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FALSE CARDS.

HAWLEY SMART,

AUTHOR CF

"BROKEN BONDS," "A RACE FOR A WIFE," "TWO KISSES,"
"BOUND TO WIN," "SUNSHINE AND SNOW," &C, &C.

"Until you have radically cured yourself of this error, and redeemed you
character for straightforwardness by a long course of intelligible play, I shall distrust
you." — A Treatise on Slwrt Whist,

NEW EDITION.

LONDON:
WARD, LOCK, & CO., WARWICK HOUSE,

SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK: BOND STREET.

FALSE CARDS.

CHAPTER I.

THE ALDRINGHAM BENCH.

pT is market-day in Aldringham. That thriving
town, centre of a great agricultural district, is
all alive. The well-to-do farmers of the neigh-
bourhood pour in to see what may be stirring
—to gossip, to cater, to hear whether wool may be still
rising, or what change may have taken place in the price
of corn. Genial and hearty are their greetings. Much
badinage passes amongst them with regard to the week's
doings in the hunting-field. Small holland bags are
dragged from capacious pockets, and there is pouring of
wheat from palm to palm, munching and muttering of
"good!" "bold!" "bright!" &c, and "What may
you be asking a quarter ? " Here a burly farmer inquires
peevishly whether " out like the price of sheep was ever
heard on ?" — there another shakes his head, and mutters
mysteriously, " Pigs are rum 'uns ; they're down to
nowt. You might as 'lieve give 'em away."

At the fishmonger's the burly breeder of shorthorns and
the country rector run across each other in pursuit of a
bit of cod or a pair of soles for next day's dinner. The

2 False Cards.

gunsmith is driving a brisk trade, and it would seem that
cartridges are quite as much in demand as corn ; ior be
it known that Aldringham is the centre of a very sporting
district, and most of these jolly agriculturists are equally
at home in the saddle or with the trigger — can negotiate
an awkward double, or render good account of a wood-
cock, with equal facility.

The barbers' shops are having a busy time of it ; the
bucolical chins of the small landholders poise themselves
in mid-air, and offer the week's growth to the blade of
the shearer, who lathers, mows, and mops with wondrous
celerity and assiduity. The numerous booths about the
spacious market-place are thronged with customers, while
the vendors of quack medicines and the cheap-Jacks are
respectively surrounded by attentive groups. One of
these latter, indeed, has attracted a largish audience. It
is a sharp November morning, and he proffers great-coats
and other warm clothing to the public. He is a very
gem of his kind, and keeps up an unceasing flow of
patter, and a continual change of garment.

" All right, you don't go for ease afore ornament, you
don't — a nobleman like you must put in for appearances-
something spicy and fashionable, that's your line. I
have got 'em here all sorts and sizes — coats for coster-
mongers and paletots for members of Parliament. Here
you are," he continued, turning himself round, that his
audience might have a back view of him — " look at it on
all sides, warmth, respectability, and comfort — that's wot
it is — and all for twelve-and-six ! It's clean giving it
away, I am ! Don't nobody speak ? — there, take it for
eleven shillings — what, you won't ? Ah ! it's fashion
you want — better be dead than out of the fashion, says
you, and right you are ! Now, then," he continued,
throwing off the coat which had been the subject of his
late laudation, and slipping into a more slangy garment
of the same kind, " this is the article to fetch you ; there
can't be no mistake about you now, you know. Look at
me ! — you'd be puzzled to make out whether I was a
nobleman on his way to the races, or the county member
going to a ploughing-match. Ease and elegance — that's
wot it is. Who said seventeen-and-six ? Take it at

The Aldringham Bench. 3

fifteen, and I'll throw you an eye-glass in. Well, it's no
use — I knows when I'm bound to sell. You were made
for the coat, and the coat for you, sir. There, take it
away at fourteen bob ; it'll be profit enough only to see
you walk about in it." And as he concluded, the speaker
whipped off the subject of his encomium, and threw it to
a soft-looking, flashily-dressed man, who formed one of
his audience.

There was much grinnincr amongst the crowd, more
especially when, after duly trying the coat on, the victim
succumbed, and paid for it. Men of the vendor's profes-
sion have eyes like hawks, and are quick at the reading
of faces. They know if they can once induce any one of
their hearers to try on one of the garments they display,
that the selling bim one is very nearly certain and con-
sequently often try a coup of this description.

But now the attention of the throng is arrested by a
small procession of the county police, who are escorting
some two or three delinquents to hear their doom before
the bench of magistrates at this time assembled. The
magistrate's office in Aldringham is quite one of the
popular entertainments on a market-day. The country
people, more especially the women, take their seats there,
and watch the proceedings with grave, stolid faces, and
an interest almost incredible. They regard it as a species
of dramatic entertainment, with the additional advantage
that it is perfectly gratuitous. And they have some
reason for doing so. Touches of pathos and scenes of
humour are at times evolved from the somewhat hum-
drum work of a magistrate's office, and by persistent
attendance an occasional comedy or melodrama is arrived
at.

There is considerable excitement to-day, as it is
whispered about that a sharper, who has practised only
too successfully on the credulity of the town and neigh-
bourhood, is about to be arraigned, and confronted with
his victims. Popular opinion is divided as to how things
will go with bim. While some contend that he has
been so crafty in his duplicity that the law will prove
powerless to touch him, others indignantly demand
whether it was likely that the police would have inter-

4 False Cards.

fered unless they had got a clear case ? But that it will
be a cause of much interest is allowed on all hands.

The body of the magistrate's office fills quickly.
There is quite a buzz of conversation. Much laughter
and giggling are called forth as it is whispered around
how divers personages, well known to the crowd, have
been taken in by the prisoner, and by what ingenious
methods. Suddenly the inspector of police calls sternly
for silence in the court, and the magistrates make their
appearance, through the door of their private room.

A grim, grizzled, severe-looking man takes the chair,
and throws a keen, harsh look over the thronged benches
as he does so. It is Sir John Collingham, Chairman of
the Aldringham Bench ; a good man of business, but
with little mercy for human infirmities in his hard, stern
nature. One who holds that the peccant weaknesses of
mankind are best held in check by sharp castigation at
the outset ; that heavy stripes meted out for first offend-
ing is the best remedy with which to counteract a ten-
dency to wander a-down the flowery by-paths of vice. A
just man, who will sift the evidence of crime with patience
and impartiality ; but who, once convinced that the
accusation is true, is swift and vengeful in his judgment.
He carries much the same principles into his dealings in
private life, and hates and persecutes those with whom
he has quarrelled with an unforgiving fervour most
edifying to witness.

Next to him, on his right, is a tall, stout, pompous
gentleman, who surveys the Court beningly through his
double gold eye-glass. His patronizing smile seems
calculated to assure lookers-on ; it seems to say, " Pray
be easy in your minds. I have taken the business in
hand. Is not that enough ?" And in his own heart Mr.
Holbourne, the Aldringham banker, is most thoroughly
convinced that it is. Mr. Holbourne is imbued with the
belief that the whole prosperity of Aldringham is due to,
and derived from, his residing and taking interest in the
place. His name figures upon all committees for the
promotion of either business or amusement. Mr. Hol-
bourne attends them everyone with praiseworthy diligence
— hems, haws, applauds gently, and surveys the members

The Aldringham Bench. C

beningly through the double gold eye-glass. Although
he has never been known either as the originator or
active conductor of reforms sanitory, schemes commercial,
designs theatrical, or designs terpsichorean, yet Mr. Hol-
bourne is quite convinced that none of these things
would ever have been achieved in Aldringham but for
himself. The town, he considers, owes him a great debt
of gratitude, and England generally may be thankful to
possess so energetic a citizen — a prosperous, well-to-do
man, thoroughly wrapped up in the sense of his own
importance, and who has never yet met with a reverse
sufficient to shake the pedestal of self-esteem from which
he looks blandly down upon his less-gifted and less-
fortunate fellow-creatures. Two other magistrates com-
plete the Bench upon this occasion, of whom it will
suffice to say that one is of a vacillating turn of mind,
and is painfully swayed by conflicting evidence ; while
the fourth is a benevolent old clergyman, who seldom,
from deafness, thoroughly comprehends the witnesses,
and in his anxiety not to commit himself, generally leans
to the merciful view of not committing the prisoner.

Silence having been again proclaimed, a fair-haired,
quietly-dressed man is placed in the dock, and looks in
nowise abashed by his situation. If truth must be told,
it is not quite the first time that Mr. Leonidas Lightfoot
has occupied that position in a Court of Justice. He
has a pale face, with a comical snub-nose, and a pair of
twinkling gray eyes. He makes a graceful obeisance to
the Bench, and then lounges easily over the rail in front
of him. He listens attentively while the magistrate's
clerk reads out the indictment — " How that he, Leonidas
Lightfoot, has obtained various sums of money from the
tradespeople of Aldringham, and the neighbouring
inhabitants thereof, under fraudulent pretences," and
declares himself " Not Guilty," when called upon to
plead, with an air of easy assurance.

" What is your occupation and place of residence ? "
inquired Sir John Collingham of the prisoner, as the
clerk finished.

" A philanthropist," replied Mr. Lightfoot, quietly.
"My object is the relief of the struggling and slightly-

6 False Cards.

educated working-classes. My residence, where I may
find employment to my hand. The profession, as your
worships of course see, necessitates much wandering
from place to place." " Are you accredited to any
mission or society for that purpose ? " asked the chairman,
sternly.

" No ; I prosecute my work single-handed. To put
ambitious youth in the way of a remunerative and
honest livelihood, is the sole purpose of my existence."

" Upon my life," retorted Sir John, sharply, " it strikes
me you are one of the most impudent fellows ever
brought before me."

" To be persecuted and misunderstood, sir, has been
ever the lot of advanced reformers," murmured the
prisoner, sadly.

"I tell you what," whispered the chairman to Mr.
Holbourne, " the police have either made a mistake, or
we have got hold of a very clever impostor. I should
think the latter."

" Quite so — quite so. I was just about to observe the
same thing, Sir John." And Mr. Holbourne glanced
indignantly through his eye-glasses, as much as to say
that any attempt to take him in was a very hopeless affair
indeed.

" He said he was a victim of persecution, did he not?"
inquired the deaf clergyman.

" I am afraid the police have fallen into a grievous
misconception," muttered the vacillating magistrate.

" Call the first witness," said Sir John.

A slouching young man was thereupon placed in the
witness-box, and sworn. In answer to the questions put
to him, it was elicited that he was a grocer's assistant in
Aldringham ; that attracted by an advertisement in the
Middlethorpe Gazette, he had answered it, and had
enclosed five shillings worth of stamps, according to the
terms of such advertisement ; that the advertiser stated
that, in consideration of such sum, he would put him
(the witness), if possessed of a capital of five pounds,
in a business at which from thirty shillings to two
pounds a week was easily made, and that he had not
done so.

The Aldringham Bench. 7

"You have heard what the witness has sworn,"
said the chairman. " Do you want to ask him any
questions ? "

" Only two, gentlemen," replied Mr. Lightfoot ; " but,
before I do so, I request that the advertisement alluded
to may be read in court."

" Quite inadmissible — quite inadmissible ; unparalleled
presumption ! " murmured Mr. Holbourne.

" I opine he has a perfect right to have it done now,
if he demands it," replied the Baronet, with a smile.
" I have a copy of the paper here ; but the advertisement
must be put in evidence some time, you know. The
case, of course, may hinge pretty much upon the wording
of it."

" Certainly, Sir John, certainly. If you choose to
waive the irregularity of the proceeding, I withdraw my
objection." And Mr. Holbourne threw himself back in
his chair, with the air of a man who had yielded an assured
point of law out of deference to his colleagues.

The clerk was accordingly desired to read the adver-
tisement, which ran as follows : —

"To the Ambitious and Indigent. To the Educated and
Needy of both sexes. — The Advertiser has for years noticed that
people of some slight education and small capital fail to raise their
position in the world from two causes. Firstly, from not knowing in
what direction to exercise their faculties ; secondly, from ignorance of
the numberless opportunities that exist in this great commercial country
of profitably starting themselves in business for a few pounds. The
Advertiser has made it his special study to investigate those tangled
paths to fortune that lie open to the small but enterprising capitalist.
Numberless testimonials from individuals now wealthy, will attest that
they owed their first success in life to the Advertiser's advice. To the
sons and daughters of Aldringham and its vicinity, the Advertiser has
only now to say that he can place any one of them in the way of a
light, genteel business, that realises from thirty shillings to two pounds
a-week, and requires a capital of only five pounds to commence with.
The trade is new, and will, of course, be speedily overcrowded, there-
fore early application is advisable. Enclose five shillings worth of
stamps, as registry fee, and in proof of the genuineness of the applica-
tion. Address, L. L. , Post-ofSce, Aldringham."

" You, of course, admit this advertisement to be
yours ? inquired Sir John.

" Pardon me, I have been told that admission is always
dangerous in a Court of Law," replied Mr. Ligh ot.

8 False Cards.

" We will say, if you please, that I received a letter from
the witness, in consequence of that advertisement. I
wish to ask him whether he expected more than to be
told how, upon an outlay of five pounds, he could earn
from thirty shillings to two pounds a- week ? "

" You hear the prisoner's question," said Sir John.
u Be good enough to answer it."

" Well, he's so far right — that's what I did expect ;
but then," continued the witness, with a puzzled ex-
pression, " I can't somehow manage what he told me
to do."

" I suppose you have not the five pounds ? " inquired
Mr. Holbourne.

" Oh ! yes, I've the five pounds right enough ; but
then there's getting a place to put up the machine in.
He said it was all simple enough, and it isn't — that's
what I mean, and he's got my five shillings."

" Excuse me, gentlemen," said Mr. Lightfoot, suavely,
" but if you would allow me to ask the witness my second
question, I think you will see at once that his own want
of energy is the sole cause of his discontent."

The chairman nodded assent.

" Please read to the Court the letter you received in
reply to your application ; or if you haven't it with you,
state its contents."

" Oh ! here's the letter, and anyone's welcome to it,"
said the witness, fumbling in his pockets. " There,
perhaps you'd kindly read it, sir," he continued, pushing
the paper across to the clerk of the court. " I'm not
very good at pen work myself."

The clerk took it, and read as follows : —

" The variation of the weight of the body has been of
late a subject of great interest to the advanced patho-
logists who hold that the germ of many of the distempers
so inimical to life may be detected in the deviations of
human gravity. To meet the requirements of the age,
and enable mankind to, in some measure, keep an eye
upon the decrease or increase of flesh, which may be the
indication of severe disorder in the system, there has
come rapidly into vogue the Weighing-Machine. These
health-regulating engines may be procured for from five

The Aldringham Bench. 9

to ten pounds, and from statistics carefully collected from
inquiry at all the principal railway stations where they
are in work, yield to their proprietors a return of from
six to seven shillings a day. Need I say more ? — buy a
weighing-machine, and take the first step on the road to
fortune."

The court was convulsed. The bench, even to the
deaf clergyman, could not restrain their laughter ; the
latter laughed, after a very prevalent cause of human
hilarity, to wit, because all around him laughed. Mr.
Lightfoot and the witness alone appeared unmoved.
And yet this can be hardly said of the latter, for although
he showed no sign of mirth, he was evidently perturbed
and haunted with a dim consciousness that he was in
some sort an object of ridicule to his fellows.

" Gentlemen," said Mr. Lightfoot, when the laughter
had subsided, " I contend that every statement in that
letter is a fact ; there is a weighing-machine at the station
here — you can send to see if it is not so."

" That's where it is," interrupted the victim ; " that's
how's he's cheated me, your honours. There is a weighing-
machine, and they wont have another."

Here the inspector of police interposed, and informed
the magistrates that the prisoner's statement was sub-
stantially true as regarded the profits of the business,
and that the railway company had received no less than
forty-three applications for leave to set up weighing-
machines at Aldringham in the course of the last week ;
all the results of the prisoner's circular, for which the
applicants had paid their five shillings apiece.

" May I point out, gentlemen, that people are equally
desirous of being weighed in other places as in Aldring-
ham," remarked Mr. Lightfoot, as the inspector finished
his story. " I gave my clients an idea quite worth what
they paid for it. I cannot pretend to find them energy
to put it into practice."

" I suppose," said the chairman, turning to the clerk,
" all the evidence is of a similar character."

" Yes, Sir John, there are plenty more witnesses, but
their evidence is merely a repetition of what yon have
heard."

io Fatse Cards.

"I think," said the chairman to his brother magis-
trates, " we had better consult about this case before we
go any further with it. And the bench accordingly with-
drew into their private room.

" A most remarkable case of fraud," said Mr. Holbourne,
as the door closed.

" No doubt about that," said Sir John ; " but I don't
think we can do anything with him. He has just
managed to keep clear of the law. He's a most impu-
dent scamp ; but, nevertheless, he has acted in accordance
with the terms of his advertisement."

" Precisely— just so," observed Mr. Holbourne. "It
was the very remark I was about to make, Sir John.
Yes ! we can do nothing with him."

Of course the deaf gentleman was in favour of an
acquittal, and the vacillating one not likely to be in
opposition to his three colleagues, so that their consulta-
tion was speedily over, and they returned into court.

Silence was again proclaimed, and then the chairman
spoke.

" We have heard the evidence against you, Leonidas
Lightfoot, together with your ingenious comments upon
it. My brother magistrates and myself regret to say,
that although we have not the slightest doubt of your
being one of those vultures of society who live upon the
credulity of their fellow-men, that we have no option
but to discharge you. A long course of similar imposi-
tion has probably rendered you an adept in keeping just
within the pale of the law."

" Persecution, gentlemen, has ever been the lot

of "

" Silence ! " said Sir John sharply. " No more of your
cant, sir. That you gain your living by fraudulent
representations we have no moral doubt. We can only
trust that your narrow escape to-day may deter you
from such practices in this neighbourhood for the future.
You are discharged."

The prisoner left the dock, but was apparently in no
hurry to leave the court. He remained listening most
attentively to the proceedings until the adjournment,
when he lounged leisurely away at the heels of the police.

The Aldringharh Bench,

Mr. Lightfoot was a man of much forethought, and he
had known the crowd attempt to rectify the miscarriage
of justice before now, especially in delicate cases like h*s
own.

" Very curious case indeed," said Mr. Holbourne, as he
narrated the circumstances to a friend later in the day,
"but I saw at once we couldn't touch him — clever
scoundrel — and Collingham quite agreed with me. Man
of great intelligence, Sir John."

CHAPTER II.

MARION LANGWORTHY.

HE banker occupied a large old-fashioned house
that opened on to one of the quieter streets of
Aldringham. One of those queer roomy old
houses that one meets with occasionally in the
country towns of England. The dining-room, though
rather low in pitch, was large and panelled with oak.
You descended two steps to it, which of course led
strangers at times to make a much more hurried than
graceful entrance. In short, you were always going up
or down two or three steps, and even those affiliated to
the mansion would have hardly ventured about it in the
dark. It was full of quaint corners and odd passages —
an old house, in short, that had been much built on to,
without reference to architects. The successive pro-
prietors of days gone by had apparently thrown out a
room here and a couple there, with the assistance of an
Aldringham bricklayer, as exigency and fancy dictated.
The result of course being a rambling house, that pos-
sessed far more space than it was possible to utilize, and
a speciality for drafts that it was impossible to control.
At the back ran a large old-fashioned garden — one of
those gardens rarely seen now-a-days — a creation of an
age that dreamt not of <( bedding out plants," composed
of untrimmed evergreens, wandering paths, rustic
summer-houses, very unlike the neat heather-roofed

Marion Langworthy, 13

erections of the present, and garnished with ail sorts of
flowers, that one seldom comes across in these times.
Stocks, cabbage roses, sweet peas, larkspur, pinks, honey-
suckle, &c, grew there in wild profusion. One felt that
earwigs, caterpillar?, and other creeping things must also
be wandering about those realms in equal profusion,
and that to sit down in one of those rather mildewed
arbours would certainly involve the horrible sensation of
something crawling down the back of one's neck.

Underneath the windows of the drawing-room, things
certainly wore a different aspect. There the taste of
Mr. Holbourne's niece and daughter had been exercised.
A trim croquet-lawn ran almost up to the walls, and was
surrounded by gaily-dressed beds, the decking of which
had been undertaken on the most approved principles of
modern horticulture. But the time of croquet and
flowers has departed — however gay that parterre may
once have been, it looks but desolate now, with its
banked-up beds. The hoops have been withdrawn from
the sward, which is now disfigured with worm casts ; the
leaves come fluttering down, and there is no denying
that the view from Mr. Holbourne's drawing-room is
depressing this November day.

And so, to judge by her countenance, thinks appa-
rently a young lady who, with her hands laced behind her,
is looking moodily out at the prospect. She is not exactly
pretty, and yet Marion Langworthy never lacks partners
nor admirers when she mixes in society. We see her,
perhaps, at her very worst, as she stares vacantly into
the garden. Hair of that dead ashen blonde, light blue
eyes, thin lips, a resolute, somewhat square chin, and
very slightly marked eyebrows, hardly give one the idea
of beauty — still less so when one sees the face in perfect
repose, as one does at this moment ; there is a hardness
about the lines, if one may so express it, that is rather
repellent. One could fancy this woman cruel and merci-
less on occasion. Of medium height and very neat
figure, there is a careless grace in her present attitude,
albeit the pose is one by no means calculated to display
a woman to advantage. She taps with her foot im-
patiently on the floor, exposing a wry well-turned ankle

14 False Cards.

as she does so. Miss Langworthy is quite aware that
her extremities are her strong point, although it is more
from habit than design that she allows a glimpse of her
little foot on this occasion.

" I wonder whether Reginald means coming down for
this ball next week ? What should you think, Grace ? "
observes Miss Langworthy at last, without turning her
head.

"Really, my dear Marion, if you don't know, how
should I ? Are you not the keeper of his heart, and
sharer of his sorrows and aspirations ? Brothers don't
trouble sisters much with their confidence under such
circumstances."

