me to buy land
all round Port Elizabeth, Natal, and Cape Toa\ti, the
three ports tlirough which the world get at the diamonds,
and the diamonds get at the world. I have got a girdle
of land round those three outlets, bought by the acre ; in
two years I shall sell it by the yard. Believe me, sir,
English fortunes, even the largest, are mere child's play,
compared \\'ith the colossal wealth a man can accumulate,
if he looks beyond these great discoveries to their conse-
quences, and lets others grub for him. But what is the
use of it all to me ? " said this Bohemian, with a sigh.
"I have no taste for luxuries; no love of display. I
have not even charity to dispense on a large scale ; for
there are no deserving poor out there ; and the poverty
that springs from vice, that I never will encourage."
John heard nearly all this, and took it into the
kitchen ; and henceforth Adoration was the only word
for this prince of men, this rare combination of tlie
Adonis and tlie millionnaire.
He seldom held such discourses before Eosa; but
talked her father into an impression of his boundless
A SIMPLETON. 415
wealth, and lialf reconciled liini to Kosa's refusal of
Lord Tadcaster, since here was an old suitor, who, doul)t-
less, with a little encouragement, would soon come on
again.
Under this impression, Mr. Lusignan gave Falcon more
than a little encouragement, and, as Kosa did not resist,
he became a constant visitor at the villa, and was always
there from Saturday to Monday.
He exerted all his art of pleasing, and he succeeded.
He was welcome to Rosa, and she made no secret of it.
Emily threw herself in his way, and had many a sly
talk with him, while he was pretending to be engaged
with young Christie. He flattered her, and made her
sweet on him, but was too much in love with Rosa, after
his fashion, to flirt seriously with her. He thought he
mi gilt want her services : so he worked upon her after
this fashion ; asked her if she would like to keep an inn.
" Wouldn't I just ? " said she frankly.
Then he told her that, if all went to his wish in
England, she should be landlady of one of his inns in
the Cape Colony. "And you will get a good husband
out there directly," said he. " Beauty is a very uncom-
mon thing in those parts. But I shall ask you to marry
somebody who can help you in the business — or not to
marry at all."
" I wish I had the inn," said Emily. " Husbands are
soon got when a girl hasn't her face only to look to."
"Well, I promise you the inn," said he, "and a good
outfit of clothes, and money in both pockets, if you will
do me a good turn here in England."
" That I would, sir. But, laws, what can a poor girl
like me do for a rich gentleman like you ? "
" Can you keep a secret, Emily ? '^
" Nobody better. You try me, sir."
He looked at her well j saw she was one of those who
416 A SIMPLETON.
could keep a secret; if slie chose, and lie resolved to risk
it.
"Emily, my girl," said lie sadly, "I am an uiihappy
man."
" You, sir ! Why, you didn't ought to be."
" I am then. I am in love ; and cannot win her."
Then he told the girl a pretty tender tale, that he had
loved Mrs. Staines when she was Miss Lusignan, had
thought himself beloved in turn, but was rejected; and
now, though she was a widow, he had not the courage to
court her, her heart was in the grave. He spoke in such
a broken voice that the girl's good-nature fought agaiiist
her little pique at finding how little he was smitten
with lier, and Falcon soon found means to array Ler
cupidity on the side of her good-nature. He gave Ler
a five-pound note to buy gloves, and promised hei a
fortune, and she undertook to be secret as the grav^e,
and say certain things adroitly to Mrs. Staines.
Accordingly, this young woman omitted no opportuniity
of dropping a word in favor of Falcon. For one thing,
she said to Mrs. Staines, " Mr. Falcon must be very fond
of children, ma'am. Why, he worships Master Christie."
" Indeed ! I have not observed that."
" Why, no, ma'am. He is rather shy over it ; but
when he sees us alone, he is sure to come to us, and say,
* Let me look at my child, nurse ; ' and he do seem fit to
eat him. Oust he says to me, ' This boy is my heir,
nurse.' What did he mean by that, ma'am ? "
" I don't knoAv."
" Is he any kin to you, ma'am ? '^
"None whatever. You must have misunderstood him.
You should not repeat all that people say."
"No, ma'am ; only I did think it so odd. Poor gentle-
man, I don't think he is happy, for all his money."
" He is too good to be unhappy all his life."
A SIMPLETON. 417
« So I think, ma'am."
These conversations wer<3 always short, for Kosa,
though she was too kind and gentle to snub the girl,
was also too delicate to give the least encouragement to
her gossip.
But Rosa's was a mind that could be worked upon,
and these short but repeated eulogies were not altogether
without effect.
At last the insidious Falcon, by not making his
approaches in a way to alarm her, acquired her friend-
ship as well as her gratitude ; and, in short, she got used
to him and liked him. Not being bound by any limit
of fact whatever, he entertained her, and took her out of
herself a little by extemporaneous pictures ; he told her
all his thrilling adventures by flood and field, not one of
which had ever occurred, yet he made them* all sound
like truth ; he invented strange characters, and set them
talking ; he went after great Avhales, and harpooned one,
whicl\ slapped his boat into fragments with one stroke
of its tail ; then died, and he hung on by the harpoon
protruding from the carcass till a ship came and picked
him up. He shot a lion that was carrying off his favorite
Hottentot. He encountered another, wounded him with
both barrels, was seized, and dragged along the ground,
and gave himself up for lost, but kept firing his revolver
down the monster's throat till at last he sickened him,
and so escaped out of death's maw ; he did not say how
he had fired in the air, and ridden fourteen miles on end,
at the bare sight of a lion's cub ; but, to compensate that
one reserve, plunged into a raging torrent and saved a
drowning woman by her long hair, which he caught in
his teeth ; he rode a race on an ostrich against a friend
on a zebra, which went faster, but threw his rider, and
screamed with rage at not being able to eat him ; he.
