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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