The speaker, a tall, handsome girl, was buried in the
depths of a huge old-fashioned arm-chair, and broke off
from the book she was absorbed in to answer her cousin's
question.

" And Reginald don't trouble himself any more, as far
as I am concerned, either," retorted Miss Langworthy,
with some asperity, as she turned sharply round. "I
don't expect him to be writing me quires of maudlin
sentiment — that is not my disposition any more than it
is his ; I don't want him to tell me he loves me by every
post; he has told me so once, and asked me to marry him,
which should content any reasonable woman — but I do
expect him to answer my letters."

Grace Holbourne stared. Her brother's engagement
to Marion had long been a mystery to her. A more
prosaic pair of lovers surely never existed, Grace thought.
They were both young ; her cousin was only twenty-two,
her brother but a year older ; and yet, from the calmness
of their greeting, and their perfectly undemonstrative
behaviour to each other, no one could have imagined
that any feeling warmer than pure cousinship existed
between them. Mr. Holbourne, indeed, was perfectly
ignorant of their engagement, although it was now four
years since they had plighted their troth.

" Well, it's rude of him, to say the least of it," said
Grace, laughing ; but Regi always was a woefully bad
correspondent."

" He will have to find a more satisfactory excuse than

Marion Langtvorthy. 15

that," replied Miss Langworthy, " or else his next visit
to Aldringham will prove far from pleasant to him."

It did occur to Grace that under those circumstances
it would be at her brother's discretion as to how long he
should stay, and still more so when he should return.
But Miss Langworthy had much confidence in her own
attractions, and considerable faith in the sway she held
over her lover, and Grace's view of the case never pre-
sented itself to her mind.

Although the foregoing conversation would lead to
the belief that Marion was a girl who could not exercise
much influence over men, such was far from being the
case. If she was not pretty, she was, at all events, nice-
looking. When her face was lit up and animated, she
had more than once been pronounced fair to gaze upon.
She had plenty to say for herself, was always dressed in
extremely good taste, danced well, and was gifted with
great self-possession. She had wonderful tact in drawing
people out, in making them show the very best of them-
selves. She was a most thorough coquette, and a perfect
mistress of all the rules of the science. No girl made
more of such weapons as lay within her reach than did
Marion Langworthy. No girl, perhaps, was ever more
cold-blooded in the use of them. Her feelings were
thoroughly well-tutored, and though, even as an en-
gaged young lady, she manifested not the slightest
objection to embark in any amount of flirtation, yet her
fianci might have rested perfectly easy upon that score.

Her engagement with Reginald Holbourne had hap-
pened in this wise. Four years previously Miss Lang-
worthy had come upon a visit to her uncle at Aldringham.
Reginald was home from Oxford, and only too delighted
to become the esquire of his lively cousin. His devotion
amused her, and she led him on with sweetest smiles,
and other agaceries, until he got really infatuated about
her. Miss Langworthy at that time lacked the experience
she at present possessed. She was, moreover, carried
away in some measure by the passion she had simulated.
Although not really in love with her cousin, yet this
flirtation had become so sweet to her that when, one
night, the tide of feeling overflowed its banks, and Regi-

1 6 False Cards.

nald cold his love with boyish eagerness, and asked her
to be his, Miss Langworthy lost her head and assented.
Reflection came upon the morrow, and then Marion
admitted to herself that this was by no means the match
she aspired to. But the taking back her plighted troth
of the night before was hardly feasible, and, moreover,
she could not quite make up her mind to dispel so soon
the sunny dream that she was wrapped in. Her feelings
were to some extent interested. In fact, she was about
as nearly in love as women of Marion's type ever fall.
She insisted that their engagement should be kept a
secret for the present, most thoroughly enjoyed the
remainder of her visit, and left Aldringham Reginald
Holbourne's promised bride.

At this time Miss Langworthy was the only child of a
merchant reputed wealthy. Her father kept a very good
house, and entertained largely, in the town of Hull.
Marion was looked upon as a catch, a girl who at her
father's death would inherit many thousands, and she
was not at all the young lady to overlook this fact in her
matrimonial calculations. Miss Langworthy aspired to
position. She wished to marry into the county families.
As for her engagement to her cousin, that was, of course,
all nonsense. It was rather nice getting those passionate,
boyish letters at present, but, of course, all that would
have to be put a stop to whenever anything eligible
should turn up. " In the meantime it is very pleasant,
and good for him too, poor boy," thought Miss Lang-
worthy. " It keeps him out of mischief! " And with this
salve to her conscience, Marion still adhered to her troth.

But an epidemic swept the town of Hull, and amongst
those stricken were Marion's parents. She nursed them
with exemplary patience and assiduity, but their kismet
was written, and neither their daughter's care nor atten-
tion could turn the destroyer from his course. Never
had Marion shown higher qualities than she did at this
crisis of her life. She was a devoted nurse. Help, of
course, she was obliged to call in; but as far as her
strength lay, she permitted no one to usurp her place.
Cool, calm, and with steady nerves, the doctors freely
admitted her value in the sick-room. When urged to

Marion Langworthy. J*

spare herself in some measure, she answered, "I ?m
strong — I husband my strength carefully, because i
know I shall want it all. But while it lasts my duty is
to my parents." When all was over, she, as might have
been expected, to some extent broke down herself. She
was ill for some weeks, and then her uncle Holbourne
took her back to Aldringham for change of air.

On looking into the affairs of the deceased Mr. Lang-
worthy, it was found that his estate would not very
much more than cover his liabilities. That Marion, far
from being an heiress, was the inheritor of not quite
two thousand pounds. To a girl with Marion's am-
bition, this change in her worldly position was a bitter
disappointment. But one thing appeared clear to her
mind — to wit, that there must be no doubt about her
engagement with her cousin now.

She had been at Aldringham some three weeks, and
was sitting very pale and sad in her black draperies one
afternoon, when, without any warning, her lover stood
suddenly before her. Her nerves had been rather shaken
by her illness, and the sad events that had preceeded it.
She could not refrain from a slight cry, and hysterical
symptoms of agitation, at his abrupt appearance. No
finesse she could have used would have answered her
purpose so well. Nature interposed, and played her rule
for her. In an instant Reginald Melbourne's arm was
round her, and his kisses fell warm upon her cheek.

" My darling Marion," he said, " I have been so grieved
at all your trouble, so wretched because I was unable to
console you in 3^our affliction. It has been bitter anguish
to me, dearest, that I might not share this sorrow with
you. But you insisted that our engagement should be
kept a secret, and so I could not assert my claim to be
with you in your agony."

Little given was Marion Langworthy to tears or un-
controlled emotion, -but she was sobbing on her lover's
breast in veritable earnest now. At last she raised her
head, and looking up at him through her tears, said
softly,

"And I was right, Reginald; nobody knows anything
about it now but our two selves. We shall have no

1 8 False bards.

awkward explanations to give to any one. We must
learn to forget the past, dearest, and look upon it as a
pleasant dream of what might have been."

"Good Heavens! Marion, what can you mean?"

"Mean," she returned sadly, with her clasped hands
resting on his shoulder — " that I restore you your troth
— that all must be over between us — that henceforth
we must be cousins to each other, and nothing more."

" And why ? What have I done ? If you no longer
loved me, you would hardly speak to me as you do
now ! " exclaimed her lover, passionately.

" Sit down here, Reginald, and listen to me. I may
be younger than you according to actual years, but a girl
of nineteen is much older than a man of twenty. When
I promised myself to you, I believed I should be rich —
that I should not come to }'ou empty-handed. All that
is changed — I have next to nothing now — I am an abso-
lute pauper."

" My dearest," replied Reginald, in deep, earnest tones,
" you don't suppose I thought of your money when I
asked you to marry me, do you ? "

" No ; it would be a sad moment for me indeed had I
cause to think I had given my heart to one who had
wooed me on that account. I think," she said, tearfully,
" I know you better than that. Hush ! — don't interrupt
me," and Marion put her hand on his impatient lips.
" But," she continued, " you have your way to make in
the world. Do you think that I would be the drag upon
you that I must now necessarily become ? All must be
over between us. You will soon, in the work that your
career entails on you, forget this episode of your life.
For me — well, it will not come quite so easy. We poor
women, you see, have nothing to take us out of our-
selves, as you have ; but I also in time shall perhaps
teach myself to forget what has passed."

To Reginald Holbourne, still passionately in love, what
doubt could there be that his betrothed was noblest
among women ? He protested against her decision ; he
vowed that, if he had no longer the hope of calling her
his to look forward to, that it mattered little what be-
came of him — that the beacon of his life was extinguished

Marion Langworthy. 19

—that he had henceforth no object to work for ; and at
last Marion yielded to his entreaties, smiled up in his
face, and told him that he was a foolish boy ; but that, if
he really cared enough about her to take a pennyless
bride, she had no longer strength of mind to say him nay.

" It's wrong, Reginald, I know, but I am weak and
shaken by my illness, or I think I should have had the
courage to decide differently ; but I have lost so much
lately " — and here Marion's voice faltered — "that I
haven't courage to throw away the sole thing left me —
your affection. You will never upbraid me for this
decision, will you ? Think again, and if you have a
doubt "

But here Reginald stopped all further argument by
folding her in his arms, and, as he expressed it, kissing
away her scepticism.

" Now let me go, Regi. You have made me very
happy, and I want to be alone, and think. Our engage-
ment had best continue a secret for the present, recollect.
It looks afar off, but we are young, and I believe in you,"
— with which Miss Langworthy slipped from her lover's
embrace, and left the room.

It is now some three years ago since this scene was
enacted in the banker's drawing-room at Aldringham —
since Reginald Holbourne rushed from the house in
tumultuous ecstasy, to sober himself with a long stretch
over the surrounding down country — since Miss Lang-
worthy, after gazing for some time into the fire in the
quiet seclusion of her own chamber, murmured —

" Yes, I have rivetted his fetters, at all events. He
must wear my chains now, till it should either suit me to
release him, or till we are bound to each other for life."

Mr. Holbourne was a widower — his daughter a girl at
school when Marion took up her abode under his roof.
At first her gentleness and anxiety to keep herself in the
background were quite distressing to her uncle. She
positively declined to become the mistress of the house,
and the servants were full of encomiums and pity for the
poor broken-spirited young lady, who had undergone so
much trouble and misfortune ; but before six months
were over, the domestics became conscious of the work-

20 False Cards,

ing of an occult influence in the house that rather
puzzled them ; and it was not long before, at a prolonged
session in the servants' hall, it was generally voted that
the quiet, broken-spirited young lady was the primary
cause thereof.

"Yes, Mrs. Meadows," said the butler one evening, "I
have been here six years, and I received warning tG-'iay.
Master says he's generally dissatisfied, and found bsjjt
with half a score of things he never took notice of before.
I say nothing, ma'am, but your turn will come next ; and
mark me, Miss Langworthy's at the bottom of it."

" I don't know what to think," replied the house-
keeper. "She rarely finds fault with anything, and
never, to do her justice, without cause, and she's as quiet
and mild-spoken a young lady as needs be ; but there's
no denying master's changed since she came."

" Of course he is ! She can twist him round her little
finger; and ^f she don't say nothing to us she does to
him. I've watched her of late, and just got to know a
certain look of hers when things don't go to her liking.
When I see that, I know it'll be unpleasant for some one
before twenty-four hours are over."

The butler was perfectly right. Before another three
months had elapsed Mrs. Meadows had also received her
conge, and by the end of the year Marion was thoroughly
established as mistress of her uncle's house. She speedily
acquired great influence over him. The banker's grand-
iose manner imposed not a whit upon his sharp-witted
niece ; she thoroughly read the weak, vain character that
lay underneath the pompous, patronizing manner. The
keynote to the man's character was his inordinate vanity,
and Marion played upon it as easily and brilliantly as an
experienced musician does upon the instrument that he
most favours.

CHAPTER III.

FAST FRIENDS.

DULL November day in London — one of those
days that have a suspicion of rain about them
— a dubious, misty day. Much uncertainty
evident in the mind of the public as to whether
an umbrella should be unfurled or not, and the advocates
of either policy bearing about equal proportions. Ladies
trot about rather high-kilted ; men who have passed the
age of appearances turn up their trousers and stride
through, the mud ; fatuous youth, clinging to patent-
leathers till the first snow, gazes helplessly and imbecilely
at the sea of mud that lies between the kerb-stones, and
recoils appalled from the crossings, which present an ap-
pearance but a few shades better. More advanced swell-
dom betakes itself to cabs, and utterly declines to place a
boot upon the greasy pavement. A kind of day that an
umbrella-maker might exult in, always excepting that
cynical member of the guild mentioned in Lacon, who,
even in such prosperous times, was haunted with the
idea " that there was nothing doing in parasols."

Miss Langworthy at Aldringham, gazing gloomily out
at the weather, and speculating upon the advent of her
fiancd for the ball, has her prototype in London.

Staring vacantly out of a first floor in Baker Street,
puffing savagely at a short pipe, his hands buried in his
pockets, stands Reginald Holbournc, a tall, good-looking.

22 False Varcfs,

fair-haired young man, whose countenance at the present
moment betokens vacillation and uncertainty.

" What beastly weather ! " he mutters. " It's all bosh !
— I can't go down to Aldringham. The ball, too, is a
regular humdrum affair, and Marion will get on well
enough without me. We have been engaged so long
now," he muses, with a bitter smile, " that we are quite
like an old married couple, regarding the easy way in
which we take things. We've done with our raptures
and embraces some time back, and our kiss is no more
emotional than if we were brother and sister."

Baker Street is not a fashionable neighbourhood, but
it is highly respectable, and much affected by people
with limited means. It has its advantages. You are
close to the Regent's Park, if you desire fresh air ; undue
exhilaration of spirits can always be kept in subjection
by a visit to Madame Tussaud's ; a turn round the
Baker Street Bazaar is calculated to produce serious
reflection, and also, when finances are straitened, to give
an idea of the possession of wealth, as one contemplates
the numberless articles that one might become the pos-
sessor of for a shilling. You feel more respect for the
shillings in your pocket as you leave it and meditate
upon how many things were within your compass had
you chosen to have been extravagant. Besides, it is
close to the underground railway, and when your busi-
ness takes you daily to the City, that is a consideration.
Now, Reginald Holbourne was at present in a large finan-
cial house in the neighbourhood of Cannon Street, and
this last advantage had principally decided him upon
taking up his abode in this locality.

Still gazing out of the window, still undecided about
whether he shall go to Aldringham or not, still mutter-
ing disparaging remarks on the weather and emitting
heavy clouds of smoke from under his moustache, he is
suddenly roused from his musing by the quick rattle of a
hansom, which pulls up with a jerk at his door. Throw-
ing up the window, he cranes out to see who the new-
comer may be, but is only in time to see a man dash
across the pavement : a proceeding followed by a heavy
peal on the bell. A few seconds' delay, a quick step " n

Fast Fr fends. 23

the stairs, a sharp authoritative knock, and his door is
thrown open, and a slight, dark man, some two or three
years older than himself, enters tumultuously.

" Halloa ! Regi," exclaims the new-comer ; " all in the
downs ? How are you ? I havent't seen you this long
while — but we've no time to spare. Throw some things
into a portmanteau, and come away to Aldringham.
Aldringham — bless it ! — is about to be festive ! Aldring-
gham, relieved from its normal dullness, I pine to see.
Aldringham is going to dance ; and heaven forfend that I
should not endeavour to support Aldringham in such
wild revelry ! "

" You go to Aldringham ? " exclaimed Holbourne,
with open-eyed astonishment.

"Why not ? My respected progenitor, as all Aldring-
ham are doubtless aware, has duly cursed and discarded
me ; but ' a man's a man for a' that.' I don't suppose
it will be much shock to Sir John — slight disappoint-
ment, perhaps — to see that I have still decent clothes to
my back. But, although I have no wish to intrude upon
my affectionate father, a public assembly is public ground,
and if he can't breathe the same air as his son for two or
three hours, he can order his carriage — I shall dance my
gayest, whatever betide. But there's no time to be
lost — look alive, and bundle up your traps ! "

Reckless Charlie Collingham had turned the scale, and
within an hour the two friends were speeding through
the darkness on their way to Aldringham.

What had been the cause of such a bitter quarrel
between Sir John and his younger son, had been a
subject that, five years ago, had perplexed the Aldring-
ham neighbourhood terribly. Wild, Charlie Collingham
had always been, and little amenable to authority from
his youth upwards ; but there had never been rumour of
misdemeanour so heinous as to warrant the extreme step
his father had at last taken regarding him. He had cast
him off utterly, and forbidden him his house. The two
kept their own counsel, and the neighbourhood was no
wiser than it was upon the first discovery of the rupture.

How Charlie Collingham lived was a mystery to most
of his former acquaintances) but then there was no gain

2\ false Cards.

saying that something or somebody had waxed propitious,
and provided him with ways and means. You saw him
about town constantly, always well-dressed, and with an
easy smile on his countenance. Now strolling in the
park, now assisting at a "first night" — now at Lady
Dumdrum's crush. You ran against him in club smoking-
rooms, at the Royal Academy, at Greenwich dinners of
the theatrical type. He had been seen at a Communist
meeting on Clerkenwell Green on the Sunday, and
noticed on a drag at Hampton on the Cup-day in the
same week. Everybody seemed to know him ; and he
seemed, moreover, to be on familiar terms with a large
circle of mysterious acquaintances, whose pursuits or
status were not understanded of society.

Conversation which had been brisk enough at starting,
had died out between them, and the two young men
smoked on in silence. Suddenly Collingham asked,
abruptly : " Do you ever see anything of my brother
down there ? "

" Well, not a great deal. We see him occasionally ;
but I don't think he affects Aldringham much."

" He'll be there to-night, I suppose ? "

" Yes, I should think so. You and he don't hit it off
very well — do you ? "

" Pooh ! my dear fellow, a younger son never quite
gets on with the heir to the property ; but Robert and I
don't pull amiss. We haven't met for over three years,
and we never write, so that we must be on tolerable
terms."

" One way of looking at it," laughed Holbourne ;
" but you might make the same observations relative to
your father."

" Hold your tongue, Reginald," said the other curtly,
" and don't talk about what you don't understand. That
has passed between me and my father that is not likely
to be soon expunged from our memories. I can only say,
if it all had to be done again, I should act in the same
way."

How far Charlie Collingham is justified in this asser-
tion, we shall see further on, when the history of that
quarrel comes to be related. As a rule, we are more apt

Fast Friends. 25

to take <p the opposite line of argument — to whimper
over out mistakes in life, to make moan over our past
iniquities, and vow that if our time could come over
again we would act with more judgment, and steel our-
selves against temptation. And yet we constantly see
that the stripes dealt out to us carry but little influence —
that our punishment once endured, the atonement once
made, we are little wiser, and not a whit the better for
the infliction. We shriek forth promises of amendment
when our sin finds us out ; but the consequences once
overcome, we are ready to commit ourselves once more.
I never myself can withold a certain amount of admira-
tion for those who honestly own that they should pro-
bably fall again under similar temptation. There is much
to be said in praise of the blunt truthfulness of the semi-
sober sailor who was leaving Portsdown Fair at the
expiration of his three days' revel. His leave was up,
and sadly and sorrowfully he was making his way back
to his ship lying at Spithead. The dire effects of copious
libations racked his miserable brain. On his road an ass
confronted him and brayed. He stopped, stared, scratched
his poll, and again the ass gave vent to a hideous hee-
haw.

" Well, I'm blessed ! " exclaimed this impenitent
sinner, "but if you had my head and I had your voice,
Fd go back to the fair"

It is not often that we have the honesty to acknowledge
that, as Rochefoucault puts it, " our vices have left us,
and not we them."

But by this our travellers here reached Aldringham,
and are now seeking their portmanteaus at the luggage
van.

" Too late for you to go home, Reginald. You had
better come up to the 'George' and have some dinner
with me. Dress there, and accompany your people back
afterwards."

" Yes, I think that- will be best — come along."

The " George " is naturally in a simmer of excite*

ment, in the Hood-tide of business; not only does the

11 George " furnish the supper upon this occasion, but

divers wandering bachelors, who have failed to procure

26 False Cards.

more favoui able billets, have taken refuge at that hos-
telrie. The young lady in extensive silk and chignon,
who officiates behind the bar, is inclined to believe in
much difficulty concerning a bed-room. Charlie takes
the thing out of her hands in the airiest manner
possible.

" Pray don't trouble yourself; just let Eliza, the head-
chambermaid, know that Mr. Charles Collingham must
have a bed-room, and I shall find one right enough, let
who will go without."

In the coffee-room things wore a different aspect.
Both the young men were well known to the head-
waiter, and immediately commanded his special care and
attention. Two or three of the diners there recognised
Collingham, and came across to speak to him ; he had
been very popular in the country before his rupture with
his father, but since that he had never been seen in Ald-
ringham till to-night. His re-appearance naturally gives
rise to much talk and conjecture. Mr. Withers, the
landlord, has confidentially informed some half score or
so of intimates that " it's all right again, you know,
between Mr. Charles and Sir John. He's come down
a-purpose to this ball, so that the neighbourhood may
see they're friends again."

Perhaps no one was more lost in speculation on the
subject than Reginald Holbourne. While Charlie was
laughing and chatting with old friends after dinner,
Reginald sat sipping his claret, and turning the thing
over and over in his mind. That no reconciliation had
taken place between father and son, Collingham's speech
in the train was warranty for. Then what, after so long
an absence, could bring him to Aldringham ? In the hurry
of their journey this had not occurred to him so forcibly
as it did now. But the subject of these reflections suddenly
touches him on the shoulder, and exclaims,

" Come along and dress, old man. It's time to
get our dress toggery on. It's to be a big ball, they
tell me."