Falcon, having declined to run unless his friend's zebra
418 A SIMPLETON.
was muzzled. He fed the hungry, clothed the naked,
and shot a wild elephant in the eye ; and all this he
enlivened with pictorial descriptions of no mean beauty,
and as like South Africa as if it had been feu George
Eobins advertising that continent for sale.
In short, never was there a more voluble and interest-
ing liar by Avord of mouth, and never was there a more
agreeable creature interposed between a bereaved widow
and her daily grief and regrets. He diverted her mind
from herself, and did her good.
At last, such was the charm of infinite lying, she
missed him on the days he did not come, and was
brighter when he did come and lie.
Things went smoothly, and so pleasantly, that he
would gladly have prolonged this form of courtship for
a month or two longer, sooner than risk a premature
declaration. But more than one cause drove him to a
bolder course ; his passion, which increased in violence
by contact with its beautiful object, and also a great
uneasiness he felt at not hearing from Phoebe. This
silence was ominous. He and she knew each other,
and what the other was capable of. He knew she was
the woman to cross the seas after him, if Staines left the
diggings, and any explanation took place that might
point to his whereabouts.
These double causes precipitated matters, and at last
he began to throw more devotion into his manner ; and
having so prepared her for a few days, he took his oppor-
tunity and said, one day, " We are both unhappy. Give
me the right to console you."
She colored high, and said, ''You have consoled me
more than all the world. But there is a limit ; always
will be."
One less adroit would have brought her to the point ;
but this artist only sighed, and let the arrow rankle. By
A SIMPLETON. 4lU
this means lie out-fenced her; for now she had listened
to a declaration and not stopped it short.
He played melancholy for a day or two, and then he
tried her another way. He said, " I promised your dying
husband to be your protector, and a father to his child.
I see but one way to keep my word, and that gives me
courage to speak — without that I never could. Rosa,
I loved you years ago, I am unmarried for your sake.
Let me be your husband, and a father to your child."
Rosa shook her head. " I. could not marry again. I
esteem you, I am very grateful to you : and I know I
behaved ill to you before. If I could marry again, it
would be you. But I cannot. Oh, never ! never ! "
" Then we both are to be unhappy all our days."
" I shall, as I ought to be. You will not, I hope. I
shall miss you sadly ; but, for all that, I advise you to
leave me. You will carry my everlasting gratitude, go
where you will ; that and my esteem are all I have to
give."
" I will go," said he ; " and I hope he who is gone will
forgive my want of courage."
"He who is gone took my promise never to marry
again."
" Dying men see clearer. I am sure he wished — no
matter ; it is too delicate." He kissed her hand and
Avent out, a picture of dejection.
Mrs. Staines shed a tear for him.
Nothing was heard of him for several days ; and Rosa
pitied him more and more, and felt a certain discontent
with herself, and doubt whether she had done right.
Matters were in this state, when one morning Emily
came screaming in from the garden, " The child ! —
Master Christie ! — Where is he ? — Where is he ? "
The house was ala,rmed. The garden searched, the
adjoining paddock. The child was gone.
420 A SIMI'LETON.
Emily was examined, and owned, with many sobs and
hysterical cries, that she had put him down in the sum-
mer-house for a minute, while she went to ask the gardener
for some balm, balm tea being a favorite drink of hers.
^' But there was nobody near that I saw," she sobbed.
Further inquiry proved, however, that a tall gypsy
woman had been seen prowling about that morning ; and
suspicion instantly fastened on her. Servants were sent
out right and left; but nothing discovered; and the
agonized mother, terrified out of her wits, had Falcon
telegraphed to immediately.
He came galloping down that very evening, and heard
the story. He galloped into Gravesend, and after seeing
the police, sent word out he should advertise. He
placarded Gravesend Avitli bills, offering a reward of
a thousand pounds, the child to be brought to him, and
no questions asked.
Meantime the police and many of the neighboring
gentry came about the miserable mother with their
vague ideas.
Down comes Falcon again next day ; tells what he
has done, and treats them all with contempt. " Don't
you be afraid, Mrs. Staines," said he. '' You will get
him back. I have taken the sure way. This sort of
rogues dare not go near the police, and the police can't
find them. You have no enemies ; it is only some
woman that has fancied a beautiful child. Well, she
can have them by the score, for a thousand pounds."
He was the only one with a real idea ; the woman saw
it, and clung to him. He left late at night.
Next morning out came the advertisements, and he
sent her a handful by special messenger. His zeal and
activity kept her bereaved heart from utter despair.
At eleven that night came a telegraph : —
" I have got him. Coming down by special train."
A SIMPLETON. 421
Then what a burst of joy and gratitude! The very
walls of the house seemed to ring with it as a harp rings
with music. A special train, too ! he would not let the
mother yearn all night.
At one in the morning he drove up with the child and
a hired nurse.
Imagine the scene ! The mother's screams of joy,
her furious kisses, her cooing, her tears, and all the
miracles of nature at such a time. The servants all
mingled Avith their employers in the general rapture,
and Emily, who was pale as death, cried and sobbed, and
said, "Oh, ma'am, I'll never let him out of my sight
again, no, not for one minute." Falcon made her a
signal, and went out. She met him in the garden.
She was much agitated, and cried, " Oh, you did well
to bring him to-day. I could not have kept it another
hour. I'm a wretch."
" You are a good kind girl ; and here's the fifty pounds
I promised you."
" Well, and I have earned it."
" Of course you have. Meet me in the garden to-morrow
morning, and I'll show you you have done a kind thing
to your mistress, as well as me. And as for the fifty
pounds, that is nothinrj ; do you hear ? it is nothing at
all, compared with what I will do for you, if you will be
true to me, and hold your tongue."
" Oh ! as for that, my tongue shan't betray you, nor
shame me. You are a gentleman, and I do think you love
her, or I would not help you."
So she salved her nursemaid's conscience — with the
help of the fifty pounds.
The mother was left to her rapture that night. In the
morning Falcon told his tale.
"At two P.M. a man had called on him, and had pro-
duced one of his advertisements, and had asked him if
422 A SIMPLETON.
tliat was all square — no bobbies on the lurk. ^All
square, my fine fellow.' 'Well/ said he, 'I suppose you
are a gentleman.' 'I am of that opinion too.' ' Well, sir,'
says he, ' I know a party as has found a young gent as
comes werry nigh your advertisement.' 'It will be a
very lucky find to that party,' I said, 'if he is on the
square.' 'Oli, ^ve are always on the square, when the
blunt is put down.' ' The blunt for the child, when you
like, and where you like,' said I. 'You are the right
sort,' said he. 'I am,' replied I. 'Will you come and
see if it is all right ? ' said he. ' In a minute,' said I.
Stepped into my bedroom, and loaded my six-shooter."
" What is that ? " said Lusignan.
" A revolver with six barrels : by the by, the very same
I killed the lion with. Ugh ! I never think of that scene
without feeling a little quiver ; and my nerves are pretty
good, too. Well, he took me into an awful part of the
town, down a filthy close, into some boozing ken — I beg
pardon, some thieves' public-house."
"Oh, my dear friend," said Eosa, "were you not
frightened ? "
" Shall I tell you the truth, or play the hero ? I think
I'll tell you the truth. I felt a little frightened, lest they
should get my money and my life, without my getting
my godson: that is what I call him now. Well, two
ugly dogs came in, and said, 'Let us see the flimsies,
before you see the kid.'
"'That is rather sharp practice, I think,' said I; 'how-
ever, here's the swag, and here's tlie watch-dog.' So I
put down the notes, and my hand over them witli my
revolver cocked, and ready to fire."
"Yes, yes," said Eosa pantingly. "Ah, you were a
match for them."
"Well, Mrs. Staines, if I was writing you a novel, I
suppose I should tell you the rogues recoiled} but the
A SIMPLETON. 423
truth is they only laughed, aud were quite ph-ascd.
' Swell's in earnest/ said one, ' Jem, show the kid.' Jeui
whistled, and in came a great tall black gypsy woman,
with the darling. My heart was in my mouth, but I
would not let them see it. I said, 'It is all right. Take
half the notes here, and half at the door.' They agreed,
and then I did it quick, walked to the door, took the
child, gave them the odd notes, and made off as fast as
I could, hired a nurse at the hospital — and the rest you
know."
"Papa," said Eosa, with enthusiasm, "there is but one
man in England who would have got me back my child,
and this is he."
When they were alone, Falcon told her she had said
words that gladdened his very heart. "You admit I can
carry out one half of his wishes ? " said he.
Mrs. Staines said " Yes," then colored high ; then, to
turn it off, said, "But I cannot allow you to lose that
large sum of money. You must let me repay you."
" Large sum of money ! " said he. " It is no more to
me than sixpence to most people. I don't know what to
do with my money ; and I never shall know, unless you
Avill make a sacrifice of your own feelings to the wishes
of the dead. O Mrs. Staines — Eosa, do pray consider
that a man of that wisdom sees the future, and gives
wise advice. Sure am I that, if you could overcome your
natural repugnance to a second marriage, it would be the
best thing for your little boy — I love him already as if
he were my own — and in time would bring you peace
and comfort, and some day, years hence, even happiness.
You are my only love ; yet I should never have come to
you again if he had not sent me. Do consider how
strange it all is, and what it points to, and don't let me
have the misery of losing you again, when you can do no
better now, alas ! than reward my fidelity."
424 A SIMPLETON.
She was much moved at this artful api^eal, and said,
" If I was sure I was obeying his wilL But how can I
feel that, when we both promised never to wed again ? "
" A man's dying words are more sacred than any other.
You have his letter."
" Yes, but he does not say ' marry again.' "
" That is what he meant, though."
" How can you say that ? How can you know ? "
" Because I put the words he said to me together with
that short line to you. Mind, I don't say that he did not
exaggerate my poor merits ; on the contrary, I think he
did. But I declare to you that he did hope I should
take care of you and your child. Eight or wrong, it was
his wish, so pray do not deceive yourself on that point."
This made more impression on her than anything else
he could say, and she said, " I promise you one thing, I
will never marry any man but you."
Instead of pressing her further, as an inferior artist
would, he broke into raptures, kissed her hand tenderly,
and was in such high spirits, and so voluble all day, that
she smiled sweetly on him, and thought to herself, '^Poor
soul ! how happy I could make him with a word ! "
As he was always watching her face — a practice he
carried further than any person living — he divined that
sentiment, and wrought upon it so, that at last he
tormented her into saying she would marry him some
day.
When he had brought her to that, he raged inwardly
to think he had not two years to work in; for it was evi-
dent she would marry him in time. But no, it had taken
him more than four months, close siege, to bring her to
that. No word from Phoebe. An ominous dread hung
over his own soul. His wife would be upon him, or,
worse still, her brother Dick, who he knew would beat
him to a mummy on the spot ; or, worst of all, the hus-
A SIMPLETON. 425
band of Rosa Staines, who would kill liim, or fling liini
into a prison. He Tmist make a push.
In this emergency he used his ally, Mr. Lusignan ; he
told him ^Irs. Staines had promised to marry him, but
at some distant date. This would not do ; he must look
after his enormous interests in the colony, and he was so
much in love he could not leave her.
The old gentleman was desperately fond of Falcon, and
bent on the match, and he actually consented to give his
daughter what Falcon called a little push.