Reginald's thoughts, as he leisurely arrayed himself,
were by no means those of a young man preparing for a
ball at which he is to meet the lady of his love. Sad to

Fast Frietids. 27

say, during the last year Reginald has had a dim mis-
giving that his engagement to his cousin is a mistake.
He blames himself severely on the subject, and still
thoroughly declines to admit that he is not strongly
attached to her. He tries hard to cheat himself into the
belief that his love is merely sobered down, as is invariably
the case in a long engagement — that ardent passion has
subsided into a holier flame, that of love based upon trust
and esteem. And yet an undefined feeling of uneasiness
comes over him ever and anon, which Reginald strives
manfully to put away. It is very odd ; times w r ere when
his pen ran fluent enough, and he covered sheets when-
ever he sat himself down to hold commune with Marion.
Now writing to her is an effort, and he has to cast about
much for something to say. He is sometimes sadly aware
of a want of warmth in these epistles as he glances over
them. He is seized with fits of penitence on such occa-
sions, tears them up, and writes others, which, if they
are no warmer, are, at all events, more plentifully
sprinkled with terms of endearment. He is stricken,
at times, with remorse for shortcoming in corres-
pondence.

Direst composition that humanity ever pens are these
mock love-letters. No sadder task than to have to work
the bellows to keep the embers of an expiring passion
alive. " No disguise can long conceal love where it is,
nor feign it where it is not ! " saith the French philosopher.
Reginald, at the present, is struggling hard to perform all
this to her to whom his troth is plighted. That he won
Marion's love as an heiress seems to him an insuperable
bar to any change in their relations, now that she is no
longer such. Reginald is a man of high feeling and prin-
ciple, and would hold the man of small account who
could abandon his betrothed because fortune had dealt
hardly with her. It was all the more reason, in his eyes,
that he should be bound by his engagement. Nobody
was more aware of Reginald's sentiments on such points
than Marion Langworthy, and, selfish schemer as she was,
it at times touched her. But then, despite her vanity, —
and Marion had a great deal of vanity in her composition,
— her astute woman's wit had already fathomed that he

False Cards.

no longer loved her. Little as she really cared about him
resolved as she was to throw him over, should a better
parti present himself, yet she secretly resented this defal-
cation on Ins part.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ALDRIXGHAM BALL.

HE fiddles are tuning, and trying little crescendo
passages, without reference to each other. The
gentlemen's cloak-room begins to fill. The
younger men loiter there a good deal, and
indulge in much badinage while they struggle painfully
with their gloves. Those who have trusted to the
Aldringham shops are dumbfounded as buttons fly off,
and warranted best Parisian kids split woefully in the
putting on. From the ladies' cloak-room opposite comes
also a slight murmur of distress — requests for pins, lamen-
tations over crushed flounces, and pathetic appeals " to
shake me out, there's a dear." There are pains and
penalties incidental to all revelling, and the Arcadian
simplicity of the country ball is attended with its share
of aches and heart-burnings. Miss Jones is struck with
ternation at finding that Miss Smith's wreath is the
fac-simile of her own, although she sent to London for
Miss Brown has become aware that wherever she may
take refuge, it must be far removed from Miss Johnson,
whose more delicate shade of blue completely kills her
(Miss Brown's) dress. These are the mere preliminary
disappointments, destined to be eclipsed by more acute
jealousies and bitterness as the evening wears on.

The room begins to fill ; the people who arrived early
emerge from the distant coiners in which they have

30 False Cards.

vainly striven to hide themselves, and mix with the later
comers. The knot of young men round the entrance
door perceptibly increases ; the aristocracy gather round
the upper fire-place. Sir John Collingham, and his eldest
son, Mr. Robert, are there — the Baronet grimly civil,
after his wont ; his son heavily, very heavily genial after
his manner. A somewhat ponderous young man, whose
" talk is of bullocks." He dilates upon turnips and
pheasants with equal facility ; but should the conversa-
tion turn upon other subjects than shooting or farming,
he relapses into silence. A ball-room is no " fool's para-
dise " to him ; but he recognises the fact that the
Collinghams have duties to perform, and attends the
Aldringham ball just as he would attend an agricultural
dinner — on principle. He will go through divers
quadrilles, and the after-supper country dance, from the
same high motives, and be particular about asking all the
ladies whom he may deem entitled to that courtesy at
his hands. He looks upon the country as on the high
road to anarchy and revolution, and that it behoves the
aristocracy to make an effort to stem the tide, and, accor-
ding to his lights, he is doing his best in that direction.
He would sacrifice his personal comfort and valse, but has
a somewhat undefined idea that ladies rather fight shy of
him as a partner in that exercise, consequently he confines
himself to shambling through quadrilles, and losing him-
self in the Lancers.

And now Mr. Holbourne elbows his way up the room,
with his niece on one arm, and his daughter on the other.
If Miss Langworthy be not a beauty, she at all events
looks very well to night. Men follow her footsteps, and
supplicate that their names may be inscribed upon her
card ; and she, fully equal to the occasion, laughs, smiles,
and coquettes with them all. Grace Holbourne, too, has
plenty of admirers — a handsome girl of eighteen, and
sole daughter of the wealthy banker, it would have been
strange had she not ; but she manifests little inclination
to engage herself deeply, and when hardly pressed, de-
clares that she is " not very strong, and has no intention
of dancing much this evening."

This last observation happening to reach Miss Lang-

The Aldringham Ball. 31

worthy's ears, Marion raised her eyebrows, and cast a
mute glance of interrogation at her cousin ; but Grace
quietly lifted her boquet to her lips, and resolutely refused
to recognise the telegraph.

Mr. Holbourne, having saluted Sir John, plants his
portly figure upon the hearth-rug, and surveys th
Aldringham world benignly through his double gold eye •
glass. As he stands there, exposing a vast expanse c
white waistcoat to view, and greeting them with an
urbane smile, he says, as clearly as if he had spoken it
out loud — " Enjoy yourselves, my good people. I have
had some little trouble in getting all this up for you, but,
bless you ! I don't mind the labour, only oblige me by
enjoying yourselves ! " And then he turns and extends
a couple of fingers to some acquaintance, and gracefully
dropping his eye-glass, inquires sauvely after his wife
and daughters. He does all this, too, with such apparent
belief that his mere solicitude on the subject of their
health must be of tangible benefit to those inquired after,
and of extreme gratification to the person to whom such
inquiry is addressed. Occasionally he beats time softly
to the music, and turning to the nearest bystander,
observes, — " Pretty, isn't it ? I made Mackinder, the
bandmaster, send to London for those."

" What, not dancing, Grace ? " suddenly observes Sir
John. " Are the young men of these parts blind, or how
comes it that the belle of Aldringham is standing out ?
I consider it a personal affront that my pretty god-
daughter is not besieged by admirers."

" Not quite so bad as that comes to, Sir John," replied
the girl, with a saucy toss of her head. "I have had
plenty of chances, but I never like dancing much at the
oeginning of a ball — the finish is so much the best, you
know. I mean to valse immensely by-and-by."

"You are wrong, child," laughed the Baronet — " at all
events, more prudent" than the girls of my day were.
They were wont to dance a ball all out, from post to finish.
Not such cool, calculating damsels as you are, Grace."

"You will see me dance fast enough presently, Sir
John," retorted Miss Holbourne, with a little nervous
laugh.

2 False Cards.

" Well, I hope so, or I shall have to ask you myself,"
replied the Baronet, smiling. "Now you know the
penalty of standing still, I fancy I shall soon see you
exert yourself."

Miss Langworthy was too much absorbed in her own
devices to notice her cousin, or else the latter's slightly
nervous manner and somewhat wandering glances would
scarcely have escaped her keen eyes ; but at this present
moment she was seated in a remote corner of the room,
exercising all the artillery of her fascination on a young
Oxonian, who was succumbing in a way most derogatory
to the precocious youth of our generation.

It was at this juncture that Reginald Holbourne and
young Collingham entered the ball-room, and made their
way leisurely up it. Much astonishment was created by
the appearance of the latter, and several people stopped
to shake hands and interchange a few words with him.
Some of the elders were burning with curiosity to see the
meeting between father and son. He has got very
near to the top of the room, but as yet the magnates
there have not discovered him. One pair of eyes, it is
true, marked his entrance, but they have been turned
carefully in another direction ever since. Suddenly he
is confronted by his half-brother, Robert.

" Do you know your father is here, Charles ? " inquires
Robert Collingham.

" No," was the unembarrassed reply ; " but as we
don't speak, it can't much matter to either of us."

" But consider what the public will think of such a
state of things. Surely you will withdraw ? " urged
Robert, who had much reverence and esteem for the
proprieties of this world.

" Most assuredly I shall not ; the public is welcome to
think anything it pleases, and you and Sir John are per-
fectly at liberty to explain the affair in any way that
seemeth good to you. I have come to enjoy my ball,
and intend to do so, even should every one of my an-
cestors glower at me throughout the evening ; " and with
that Charlie brushed past his brother, and made his way
to where Mr. Holbourne was standing.

Sir John could not refrain from a slight change of

T7ic Aldringham Ball. 33

countenance when he suddenly perceived his discarded son
within half a dozen steps of him. It was but momentary,
arid then his face hardened to granite, and he returned
Charlie's low bow with a fixed icy stare of oblivion as to
lis very personality. The young man passed quietly on,
md holding out his hand, exclaimed,

'•How d'ye do, Mr. Holbourne ?"

The banker was rather taken aback. He had an idea
that there was something awkward in recognising Charlie
Collingham in the presence of Sir John, but still it was
impossible for him to refuse to do so. You can't cut a
man merely because he has quarrelled with his father.
So Mr. Holbourne extended two fingers, after his usual
manner, and hoped he saw Mr. Collingham well.

" Perfectly so, thank you," replied Charlie, as his eyes
twinkled. "Sorry to see your old enemy the gout has
got hold of you.''

" Gout ! Pooh ! nonsense ! — I never have the gout.
What put that in your head ! " cried Mr. Holbourne,
swelling with indignation.

Like most men who have made acquaintance with the
premonitory symptoms, the banker was very sensitive
to any imputation that he was ever a sufferer from that
complaint.

" Beg pardon," said Charlie, with a wicked flash of his
dark eyes. " I thought you were afraid to shake hands,
that was all ;" and in another second he was exchanging
greetings with Miss Holbourne.

" You have kept me a dance or two, I hope ? " he said,
in a low tone.

" You can have the next," replied Grace, as her face
flushed slightly.

"Thanks ; this is just over. Let me take you to get
some tea ? "

Miss Holbourne slipped her hand under his arm in
reply, and the pair was soon lost in the throng.

Tiddle-de-um-dc-dum-de-de, tiddle-de-um-de-di-do, go
the fiddles, and all the room is whirling round to the
inspiriting strains of " Skid na ma link." Circled by
Charlie Collingham's arm, with sparkling eyes and ani-
mated face, Grace swings smoothly past her cousin, w J, o

34 False Cards.

mutely wonders with whom it is she is dancing ; for the
rupture with Sir John and his son had taken place before
Miss Langworthy's first visit to Aldringham, and his face
was consequently unknown to Marion. She is dancing
with Reginald upon this occasion, and appeals to him
for information.

"That?— oh! that's 'The Disinherited/" laughed
young Holbourne. " Haven't you ever seen him before ?
We came down together."

" I don't understand you," replied Marion.

"Well, it's Charlie Collingham, and his father cut
him here dead to-night."

" How foolish of Grace ! She ought to keep clear of
such a complication," said Miss Langworthy.

"Why, good heavens! she's known him all her life.
Why shouldn't she dance with him ! He's done nothing
to be ashamed of."

" You don't understand these things, Reginald. Why
didn't you answer my letter, sir ? — and how long are
you going to stop ? "

" I must go back to-morrow — I can't help it."

" Always the same. I see next to nothing of you
now," pouted Marion. "There, never mind," she con-
tinued hurriedly, seeing that he was about to expostulate.
" I'm not going to scold or quarrel. I suppose it must be
so ; and I won't be unreasonable. Let's have a galope
noAv, Reginald ; I must make the most of you during the
short time I have you here." And Marion smiled fondly
up in his face."

It was at moments like these that Reginald Holbourne
was wont to be seized with twinges of conscience, and
feel angry with himself at the way in which his love for
his cousin had so unaccountably died away. Manfully as
he strove to shut his eyes to the fact, he could not
altogether conceal it from himself. When she up-
braided him or quarrelled with him — and she often
did both — he felt sadly that it would be perhaps
better if all were over between them ; but when she
was all softness and affection, as it pleased her to
be this evening, he blamed himself for the half-hearted
return he was making for the love that he had won.

The Aldringham Ball. j5

He was a good way off understanding Marion Langworthy
as yet-
But the music has ceased, and people crowd down to
supper — to devour tough chicken and ill-cooked ham, to
imbibe tepid Marsala and sweet Champagne — to sit upon
narrow benches and straight-backed chairs, to struggle
for clean plates and cry piteously for clean glasses ; to
enjoy, in short, all the tumultuous revelry of a country-
ball supper. Stay, there is a couple sitting in a quiet
corner of the ball-room who seem above such earthly
enjoyment. From their close propinquity and earnest
conversation, I think the most casual observer would
have pronounced them rehearsing the old, old story.

" So you did expect to see me to-night, Gracie ? "

Miss Holbourne smiled, and gave an almost imper-
ceptible nod.

" Yes, my darling, I came eighty miles for the chance
of a couple of dances with you, and would come four
hundred next week upon similar terms."

" Don't be foolish, Charlie. T am afraid I shall get
dreadfully scolded about dancing with you to-night.
How cruel your father was to you ! "

" Forbidden ground, Gracie. Didn't you promise never
to touch upon that subject till I can tell you the whole
story ? "

" Yes," replied the girl gravely, " and I can wait and
can trust, but I only spoke of what I — what all the
world saw to-night. However wicked you may have
been, and I don't think you've been very bad," continued
Grace, with a bright, loving smile, " Sir John might have
recognised you."

" You little Fatima, why will you keep playing with
the key of the forbidden room ? Do let's leave Blue
Beard's closet alone for to-night. How many more
dances am I to have ? "

" Only one, I think. Weil, perhaps two, if we are
here long enough. . But mind you must dance with
Marion. Make Reginald introduce you when they come
up from supper."

Downstairs meanwhile Mr. Holbourne is in his glory.
If there was one weakness that possessed the banker more

36 False Cards.

than another it was airing his rhetoric. He never
missed an opportunity of getting on his legs. A regular
attendant at all kinds of committees, boards, &c, he was
always taking " advantage of the occasion to make a few
remarks." Among some few other primitive customs
retained by the Aldringham elders, was that of speechi-
fying a little at the ball supper. I need scarcely add
that a couple of strong policemen could have hardly
retained the banker on his seat at a time so favourable
for indulging in his speciality. Even when the two or
three customary toasts fell neither in his province to
propose nor to reply to, it was easy to introduce a sup-
plementary health. When man once abandons himself
to this pernicious gratification, he loses all control over
himself, and can no more refrain from his besetting sin
than the habitual gambler from the dice-box. Mr. Hol-
bourne, one hand thrust into his waistcoat, and gently
waving his double eye-glass with the other, rolls out his
sonorous platitudes with an unctuous smile, which seems
to insinuate that he is adapting his oratory to the capa-
city of his hearers — confining himself to their level, in
short. This is completely part and parcel of the man's
character. In the commonest relations with his neigh-
bours he always bears himself with an air of condescend-
ing patronage. He shakes hands, drinks wine with them,
or accepts their invitations to dinner, all with the same
pompous air of conferring favour — and Aldringham takes
him at his own valuation. By dint of thoroughly believing
in himself, he has at last forced all his circle and locality to
believe in him too. He is regarded as an excellent man of
business, of considerable talent, and a very good speaker.
But the banker's speech comes to an end, winding up
with his pet peroration, that " if the labours of himself
and his colleagues have met the approbation of the public,
they are amply repaid for the time and trouble it has
cost them." It is the final oration, and people flock up-
stairs again to resume their gyrations. Marion Lang-
worthy and her fiance still linger in the room. The
lady has thought proper to be extremely sentimental
this evening, and latterly she has rather abstained from
that line than otherwise.

The Aldringham Bali. 5?

"Well, Reginald," she says at last, "I suppose you
must- take me upstairs now — ours is not an avowed
engagement, and people will talk. It was very nice of
you to come, and has made my ball a charming one. It
seems hard to see so little of you, and know, poor boy,
that you are slaving, while I can do nothing but wait
and hope. But if men woo and win penniless maidens,
I am afraid it must be ever so. Ah ! had I but known
I was a portionless girl in those early days, I would never
have consented to become a millstone round your neck."
What could a man of Reginald Holbourne's chivalrous
notions do, under these circumstance, but protest in the
constancy of his attachment, scoff at the idea of Marion's
being a drag upon him, and vow that the hope of one
day calling her his bride offered the strongest possible
incentive to work.

This avowal being extracted, Marion entreated to be
led upstairs again, feeling that she had accomplished her
task satisfactorily. At certain intervals she took care
that Reginald should be worked up to this point. It
was a kind of renewal of the lease she had of him — a
periodical examination of his chains. She liked to sound
the moral fetters in which she held him at stated times,
for the same reason that the railway official taps the tires
and axles of the carriages, to ascertain that there is no
flaw in the metal. The experiment had proved highly
satisfactory, and Marion returned to the ball-room in
great spirits, and intent upon much dancing. She was
not only very fond of it, but a thorough proficient to
boot. They do not always go together, and any ball-
room will disclose plenty of very moderate performers,
pursuing their hobby with most indifferent success.
However, the same thing might be noted on other
occasions. Men will hunt who can't ride. Men will
persist in pigeon-shooting who seldon succeed in hitting
one. Ladies will sing who have no voice. And we are
all apt to speak when we have naught to say. One of
the painful requirements of society is that of having
to evolve conversation when you are conscious of having
nothing to talk about. To be silent is to be voted dull,
stupid, or, ore ominous verdict still to an Englishman

38 False Cards.

" shy." So we pour fourth our incoherent gabble at
such times, and dread the falling through of our inane
common-places.

Charlie Collingham had duly complied with Grace's
instructions, and been presented to Miss Langworthy,
but had not obtained a dance from that young lady, she
pleading that her card was full.

" I can't say I much fancy your cousin, Grace," he
remarked, as he told her how he had obeyed her behest,
" though I don't in the least know why I should say so.
My vanity is hurt, perhaps, as I could see pretty plainly
she was by no means pleased at the introduction. And
this is our last dance. When shall I see you again ?
Not for another four months, I suppose ? "

" I'm sure I can't say. I don't even know if Aunt
Wilkinson will ask me to town this season. She said
she would, so T live in hopes. Shall I write you a line,
Charlie, next time I see a chance of our meeting ?" asked
Grace, shyly.

" Yes, please ; and depend upon my keeping tryst, let
it be where it will. Ah ! here comes Reginald to sum-
mon you. Mr. Holbourne has gathered Miss Langworthy
under his wing, and evidently means going. Good-bye,
and God bless you, dearest ! " And pressing her hand
warmly, Collingham resigned Miss Holbourne to her
brother's charge.

Lighting a cigar, Charlie walked slowly home to the
" George," musing on the events of the evening.

" Things don't look rosy, by any manner of means,"
he muttered. " The governor is determined evidently to
have no mistake about the terms on which we stand.
Old Holbourne was not a bit pleased to see me. Sum
up. Heads of the two families decidedly dead against
one. Miss Langworthy not likely, I think, to prove an
ally ; doub<.ful, perhaps, if she will remain neutral. On
the other hand, Reginald, when he's put in possession of
the state of affairs, will, C think, back me, and then —
psha, deuce take all the resv ! I have Grace herself on
my side. How handsome she looked to-night ! There
wasn't a girl in the room to compare with her !"

CHAPTER V.

ALDRIXGHAM GOSSIP.

HE day after the fair, the morning after the ball,
the breakfast after the pantomime, are all wont
to be tinged with sombre reflections. In the
first flush of youth it may not be so, but we
soon arrive at that stage of life at which we begin to ask
whether the revel is worth the re-action, whether such
gay evenings are worth such dull mornings, and whether
a calm, humdrum life is not most compatible with human
enjoyment, or, at all events, whether the dereliction of
our usual habits is to be easily compensated for. The
shooting must be good indeed that necessitates an eight
o'clock breakfast ; and the race course should be a mine
of golconda that involves an early train, when we have
passed thirty. We have experienced one or two practical
sermons upon the text of " all is vanity " by that time.
We have been rudely awakened from some few delusions,
and we understand Mr. Lowell's lines,

" What infinite odds 'twixt a hero to come,

And your only too palpable hero in esse !
Precisely the odds (such examples are rife),

'Twixt the poem conceived nn ■' the rhyme we make show of,
'Twixt the boy's morning dream and the wake up of life,

'Twixt the Blondel God meant, and the Blondel I know of."

The breakfast party at Mr. Holbourne's this morning
is by no means gay. The banker has betaken himself to
his counting-house, but his son, daughter, and niece sit

40 False Cards.

languidly round the table, apparently immersed in their
own reflections. The pale November sun glints through
the windows, and throws an aureat light around Grace's
rich brown hair, as she toys listlessly with her tea-spoon,
lights up the fair pale face of Miss Langworthy, and
causes Reginald to blink over his egg. Marion is musing
upon the familiar terms her cousins apparently stand
upon with Charles Collingham. She is not much sur-
prised at Reginald's relations with him — that is natural,
they are nearly of the same age; of course knew one
another well as boys, and doubtless often met in London.
But with Grace it is a very different thing. How comes
she to know Mr. Collingham so well, and why has she
never mentioned the circumstance ? It is all very well
for Reginald to laugh and say, " they have known each
other all their lives," but when Mr. Collingham disap-
peared from Aldringham, Grace was a school girl of
fourteen, while he was a young man of twenty-two. It
was not likely that they could have seen much of each
other at that time. What Charlie's reason for attending
the Aldringham ball could be, unless it was to meet
Grace, she could not divine. And then Miss Lang-
worthy bethought her that Robert Collingham had paid
her considerable attention last night. It was nothing,
of course, to build upon as yet, but Marion esteemed
Robert Collinsrham a fish that was well worth ansrlinsr
ior, if he showed any inclination to look at her lure.
Meanwhile, she would catechise Grace as soon as they
should be left alone toucher.

This was destined to be speedily accomplished, for
Reginald, rising, announced his intention of making a
few calls in the town before his return to London, and
left the house.

Now Miss Langworthy was a great social diplomatist.
She very seldom asked a direct question upon any point
on which she was anxious to be informed, and never
committed herself to an abrupt interrogatory. She
would from mere habit put people through an insidious
cross-examination, to arrive at knowledge which they
would have given her without hesitation had she but
asked for it directly. On the same principle her views

Aldringham Gossip. 41

and wishes on all points of domestic polity were always
gently instilled, slowly insinuated, but rarely stated
point-blank. She gave herself much unnecessary trouble
at times in this way, but she was one of those morbid,
scheming persons who cannot believe in attaining their
ends except by indirect means. To use a metaphor of
the whist-table, she never could resist the temptation of
playing a false card. Nothing was too small to engage
her attention. In default of more extensive machina-
tions, she would pass an hour in persuading her uncle to
eliminate two or three proposed guests from a dinner
party, substituting others of her own selection without
really caring one iota about the matter, but simply
because it amused her to exercise her powers. Had
she been born in a higher sphere, and her life been
cast amongst the politicians of the day, she would have
been a notable but unsuccessful intriguante. Her par-
tiality for crooked ways and occult paths must have
always precluded her attaining any great success in
modern times, though in the last century she would pro-
bably have been a woman of mark. She was undeniably
clever, if she could have got over her mistrust of
humanity ; but she could never quite grasp the fact that
people more generally mean what they say. An un-
natural character, I grant you. Life would be unbear-
able if such characters were common ; but, still, Marion
Langworthy at twenty-two had arrived at a deduction by
no means singular In advanced life, of suspecting a hidden
motive in the doings of those with whom she came in
contact.

It is not so very difficult to understand, if you reflect
upon it. A schemer yourself, and an adapter of chances
and opportunities to your own designs, you are wont to
endue your fellow-creatures with similar attributes. A
confirmed blackleg never can believe in the honesty of
his associates ; and I should fancy a retired burglar would
feel misgivings about many most worthy and excellent
citizens, and picture to himself "jemmies and centre-
bits" concealed in their railway bags.

Grace, meanwhile, sits wrapped in day dreams —
visions in which Charlie Collingham plays a prominent

42 false Cards.

part. They are not actually engaged, he has never
asked her to marry him, but it never occurs to Grace
that there is any necessity for that formula passing
between them. She would have replied, had she been
asked, " It is just the same as if he had — he knows I
shall never marry any one else." At nineteen we do
talk in this fashion.

" Not a bad ball, Grace, was it ? " says Miss Lang-
worthy. " You seem hardly awake as yet. Are you
very tired ? "

"Wide awake, Marion." laughed the accused, "and
good to dance again to-night, if I had but the chance."

" Was it not nice Reginald's turning up after all ? He
travelled down with an old friend in Mr. Collingham.
He introduced me to him, and I was so sorry I hadn't a
dance to spare. He dances well, too, doesn't he ? "

" Yes — at least, I think so," replied Grace.

" Ah ! I forgot. You are hardly a fair judge. People
accustomed to dance together, get into one another's
step ; although, by the way, you can't have had much
experience in that way of late."

Grace made no reply. She and her cousin were very
good friends, but Miss Holbourne was not disposed to
make a confidante of Marion.

" He is very good-looking," continued Miss Lang-
worthy, meditatively. " I suppose you all knew him
very well before he quarrelled with his father ? "

" He was a great friend of Reginald's, and very often
here in those times."

" Still, Grace, I think if I Avere you I wouldn't know
too much of him now. It is awkward, considering the
terms we are on with Sir John ; and may give rise to
complications, the which, my dear, are always to be
avoided."

" I have nothing to do with his quarrel with his
father," replied Grace, with rising colour, and a slight
tremour in her voice. " I know nothing about it ; but
as long as Reginald holds to him, I most assuredly shall
treat him as I always have done."

I am afraid that whatever the terms her brother might
have been on with Charles Collingham, would have had

Aldvingham Gossip. 43

but little influence on Miss Holbourne's relations towards
the latter at the piesent time.

Neither the flush nor the slight tinge of indignation in
her cousin's reply escaped Marion's notice, but she made
answer, gaily,

" Quite right to stand up for an old friend, Gracie ;
but you must be so changed since Mr. Collingham last
saw you, that I almost wonder he recognised you."

" It would have been still more curious if he had not.
[ met him last year in town, when I was staying with
the Wilkinsons — he is intimate there."

" Of course — yes — I forgot. I remember you told me

something about it when you returned, but it escaped

my memory," said Miss Langworthy, quietly. " Never

having seen the gentleman, his name made no impres-

' ;ion, I suppose."

This was Miss Langworthy's way. When she had
extracted the information for which she had been
angling, she was wont to turn the conversation off in
this wise.

Grace opened her brown eyes, and gazed at her cousin
in mute astonishment. She was perfectly certain that
she had never mentioned her having met Charlie Col-
lingham in London to her before, but Marion was now
busying herself about some feminine work, and had appa-
rently no further interest in the matter.

The abrupt appearance of Mr. Charles Collingham at
the ball was the topic of conversation at a good many
houses in Aldringham, and its vicinity. Gossip ran riot
about his meeting with his father. There were rumours
of a terrible scene between the pair in the cloak-room —
certainly it was to be admitted that several well-inform, > 1
people held to the opinion that the altercation had taken
place in the passage. That high words had passed between
them, was past dispute. Little Mr. Griggs, managing
clerk to Stuff and Severn, the great agricultural imple-
ment makers, had met somebody who had it from a friend,
who had been told by one of the waiters, that the Baronet
had cursed his son after the most approved fashion of
bygone melodrama. Mr. Silkstone, the Curate, declared
that this version was incorrect ; that he heard from the

44 False Cards.

best authority — namely, his servant, who had it from
Duddles the fly-man, who was told it by a chambermaid
at " The George," that Sir John actually struck his son,
and dared him to ever set foot again in Aldringham,
lest worse should come of it. But that a serious fracas
had taken place between father and son, Aldringham
entertained no doubt whatever.

And, of course, once more the original cause of the
quarrel became topic of conversation. A considerable
portion of the community held that he had forged his
father's name to bills of large amount, which Sir John
had taken up, conditional upon his leaving the country ;
another section pooh-poohed this story, and affirmed
that he had married a woman of notoriously bad character
— and there was not wanting a third party, who simply
shook their heads, and wished it had been no worse
than that. They were no gossips, heaven be praised !
the boy was young, and might live to do better — they
hoped he might. In the meanwhile, out of respect to
his father, their mouths were closed. And yet many
people had greeted Charlie Collingham cordially enough
the night before in the ball-room.

As for the subject of all this talk and speculation, he
had simply never gone to bed at all, but, having changed
his dress, he smoked tranquilly till the departure of the early
train, and was back again in London before Aldringham —
that is, fashionable Aldringham — had un-closed its eyes.

Reginald Holbourne got very wrath and disgusted in
his round of visits. At every house he entered he was
doomed to hear some absurd version of the meeting
between Charlie and his father. In vain he stood up
for his friend. Had he seen him since the ball ? was the
invariable interrogatory ; and when he was fain to answer
No, he was told " Ah ! of course, then, you can know
nothing about it. The whole thing occurred just as they
were leaving." It was useless to point out that Sir John
had left sometime before his son. " Yes, the ball-room,
I grant you," retorted his opponents ; " but we are quite
aware that the scene didn't take place there. Sir John
is the last man in the world to court publicity, and offend
against good taste on such an occasion."

Aldringliam Gossip. 45

When Reginald got home, there was only time for
him to snatch a hasty luncheon and catch the train.

" And what news have you gathered for us in 3^our
wanderings this morning ? " inquired Marion. " What
has dear Mrs. Methringham picked up out of last night's
entertainment ? How many couples has she convicted of
matrimonial intentions ? "

"News ! " ejaculated Reginald, with his mouth full of
cold chicken — " well, Aldringham is so busy abusing
Charlie Collingham at present, that they have no capacity
to take in any other subject. If he had committed
parricide, they couldn't be more unanimous in their
abuse."

" What do they accuse him of, Regi ? " inquired his
sister, somewhat sharply.

" Oh ! they have got half a hundred ridiculous stories
about some tremendous row he had with his father last
night after they left the ball-room. I don't believe he
ever saw Sir John except in the room."

" Nor I," said Miss Holbourne. " His father's recogni«
tion, or, rather, non-recognition, was not likely to have
led to words between them."

" Perhaps not, Grade," said Miss Langworthy ; " but
there is generally a sotipgon of truth even in an Aldring-
ham rumour."

At this juncture the banker entered.

" Down at last, girls, eh ? and none the worse for your
dancing, I hope ? You're just off, I suppose, Regi? I
hear that impertinent young jackanapes you brought
down with you contrived to still further embroil himself
with his father last night?"

" I don't believe a word of it," retorted Reginald.
" But Charlie used to be a favourite of yours — what has
he done to make you speak so bitterly of him ? "

"London life has not improved him by any means.
His manner to his elders is flippant and offensively
familiar. I was quite prepared to notice him and be
civil to him last night, in spite of the peculiarity of his
position, but the young gentleman brushed by me with
a careless inquiry of my gout. Gout indeed ! " and Mr.
Holbourne quite snorted with indignation.

False Cards.

Reginald made no response. He was weary of
attempting to stem the current of public opinion that
was running so strong against his friend. He quietly
saluted his cousin and sister, shook his father's hand, and
departed.

fi^%PBIIgMr

CHAPTER VI

CHURTON.

HURTON MANOR, the seat of the Colling-
hams, was situated about four miles from
Aldringham. It stood a little Avay off the
road, from which it was approached by a short,
broad avenue, terminating in a large gravel ring — a
quaint, red brick, many-gabled house, that had risen
from its foundations some three hundred years ago, built
in the form of an E, as was a prevailing fashion of those
times, and with the escutcheon and motto of the Colling-
hams in stone standing out from the brickwork above
the porch. Indeed, the family arms sculped on stone
were let into the masonry pretty frequently throughout
the building. Right and left, as you entered, lay the
garden, but on the left the garden was bounded by some
thickly-wooded broken ground, while on the right a ha-
ha separated it from the park, which ran round two
sides of the house.

It was a wild, straggling, irregular park, interspersed
with small coppices, groups of Spanish chestnuts, and
patches of feathery fern, but not distinguished by much
fine timber, the necessities of a Collingham of three
generations back having impelled him to lay sacrilegious
axe on the old oaks which had at one time adorned it.
However, the place was well kept now, and fair to look
upon in the long Summer days, when the chestnuts were

48 False Cards.

in their glory, and the coppices were all clothea in bright
green foliage, and decked with wild flowers.

A shrewd, stern, just landlord was Sir John, managing
his property with a high hand, but with a keen eye to
its improvement. Little mercy had he upon slovenly
farming and thriftless tenants. Such very soon received
notice to quit their holdings on his estate. A more
despotic lord of the soil never breathed, and woe to the
farmer who should venture on the slightest breach of
his covenant without due permission from the Baronet.
In Ireland he would have been shot, or shot at, years
before ; and he was not at all the man to have been
intimidated had the attempt proved unsuccessful. He
held he had a most thorough right to do what he chose
with his own land — to turn it into a wilderness or deer-
forest, if it seemed good to him. But, practically, he
was by no means a bad, if rather a hard landlord. He
did not grind his tenants, and would lay out money on
their farms, once show him proper cause for doing so,
exacting fair interest for such expenditure. He was not
precisely popular, and yet his dependents, although they
looked upon him as a hard man, were fain to confess
that he was a just one, and that, in his own grim fashion,
he did them many a kindly turn at times. And that,
moreover, he would stand up for, and fight tooth and
nail for any of his own people who might be wrongfully
dealt with.

He stands this morning with his back to the fire,
glancing over the Times, and occasionally casting a
somewhat impatient look at the breakfast-table. He has
not to wait long. The door opens noiselessly, and a
young lady glides softly into the room. She is fair, very
fair, of medium height, and slight, girlish figure. She
advances somewhat slowly, and with a slightly hesitating
manner. It does not seem nervousness, it is too delibe-
rate. Her delicate hands, too, just here and there touch
the furniture lightly as she advances. So slight is this
latter peculiarity, that it would have hardly attracted
attention, except from a keen observer. Sir John turns
as he perceives her, and the newspaper crackles slightly
in his band.

Churton. 49

" Ah ! my father, I am late, it seems," she says, with a
smile. " I counted on the ball last nigrht making a sluer-
gard of you this morning. I might have known yon
better, though."

" I haven't been down ten minutes, Sylla."

" No, but you are thirsting for tea, and wondering what
your housekeeper is about, all the same. You shall have
some directly."

She had seated herself in front of the urn by this time,
and her slender fingers were busy with the tea-chest, &c.
Once more an observer would have been struck by the
hesitating movement of her hands. She never raised a
spoon nor a cup abruptly, as other people would do, but
seemed to linger softly over such movements. She lift?,
the teapot very close to the spout of the urn, and bends
her head forward as she fills it ; and, as she pours it out
afterwards, it might have been noticed that she just
touches the outside of the upper part of each cup with a
finger of her left hand. Her arrangements being
completed to her satisfaction, she exclaims, without turn-
ing her head,

" I have done my share, father : give me something
to eat."

Sir John comes forward, takes his tea, and asks,

" What shall it be, Sylla ? There's cold game on the
side-board, grilled chicken, and boiled fowl here."

" Give me some chicken, please. Ah ! thanks," she
says, as he places the plate before her. "And now I want
a knife and fork."

" They are just at your right hand, child," replied the
Baronet, from the other side of the table.

She does not even turn her head in that direction, but
her right hand feels lightly along the cloth, and from that
gesture it would have suddenly flashed across a looker-on
that she was blind. There was nothing to show it in the
clear, limpid blue eves. Aware of her affliction, you
became conscious of the fixity of their apparent gaze at
times, though you would hardly have guessed the nigh',
that was upon her from her somewhat deliberate move-
ments about the room. But such was the fact — S
Collingham was stone blind. She had not been always

co False Cards.

s0 — a dreadful fever, with which she had been stricken
some six years before, although it had spared her life, had
bereft her of sight. Long and terrible had been her
struggle with death at that time, and though the des-
troyer had been fain at length to relax his grip, yet he
had smitten with eternal darkness the victim that had so
narrowly escaped him. Henceforth Sylla Collingham
was doomed never more to see the blessed sunlight, the
flowers, the green fields, nor to gaze upon the face of a
fellow-creature.

There is something truly awful in the deprivation of
sight. To live from thenceforth in a density of blackness.
I have read of many punishments dealt out to man by
his fellows, but nothing ever impressed me as so righteous
or tremendous as Eugene Sue's description of the putting
out the eyes of the Maitre d'Ecole in " Les Mysteries de
Paris." He was a hideous, crime-stained ruffian of
gigantic strength and stature, it may be remembered.
They blinded him, and cast him back amidst the bandits
of whom he had been chief, and the terror of his quarter
became a thing for the gamins to mock.

Sir John, though now a widower, had been married
twice. His first marriage had been one of expediency —
he had bartered his title for the rich dowry the lady
had brought him, wherewith to patch up a somewhat
impoverished estate. The issue of that alliance had been
Robert Collingham. The second time he had wedded to
please himself, although his bride had come to him
by no means empty-handed. He was a reserved man,
and not much given to demonstration of the affections ;
but it was patent to those about him that he was much
more attached to the two children his second wife ha* 1
borne him, than to the son of his first. A hard, stent
man by nature, his patience and tenderness with hit
afflicted daughter were marvellous to see. Never did z
harsh word escape his lips to her. It did not take very
much to make the Baronet display his bitter tember; but
if one thing could kindle his wrath to a white heat, it
was slight, carelessness, or neglect of anything appertain-
ing to his daughter's wishes or feelings.

" You have told me nothing about the ball, father ! "

Chin- ton. 51

exclaimed Sylla, gaily. "I must hear all about it, you
know. Who were there, and who danced with
whom ? The prettiest girl — name her. Yes, we will
have that first."

" I'm too old to be a very good judge of such things.
I don't think I even should notice how people paired off,
if it wasn't for you, Sylla."'

" I know you do your best, father, to become all eyes
for your blind daughter," replied the girl, softly, " so begin.
Who was the belle ? "

" Well, I don't think any one of them all beat my god-
daughter."

"What, Gracie ? I'm so glad. She was pretty as a
child ; and I know she must have grown up charming.
I can tell, in my way ; and she often comes here to see
me. I should have enjoyed her triumph — she is one of
my special favourites."

" Then Miss Langworthy looked well- — always well-
dressed, that girl ; and so did the Miss Kenningtons.
Reginald Holbourne, too, was there. He came from town
on purpose, and goes back to day."

" I am sorry," said Sylla, gravely. " He always comes
out to see me when he is down, and I like his visits. But,
my father, who did Gracie dance with ! Who monopo-
lized the belle of the ball ? "

" She danced with a good many people, child," replied
Sir John, gravely — " perhaps with your brother Charles
as much as anybody."

" What ! was Charlie there ? " cried the girl, with
quivering lips.

" Yes," returned the Baronet, curtly — " very much to
my annoyance. I left earlier than I otherwise should
in consequence."

" Oh ! father," almost whispered Sylla, in tremulous
tones, " can this sad quarrel never be made up between
you ? I know not what it is; but you two are dearest in
life to me, and it breaks my heart when I think o f
it. Surely my brother cannot have sinned past for
giveness ? "

Sir John's face was troubled ; but his answer came in
cold, measured tones.

52 False Cards.

"He took his own way, Sylla, in direct opposition
to my wishes — nay, I may add, almost entreaties. I
told him he should he no more son of mine if he dis-
obeyed me on that whereon we differed. He elected to
do so. I have no intention of departing from my
decision. Don't think, child, that it has cost me
nothing ; I have felt it probably more than he has done."

Excepting to his beloved daughter. Sir John would have
made this admission to no one breathing.

" Father, I can't believe Cnarlie has been so much to
blame as you may think. Ah ! if he could but write to
me/" And the tears stood in Sylla's eyes as she thought
how helpless she was — those poor eyes to which all was
darkness, to which letters were sheets of paper containing
nothing.

" Say no more, child. We agreed long since that dis-
cussion on that point could be but painful to both of us.
I mentioned your brother's appearance at the ball simply
because you were certain to hear of it from other quarters.
Let there be an end of the matter now."

Sylla bowed her head meekly. She knew well every
inflection of her father's voice, and recognised that she
should not further her brother's cause by prolonging the
conversation. All her curiosity about the ball had ceased,
and she sat absorbed in old memories.

Her thoughts travelled back to her school-room days,
when there was no such pleasure in life as the obtaining
leave to go for a long afternoon's ramble or a day's fish-
ing with Charlie. Four years her senior, he had ever
made a great pet of his little sister, and it was constantly
due to his intercession that she received licence to accom-
pany him on such occasions. She recals long gorgeous
summer days when they took their luncheon with them,
and spent hours wandering by wood and stream — when
Charlie filled her lap with wild flowers, and his creel with
trout, sometimes giving his rod to her when he had
hooked a fish, and allowing her the supreme joy and
gratification of landing it. How he read the wondrous
stories of Walter Scott to her under the trees, when the
trout, grown lazy with the Summer heat, refused to look
it a fly : or shot squirrels and rabbits for her delectation.

Chitrton. 53

All these things come stealing back to her memory.
Then, as the tears tremble on her eyelashes, she recals
what he was to her in those days of convalescence ;
she muses how gentle and tender he had been when she
reeled back, broken, crushed, and blinded, from the very
threshold of the grave ; how he carried her in his arms
to their pet seat under the old apple-tree, that she might
drink in the warm Spring air ; how he never wearied ot
wheeling about her chair, and would sit patiently with
her hand clasped in his for an hour at a time, humouring
this whim that came to her in that first great agony
when she was told that eternal darkness was henceforth
her portion. She thought of all this ; how, with a deli-
cacy unsurpassed of woman, he had helped her to bear
her cross in those days when her affliction was still new
and all-terrible to her. How many a time and oft he
had thrown over cricket-match or croquet-party to loiter
through a sunny afternoon by the side of his blind sister,
and strive, as far as might be, to make her forget the
night that now enshrouded her.

Four years had now elapsed since she had heard the
sound of his voice, and yet, for the two preceding years,
he had been nearly everything to her. In the early stage
of blindness we must rely upon some one of those about
us ; we may, perhaps, trust to several, in the first in-
stance, but speedily we begin to lean upon one. It may
be that that one individual has more vivid powers of
description than the others — it may be that his or her
mind assimilates more with our own ; it may be (and
this is most probably the case) that great affection aud
sympathy have led some one of our kindred to dedicate
much time to the soothing of our sorrow. This one
person becomes in some measure " eyes" to us. It is to
him we l<>ok for a true and veracious account of what
passes. But later on — I am speaking, bear in mind, of
those deprived of sight in the fulness of their strength
— nature begins, in some measure, to compensate us for
our loss. The sense of hearing becomes much more fine
and delicate — the slightest inflection of voice is noted, as
formerly was the play of feature — the perception of
touch becomes infinitely more acute. It is marvellous to

54 False Cards

see the ease with which the blind move about amidst tne
localities to which they are habituated, always, neverthe-
less, with that slight, hesitating, deliberate movement
consequent on some little uncertainty as to whether their
known landmarks may not have been in some way dis-
turbed.

The separation from her brother had been a sore trial
to Sylla. Hot tears had she shed, and passionate had
been her entreaties to know in what manner he had so
offended that he should be banished from his father's
roof. But Sir John was inexorable, he refused to touch
upon that point. He strove hard to supply Charlie's
place, and was devoted to every wish or whim of his
stricken daughter.