The little push was a very great one, I think.
It consisted in directing the clergyman to call in
church the banns of marriage between Reginald Falcon
and Rosa Staines.
They were both in church together when this was
done. Rosa all but screamed, and then turned red as
fire and white as a ghost, by turns. She never stood up
again all the service ; and in going home refused Falcon's
arm, and walked swiftly home by herself. JSTot that she
had the slightest intention of passing this monstrous
tiling by in silence. On the contrary, her wrath was
boiling over, and so hot that she knew she should make
a scene in the street if she said a word there.
Once inside the house she turned on Falcon, with a
white cheek and a flashing eye, and said, "Follow me, sir,
if you please." She led the way to her father's study.
" Papa," said she, " I throv,^ myself on your protection.
Mr. Falcon has affronted me."
" Oh, Rosa ! " cried Falcon, affecting utter dismay.
"Publicly — publicly: he has had the banns of mar-
riage cried in the church, without my permission."
" Don't raise your voice so loud, child. All the house
will hear you."
" I choose all the house to hear me. I will not endure
it. I will never marry you now — never ! "
426 A SIMPLETON.
" Eosa, my child/' said Lusignan, " you need not scold
poor Falcon, for I am the ciilj)rit. It was I who ordered
the banns to be cried."
" Oh ! papa, you had no right to do such a thing as
that."
"I think I had. I exercised parental authority for
once, and for your good, and for the good of a true and
faithful lover of yours, whom you jilted once, and now
you trifle with his affection and his interests. He loves
you too well to leave you ; yet you know his vast estates
iind interests require supervision."
" That for his vast estates ! " said Eosa contemptu-
ously. "I am not to be driven to the altar like this,
when my heart is in the grave. Don't you do it again,
paj^a, or I'll get up and forbid the banns ; affront for
affront."
"I should like to see that," said the old gentleman
dryly.
Eosa vouchsafed no reply, but swept out of the room,
with burning cheeks and glittering eyes, and was not
seen all day, would not dine with them, in S2:)ite of three
humble, deprecating notes Falcon sent her.
"Let the spiteful cat alone," said old Lusignan. "You
and I will dine together in peace and quiet."
It was a dull dinner; but Falcon took advantage of
the opportunity, impregnated the father with his views,
and got him to promise to have the banns cried next
Sunday. He consented.
Eosa learned next Sunday morning that this was to be
done, and her courage failed her. She did not go to
church at all.
She cried a great deal, and submitted to violence, as
your true women are too apt to do. They had compro-
mised her, and so conquered her. The permanent
feelings of gratitude and esteem caused a reaction after
A SIMPLETON. 427
her imssion, and she gave up open resistance as hope-
less.
Falcon renewed his visits, and was received with the
mere sullen languor of a woman who has given in.
The banns were cried a third time.
Then the patient Rosa bought laudanum enough to
reunite her to her Christopher, in spite of them all;
and having provided herself with this resource, became
more cheerful, and even kind and caressing.
She declined to name the day at present, and that was
awkward. Nevertheless the conspirators felt sure they
should tire her out into doing that, before long ; for they
saw their way clear, and she was perplexed in the
extreme.
In her perplexity, she used to talk to a certain beauti-
ful star she called her Christopher. She loved to fancy
he was now an inhabitant of that bright star ; and often
on a clear night she would look up, and beg for guidance
from this star. This I consider foolish : but then I am
old and scejjtical ; she was still young and innocent, and
sorely puzzled to know her husband's real will.
I don't suppose the star had anything to do with it,
except as a focus of her thoughts ; but one fine night,
after a long inspection of Christox)her's star, she dreamed
a dream. She thought that a lovely wedding-dress hung
over a chair, that a crown of diamonds as large as almonds
sparkled ready for her on the dressing-table, and she
was undoing her black gown, and about to take it off,
when suddenly the diamonds began to pale, and the
white satin dress to melt away, and in its ylnce there
rose a pale face and a long beard, and Christopher Staines
stood before her, and said quietly, "Is this how you
keep your voav ? " Then he sank slowly, and the white
dress was black, and the diamonds were jet ; and she
awoke, with his gentle words of remonstrance and his
very tones ringing in her ear.
428 A SIMPLETON.
This dream, co-operating with her previous agitation
and misgivings, shook her very much ; she did not come
down-stairs till near dinner-time ; and both her father
and Falcon, who came as a matter of course to spend
his Sunday, were struck with her appearance. She was
pale, gloomy, morose, and had an air of desperation
about her.
Falcon would not see it ; he knew that it is safest to
let her sex alone when they look like that ; and then the
storm sometimes subsides of itself.
After dinner, E-osa retired early ; and soon she was
heard walking rapidly up and down the dressing-room.
This Avas quite unusual, and made a noise.
Papa Lusignan thought it inconsiderate ; and after a
while, remarking gently that he was not particularly
fond of sound, he proposed they should smoke the pipe
of peace on the lawn.
They did so ; but after a while, finding that Falcon
w^as not smoking, he said, "Don't let me detain you.
Rosa is alone."
Falcon took the hint, and went to the drawing-room.
Rosa met him on the stairs, with a scarf over her shoul-
ders. " I must speak to papa," said she. " Where is
he?"
" He is on the lawn, dear Rosa," said Falcon, in his
most dulcet tones. He was sure of his ally, and very
glad to use him as a buffer to receive the first shock.
So he went into the drawing-room, where all the lights
were burning, and quietly took up a book. But he did
not read a line ; he was too occupied in trying to read
his own future.