" He cannot be so much to blame as you think, papa,"
she would cry. " A brother who could be so good to me
as he has been, would never do that which is past
forgiveness, if you did but know the truth."

"There is nothing further for me to know, child. Let
the subject never be alluded to again, Sylla. It is touch-
ing on a point which can but be painful to both of us."

And so all mention of her own brother had gradually
disappeared from that household ; the servants had been
made aware that their places would be forfeited should
the proscribed name ever escape their lips. But it is not
to be supposed that Sylla did not often think sadly over
the bygone days, and wonder whether she should ever
meet Charlie again — and now to hear that he had been
so near her, that he was gone without coming to see his
blind sister ! True, she knew he could not — that the
servant who had admitted him at Churton would have
been discharged next morning ; but it seemed cruel,
hard, unjust, and Sylla dropped ner head upon her hand,
and thought that it was a callous, troublous world she
lived in.

CHAPTER VII.

THE TENANTS OF THE GROUND-FLOOR.

EGINALD HOLBOURNE, once more in the
old rooms in Baker Street, looks back upon the
Aldringham ball with very mitigated feelings
of satisfaction. The renewed assurance of his
cousin's love ought to have delighted him — that evening
should have appeared all one roseate dream to reflect
upon ; but then, somehow, it was not so. He could have
wished Marion had been a little less fond — no, it was not
quite that — but he did think that he should have been
better pleased if she had regarded him not quite so much
as her own peculiar property. She had made him feel
most thoroughly that he was her husband in prospective.
So he was, of course, but though he tried hard to cheat
himself into the belief that he had no wish to recall the
past, he could not help wincing when his financce made
him conscious of his chains.

If it had not been for the wreck of Marion's fortune,
he thought it would have been easy to tell her that their
engagement was a mistake; but as things were, he
looked upon it that it was impossible to withdraw from
his plighted troth unless Marion should herself express a
wish in that respect. She had apparently little idea of
doing so.

He had dined alone in his rooms. His dinner, after
the custom of such banquets, when cooked by the staff

56 False Cards.

appertaining to a bachelor's lodgings, had proved emi-
nently unsatisfactory. The fish had been by no means
beyond suspicion ; the beafsteak had been tough beyond
a doubt ; while nobody could have considered the
potatoes boiled except the delinquent in the kitchen.
He has written several sulky letters, such letters as a man
does write whose food has not been to his liking ; and
now he has betaken himself to tobacco, and the latest
fiction it has pleased Mudie to bestow upon him. The
novel interests him, the pipe is soothing and forgetting
all past dcsagremens. he takes but little note of the
hour. The clock on the mantelpiece has chimed twelve
some time back, and still Reginald Holbourne reads on.
It is a quiet, decorous house, and the dwellers therein,
except himself, are usually all in bed by eleven.

At length he fancies he hears a bell — an unusual cir-
cumstance at that time ; he raises his head and listens,
and is now quite conscious of footsteps and the soft
rustle of a woman's dress on the landing. Another
second, and then comes " a knocking at his chamber
door." Reginald springs to his feet and opens it.

A candle in her hand, the silken tresses tumbling in
heavy masses about her shoulders, and in deshabille
generally, stands a slight girlish figure, her face ashy
pale, the big dark eyes dilated with terror.

u Pardon me, sir," she stammers, " I am so frightened
— my grandfather is so ill ! I can't make them hear
the bell. Help me, I pray, for I don't know what
to do ! "

" Of course, but let me see your grandfather first," re-
plies Reginald. " I shall be a better judge of what is
best to do then."

" Oh ! thank you, this way ; come quick ! " and the
girl glided downstairs, and led the way into a room on
the ground-floor.

Lying on the bed, partially dressed, was an old man,
whose face indeed looked blanched with the pallor of
death. Prone, nerveless, and motionless, except for the
slight quivering of the lips, one might have deemed
that the soul had already escaped its prison-house. A
slight froth oozed from the poor tremulous mouth, sole

The Tenants of the Ground Floor. 57

sign of vitality that yet lingered. Gently Reginald
raised the helpless gray head a little higher on the
pillow, and then turning to his companion said,

" Your grandfather is very ill. I am going to rouse
some of the people of the house and then to fetch a
doctor. Don't be frightened, but sit here and watch.
Recollect help is coming to you."

She stared at him wildly, then bending forward she
whispered : —

<( Do you think he is dying, sir ? I have never seen
him like this before."

" I trust not — we must hope for the best ; " and
Reginald dashed out of the room. Rushing to the top
of the house, with small reverence for the sleepers whose
dreams he might disturb, he soon roused some of the
servants ; then snatching up a hat and coat, he sallied
forth in pursuit of a medical man. Half an hour
elapsed, during which the girl sat with one of the poor
lifeless hands clasped in her own ; her eyes fixed upon
( the pale face, every nerve strained to catch the sound of
the approaching succour. A sleepy-looking, half-dressed
maid-servant sits helplessly blinking in a chair at the
foot of the bed ; her countenance expressive of the dis-
may characteristic of her class under such circumstances.
Ere hand can touch the bell, the quick ears of the
anxious watcher catch the footfalls on the pavement.

"The door! — quick, Sarah!" she ejaculates, "I hear
the doctor ! "

Another moment, and Reginald Holbourne, accom-
panied by a dark, florid, stout, keen-eyed gentleman, is
in the room. The stout gentleman takes in the whole
scene at a glance, quietly takes a candle from the table,
and peers into the ashen face that lies so still upon the
pillow. With practised finger and thumb he draws back
the eyelid, and then quickly and anxiously places his
hand on the sulferer's chest.

11 Vital power barely flickering," he mutters. " Get
some brandy — quick ! " he says quietly to Reginald. " If
I can get some stimulant down at once, all nay yet be
well, but his life at present trembles in the balance."

Holbourne runs up to his own room, snatches a bottle

58 False Cards.

from a spirit-case, and is back again in a minute. He
raises the patient's head, in accordance with the doctor's
directions, and the latter cautiously introduces the spirit
between the bloodless lips. At first his efforts seem un-
availing, but gradually some few drops of the liquid find
their way down the unconscious man's throat ; even that
little seems to rouse him into a spasmodic effort to swal-
low, and the doctor's face lightens as he at last succeeds
in administering very nearly a table - spoonful The
stimulant tells speedily ; the eyelids flutter tremulously,
and a long-drawn sigh escapes the sufferer.

" That's better. Gently, Mr. Holbourne ; raise his
head a little higher, please. If we can only succeed in
making him swallow that dose over again, we shall do."

Once more are their efforts crowned with success ; the
patient opens his eyes, and gazes feebly about him. With
Reginald's help the old gentleman was now rapidly put
to bed. Mutely had his grandchild hovered about the
room, giving deft assistance as far as lay in her power.

"You, I suppose, are his nurse?" said the doctor,
addressing her, when he had got all arranged to his satis-
faction. Give him a table-spoonful of brandy mixed with
another of cold water every four hours, till I see you
again. I shall call in the morning ; and mind he is kept
warm."

" Will he recover, sir ? " said the girl, timidly.

" I trust so," returned the doctor ; and for the first
time it struck him how young she was. " Have you no
relations to send to ? " he inquired kindly. " It will
probably be a tedious illness, and you had better let
your friends know that your grandfather is seriously un-
well to-morrow."

He had gathered the relationship that existed between
them from Holbourne on his way thither.

" He has only me, as I have only him," returned the
girl gravely. " Good night, sir," she continued, extend-
ing her hand to Reginald. " I can't thank you for all
your kindness properly now, but, believe me, I am not
ungrateful." And then she bent her head in acknow-
ledgment of their parting salutes.

" Sad thing, sir 1 " exclaimed the doctor, turning round

The Tenants of the Ground Floor. 59

upon the doorstep. (> To think of a child like that being
left alone in the world ! I shall pull the old gentleman
through this attack, I fancy, but his life won't be worth
twelve months' purchase all the same. Do you know
anything about them ?"

" Nothing in the least. I told you all I knew on our
way here. Good night."

You may inhabit rooms in a London lodging-house,
and know next to nothing of your co-tenants ; but when
people live for a length of time under the same roof, they
cannot fail to acquire some knowledge of their neigh-
bour's personality and status. You pass each other on
the stairs, or meet upon the doorstep. The servants, too,
are wont to be extremely communicative, and are willing
to volunteer much extraneous information, should you
hazard inquiry as to the name of the people who live
above or below you. Consequently, Reginald Holbourne
was quite aware that the rooms beneath his own were
tenanted by a Mr. and Miss Cheslett. He occasionally
caught a glimpse of a pretty girl about sixteen, with
glossy dark hair, and attired with extreme simplicity,
whom he, of course, recognised as that young lady; but
that was the extent of his knowledge, except that he had
once heard the maid-servant speak of her as Miss
Lettice.

Reginald tumbled into bed, and thought little more
about the troubles of " the ground-floor;" but as he went
out on his way to business the next morning, he tapped
at the door to inquire after the invalid. It was opened
by Miss Cheslett in person, no longer in the dishevelled
state of last night, but with her luxuriant hair neatly
braided, and a close-fitting grey merino dress, showing
off her lithe girlish figure.

" Better ? Yes, thank you," she replied, in answer to
his inquiries. " Better, almost, than I dared hope for.
What should I have done without you last night ? It
was very kind of you ! "

" Nonsense," interrupted Reginald. " I won't hear
another word about it. Anybody you had awakened
would have done just the same. My rooms being nearest,
you of course came to them fir^t. T am glad to hear so

60 False Carets.

good an account, and trust to hear of still further pro-
gress when I return in the afternoon."

She made no answer, but gave him a bright little nod
as he passed on ; and, as he walked up to the under-
ground station, Reginald Holbourne came to the conclu-
sion that Miss Cheslett was a very pretty girl.

From this day Reginald's intimacy with the Chesletts
advanced rapidly. The morning inquiries speedily led to
his going in for a few minutes ; then he had to be intro-
duced to Mr. Cheslett, and thanked for the service he
had rendered ; then, again, the door was often open for
air when he came home in the afternoon, and if Lettice
looked up with her bright smile, it was but natural that
he should stop to exchange a few words with her.

He had lent Lettice some books, also, to wile away
those weary vigils she had been forced to keep, during
the first week or so of her grandfather's illness. The girl
had asked eagerly for more. Her own modest little
library she knew by heart, and a fresh book was a great
treat to her. They were poor, and had to study the
economies closely. Subscription to a circulating library
would have seemed, to old Mr. Cheslett, an extravagance
all unwarranted. He himself read nothing but the paper,
and some few volumes of plays. To those fond of read-
ing, and with little or no access to a fresh supply of
mental food, a book new to them is indeed a pleasure.

I have heard it said that you must have at some time
known what hunger really means to thoroughly appre-
ciate a good dinner. That you must have, at some time
of your life, known what it really was to live upon two or
three books, I am convinced is necessary to thoroughly
comprehend the blessing of an unlimited supply of them.
This led, of course, to Lettice consulting him about her
reading generally. Gradually he became a sort of in-
structor to the lonely little girl. She applied to him for
assistance when passages or authors he recommended
proved rather beyond her comprehension. Was delighted
to pour out her girlish enthusiasm for Scott, Tennyson,
Mrs. Browning, or Dickens, as he sat drinking tea with
them. She was a clever, warm-hearted, impassioned girl,
who had so \x enjoyed small opportunity of cultivating

The Tenants of the Ground Floor. 6 1

Tier mind. Such chances as had fallen to her she had by
no means neglected, but the solitary life she and her
grandfather led had afforded but few opportunities. Now
Reginald supplied her with books in profusion, and Let-
tice dwelt in Fairyland. She would spend the morning
over the glowing pages of " Kenilworth," scamper round
the Regent's Park in the afternoon, and come back ready
almost to weep over the sorrows of Amy Robsart, when
she discussed the story with Reginald in the evening.

From consulting him about books, she rapidly ad-
vanced to taking his opinion upon all points, and he was
now often called upon to decide on the colour of a
ribbon, or the fashion of a bonnet. To an isolated girl
like Lettice, it may be easily conceived how rapidly Regi-
nald Holbourne would become all in all. She idealized
him. He was the first well-educated man, at all ap-
proaching her own age, she had ever come in contact
with. What wonder she soon placed him on a pedestal,
fell down and worshipped him !

And what, all this time, were Reginald's feelings ?
Like many young men in such a situation, he declined
to analyze them. He was an engaged man, and there-
fore there could be no harm in showing some kindness to
this solitary child, whose life was so dull and monotonous.
He began to feel it pleasant to think, on his way home,
that there were a pair of soft, dark eyes anxiously look-
ing out for his coming ; that a pair of quick ears would
catch his footfall on the doorstep, before he could touch
the bell ; and that a bright, sunny face would welcome
him the moment the door should open. It was seldom,
of late, that he had had to ring. Lettice generally
opened the door for him herself.

So Reginald continued to drop in of an afternoon, and
talk poetry, and occasionally spent his evening in Mr.
Cheslett's room. Those letters to Marion became more
wearisome to write week by week, and were a source of
much mental torture, remorse, and bewailing.

Grandfather Cheslett puzzled Reginald a good deal.
He was a quiet, courteous old gentleman, who said but
little, and dropped no clue from which to infer in what
groove of life his feet had nod. In the earlier stages ot

62 False Cards.

his intimacy with the Chesletts, Mr. Cheslett's health had
of course been cause enough for little conversation on
his part. But as his convalescence became established,
Reginald had discovered but two traits in his character — ■
firstly, that he was extremely well read in the Elizabe-
than dramatists ; secondly, that he was a man of parsi-
monious habits. This second trait told nothing, the
probability being that Mr. Cheslett was a man of very
limited means, and had to exercise careful supervision to
live as he did. Reginald often caught himself speculat-
ing upon what career Mr. Cheslett might have pursued
in his youth. Whatever it was, it had apparently been
by no means prosperous. Lettice made no disguise about
the narrowness of their means, and laughed merrily over
the furbishing up of her old bonnets.

It was one of the young man's whims at this time to
see how Lettice would look clad in silk attire. Thanks
to her own clever fingers, and naturally good taste, she
ivas always neatly and nicely dressed : but Reginald
longed to see her in fashionable costume. How to effect
this had puzzled him for some weeks. He had cast about
in his own mind for some special pretext on which to
present her with a new robe, but without success. The}'
were walking together one afternoon in Oxford Street —
no uncommon circumstance with them now — when
Lettice, pausing before a mercer's window, began to
prattle about the dresses displaved therein, and express
her opinion as to how they would make up. One in
particular especially attracted her attention, and looking
laughingly up at Reginald, she exclaimed —

" How nice it must be to have money — if I were rich
now, I should go in and buy that. How grand I should
look in it ! "

"We will buy that, Lettice, if you like," he replied.
" Let us go in."

But she hung back on the threshold, and her face was
troubled. Her cheeks flushed as she said,

" I would rather not. I couldu't accept that from
you, Mr. Holbourne. Please come away."

He had more than once brought her home a new rib-
bon for her bonnet, a book, or some such trifle, and

The Tenants of the Ground Floor. 63

Lettice had accepted it with delight, and been eloquent
in her" thanks ; but, ignorant of the world's ways, and
child as she was, her womanly instinct told her that she
could not accept costly gifts at his hands.

" What nonsense ! " he exclaimed. "I should like to
see you in that, Lettice. Come in."

" No, no," she replied hurriedly — " I couldn't — indeed
I coaldn't, Mr. Holbourne. How stupid I was to admire
it ! but — but," and she looked almost ready to cry with
vexation, "I did not think you could have so misunder-
stood me."

"I have not misunderstood you at all," he replied.
" It was a whim of mine to see you in brave array. I
forgot for the moment that you might not like to accept
such a present from me. Let us say no more about it,
Lettice."

They walked on without further reference to the sub-
ject ; but it was, nevertheless, forgotten by neither of
them.

When the Queen of Sheba presented Solomon with
two roses, of which one was real, and the other artificial,
that sagacious monarch called in the bees to assist him to
a decision as to which was the true rose. There are two
loves proffering themselves to Reginald Holbourne at
this present, of which the one is a counterfeit, the other
as pure as ever glowed in a woman's breast. I wis he
will scarce need such councillors when called upon to
decide between them.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHARLIE AT HOME.

ROOM off Fleet Street : the furniture of the
primitive order. It consists of two or three
desks, a couple of arm-chairs, a strong square
table, on which are a paste-pot, a pair of scissors,
and a pile of newspapers. A couple of men stand scrib-
bling at the desks; two more are conversing in a low
tone at the fireplace. It is the sub-editor's room of The
Morning Misanthrope, and that valuable journal is at the
present moment in process of incubation. The Misan-
thrope takes a disparaging view of most things. It looks
upon the country as drifting rapidly to destruction, the
Established Church as doomed ; it prophesies upheaval
and removal of ancient landmarks. Very pet phrase of
The Misanthrope 's this last ; it looks upon the intellect
of the nation as deteriorating ; that its energies are
sapped by wealth and luxury, that it is enervated both
physically and morally, and that a few years will see the
imposition of the yoke of the invader or the rule of the
Commune. By no means a cheerful paper to find on
your breakfast-table, but if you think that The Misan-
thrope had but a limited circulation in consequence
of its despondent views you are wonderfully mistaken.
The croakers of humanity are numerous as the croakers
of the marsh, and The Misanthrope annealed to a

Charlie at Home. 65

large class of readers when it first put forth its gloomy
and alarmist columns. Some people have a taste for
funerals and executions. The room of horrors at
Madame Tussaud's is generally fairly filled. What
crowds will throng to gape at a monstrosity ! _ What
numbers still peruse Dr. Cumming's vaticinations
with extreme interest ! To a considerable section of
society the dire forebodings of The Misanthrope oc-
casioned much gratification ; there is a pleasurable excite-
ment in thinking you live on the verge of all the woes
of revolution, when in your inmost heart you feel no
real anxiety about the safety of the Constitution. It was
that which made O'Connell so powerful with his country-
men. They enjoyed all the glories of revolution without
its inconveniences under his judicious guidance. When
Smith O'Brien and his coadjutors attempted something
of the same kind, they fell into the mistake of being too
realistic. Discomfiture and, still worse, fatality, ridicule,
was the upshot of their anarchies.

In Ireland to be laughed at is, as in Paris, a death-blow
to a reputation.

"There, Drayton!" exclaimed one of the writers,
"I think that will do. That's as much as I can make
out of ' The Communists in London ' for the present.
It's a good stirring article for elderly ladies or despondent
Conservatives of the old school, and should induce a
pleasing sensation of our being very near the vortex of
revolution." And leaving his desk, the speaker strolled
over towards the fire.

" All right, Charlie, I dare say it will do," replied the
editor. " You know Bullock, of course ? "

"Oh ! yes," said Collingham, as he shook hands with
the stout, middle-aged man, who had been engaged in
conversation with Drayton. Mr. Bullock and I have
passed an evening together before this. But what brings
him here ? Has he brought grist for the mill ? — food for
the insatiable maw of The Misanthrope ? "

"No. He has come to make a lew inquiries about
the advertisement sheet. Don't you recollect that one
we have so often laughed over, of ' the rich widow lady
who wants to meet with another lady of good fortune,

66 False Cards.

and a mind above petty conventionalities, and with
whom she might enjoy life, &c.' "

" Of course ! What about it, Bullock ? I have been
consumed with curiosity about that advertisement often."

" Well, sir, I can't exactly tell you at present, but it
strikes me forcibly that it is the work of an old friend of
ours, the cleverest practitioner in his line in all London ;
a man we have had hold of three or four times, but who
always slips through our fingers. A regular eel that chap
is ; he's lived on the public for years. There's no end to
his dodges or his aliases."

" What did the clerk say who took the advertisement,
Mr. Drayton ? "

"Oh, he recollected all about it perfectly. A peculiar
advertisement like that naturally made him look at the
inserter. He says it was brought by a well-dressed,
lady-like woman, apparently about thirty. What do
you make of that, Bullock ? " inquired Collingham.

" Nothing that's any good," replied the detective ;
" that would be his wife, most probably ; quite answers
to her description, if I am right in my supposition that
Leonidas Lightfoot is the author of that advertisement.
But you see, Mr. Collingham, I have nothing to go on at
present. No fraud has been committed as yet that I am
aware of. It only struck me, when I saw that notice,
that was what would probably come of it, and if I could
make out where to put my hand on Lightfoot, it would
be useful, if my guess proved right."

" Lightfoot," muttered Collingham, musingly; "I have
heard that name somewhere — ay, and met the man, if
my memory don't deceive me."

" Like enough, sir," replied Bullock. " You probably
paid, in some shape, for the making of his acquaintance,
too."

" Yes, I have it — you are right. I did," replied Charlie,
with a burst of laughter. " It was at Scarborough. I
was there with Jim Donaldson, and we were smoking
our cigars in front of the Royal Hotel, when this man
joined us, asked for the favour of a light, and entered
into conversation. He was as pleasant a companion as
one need wish to meet with, and his cool, cynical

Charlie at Home. 67

remarks upon men and manners amused us both much.
Finally, he insisted upon our having some brandy and
water with him, for which he paid. When we got up
he said, ' Gentlemen, I have spent my last three shillings
in entertaining you, and regret that we shall not meet
again here, as business calls me to the metropolis. I must
trespass on your exchequer for a couple of sovereigns,
to pay my railway fare. I won't put it as a loan ; my
experience of men tells me they are apt to forget such
petty borrowings. I only ask you to give me a couple of
sovereigns, and should we next meet under other cir-
cumstances, I shall be happy to be a friend to either of
you. The ups and downs of life are so various, and the
world so very small, that it is only a species of invest-
ment after all.' Jim and I looked at one another for a
moment ; we both then burst out laughing — we were so
fairly taken in. The fellow looked, too, as cool and
unabashed as if he had made the most ordinary pro-
position in the world. However, it ended in our giving
him what he asked for. He thanked us quite airily,
hoped we should have a pleasant time of it, and left
without showing the slightest sense of being under any
obligation."

" And you have never seen him since ? " asked Drayton.

" No, I have not ; but, odd to tell, Donaldson met
him one day at the Croydon station. He came up at
once, said, 'How do you do?' and then added, 'going to
town, I suppose?' 'Yes,' replied Jim. ' Most fortunate!
You once took a railway ticket for me; I have now the
opportunity of acknowledging the courtesy.' Before Jim
could say a word he had disappeared into the booking-
office, from which he emerged in a few moments with a
first-class ticket for London. ' There,' he said, presenting
it gravely. ' I told you the world was small. You assist
your fellow-worms here, they assist you there. It comes
to exactly the same thing in the end. The wealth of
the universe, in its ebb and flow, must, of course, pass
through the hands of the intelligent. Whether one is
in the flood-tide or the neap, is a mere temporary acci-
dent.' They travelled up together, and parted excellent
friend" "

68 False Cards.

" That was Lightfoot all over," remarked Mr. Bullock,
philosophically. " Some on 'em never pays, but he
always was good for about eighteenpence in the pound,
and that's what has saved him so often. If I order five
hundred pounds worth of goods, and pay twenty-five on
account, and a trifle more the moment I am dunned, no
jury, you see, will convict me of ' obtaining under false
pretences.' That's the principle he goes on. But I
must be off. Morning, gentlemen ; and thank you, Mr.
Drayton."

" Always welcome to any help we can give you,"
replied the editor, as the detective made his way to the
door. " Now, Charlie, if you have any valuable ideas to
impart, let's hear them."

" Bless you, I'm played out — sucked dry for the pre-
sent. I have gone down to the very lees yonder," and
Collingham jerked his head in the direction of the desk,
where his still wet manuscript Avas lying. " No, I'm oft
home — good-bye."

Once in the street, Charlie turned his face westwards,
and strode manfully along. All this was part of the
daily routine of his life. Upon his quarrel with his
rather, he had found himself left to confront life upon
something under two hundred a year. He fell back upon
his pen, to supplement that somewhat insufficient income.
As a matter of course, at starting he found this very far
from a profitable avocation. But matters had mended
in this respect of late, and he was now thoroughly accre-
dited of the guild, and very fairly paid, to boot. He
tramps up the Strand, turns down Spring Gardens, and
stretches away across St. James's Park, up Constitution
Hill, then, turning to the left, proceeds to make his way
in the direction of Brompton. Upon arriving at a quiet
little house in Pelham Street, he applies his pass-key,
enters, and runs upstairs. As he throws open the door
of a sitting-room on the first-floor, a man some two or
three years older than himself raises his head from the
table at which he is busy writing, and says,

" Back rather earlier than usual, eh, Charlie ? The
funereal journal, I presume, was flush of copy to-day ? "

" Yes, we had stuff in hand, and were not called upon

Char lie at Home. 69

to rack out brains to any great extent to fill up. How
goes on" ' Caspar's Courtship ? ' "

" Petty fairly. I have been hammering at it the last
three hours, and done some decent dialogue, I think.
But ring for Dulcibella — I am going to knock off now ;
and the spirit moveth me to imbibe in some fashion."

The speaker was Jim Donaldson, the dramatist, of whom
we have already heard mention. He was Collingham's
great chum, and had been mainly instrumental in put-
ting him in the way of getting literary work on his
first start in London. They had been friends at the
University, and were now joint tenants of the house at
Brompton.

The room is a very type of such an apartment as men
of their pursuits would inhabit. There is a writing-table
under each window ; a round table in the centre, strewn
with magazines, books, and newspapers — a few odd
volumes lie scattered on the carpet ; a sofa ; a couple of
easy-chairs, and a piano, are amongst the furniture. On
the top of the latter lie half a dozen or so of play-bills.
The looking-glass is stuck full of cards, most of them
having a theatrical tendency ; while the mantelpiece is
littered with pipes and cigar-cases. The walls are de-
corated with some good proof engravings, and a few
photographs of popular actors and actresses — gifts these
latter to Donaldson, and for the most part commemora-
tive of successes obtained by the donors in some one or
other of his comedies.

But here the door opens, and Dulcibella makes her
appearance, a buxom young person of about thirty ; she
is the daughter of their landlady, and acts as parlour-
maid. She is a great favourite of the young men, and is
regularly re-christcned, about once a fortnight. They
tell her gravely that it is necessary for their work that
every time she is re-christcned, she represents a fr h
heroine to them; and they draw from the life, ami that
it is requisite to keep the model always before the eye; so
that it is incumbent upon her to humour their whims in
this particular — that any mutiny on her part might lead
to the utter destruction of a comedy, or annihilation of a
magazine article.

70 False Carets.

" It is not that you are the exact image, you know,"
said Donaldson to her, gravely, upon one occasion ; "but
you represent the rough marble, Polly, which I intend to
mould into grace and beauty."

" Go along with your chaff, Mr. Donaldson," replied
Miss Meggott, promptly. " You can call me what you
like, only mind, don't forget I have my order as usual
for the first night."

" Sophonisba, thy mandate shall be obeyed," replied
the dramatist.

She happened to be Sophonisba that week. But Polly
Meggott was no fool, and laughed over her numberless
titles as much as anybody. She took the greatest pride
in the doings of both her masters, read Collingham's
lucubrations in the Morning Misanthrope, or articles in
the Magazines, and expressed her opinion freely thereon ;
while it must have been a grievous mischance that pre-
vented her attending the first night of one of Donaldson's
comedies ; and the pit or upper boxes held no more
enthusiastic supporter than Polly Meggott was wont to
be on such occasions.

Moliere, it is said, used to test his work by reading it
to his housekeeper, and Jim Donaldson always declared
that he had been indebted to Polly Meggott for more
than one shrewd hint, after Polly had witnessed a repre-
sentation, and that he had occasionally either cut or
added indirectly at her instigation.

"Now, young people, what is it?" inquired Miss
Meggott, her bright, black eyes twinkling with fun.
" You've been churning your brains hard all the morning,
Mr. Donaldson, I know ; I only hope the butter came at
last. But, as for Mr. Collingham, there, he's home
before his time ; that means watering the milk. You'll
read washy to-morrow — I know you will."

" Dulcibella, you are forgetting that you are a princess
this week, and that washy is a term not in vogue in
courtly circles," retorted Charlie.

" No, and skim milk ain't in vogue, as you call it any-
where."

"Dulcibella," said Donaldson, "you must be more
careful about your grammar, in your present exalted

Charlie at Home. 7 1

position. I never can get you to recollect your

situation."

" Oh ! bother my grammar ! " retorted Polly, laughing.
" The reviewers will, may-be, pick holes in some of your
own. But," she continued, with suddenly assumed
gravity, " did your Excellencies ring ?"

" ' Crave my presence,' would be the neat way to put
it," rejoined Donaldson. " Yes ! thy worshippers are
athirst, and would fain partake of soda and sherry, O
peerless Dulcibella ! "

" To hear is to obey, O Commander of the Faithful ! "
replied Miss Meggott, with a low reverence, the effect of
which was, in some measure, spoilt by a palpable wink,
and she vanished in search of the required potables." _

Polly often entered into the spirit of her various nick-
names, and, from much frequenting of theatres, had
acquired a mixed and miscellaneous jargon of melo-
dramatic language, which she at times produced effec-
tively in such assumptions.

" Well," said Jim at length, after he had induced his
pipe to go to his satisfaction, " what news have you col-
lected in your walks abroad ? "

" Nothing much. Stop ! — by the way, who do you
think looked in at our shop to-day in search of informa-
tion ?— Bullock ! "

" Ah ! that's worth hearing about. What did he
want ?" inquired Donaldson, lazily.

"A particular friend of yours, Jim — Lightfoot to wit."

" No ! Goodness gracious ! I trust my esteemed friend
Lightfoot hasn't sailed a little too near the wind, and
entangled himself amongst the quicksands of the law."

" Well, not exactly that," replied Collingham, " but
the lynx-eyed Bullock thinks he probably may do so
shortly. You recollect that queer advertisement in our
paper ? I pointed it out to you the other day."

Jim nodded assent.

"Well, that is pi I to be Mr. Light foot's handi-

work, and the swindling of some demented female the

object."

" Ah ! " laughed Donaldson, " I shouldn't wonder. I
recollect the day I came up with him from Croydon

72 False Cards.

that great philosopher observed : ' The foolishness of
men passeth belief, but the credulity of women is beyond
all comprehension.' He further remarked very severely
on the simplicity of the police, who, he declared, seldom
succeeded in bringing home a great crime, except it had
been committed by an uneducated person. ' The edu-
cated criminal often convicts himself from mere fool-
hardiness,' he said ; ' long evasion of the law is apt at last
to induce a contempt for the most ordinary precautions,
and then, forsooth, you hear of the intelligence of the
police.' No, Charlie, I shall back my friend to beat
Bullock, let alone his last observation."

" And what was that ? "

" Why, as we shook hands, he said, ' I can see you
don't believe what I have been telling you. Well, if
ever you want to test it, employ me to obtain you any
information anywhere against the police. You shall
give me forty-eight hours start, for this reason : I don't
wan't the waters muddied before I begin, and I will
guarantee that what you desire to know is in your hands
considerably more than two days before you obtain that
intelligence from the police."

" Now, your Serene Highnesses," observed Miss
Meggott, as she entered with a tray. " Here we are —
the sherry you alluded to, because it sounds well, and
the brandy you mean having, I suppose, because it
drinks better. Now look sharp ; the cork is nearly out,"
continued Polly, who was busily manipulating a bottle
of soda-water. " Cognac for two ? — I knew it ! Bless
you, my cherubs ! "

" Dulcibella, you're forgetful of your noble station,
and are waxing into most derogatory language."

"It won't do, Mr. Donaldson," laughed Polly. "I
can't come the princess, and open such restive soda-
water as this. Wait till I have done with the other
bottle. There ! now, caitiffs, have done with your
guzzlings and gugglings, or, by my father's head, I
swear " — and here Polly drew herself up, and stamped
her foot — "I'll — I'll play old gooseberry with you ! "

" Miserable Dulcibella ! what a pitiable climax ! " said
Collingham.

Charlie at Home.

" Don't bandy words with me, slave I " retorted Miss
Meggolt, striking an attitude — "the door, ye scum, the
door ! " and with her customary pleasant wink, the young
lady motioned that Charlie should open it.

He obeyed, laughing, and held it open with a low
reverence.

" Ah ! you're a nice pair ! " said Polly, as she tripped
out — " sweet children, the two of you I "

CHAPTER IX.

THE FANCY BAZAAR.

LDRINGHAM has received a shock. Some
roving archaeologist has written a malicious
letter to the local papers, pointing out that the
inhabitants of that thriving town are appa-
rently not aware of the value of the treasure confided to
them — that their magnificent church is being fast allowed
to go to rack and ruin. The writer, after a long and
learned antiquarian discourse, winds up by expressing
his opinion that in no other town in England could the
custodians of such a glorious specimen of church archi-
tecture have proved so unworthy of their trust, and
stigmatizes the people generally as barbarians, lost to all
sense of the beautiful and antique, who could allow such
neglect of the grand old temple erected by their fore-
fathers.

Aldringham chafes under the attack, the more rest-
lessly because it is aware that the castigation is founded
upon fact — that petty squabbles have for some time
vexed the vestry meetings on the subject ; that the
rector's appeals have been a good deal pooh-poohed, and
that much wrangling has for some time taken place
about whose bounden duty it was to put his hand deep
into his pocket concerning these repairs.

But now much angry controversy has arisen. Men
have rushed unguardedly into print, and find, as usual.

Tlic Fancy hasaar. 75

that they have committed themselves much deeper than
they dreamed of. They have written in their wrath,
and said that, if that incompetent, incapable body, the
vestry, would but do their duty, there was no lack of
money, and that they, the writers, were good for various
specified sums. The vestry had woke up, and resolved
that Aldringham Church should be thoroughly restored ;
and the irritated correspondents of the local prints found
that they were taken at their word.

To express indignation requires prudence ; to put
such feelings into writing, great discretion ; but before
you place them on record in print, I would advise you to
think much of it. That cutting, sarcastic letter of yours
appears so crushing till the rejoinder is read, and you
never can measure your adversary's power of retort. He
may be the stupidest man that ever lived, but it does
not follow that he does not reckon a wicked pen amongst
his friends and acquaintance. Once embarked in con-
troversy in print, you can form no idea with whom you
are contending, and fall into grievous error if you think
that your battle lies with your acknowledged antagonist
only.

Aldringham, having settled upon restoring its church,
of course resorts to raising funds by every conceivable
method. There were not wanting in Aldringham, any
more than there are elsewhere, a class of people who
look upon all such exigencies as a subject from which
much diversion may be extracted — people who throw
flowers around taxation, who pick your pockets in kid
gloves, and help to levy the rate by various social im-
positions. There are many sources open to these pleasure-
loving plunderers. You can have a ball, a flower-show,
a bazaar, theatricals, &c, in aid and benefit of a church
restoration fund — the latter, perhaps, the least productive
of all, though by no means the least popular. Aldringham
thought it would have a bazaar.

A very good notion this, and, worked with any ordinary
judgment, certain to produce a profitable return. In
Ireland, where it is thoroughly understood, it it the most
poetic robbery the writer ever had the privilege of witness-
ing. They know something about it in the Canadas,

76 False Cards.

but in England the science is but imperfectly compre-
hended. Of course the two primary adjuncts are plenty
of pretty women as stall-holders, and plenty of wandering
bachelors to flirt with them. Don't mind the latter being
impecunious, they will probably be far more lavish of
their money than much richer men. I have seen an
ensign, or briefless barrister, scatter the contents of his
purse on such occasions in a way that would have made
one of your county big-wigs stand aghast. It is true
that you soon get to the end of the one, but then you
perhaps never get to the beginning of the other. As for
the trash and trumpery that go to furnish the stalls, there
can never be much difficulty about accumulating that.
To a large portion of the maidens of England, collecting
for a fancy-fair is a species of mild excitement, and the
occasion of much exaltation and exaggeration. They
narrate wondrous fables of what their fingers have
accomplished, and disparage each other's work with
charming unanimity. Some backsliders among them, I
know, buy, and fraudulently send the goods so acquired
as the result of their labours. But then we all know the
whole thing is a fraud from beginning to end, so what
can it matter ? In my natural indolence I cannot help
siding with these ingenious sinners, and hath not Mr.
Mortimer Collins told us that " to laze " is to live
long ?

It will, of course, be surmised that if Aldringham was
to have a fancy-fair, it would be incumbent that Mr.
Holbourne should be one of its managers. As the affair
verged upon fructification, the banker as usual softly
insinuated that he was the original promoter of the

scheme.

" Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire,"

saith the French poet, and your social impostor is never
without his worshippers. There was a considerable section
of the town that quite took the worthy banker at his
own valuation, and they, of course, were in ecstasies at
the idea. His daughter and niece were enthusiastic on
the subject. The managing, or manoeuvring for the
management of anything, had ever keen attraction for
Marion. Here she was on the ladies committee, and in

The Fancy Bazaar. 77

her quiet, smooth way was probably the very goddess ot
discord in that assembly. She assented to every proposi-
tion, and was apparently the quietest, least obtrusive lady
amongst them. But if Miss Langworthy went the length
of gently deprecating any resolution that was come to,
or even bending her delicate brows in silent disapproval
thereof, so assuredly would a counter proposition be
brought forward at the next meeting, be fiercely contested,
and not improbably carried. Yet Marion was never a
speaker on these occasions, nor did any proposition ever
emanate from her. But Miss Langworthy was a real
artiste in twisting people round her fingers.

To give an instance of Marion's talents. It had been
somewhat sharply debated as to whether a post-office
should be allowed or not ; and there was evidently a
strong feeling against it upon the part of the committee,
composed, for the most part, of matrons and spinsters
well stricken in years. Now, this particular avocation of
post-mistress Marion had destined for herself from the
commencement. But she said not a word in support of
her scheme when she saw that the main body of the
committee were against it, and voted with the majority
that it should not be. But Miss Langworthy intended
there should be a post-office, for all that. When the
meeting broke up, she attached herself to a Mrs. Kennedy,
who had been a moderate supporter of the post-office
scheme, and walked away with her.

"My dear Mrs. Kennedy," said Marion, in her most
mellifluous tones — and Marion was gifted with that
sweetest of woman's attributes, a soft voice — " a girl like
mc cannot venture to pronounce an opinion amongst her
seniors, but I do think that Mrs. Methringham treated
your scheme about the post-office with scant courtesy to-
day. As you said so justly at the time, it is a stall that
is usually productive of considerable returns.

Now this was an ingenious perversion of what Mrs.
Kennedy really had said. She, a doctor's wife, and
tewhat blunt-spoken to boot, had observed in reality
that " if any of the young ladies fancied managing such
a gimcrack arrangement, she for her part did not see
why they should not do so."

78 False Cards.

" I don't know about that, child," replied Mrs. Kennedy
curtly, " but Margaret Methringham is not given to the
display of much civility at the best of times."

That these two had a wholesome dislike to one another,
of course Marion knew well.

" Still, Mrs. Kennedy, I don't think she was justified,
after a lady of your standing on the committee had
expressed herself so much in favour of the device,"
continued Miss Langworthy, " in saying that it was a
senseless arrangement, and only led to an interchange of
idle mock correspondence, by no means conducive to the
good of anybody engaged in it."

This again was not exactly what Mrs. Methringham
had said. Her observation in reality had been that " it
was a rather senseless arrangement, and not likely to be
conducive of much benefit to the object they were
engaged in — promoting the funds for the restoration of
the church.

" I am not going to be put down by Margaret Meth-
ringham," replied Mrs. Kennedy. " I don't see why a
post-office should not bring in as much money as any
other stall. But you — you little humbug ! why, you
voted against it yourself."

" I, Mrs. Kennedy ! You don't call mine a vote, do
you ? " replied Marion, smiling. " I don't presume to
have an opinion, I merely give my formal assent to what
the majority approve ; but I don't quite think that your
proposition was allowed fair play to-day. Mrs. Methring-
ham is a wee bit dictatorial at times, and a little overrides
the rest of us. Good-bye."

If it had not been for Miss Langworthy, Mrs. Kennedy
would never have given this post-office scheme another
thought. But her eyes were now opened, and she
resolved that Margaret Methringham should have her
own way no longer.

Miss Langworthy paid a good many visits that week,
and in every instance did she manage more or less to
insinuate that Mrs. Methringham had treated the com-
mittee of which she was president with much discourtesy.
At the next meeting, when Mrs. Kennedy, who had been
chewing the cud of her wrath for a week, and fiercely

The Fancy Bazaar. 79

canvassing for support amongst her friends, moved that
there should be a post-office, and that Miss Langworthy
should preside thereat, two-thirds of the committee
voted in support of her resolution, and Mrs. Kennedy
enjoyed the ineffable satisfaction of feeling that she was
not to be put down by Margaret Methringham, what-
ever that lady might think on the subject.

All this was pure enjoyment to Marion. She delighted
in plotting, scheming, and counter-scheming. The fruit
that could be had for the picking, however fine, lacked
value in her eyes. Better far the unripe apricot, which
had cost an afternoon to wheedle the gardener out of.

Grace, too, had entered thoroughly into this Bazaar
affair No thoughts such as racked her cousin's scheming
brain troubled bonny Grace Holbourne. She cared not
a wit whether she was to have a stall or not. But she
was fain to confess that Aldringham was a little dull ;
the fancy fair was certain to bring people together, and
then perhaps a dance or two might spring out of it. So
Grace supported the movement with all her might, and
worked, and begged, and bought all sorts of nicknacks,
that could be of no possible use save to sell.

However, it was all settled now. Miss Langworthy,
assisted by Grace, was to be post-mistress at the forth-
coming Bazaar, and the two were now busy penning
jesting epistles for every one of their acquaintance likely
to be there, and nondescript notes that might be sent to
suit such applicants as they had no previous know-
ledge of.

There can be no stall in a fancy-fair productive of such
fun to the proprietors or crowd as the post-office, pro-
viding the managers thereof are young ladies of wit and
esprit. I have known a young lady find a husband in the
superintendence of such an establishment. He had never
seen her before, but continued to ask for letters at six-
pence apiece through two 'long Summer days ; and posted
answers to all of them, of course read by the proprietress,
as if she had held office in the black-room of the post-
ofiice of the French empire. They knew each ol
passably well at the expiration of that two days' corres-
pondence, and were married a few months alter wards.

8° False Cards.

Tt is the only system I know of that admits of pouring
in a dozen odd love-letters per diem, and is a special dis-
pensation of Providence for such as may be stricken by
love at first sight.

But the eventful day has at length arrived — a delicious
May morning heralds the opening of the Aldringham
Fancy Fair. Grace is down, and flitting about the
garden before breakfast, listening to the mellow whistle
of the blackbird, or full song of the thrush ; drinking in
the soft balmy air, and gathering a bouquet of bright
Sprink flowers, fresh as her own fair face ! At last she
trips through the drawing-room window, pauses there a
moment to rout out some thread from her work-basket,
wherewith to tie up her flowers, and then proceeds to
the dining-room.

" Good morning, my father ; here are violets for your
button-hole," she exclaims gaily as she enters. " Is not
this a fit day on which to plunder the innocents ? What,
Marion not down, and she knowing how much we have
yet to do ! However, there is a bouquet for her all the
same," and Grace tossed the work of her deft fingers into
her cousin's plate.

" Thank you, my dear," said Mr. Holbourne, as he
placed the violets in his coat. " Yes, the weather is as
perfect as the rest of our arrangements." In his own
mind, Mr. Holbourne had an undefined idea that the
weather was in some degree his doing. " Most fortunate
I succeeded in making them fix upon to-day. I assure
you, Grace, I had great difficulty — there was a strong
party who were all for postponing it till next week.
Impossible to say what the weather may be then" and
Mr. Holbourne delivered the last sentence with an
inflexion of voice that clearly indicated that there could
be no doubt it would be bad.