The mean villain, who is incapable of remorse, is, of all
men, most capable of fear. His villany had, to all ap-
pearance, reached the goal; for he felt sure that all
Rosa's struggles would, sooner or later, succumb to her
A SIMPLETON. 429
sense of gratitude and liis strong will and patient tem-
per. But when the vietory was won, what a lif(; ! He
must fly with her to some foreign eountry, pursu(^d from
pillar to post by an enraged husband, and by the offended
la^. And if he escaped the vindictive foe a year or two,
how could he escape that other enemy he knew, and
dreaded — poverty ? He foresaw he should come to
hate the woman he was about to wrong, and she would
instantly revenge herself, by making him an exile and,
soon or late, a prisoner, or a pauper.
While these misgivings battled with his base but
ardent passion, strange things were going on out of
doors — but they will be best related in another sequence
of events, to which indeed they fairly belong.
430 A SIMPLETON.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Staines and Mrs. Falcon landed at Plymouth, and
went up to town by tlie same train. They parted in
London, Staines to go down to Gravesend, Mrs. Falcon
to visit her husband's old haunts, and see if she could
find him.
She did not find him; but she heard of him, and
learned that he always went down to Gravesend from
Saturday till Monday.
Notwithstanding all she had said to Staines, the actual
information startled her, and gave her a turn. She was
obliged to sit down, for her knees seemed to give Avay.
It was but a momentary weakness. She was now a wife
and a mother, and had her rights. She said to herself,
"My rogue has turned that poor woman's head long
before this, no doubt. But I shall go down and just
bring him away by the ear."
For once her bitter indignation overpowered every
other sentiment, and she lost no time, but late as it was
went down to Gravesend, ordered a jorivate sitting-room
and bedroom for the night, and took a fly to Kent Villa.
But Christopher Staines had the start of her. He had
already gone down to Gravesend with his carpet-bag,
left it at the inn, and walked to Kent Villa that lovely
summer night, the happiest husband in England.
His heart had never for one instant been disturbed by
Mrs. Falcon's monstrous suspicion ; he looked on her as
a monomaniac ; a sensible woman insane on one point,
her husband.
When he reached the villa, however, he thought it
A SIMrLETON. 431
prudent to make sure that Falcon had come to Eng-
land at all, and discharged his commission. He would
not run the risk, small as he thought it, of pouncing un-
expected on his Rosa, being taken for a ghost, and terri-
fying her, or exciting her to madness.
Now the premises of Kent Villa were admirably
adapted to what they call in war a reconnoissance. The
lawn was studded Avitli laurestinas and other shrubs that
had grown magnificently in that Kentish air.
Staines had no sooner set his foot on the lawn, than
he heard voices ; he crept towards them from bush to
bush; and standing in impenetrable shade, he saw in
the clear moonlight two figures — Mr. Lusignan and
Reginald Falcon.
These two dropped out only a word or two at inter-
vals ; but what they did say struck Staines as odd. For
one thing, Lusignan remarked, " I suppose you will want
to go back to the Cape. Such enormous estates as yours
will want looking after."
" Enormous estates ! " said Staines to himself. " Then
they must have grown very fast in a few months."
" Oh, yes," said Falcon ; " but I think of showing her
a little of Europe first."
Staines thought this still more mysterious ; he waited
to hear more, but the succeeding remarks were of an
ordinary kind.
He noticed, however, that Falcon spoke of his wife
by her Christian name, and that neither party mentioned
Christopher Staines. He seemed quite out of their little
world.
He began to feel a strange chill creep down him.
Presently Falcon went off to join Rosa; and Staines
thought it was quite time to ask the old gentleman
whether Falcon had executed his commission, or not.
He was only hesitating how to do it, not liking to
432 A SIMPLETON.
pounce in the dark on a man who abhorred everything
like excitement, when Rosa herself came flying out in
great agitation.
Oh ! the thrill he felt at the sight of her ! With all
his self-possession, he would have sprung forward and
taken her in his arms with a mighty cry of love, if she
had not immediately spoken words that rooted him to
the spot with horror. But she came with the words in
her very mouth ; " Papa, I am come to tell you I cannot,
and will not, marry Mr. Falcon.''
" Oh, yes, you will, my dear."
" Never ! I'll die sooner. Not that you will care for
that. I tell you I saw my Christopher last night — in a
dream. He had a beard ; but I saw him, oh, so plain ;
and he said, ' Is this the way you keep your promise ? '
That is enough for me. I have prayed, again and again,
to his star, for light. I am so perplexed and harassed
by you all, and you make me believe what you like.
Well, I have had a revelation. It is not my poor lost
darling's wish I should wed again. I don't believe jMr.
Ealcon any more. I hear nothing but lies by day. Tlie
truth comes to my bedside at night. I will not marry
this man."
" Consider, Eosa, your credit is pledged. You must
not be always jilting him heartlessly. Dreams ! non-
sense. There — I love peace. It is no use your storm-
ing at me ; rave to the moon and the stars, if you like,
and when you have done, do pray come in, and behave
like a rational woman, who has pledged her faith to an
honorable man, and a man of vast estates — a man that
nursed your husband in his last illness, found your child,
at a great expense, when you had lost him, and merits
eternal gratitude, not eternal jilting. I have no patience
with you."
The old gentleman retired in high dudgeon.
A SIMPLETON. 433
Staines stood in the black sliade of his cedar-tree,
rooted to the ground by this revelation of male villany
and female credulity.
He did not know what on earth to do. He wanted to
kill Falcon, but not to terrify his own wife to death. It
was now too clear she thought he was dead.
Rosa watched her father's retiring figure out of sight.
^' Very well," said she, clenching her teeth ; then sud-
denly she turned, and looked up to heaven. "Do you
hear ? " said she, " my Christie's star ? I am a poor per-
plexed creature. I asked you for a sign, and that very
night I saw him in a dream. Why should I marry out
of gratitude ? Why should I marry one man, when I
love another ? Wliat does it matter his being dead ?