" I am dreadfully late ! " exclaimed Miss Langworthy,
as she at last made her appearance. " Good morning,
uncle. Thanks, Grace. How good of you to pick me
such a charming nosegay ! We must positively be off
to the Corn Exchange as soon as we have swallowed our
breakfast. We have got to arrange all our letters ready
to our hands — in fact, to set our office in order."

The Fancy Bazaar. 3 1

Once up, Marion was energetic enough, and speedily
carried off both her cousin and her uncle to the scene of
action.

Mr. Lowell laughingly tells us that " perhaps the
noblest, as it is one of the most difficult of human func-
tions, is getting Something (no matter how small) for
Nothing." At a fancy fair the whole ingenuity of the
man is engaged in the endeavour to obtain, in return for
his money, not its worth — that would be absurd to
expect — but something that it is possible to conceive
may at some time be of use to him. The vocation of the
lady stall-keepers, of course, is to plunder the male
creature to the full extent of their capabilities, parting
with as little of their useless goods as may be in pursuance
of such design.

But it is, after all, not the legitimate traders — it is not
the occupants of tables that perpetrate the greatest
iniquities. The class that the hapless bachelor, involved
iu the dread whirlpool of a bazaar, cannot escape from,
are the privateers — those bewitching young ladies that
sail about the room, and insist upon your taking tickets
for lotteries. I once asked a very pretty marauder of this
kind, in my innocence, which was her stall ; she flashed
her bright eyes upon me for a moment, and then retorted,
with a contemptuous pout, " I never take a stall — it is so
slow ! But if you think I can't make as much money as
most of those that do, you are mistaken." I looked in-
credulous. " Ah ! you don't believe me. Well, go and
ask Kate Sherrington there how much she has taken
this afternoon; she's a pretty girl, and not likely to let
you eves csk without exacting tithe. For me," and
she laughed merrily, " I have these braces," flourishing a
prettily-embroidered pair in my face. "I have raffled
thtm six times, and I have them still, to say nothing of
all but five pounds that they have brought me. You
see," she continued, in a burst of confidence, " I never
admit that my lottery" is quite full, so I keep the two
or three remaining tickets, and as I make out the lots, I,
of course, always recurve the winning ticket for myself! "

The Aldringham Bazaar is in full swing — there is a
band playing at one end of the room, and a refreshment-

82 False. Cards.

stall is doing a brisk trade at the other. Bright and
pretty look the gaily-dressed tables, brighter and prettier
still, for the most part, the gaily-dressed damsels behind
them. The post-office is a most decided success. Miss
Langworthy has good taste, and it has been attractively
fitted up ; some of the letters, too, have been smartly
penned, and provoke much laughter from their recipients.
Business there, in short, is decidedly brisk, and it is
rapidly buzzed about the room that you may obtain
some fun there for sixpence. As you can obtain nothing
else for that contemptible coin in the building, it were
as well, perhaps, to try your luck in that direction. Miss
Langworthy is in ecstasies. An ingeniously-worded
letter to Robert Collingham has drawn forth a somewhat
animated reply, and a call to know if there might not
be another letter for him, which, of course, Marion hastily
indites, and so the game goes on.

Presently a stranger lounges in front of the office,
quietly puts down sixpence for postage, throws a letter
through the window, and leisurely moves on. It is
addressed to Miss Langworthy. Marion tears it open —
she has received quite a score, of one kind or another,
already, but certainly not one like this. It ran as
follows : —

" A lady who can show such intelligence in the
management of a mock post-office, probably dedicates
her powers to the management, at times, of the more
serious affairs of real life. It is possible she might, at
some period, require the assistance of a confidential agent.
Say for the obtaining of information about some subject,
or about the doings of some person in whom she might
be interested — their address, habits, mode of life, &c.
The writer can be relied on, would be at all times happy
to place himself at Miss Langworthy's commands, and
feels confident he should give satisfaction. An advertise-
ment in the Times to Z, three asterisks, R, would at all
times ensure attention."

Marion gave this letter but little thought at the
moment. It arrested her attention, and that was all ;
but instead of tearing it up, as she had the greater part of
her correspondence, she thrust it into the pocket of her

The Fancy Bazaat . 83

dress, to bear company with one or two other notes that
had tickled her fancy.

Now the writer of that note, as the reader will doubt-
less surmise, was no other than Mr. Lightfoot. If it
should be deemed that that philosophical gentleman
was imprudent in trusting himself so soon again in a
town in which, to put it mildly, there might be supposed
to exist considerable prejudice against him, I can only
say that I have as yet scarcely succeeded in making
known Mr. Lightfoot's transcendent talents. The Mr.
Lightfoot of to-day could pretty confidently defy recog-
nition as the Mr. Lightfoot of six months ago. The
somewhat over-dressed gentleman, in a light overcoat,
white hat, and flower in his button-hole, bore not a trace
of resemblance to the sanctimonious philanthropist of
last Winter. Mr. Lightfoot, in short, changed his skin
much oftner than a snake. His appearance at the
Aldringham Bazaar was the result of pure accident
Travelling on what he would have designated profes-
sional business, he suddenly found, as the Americans
have it, that he had " missed connection," and had to
wait some three hours at Aldringham before he could
get on to London. Mr. Lightfoot accordingly strolled
into the town, and seeing the flags flying in front of the
Exchange, paid his shilling and went in. There was no
saying but that something might turn up to benefit a
man of his intelligence, when he found divers of his
fellow-creatures employed in cajoling the public. Thanks
to his previous visit to Aldringham, he knew all the
leading inhabitants of the town by sight. It was part of
the adventurer's business. He acquired that sort of
knowledge about any place in which it might be his
lot to spend a few days, from sheer habit. He was gifted
with a most retentive memory, both for names and faces,
and was an adept in drawing people on to talk.

There are, say the barristers, two styles of cross-
examination, equally deadly in the hands of a master of
that art. The one is quick, sharp, incisive, relentless,
treating the witness much as a bull-terrier handles a rat,
and literally shaking the truth out of him ; the othei
insidious — the practitioner is quite friendly in manner,

84 False Cards.

he steals on his victim, he drops out his questions in the
silkiest tones, as if compelled, for form's sake, to put these
interrogatories, but really caring little what answer may-
be made him. His raised eyebrows and deprecating
manner, when he has involved the witness in a mass of
contradiction, are very pretty comedy to gaze upon, as
also is the ingenious manner in which he apparently
seeks to assist his floundering victim's treacherous
memory. Had Mr. Lightfoot been brought up a bar-
rister, he would have shown himself a proficient as a
cross-examiner of the latter type.

Like most men who live by their wits, Mr. Lightfoot
was a very shrewd physiognomist. He had been some-
what struck with Marion's keen, clever face as he stood
idly watching the post-office. He knew who she was
perfectly — why her face attracted him he could hardly
have told you, but as he stood there, listless and musing,
it did flash across him that that girl's life was likely to
run out of the ordinary groove. Inspired with this idea,
it suddenly occurred to him that the time might come
when she would want a clever and unscrupulous
coadjutor. Some of his most successful forays on the
public had been due to the following up of similar flights
of imagination. He was essentially a man of impulse
and great imaginative faculty. He was especially fond
of wild speculations based on slenderest foundation, and
could narrate really marvellous stories of how he had
profited much by transactions apparently quite as irrele-
vant as the present. Under these circumstances, Mr.
Lightfoot penned the aforesaid note. I don't suppose he
muttered, as he leisurely took his way back to the station,
" that anything will come of it ; but if you set no trim-
mers, you will catch no fish, that is perfectly clear. You
never can have too may night-lines down ; and I have
taken very fine gudgeon in my day with hooks no better
baited than this."

Mr. Lightfoot had fallen into one slight error in his
calculations — he knew Mr. Holbourne was wealthy, he
knew Miss Langworthy was his niece, and he therefore
concluded she must also have plenty of money. Had he
known the true state of affairs, that note had probably

The Fancy Bazaar. 85

never been written, and two or three things had turned
out differently in this veracious history.

Mr. Holbourne is radiant this afternoon — he conde-
scendingly extends his two fingers in all directions, and
surveys the throng through his double eye-glass with the
utmost benignity ; he imparts graciously to several of
his intimates that it was he who fixed upon the day for
the Bazaar, and insinuates that he had been guided to
that decision by abstruse meteorological calculation.
"Pretty idea, the post-office — yes, I thought we should
succeed there," he replies to some one who addresses him
somewhat enthusiastically about that department. " It
took a little thinking out, but it has proved worth the
trouble, has it not?" And Mr. Holbourne smiles
genially, and looks as if that also is due to his inspiration.

" A letter for Miss Holbourne, and sixpence to pay on
it ! " exclaims a good-looking, gentlemanly man, suddenly
appearing in front of the window, and holding up a note
between his fingers.

" Quite contrary to rule," laughed Marion, who hap-
pened to be there. " You must pay sixpence to post it."

" But you see," continued the stranger, smiling, " I
claim sixpence for bringing it. It is all one to me — if
Miss Holbourne won't pay for her letter, I must take it
back, that is all."

" I am afraid you don't understand the principles on
which this establishment is conducted," retorted Marion,
rather amused.

" Perfectly," replied the stranger — "on the general
shearing of the innocents. But now comes one of the
black sheep, who refuses to be shorn. Here's a letter
Miss Holbourne must pay for if she would have it."

" No connection with any branch business," replied
Marion, laughing ; " but I'll take it in for nothing if you
will affirm you cannot pay postage."

" Not so. We are no bankrupts yet in our concern,
but strict, business-like people, looking sharply after
our just dues. Give me my sixpence, and take you my
trust."

"Never!" cried Marion. "It would be a precedent
that might ruin us. But here is the lady concerned."

ob raise Carets.

" Ah ! you are not Miss Holbourne, then," said the
stranger. " I commend your prudence, lady fair. The
paying of other people's postage is a pernicious practice,
and has involved the loss of small change from time
immemorial. But," he continued, laughing, " what
says Miss Holbourne herself? Will she ransom her
letter ? "

" Don't be beguiled, Grace ! " cried Miss Langworthy,
her eyes sparkling with fun. " He has too shrewd a
tongue for young tradeswomen like us to cope with ! "

" Only sixpence, Miss Holbourne. A letter from him,
perchance, who is ' dearest of any,' and you hesitate.
Are the maidens of England grown so mercenary that
they take in no love-letters unless they are pre-paid ? "

"You exceed your privilege, sir," said Grace quietly.
"I know not by what right you assume that my letter is
of that description."

"Pardon," replied the stranger, "I do but guess.
Still it is as yet not your letter, since you have not paid
for it. Is this poor epistle destined to go the dead letter
office?"

•' Give it to me."

"Not without payment. Listen. I am pledged not
to part with this note unless I receive what I demand.
The writer vowed that, if I attended the fair, I should
sell, not buy. For the last time, Miss Holbourne, will
you have it ? " And as he spoke he extended the letter
towards Grace in such a manner that she could see the
address clearly.

Her eyes flashed for a moment, and then she held forth
the required sixpence.

" There," she said quietly, " You show scant courtesy
in exacting tribute for doing a lady service."

" May you never be worse served, Miss Holbourne,*
replied the stranger, bowing low as he handed her the
missive. "This coin must be preserved in memoriam"
he said, laughing, as he dropped it into a separate com-
partment of his purse, "that 1 in my day did once despoil
the spoilers." And raising his hat, he passed on, and
was seen no more.

Miss Langworthy's attention had been taken up by

Tlic Fancy Bazaar.

other customers, and the termination of the scene escaped
her.

Thrusting the note into the bosom of her dress some-
what hurriedly, Grace turned her attention once more to
the duties of assistant post-mistress.

CHAPTER X.

THE BETROTHAL.

| ARION LANG WORTH Y, in the privacy of her
bed-chamber, runs her eye carelessly over those
few letters that she had put upon one side, dur-
ing the afternoon's turmoil, as worthy of a
second perusal. She laughs over them, then tears them
into small pieces and throws them into the empty grate.
The last of the little packet is Mr. Lightfoot's mysterious
note. She reads this attentively, half tears it across, then
stops.

" No," she murmurs, " I'll keep this. If it is genuine,
it may at some time be useful to know of such a person."
And so saying, Marion locks it up in her desk, and betak-
ing herself to her pillow, sleeps the sleep of the righteous.
Not so her cousin, who is much perturbed by the billet
she purchased after such controversy. Of course Grace
had recognised her lover's handwriting on the super-
scription, and though filled with amazement at what
could have induced him to write to her by such a channel,
no longer doubted that the stranger was right, and that
it behoved her to have that note at any cost. Grace
paces her room lost in thought. She has no hesitation
about fulfilling the task which Charlie has confided to
her ; the only question is how to do so satisfactorily. He
tells her that he has come down for the express purpose
of seeing his sister, " and it is you, Grace, that must

The Betrothal. 89

manage this meeting for me. Surely you can contrive
to go over and lunch at Churton, and in the course of
the afternoon persuade Sylla to -walk up to the Hazel
Copse. It was a very favourite haunt of hers in the old
days, and if you propose it, she is not likely to say you
nay. Unless my father should be at home and accom-
pany you, the rest would then be easy. I am staying at
Donerby, six miles away, but shall be watching the
Hazels from three to six to-morrow afternoon."

Now, Charlie Collingham's programme read simple
enough ; but then, you see, he overlooked the existence
of Miss Langworthy. It was quite easy to order the
carriage and drive over to lunch at Churton, providing
Marion did not want the carriage to go somewhere else
in. And in such divergence of interests Grace knew from
past experience that the case would probably go against
herself. Then again, providing that difficulty was over-
come, who should say that Marion would not volunteer
to accompany her on her visit ? It was true Miss Lang-
worthy did not much affect Churton Manor. She pleaded
utter inability to get on with its blind mistress, and there
was little doubt that the distaste was mutual. Still
Marion did visit there at times, and it might be that she
would take advantage of the morrow's opportunity.
Grace puzzled her little head about these points for some
time, but was at last fain to admit that she must simply
wait to see how things might turn out.

" Well, Grade!" exclaimed her cousin, when they met
next morning, " you never told me about your letter.
Was it worth the postage ? — for I saw you did buy it at
last."

" Yes, I gave that pertinacious man his sixpence in the
end," replied Miss Holbourne, toying with her tea-spoon.
" It was the only way to get rid of him."

" That's no answer, Grace. Who was it from ? Was
it from anyone you know ? What was it about ? Was
it fun?"

"No, it was not fun. It was from somebody I know,
but nothing that would amuse you in any way."

" I could tell you more about thaf if I saw it," replied
M>^ " angworthy, quietly.

90 False Cards.

"Ah! yes, but then, you see, Marion, I'm not going
to show it you," returned Grace, laughing. " I got my
love letters as well as you yesterday. We must keep each
her own counsel on those points."

" Excuse my indiscretion," replied Marion. " I thought
it was probably a facsimile of half a dozen we laughed
over together yesterday, or I should not of course have
alluded to it." And Miss Langworthy eyed her cousin
keenly as she spoke.

" And now you are probably making the equal mistake
of attributing more importance to it than you need.
However, never mind my letter. What are you thinking
of doing this afternoon ? "

" Well, I feel rather tired after yesterday's business,
and have some letters to write. Two very fair excuses for
an idle day."

" I meditate driving over to lunch with Sylla Colling-
ham," said Grace, as calmly as she could. " Will you
come ? "

" Lunch at Churton ! The drive would do one good ;
I don't know but that I may."

Grace's heart died away. Her worst fears were about
to be realised. Should Marion accompany her, then
goodbye to Charlie's scheme. But as Miss Langworthy
reflected upon the proposed arrangement, it occurred to
her that the only object of interest she had at Churton
was the presence of Robert Collingham, and she could
hardly call to mind an instance of ever encountering him
during a morning visit there. She had not the slightest
sympathy with Miss Collingham, and had a distinct idea
of having been generally a good deal bored upon such
occasions, so that at length to her cousin's intense relief,
she observed —

" No, I think you must go alone, Gracie ; on second
thoughts, I don't feel equal to making talk to Sylla
Collingham to-day. She and I never amalgamate very
cleverly at the best of times ; and then I detest that horrid
dog ! "

" So one o'clock saw Miss Holbourne on her way to
Churton, in the highest possible spirits. The sun shone
bright, the tree:.- and hedges were clothed in all the

The Betrothal. 9 1

emerald tints of Spring, the snowy blossom of the thorn
perfumed the air, the birds were chorussing the advent
of the approaching Summer in strains of sweetest melody.
It was one of those glorious May-days that send the
blood tumultously through the veins, when it is a
pleasure simply to be alive, and one could sing pagans
from mere ecstacy of existence. With the most difficult
part of her task accomplished, and all the exhilaration of
spirits produced by her drive, small wonder that Miss
Holbourne descended from her carriage at the door of
Churton Manor high of heart, and feeling equal to any
emergency.

As she alighted, a magnificent Scotch colly, that was
lying blinking in the sunshine, rose, stretched himself,
and then walked deliberately forward to meet her.

" What, Dandy ! " said Grace, as she bent to caress
him. "Here alone, my man? — why, where's your
mistress ? "

The dog looked up at her, wagg( is tail, and then
led the way indoors.

" He understands you, miss," said the old butler smiling.
" There's little need for me to interfere when Dandy
takes it into his head to receive visitors to Miss Sylla ;
but he's curious in his likes and dislikes, and won't do it
for everyone. I think you're a favourite of his, miss."

" Yes, Simmonds ; Dandy and I are old friends — are
we not, my dog ? "

Dandy turned round, wagged his tail, and trotted on.

" That'll do, Simmonds," said Grace. " Miss Sylla's in
the library, I suppose ? You can leave Dandy to take
care of me now."

The dog, meanwhile, looking round on the threshold
of the room to see that the visitor was close behind him,
pushed open the unlatched door, ran across to his misti
placed his paws upon her lap, nuzzled his nose into her
face, giving forth a low whimper as he did so, then scam-
pered back towards Grace as she entered, and finally, once
more returning, thru t hi n into Sylla's hand.

"Who is it?" enquired Miss Collingham. "Dandy
tells me a great friend, and Dandy never tells stories.
Ah! I think I know," she continued, as she rose and

92 False Cards.

advanced a few steps to meet her visitor. " It's you, Grace,
is it not ? "

"Yes," replied Miss Holbourne, as she clasped her
hostess's hand and kissed her. " I have come over to
lunch, and spend a long afternoon with you, if you will
have me."

"You know I will — only too glad," returned Miss
Collingham as she resumed her seat. But are you all
alone Gracie ! I don't hear anyone else."

" All by myself. Yours to gossip with, ramble with,
or do what you will with for the next four hours."

" Ah ! that is charming. We must feed you first, and
then you shall talk to me, play to me, and be eyes to
me all the rest of the afternoon. I want to hear all
about the Bazaar, and half a hundred things besides."

Luncheon was here announced, and, rather to Grace's
consternation, Sir John put in his appearance thereat.

" Ah ! my god-daughter, delighted to see you," ex-
claimed the Baronet, as he shook hands with her. "You
ingenious monkey, what an opportunity you gave the
young men yesterday ! There she was, in her most
killing bonnet, looking her prettiest, Sylla, and giving
out that any gentleman in the room might write to her
for sixpence ! Did you ever hear of such a brazened
challenge to flirtation ? I suppose a barrow wouldn't
carry your letters home in the evening, would it, child ?"

" Ah ! Sir John, I should like to have been one of
the belles of your day," replied Grace, laughing. " A
pretty woman was a power in the land in those times.
The young men don't get very enthusiastic about us
now, even when we look our nicest, and have on our
best bonnets. I carried my letters home in mine own
hands, without much trouble, last night."

" Shame on the youth of Aldringham ! " cried the
Baronet, laughing. " Let me give you some wine to
support you, girl, under such sad confession. Don't you
think, Sylla, she's mystifying us just a little ? "

" I think, my father, she means keeping her own
secrets — at all events, from you. What I may wheedle
out of her presently there's no knowing."

" Can you stay and dine, Grace ? " inquired the Baronet.

The Betrothal.

"Thanks; no, Sir John. I am going to pass the
afternoon with Sylla, but must get home to dinner."

"Well, then, I shall leave you two to have a 'crack,'
as the Scotch say. Sorry you can't stay, but daresay I
shall see you again before you go." And, to Grace's
great delight, the Baronet took his departure.

Left to themselves, the two girls speedily retreated to
Sylla's own room — a cosy sanctum, with a bed-chamber
off it, looking out upon the garden — and there Grace
told her friend all the gossip of the country, played to
her the newest music she had got hold of, and sang her
the last song or two that she had obtained from London.
Sylla, with her delicate ear, half catches up these airs,
and is still trying one upon the piano, when Grace sug-
gests that they ought to go out for a little, such a deli-
cious afternoon.

"Yes, we will directly, but I should like to catch this
first. Play it over for me once more, won't you ?"

So Grace again rattles off " The Sabre of my Sire."
Very sweet to the darkness-stricken girl are such visits as
these. So many monotonous hours as she is doomed to
pass alone, can you not conceive the sunshine that a call
from Grace is to her existence ? Ere her illness Sylla
had been devoted to music, and gave promise of much
talent. These half-caught airs will wile away many an
hour in trying to thoroughly master them, and Sylla
passes a good deal of time at her piano, even now.

" There," said Grace, as she finished, " I am sure you
have it now ; and if not, I must come over and give you
another lesson ; for we must positively go out and get a
little sunshine — eh, Dandy, man, what do you say?"

The dog was on his feet in an instant, and gave a
little yelp of pleasure.

" Ah ! trust Dandy to back you up," said Sylla,
laughing ; " He is always for decoying me out on a fine
day. No, sir, I shan't, want your arm to-day," she con-
tinued, as the dog thrust his nose into her hand — " Grace
will take care of me. Forward, my man."