I love him too well to be wife to any living man. They
persuade me, they coax me, they pull me, they push me.
I see they will make me. But I will outwit them. See
— see ! " and she held up a little phial in the moonlight.
" This shall cut the knot for me ; this shall keep me true
to my Christie, and save me from breaking promises I
ought never to have made. This shall unite me once
more with him I killed, and loved."
She meant she would kill herself the night before the
wedding, which perhaps she would not, and perhaps she
would. Who can tell ? The weak are violent. But Chris-
topher, seeing the poison so near her lips, was perplexed,
took two strides, wrenched it out of her hand, with a snarl
of rage, and instantly plunged into the shade again.
Rosa uttered a shriek, and flew into the house.
The farther she got, the more terrified she became, and
soon Christopher heard her screaming in the drawing-
room in an alarming way. They were like the screams
of the insane.
He got terribly • anxious, and followed her. All the
doors were open.
28
434 A SBIPLETON.*
As lie went up-stairs, he heard her cry, " His ghost !
his ghost ! I have seen his ghost ! No, no. I feel his
hand upon my arm now. A beard ! and so he had in the
dream ! He is alive. My darling is alive. You have
deceived me. You are an impostor — a villain. Out of
the house this moment, or he shall kill you."
" Are you mad ? " cried Falcon. " How can he be
alive, when I saw him dead ? "
This was too much. Staines gave the door a blow
with his arm, and' strode into the apartment, looking
white and tremendous.
Falcon saw death in his face ; gave a shriek, drew his
revolver, and fired at him with as little aim as he had at
the lioness; then made for the open window. Staines
seized a chair, followed him, and hurled it at him ; and
the chair and the man went through the window together,
and then there was a strange thud heard outside.
Eosa gave a loud scream, and swooned away.
Staines laid his wife flat on the floor, got the women
about her, and at last she began to give the usual signs
of returning life.
Staines said to the oldest woman there, " If she sees
me, she will go off again. Carry her to her room ; and
tell her, by degrees, that I am alive."
All this time Papa Lusignan had sat trembling and
whimpering in a chair, moaning, "This is a painful
scene — very painful." But at last an idea struck him
— "Why, you have robbed the office!"
Scarcely was Mrs. Staines out of the room, when a fly
drove up, and this was immediately followed by violent
and continuous screaming close under the window.
" Oh, dear ! " sighed Papa Lusignan.
They ran down, and found Falcon impaled at full
length on the spikes of the villa, and Phoebe screaming
over him, and trying in vain to lift him off them. He
A SIMPLETON. 435
liad struggled a little, in silent terror, but had then
fainted from fear and loss of blood, and lying rather
inside the rails, which were high, he could not be extri-
cated from the outside.
As soon as his miserable condition was discovered, the
servants ran down into the kitchen, and so up to the
rails by the area steps. These rails had caught him ;
one had gone clean through his arm, the other had pene-
trated the fleshy part of the thigh, and a third pierced
his ear.
They got him off ; but he was insensible, and the place
drenched with his blood.
Phoebe clutched Staines by the arm. " Let me know
the worst," said she. " Is he dead ? "
Staines examined him, and said " No."
" Can you save him ? "
" I ? "
" Yes. Who can, if you cannot ? Oh, have mercy on
me ! " and she went on her knees to him, and put her
forehead on his knees.
He was touched by her simple faith; and the noble
traditions of his profession sided with his gratitude to
tliis injured woman. "My poor friend," said he, "I will
do my best, for i/our sake."
He took immediate steps for stanching the blood ; and
the fly carried Phoebe and her villain to the inn at
Gravesend.
Falcon came to on the road ; but finding himself alone
with Phoebe, shammed unconsciousness of everything
but pain.
Staines, being thoroughly enraged with Rosa, yet
remembering his solemn vow never to abuse her again,
saw her father, and told him to tell her he should think
over her conduct quietly, not wishing to be harder upon
her than she deserved.
436 A SIMPLETON.
Eosa, who had been screaming, and crying for joy,
ever since she came to her senses, was not so much
afflicted at this message as one might have expected.
He was alive, and all things else were trifles.
Nevertheless, when day after day went by, and not
even a line from Christopher, she began to fear he Avould
cast her off entirely ; the more so as she heard he was
now and then at Gravesend to visit Mrs. Falcon at the
inn.
While matters were thus. Uncle Philip burst on her
like a bomb. " He is alive ! he is alive ! he is alive ! '^
And they had a cuddle over it.
" Oh, Uncle Philip ! Have you seen him ? "
" Seen him ? Yes. He caught me on the hop, just as
I came in from Italy. I took him for a ghost."
" Oh, weren't you frightened ? "
"Not a bit. I don't mind ghosts. I'd have half a
dozen to dinner every day, if I might choose 'em. I
couldn't stand stupid ones. But I say, his temper isn't
improved by all this dying : he is in an awful rage with
you ; and what for ? "
" uncle ! what for ? Because I'm the vilest of
women ! "
"Vilest of fiddlesticks! It's his fault, not yours.
Shouldn't have died. It's always a dangerous experi-
ment."
"/shall die if he will not forgive me. He keeps away
from me and from his child."
"I'll tell you. He heard, in Gravesend, your banns
had been cried: that has moved the peevish fellow's
bile."
" It was done without my consent. Papa will tell you
so ; and, O uncle, if you knew the arts, the forged letter
in my darling's hand, the way he wrought on me !
villain ! villain ! Uncle, forgive your poor silly niece,
A SIMPLETON. 437
tliat the world is too wicked and too clever for her to
live in."
"Because you are too good and innocent," said Uncle
Philip. " There, don't you be down-hearted. I'll soon
bring you two together again — a couple of ninnies.
I'll tell you what is the first thing : you must come and
live with me. Come at once, bag and baggage. He
won't show here, the sulky brute."
Philip Staines had a large house in Cavendish Square,
a crusty old patient, like himself, had left him. It was
his humor to live in a corner of this mansion, though
the whole was capitally furnished by his judicious pur-
chases at auctions.
He gave Rosa and her boy and his nurse the entire
first floor, and told her she was there for life. " Look
here," said he, "this last affair has opened my eyes.
Such women as you are the sweeteners of existence.
You leave my roof no more. Your husband will make
the same discovery. Let him run about, and be miserable
a bit. He will have to come to book."
She shook her head sadly.
" My Christopher will never say a harsh word to me.
All the worse for me. He will quietly abandon a
creature so inferior to him."
"Stuff!"
Now, she was always running to the window, in hope
that Christopher would call on his uncle, and that she
might see him ; and one day she gave a scream so elo-
quent, Philip knew what it meant. " Get you behind
that screen, you and your boy," said he, " and be as still
as mice. Stop ! give me that letter the scoundrel forged,
and the ring."
This was hardly done, and Rosa out of sight, and
tremV)ling from head to foot, when Christopher was
announced. Philip received him very affectionately,
but wasted no time.
438 A SIMPLETON.
" Been to Kent Villa yet ? "
" No/' was the grim reply.
" Why not ? "
" Because I have sworn never to say an angry word to
her again ; and, if I was to go there, I should say a good
many angry ones. Oh, when I think that her folly drove
me to sea, to do my best for her, and that I was nearer
death for that woman than ever man was, and lost my
reason for her, and went through toil and privations,
hunger, exile, mainly for her, and then to find the banns
cried in open church, with that scoundrel ! — say no more,
uncle. I shall never reproach her, and never forgive
her."
•' She was deceived."
" I don't doubt that ; but nobody has a right to be so
great a fool as all that."
" It was not her folly, but her innocence, that was
imposed on. You a philosopher, and not know that
wisdom itself is sometimes imposed on, and deceived by
cunning folly ! Have you forgotten your Milton ? —
*' ' At Wisdom's gate, Suspicion sleeps,
And deems no ill where no ill seems.'
Come, come ! are are sure you are not a little to blame ?
Did you Avrite home the moment you found you were
not dead ? "
Christopher colored high.
"Evidently not," said the keen old man. "Ah, my
fine fellow ! have I found the flaw in your own armor ? "
" I did wrong, but it was for her. I sinned for her.
I could not bear her to be without money, and I knew
the insurance — I sinned for her. She has sinned against
me."
" And she had much better have sinned against God,
hadn't she ? He is more forgiving than we perfect
A SIMPLETON. 439
creatures that cheat insurance companies. And so, my
fine fellow, you hid the truth from her for two or three
months."
Ko answer.
" Strike off those two or three months ; would the
banns have ever been cried ? "
" Well, uncle," said Christopher, hard pressed, " I am
glad she has got a champion ; and I hope you will always
keep 3^our eye on her."
" I mean to."
" Good-morning."
" No ; don't be in a hurry. I have something else to
say, not so provoking. Do you know the arts by which
she was made to believe you wished her to marry again ? "
" I wished her to marry again ! Are you mad, uncle ? "
" Whose handwriting is on this envelope ? "
"Mine, to be sure."
"Now, read the letter."
Christopher read the forged letter.
" Oh, monstrous ! "
" This was given her with your ruby ring, and a tale
so artful that nothing we read about the devil comes
near it. This was what did it. The Earl of Tadcaster
brought her title, and wealth, and love."
" What, he too ! The little cub I saved, and lost my-
self for — blank him ! blank him ! "
" Why, you stupid ninny ! you forget you were dead ;
and he could not help loving her. How could he ?
Well, but you see she refused him. And why ? because
he game without a forged letter from you. Do you doubt
her love for you ? "
" Of course I do. She never loved me as I loved her."
"Christopher, don't you say that before me, or you
and I shall quarrel. Poor girl ! she lay, in my sight, as
near death for you as you were for her. I'll show you
something."
440 A SIMPLETON".
He went to a cabinet, and took out a silver paper ; lie
unpinned it, and laid Rosa's beautiful black hair upon
lier husband's knees. " Look at that, you hard-hearted
brute ! " he roared to Christopher, who sat, anything but
hard-hearted, his eyes filling fast, at the sad proof of
his wife's love and suffering.
Eosa could bear no more. She came out with her boy
in her hand. " uncle, do not speak harshly to him, or
.you will kill me quite ! "
She came across the room, a picture of timidity and
penitence, with her whole eloquent body bent forward
at an angle. She kneeled at his knees, with streaming
eyes, and held her boy up to him : " Plead for your poor
mother, my darling. She mourns her fault, and will
never excuse it."
The cause was soon decided. All Philip's logic was
nothing, compared with mighty nature. Christopher
gave one great sob, and took his darling to his heart,
without one word ; and he and Rosa clung together, and
cried over each other. Philip slix^ped out of the room,
and left the restored ones together.
I have something more to say about my hero and
heroine, but must first deal with other characters, not
wholly uninteresting to the reader, I hope.
Dr. Staines directed Phoebe Falcon how to treat her
husband. No medicine, no stimulants ; very wholesome
food, in moderation, and the temperature of the body
regulated by tepid water. Under these instructions, the
injured but still devoted wife was the real healer. .He
pulled through, but was lame for life, and ridiculously
lame, for he went with a spring halt, — a sort of hoj)-and-
go-one that made the girls laugh, and vexed Adonis.
Phoebe found the diamonds,, and offered them all to
Staines, in expiation of his villany. " See," she said,
" he has only spent one."
A SIMrLETON. 441
Staines said lie was glad of it, for her sake, for he
must be just to his own family. He sold them for three
thousand two hundred pounds ; but for the big diamond
he got twelve thousand pounds, and I believe it was
worth double the money.
Counting the two sums, and deducting six hundred
for the stone IMr. Falcon had embezzled, he gave her over
seven thousand pounds.
She stared at him, and changed color at so large a sum.
" But I have no claim on that, sir."
" That is a good joke," said he. "Why, you and I are
partners in the whole thing — you and I and Dick. Was
it not with his horse and rifle I bought the big diamond ?
Poor dear, honest, manly Dick ! No, the money is
honestly yours, Mrs. Falcon ; but don't trust a penny to
your husband."
" He will never see it, sir. I shall take him back, and
give him all his heart can ask for, with this ; but he will
be little more than a servant in the house now, as long
as Dick is single ; I know that ; " and# she could still cry
at the humiliation of her villain.
Staines made her promise to write to him ; and she
did write him a sweet, womanly letter, to say that they
were making an enormous fortune, and hoped to end
their days in England. Dick sent his kind love and
thanks.
I will add, what she only said by implication, that she
was happy after all. She still contrived to love the
thing she could not respect. Once, when an officious
friend pitied her for her husband's lameness, she said,
"Find me a face like his. The lamer the better; he
can't run after the girls, like some."
Dr. Staines called on Lady Cicely Treherne ; the foot-
man stared. He left his card.
A week afterwards, she called on him. She had a
442 A SIMPLETON.
pink tinge in her cheeks, a general animation, and her
face full of brightness and archness.
" Bless me ! " said he bluntly, " is this you ? How
you are improved ! "
" Yes," said she ; " and I am come to thank you for
your pwescwiption : I followed it to the lettaa."
" Woe is me ! I have forgotten it.''
" You diwected me to mawwy a nice man.''
" Never : I hate a nice man."
" No, no — an Iwishman : and T have done it."
" Good gracious ! you don't mean that ! I must be
more cautious in my prescriptions. After all, it seems
to agree."
" Admiwably."
" He loves you ? ''
"To distwaction."
" He amuses you ? "
" Fwodigiously. Come and see."
Dr. and Mrs. Staines live with Uncle Philip. The
insurance money is returned, but the diamond money
makes them very easy. Staines follows his profession
now under great advantages : a noble house, rent free ;
the curiosity that attaches to a man who has been canted
out of a ship in mid-ocean, and lives to tell it ; and then
Lord Tadcaster, married into another noble house, swears
by him, and talks of him ; so does Lady Cicely Munster,
late Treherne ; and when such friends as these are warm,
it makes a physician the centre of an important clien-
tele; but his best friend of all is his unflagging indus-
try, and his truly wonderful diagnosis, which resembles
divination. He has the ball at his feet, and above all,
that without which worldly success soon palls, a happy
home, a fireside warm with sympathy.
Mrs. Staines is an admiring, sympathizing wife, and
A SIMPLETON. 443
an admirable housekeeper. She still utters inadverten-
cies now and then, commits new errors at odd times, but
never repeats tliem when exposed. Observing wliich
docility, Uncle Philip has been heard to exjoress a fear
that, in twenty years, she will be the wisest woman in
England. " But, thank heaven ! " he adds, " I shall be
gone before that."
Her conduct and conversation afford this cynic con-
stant food for observation ; and he has delivered himself
oracularly at various stages of the study : but I cannot
say that his observations, taken as a whole, present that
consistency which entitles them to be regarded as a body
of philosophy. Examples : In the second month after
Mrs. Staines came to live with him, he delivered himself
thus : " My niece Kosa is an anomaly. She gives you
the impression she is shallow. Mind your eye : in one
moment she will take you out of your depth or any
man's depth. She is like those country streams I used
to fish for pike when I was young ; you go along, seeing
the bottom everywhere ; but presently you come to a
corner, and it is fifteen deep all in a moment, and souse
you go over head and ears : that's my niece Eosa."
In six months he had got to this — and, mind you,
each successive dogma was delivered in a loud, aggressive
tone, and in sublime oblivion of the preceding oracle —
" My niece Kosa is the most artful woman. (You may
haw ! haw ! haw ! as much as you like. You have not
found out her little game — I have.) AYliat is the aim
of all women ? To be beloved by an unconscionable
number of people. Well, she sets up for a simpleton,
and so disarms all the brilliant people, and they love
her. Everybody loves her. Just you put her down in
a room with six clever women, and you will see who is
the favorite. She looks as shallow as a pond, and she
is as deep as the ocean."
444 A SIMPLETON.
At tlie end of the year lie threw off the mask alto-
gether. " The great sweetener of a man's life," said he,
'' is ' a simpleton.' I shall not go abroad any more ; my
house has become attractive : I've got a simpleton.
When I have a headache, her eyes fill with tender con-
cern, and she hovers about me and pesters me with
pillows : when I am cross with her, she is afraid I am
ill. When I die, and leave her a lot of money, she will
howl for months, and say I don't want his money : ' I
waw-waw-waw-waw-want my Uncle Philip, to love me,
and scold me.' One day she told me, with a sigh, I
hadn't lectured her for a month. ' I am afraid I have
offended you,' says she, ' or else worn you out, dear.'
When I am well, give me a simpleton, to make me laugh.
When I am ill, give me a simpleton to soothe me with
her innocent tenderness. A simpleton shall wipe the
dews of death, and close my eyes : and when I cross
the river of death, let me be met by a band of the
heavenly host, who were all simpletons here on earth,
and too good for such a hole, so now they are in heaven,
and their garments always white — because there are no
laundresses there."
Arrived at this point, the Anglo-Saxon race will retire,
grinning, to fresh pastures, and leave this champion of
" a Simpleton," to thunder paradoxes in a desert.
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