Attached to his collar, and at present coiled round
his neck, Dandy wore a short cord. When away from
the house, his mistress often availed herself of this, and

94 False Cards.

the dog would lead her safely almost anywhere. He
had originally belonged to her brother Charlie, and he
it was who had first drilled Dandy in his duties. Dandy
speedily recognised his responsibilities, and now was
seldom far from his mistress. He watched over her with
jealous care, and was ever at her side if she left the
house. She had merely to take hold of his cord and
tell him where she wanted to go, and to any of her
accustomed haunts the dog would guide her carefully
and surely. He seemed thoroughly to comprehend the
names of such places as she habitually frequented, and
had even piloted her safely to the adjoining village ; but
on a repetition of this excursion Sir John put his veto
when he heard of it, deeming that Dandy might not,
with all his intelligence, give carts or carriages a suffi-
ciently wide berth, and that he bore no immunity from
the assaults of stransrers of his kind.

They pace through the garden, in which Grace pauses
a moment to gather some flowers for her friend ; then
crossing the ha-ha, they stroll into the park. Dandy,
perfectly aware that he may consider himself off duty till
such time as he should hear the silver whistle that dangles
from his mistress's watch-chain, dedicates his energies to
shepherding the rabbits, chasing them from their seats
in the fern to their burrows with much vivacity and
satisfaction. The squirrels rather trouble his mind ; he
evidently considers that they also ought to disappear
underground when pursued, and their persistency in
taking to trees there can be no doubt, from his indig-
nant bark, he regards as contumacious and perverse
behaviour on their part.

" Let us go up to the Hazels, Sylla," said Grace at
length.

" Why the Hazels ? " exclaimed Miss Collingham. " I
seldom go there now. I used to go there so often when
dear Charlie was at home. They conjure up such
pleasant recollections, that it makes me sad to think they
should be but memories. No, let us walk somewhere
else."

" Not so. Charlie has talked to me so much about
those old days in the Hazels, when he used first to wheel

agair

The Betrothal. 95

you up there in your chair after your illness, that I want
to see them."

" Be it so, Grade. Ah, that those days could come
! "

From which conversation it may be gathered that
Sylla had a very fair inkling of how things stood between
her brother and Miss Holbourne.

"Those times will come again, if we only wait. But
where are the Hazels, Sylla ? — for I don't know."

" Let me think. I have not been attending to the way
we've come much. Where are we ? There should be a
big clump of Spanish chestnuts, and the kitchen-gardens
beyond them to our right, if I do not mistake."

" That's all as you say," replied Grace.

" Well, then, do you see a hazel-crowned knoll about
half a mile to your left, just outside the park ?"

"Yes — all bathed in golden light just now."

" That is the Hazels — if you can't make it out now I
shall have to whistle for Dandy. It's long since we've
been there, but I'll be bound he recollects it."

" I think we shall manage without him," said Miss
Holbourne, as she directed her own and companion's
steps to the point inJicated.

Some ten minutes more or so and Grace's task is
finished. She and Sylla are sitting on the soft velvety
turf, embowered midst the fringe of bright green hazel
bushes that surround the summit of the knoll. A
silence comes over them. Miss Collingham sinks languidly
backward on the grass, as if tired, and Grace's brown
eves dreamily drink in the landscape beneath her, while
her thoughts are busy as to the effects of the impending
meeting upon her friend. Dandy, tired of scampering
lit, has stretched himself at his mistress's feet, his
black muzzle resting on his tan-coloured paws. A quarter
of an hour nearly has elapsed; Sylla is all but asleep,
while Grace becomes nervously anxious for the denoue-
ment. Not a sound but the singing of the birds or far-
off bleating of the sheep breaks the stillness. Not a
sign is there of Charlie. Grace looks at her watch,
which points to half-past four. Suddenly Dandy raises
his head, then once more stretches his nose uoon his fore

96 False Cards.

paws; but the girl notices that, whereas before his bright-
brown eyes were closed, they are now wide open, keen,
and restless. A second time he raises his head and pricks
his small black ears, while the quivering and dilation of
his nostrils clearly indicate that he is aware of a strange
presence in their neighbourhood. He is sitting up on
his haunches by this, and sniffing anxiously around. Not
satisfied apparently, he gives vent to a sound, half growl,
half bark, and then plunges into the cover. The noise
rouses Miss Collingham. " What is it, Dandy ? " she
exclaims carelessly " All but asleep, Gracie ; I think it's
getting time to go home and look for some tea."

But at this juncture Dandy crashes back again through
the bushes, jumps up on his mistress, thrusts his nose
into her face, gives vent to low whimpers of delight, and
then once more disappears at a gallop midst the hazels.

" Who is it ? " inquired Sylla breathlessly, while her
pale cheeks grew paler still. " The dog tells me as
plainly as if he spoke that some one dear to me is at
hand — quick, Grace, who is it ?" and in her excitement
the girl started to her feet. Another second, and she
clutched Grace's arm convulsively, as the faint sound of
some one forcing his way through the cover fell upon
their ears. "Is it? — is it?" she muttered; but ere she
could conclude her sentence, Charlie Collingham burst
through the bushes, caught her in his arms, and kissing
her, said :

" Sylla, darling, at last I see you again ! "
She lay quite passive in his embrace. So still indeed,
and so white were her cheeks, that her brother thought
she had fainted. His quick dark eyes glanced over to
Grace, and she made answer to their mute interrogatory.
" Don't be frightened, Charlie. She's not gone off,
though your appearance has been rather a shock to her.
She'll be herself directly."

And in a few minutes Sylla was seated on the turf,
holding her brother tight by the hand, and gurgling
forth a flood of slightly hysterical questions. Gradually
her excitement subsided, and she was able to converse
rationally with him. But, in the egotism of her felicity,
she had forgotten Grace.

The Betrothal. 97

Sylla, my child," exclaimed Charlie at length, "you
orget that there is some one here whom you have not
allowed me even to shake hands with as yet, and she has
strong claim to be remembered, too, sister mine."

" Ah, me ! how selfish I am ; but you'll forgive me,
Grace, won't you ? It's so long since I've had him to
prate too — so long since," she repeated mournfully, " I
have heard his voice or clasped his hands."

" Come and sit here, Gracie, on the other side of me,
and help me to instil a little common-sense into this
foolish girl, who is in danger of losing her head because
her good-for-nothing brother has turned up again. What
do you think I came down here for, Sylla, to-day ? "

" To see me, Charlie," she replied, as she nestled closer
to his side : " and — and," she faltered, as a jealous pang
shot through her breast, " to see Grace."

" Yes, dearest, to see you and Grace together, and tell
you that you must learn to love her as a sister, for such I
hope she will be to you before very long."

" Sylla, don't believe him ! " cried Grace, as her face
flushed, and her eyes flashed maliciously up at her lover.
" He has never asked my consent as yet."

" Not perhaps exactly in words," returned Collingham ;
" but I think you require but little assurance on that
point. Gracie, you've known for months that I have
been as much pledged to you as if those words had been
spoken. Let Sylla join our hands now."

There was but lit de of the coquette in Grace. After a mo-
ment's hesitation she stretched forth her hand, and Sylla's
slender fingers encircled the clasped palms of the lovers.

" It is what I could have most wished," said Sylla, in
low tones, after a short pause. " But I doubt whether
our father or Grace's will approve of it."

" What matter*, you small bird of ill-omen ? So I have
Grace's consent, I care little. It will be for me to clear
the stones from our path ; and I have no fear on that
subject. Gracie can trust me?" and he looked anxiously
into his betrothed's face.

.Miss Holbourne said nothing ; but the frank, confiding
smile with which she returned her lover's glance was
more eloquent than words.

9 8 False Cards.

" Let me see if you are changed, Charlie," said Sylla,
gently ; and as she spoke her delicate hand ran lightly
over his face, paused for a second lovingly midst his dark
crisp hair, and then dropped quietly into her lap once
more.

" Not a whit," she said softly — " still the same dear old
Charlie."

Dandy's behaviour is worthy of commemoration. At
first he did nothing but yap, whimper, and career wildly
round the two, occasionally rushing up, to thrust his
nose now into one hand, then into another. But after a
little it dawned upon his canine mind that he was in
some way committed to a conspiracy — that this was an
illicit meeting. From that moment, he was clothed in
the mantle of discretion. Betaking himself to a com-
manding position, he sat down upon his haunches, and
with vigilant eyes and pricked ears, kept watch and ward
over his companions.

" Well, it's time I was going," said Charlie, at length.
"It's been a gala afternoon for me,' but I must be back in
London to-night. Good-bye, sister, dearest; you will
hear about me from Grade often now. Adieu, my own,"
he continued, audaciously clasping Miss Holbourne in
his arms, and snatching a tribute from her lips. Then,
quickly releasing her, looking so pretty in her blushes
and sweet confusion, that it was almost pitiable to think
there should be none to see '->er, ^harlie disappeared
amidst the bushes.

CHAPTER XI.

BEFORE THE STORM.

EGINALD HOLBOURNE, meanwhile, is saun-
tering, for the second time in his life, through
" love's young dream." He can no longer even
impose upon himself about still retaining affec-
tion for his fiancee. The scales have fallen from his eyes.
He knows now that he loves Lettice, and that it is im-
possible for him to wed Marion. But although he passes
many golden hours in the presence of the object of his
passion, do not think that he suffers from no reaction to
such lotus-eating.

Reginald Holbourne is a man of high but weak charac-
ter. Such usually suffer much in their journey through
life. They elect an exalted standard by which to shape
their course. They set up for themselves a code of
strictest honour, infringement of which occasions them
agonies of self-abasement. These weak characters per-
petually yield — yield only after a painful struggle — ta
temptation. They suffer from paroxysms of self-accusa-
tion and self-upbraiding before their fall ; they are tor-
tured with remorse, their sin at last accomplished.
Reginald, in his own eyes, cannot break with Marion
without dire stain occurring to his scutcheon. It must
be borne in mind that he is not behind the scenes as we
arc ; that he still looks upon it that he won this girl's
love as an heiress ; that when her loss of fortune was

ioo False Cards.

made known to her, she chivalrously restored to him his
troth, which he answered by a voluntary renewal of his
vows ; and, lastly, though conscious that his own love is
dead, he still believes that Marion loves him in a sober
fashion.

He is quite aware, too, what injustice he is being guilty
of with regard to Lettice. Child as she is, she makes no
attempt to disguise her love, which shines out of her
eyes frank and innocent. She appeals to him now upon
all occasions. Her sweet face is covered with smiles and
tell-tale blushes when he praises her, clouded and
troubled should his words be harsh. She is so_ proud
and pleased when he takes her out for a walk, slips her
little hand within his arm in such a flutter of delight,
and prattles in his ear all the time, as birds sing in
Spring-time, from mere exhilaration and ecstasy. As
the season draws on Reginald encounters more acquaint-
ances than he could wish. He becomes aware that the
men thereof look with a half curious stare of admiration
at Lettice ; that there is a slight twitch about the corners
of their mouths, and that his companion calls forth com-
ment, the gist of which he guesses pretty accurately. He
grinds his teeth at such contretemps The ladies of his
acquaintance, moreover, are wont to be more short-
sighted than usual, when Lettice is upon_ his arm.
Quietly and neatly dressed as she ever is, with all the
sweet purity and modesty of her girlhood irradiating her
face, yet it is palpable to those who know Reginald Hol-
bourne that this fair companion of his is not of his own
class. Those who know the world, and are well aware
with what small amount of charity and upon what slight
evidence it draws its conclusions, will see little to wonder
at in all this.

It was gall to Reginald. He loved this girl purely and
passionately. He could but see that already men were
regarding her as his mistress. He argued sophistically to
himself that no word of love had ever as yet escaped his
lips. He declined to picture to himself what his eyes,
his manner, his voice, had told times without number.
And yet it was Avith a thrill of exultation he felt that
Lettice's heart was entirely his own. He wanted no con-

Before the Storm. ioi

formation of this, although he thought at times how
delicious it would be to draw the avowal from her own
glowing lips. There were times when his passion all but
mastered him, and he had hard matter to restrain himself
from clasping her in his arms, and letting loose the flood-
gates of his love. How sweet Avould it be, " leaning
cheek to cheek," to flatter forth such confession ! Then
he foamed and fumed that men should dare regard his
goddess in the light he but too surely recognised they
did. He was furious at the idea that Lettice's fair fame
should be smirched. Yet it did not occur to him to
break up their existing relations. To seek other lodgings,
to sever himself from the girl he professed to love, but on
whom he knew he was casting such a stain by his im-
prudence as woman can seldom live down.

And she, poor child, saw nothing of all this, She
hardly as yet recognised that she loved. She knew that
his presence made sunshine — his absence shade ; that
praise or kind words from him constituted happiness ;
that his displeasure made her sad — ay, sadder than such
chiding seemed due warranty for. She never pictured to
herself, as yet, any change in their relations. It seemed
quite natural to her that things should go on as they did
at present ; that he should read to her, lend her books,
and sometimes take her out for delicious walks. Little
likely that a child such as she should dream that the
world might view their proceedings with a jaundiced eye.
Of late, Reginald had favoured country excursions.
These were Elysium to Lettice. To scamper up Harnp-
stead Hill with him — to go down to Hampton, and
wander through Bushy Park, to tread the soft velvety
turf, and see the grand horse-chestnuts in all their glory;
then come home tired and delighted, and muse upon her
day's enjoyment.

And so Lettice continued her dream, with eyes as yet
blind to its consequences; while Reginald, only too con-
scious of what might come of it, argued sophistically
with himself, upbraided himself, but made no effort to
break through the web he was so assuredly weaving.

As for old Mr. Cheslett, since his attack he had been
but feeble, both in mind and body. He seemed to take

102 False Car as.

it quite as a matter of course that his granddaughter
should go about under Reginald's escort, and vouchsafed
no word of counsel to the motherless girl. He seemed to
take but little interest in anything but the weather and
his meals. If the day was fine, he sauntered up to the
Regent's Park, and sat there in the sun. The Zoological
Gardens were a source of much amusement to him — indeed,
T think Reginald became a " Fellow " about this time,
for the mere purpose of providing him with free admissions.

Parsimony had almost developed into the passion of
avarice Avith him of late, and one thing which caused
him to view Reginald with much favour, was the num-
berless presents he made them of country produce, such
as fresh butter, eggs, chickens, etc. The young man
often received a hamper from Aldrirgham with such
freight, as a lift to his bachelor menage, the contents of
which, in great measure, went now to the strengthening
of the Cheslett commissariat.

" Mr. Holbourne, you're too bad, and too good," said
Lettice, laughing, as she let him in one afternoon, on his
return from the City. " Too bad to rob yourself so dis-
gracefully as you have, and too good to send us such a
magnificent contribution to our larder as you did this
morning."

" Was your grandfather pleased, Lettice ? " inquired
Reginald, smiling.

" Yes ! and I am pleased a little, and displeased a little,
but shall be altogether pleased if you'll promise to come
and help to eat your own chickens to-night. You will,
won't you ? " she said, softly.

" Yes, if you like it, and Mr. Cheslett won't object."

" Ah ! that's good of you. I had vowed, if you would
not, that no chicken should pass my lips to-night. I
should have had to dine upon bread-and-butter. See
what a quandary you have got me out of ! "

"You're a foolish child, Lettice," replied Holbourne,
laughing.

" Not so, my lord — not so ! " cried the girl, merrily.
" I have you and chickens to my dinner to-night. An
you but bring your best humour with you, we will make
a cheerful meal of it."

Before tfLC Storm. 103

Lettice sometimes affected, in her mirth, the language
of those old dramatists of whom she had heard so much
from her grandfather.

Very pretty did she look that evening doing the
honours of her simple table, albeit she wore but a neat
print dress ; but then it fitted her to perfection, and a
'-right blue ribbon at her throat, and another of the same
hue gleaming amongst her luxurious dark tresses, served
ler Tor ornaments,

" Wine, Lettice, we want more wine," said Mr.
Cheslett, as the dinner came to a conclusion. "Most
excellent chicken, Mr. Holbourne. I lender you thanks,
sir, for the same.

' ' • Now am I
In mine own conceit a monarch ; — at the least
Arch-president of the boiled, the roast, the baked.*

If man, who has but the mere ordering of the feast, may
say that, how much more warrant has he who has fed
and grown fat thereon ! "

Grandpapa Cheslett waxed garrulous under the in-
fluence of the good cheer. He pushed the bottle about
in a way that not only astonished Reginald, but made
Lettice stare with amazement. He told various stories,
and told them, too, with considerable spirit. He chuckled
immensely over an anecdote of Lettice's childish days —
of how, upon one occasion, he had found her most
intently occupied upon sweeping out the sitting-room;
how he had volunteered to bring her a brush and dust-
ian from town, and asked if she would not be pleased
with them ; how Lettice thanked him gravely, and then
idedj "And, grandpapa, if you could only bring me a

>d lot of dirt, too, it would be such fun."

Lettice laughed, and declared that this was a bit of
invention upon Mr. Cheslett's part ; but the old gentle-
man, with much merriment, asseverated that his story
was true. Then Mr. Cheslett relapsed into an easy-chair,
and, when coffee was brought in, requested Reginald to
light his cigar.

" I don't smoke myself, sir," he said, " but I don't
mind it; and as for the child there, she's not old enough
vq< to know rightly what she likes and what she doesn't."

104 False Cards.

Ah ! Grandpapa Cheslett, you make a great mistake
there. She may be young, but she has learnt not only
to like, but to love. The old, old lesson is to be under-
stood at sixteen very perfectly. Plants bloom early at
times, and in the tropics maidens have " serious affairs "
ere they enter the ir teens. Even in our more northern
climates parents and guardians are occasionally startled
by the precocity of their charges in such matters.
Lettice was a girl who had stood alone from an early
age. Such naturally are driven to think for themselves,
Children under these circumstances, develop rapidly.
They occasionally awake to the simultaneous knowledge
that they have a heart, and have lost it. Lettice is not
as yet quite aware of this fact. She never attempts to
analyse her feelings towards Reginald, but she is perfectly
well satisfied to sit in the window with him, as she is
doing to-night, carrying on a desultory conversation in a
low voice, while her grandfather enjoys his after-dinner
nap. There is so little said, apparently, in such talk.
The topics may be so common-place, but who can des-
cribe the glance, the tone, that invest these nothings
with _ so much significance. No word of love may pass
the lips. That conversation might be published to the
world^and very vapid and uninteresting would the world
deem it. Yet how sweet it was ! How much those com-
mon-place observations conveyed to our ears ! Com-
mon-place, forsooth ! Not when uttered in those low,
tremulous tones, with those liquid eyes stealing a timid
upward glance at our own.

So they two sat looking out at the hot Summer night
over the dusty street, their whispering conversation
almost hushed, the silence broken only by the occasional
rattle of a cab, the voice of some passer-by, or the gentle
trumpeting of Grandpapa Cheslett's nose ; yet who would
deem that they held no commune, that their hearts
throbbed not fiercely, that their pulses beat not un-
steadily ? Strong passions run ever silently. It is the
babbling love that lacks strength. Those who shriek
forth their hate or vengeance are little to be dreaded.
The deep, silent stream it is that, when it bursts its banks,
carries such havoc and desolation before it. It is the lon<r

Before the Storm. \o^

and sternly-repressed passion that is charged with such
weal or such woe to the object of its love or its hatred.

Reginald's lips tremble more than once with the wild
speech that so nearly escapes them. The strong white
teeth at times bite through the cigar, as he desperately
gulps down the words that he can barely refrain from
giving vent to. But no ; he has determined that he will
not wrong this girl by filling her ears with his passion,
while he is pledged to another ; so he smokes on in silent
tempestuous manner, and solaces himself with the hypo-
critical reflection that he is not making love to Lettice.
There is much notable love-making done with little
converse, and fluency of tongue has nipped man}' a
promising flirtation.

And Lettice is quite satisfied to sit there beside him
and dream. It is enough for her to have him all to her-
self this sultry evening, and fill up the silence with the
imaginings of her girlish heart. She feels no anxiety
that he should express himself more clearly — no pertur-
bation that she is on the eve of a dcnoxiemcnt. She is
quite content with things as they are. She has not
as yet learnt to look upon him as a lover; she has
not yet admitted to herself that she loves. A word from
him — an accident of circumstance — might cause the
scales to fall from her eyes at any moment. But the
word is not as yet spoken ; the circumstance has not as
yet occurred.

Suddenly some big plashes of rain fall on the pave-
ment, and the low growling of the long-threatening storm
meets the ear.

" Time to close the window, little one ! " exclaims
Reginald, " and for good people like } r ou and me to go to
bed."

" Ah, yes," she replies. " It has been a pleasant even-
ing, but a storm finishes many such."

" What do you mean ? " asked Reginald.

"Nothing. I don't know — yes, I do — I mean that
ie of life's sunniest days are succeeded by some of life's
liercest storms. Unfair, Mr. Holbourne," she continued,
smiling, " to cross-examine me so clo ! "

An ominous clap oi thunder followed her remaik,

106 False Cards.

which roused Mr. Chcslett from his slumbers, and seemed
to Reginald like a weird commentary on her speech. He
bade them good night somewhat abruptly, and as he
ascended towards his own rooms, bethought himself
musingly whether these sunny days he had been of late
enjoying might not be but the presage of fell, tempes-
tuous times, both to himself and Lcttice.

CHAPTER XII.

ROBERT COLLINGHAM'S COURTSHIP.

R A DUALLY a rumour stole through Aldring-
ham that Reginald Holbourne was engaged to
be married — arising, as such vague stories will,
from sources not precisely traceable ; growing
in strength as it spread, and receiving much embellish-
ment as it travelled from tongue to tongue ; confirmation
waxing stronger day by day as the lively imaginations of
the narrators of the fable filled in the details. By the
end of the week it began to settle down, and Aldringham
generally believed that Reginald was about to present
his father with a daughter-in-law, wooed from the boards
of a suburban theatre. To these good people such a
marriage was deemed no fit subject of gratulation. They
pitied Mr. Holbourne from their hearts, and considerately
refrained from felicitating him on his son's engagement.
Of course it was quite impossible tbat Reginald could
bring such a light-o'-love into the bosom of his own
family. Miss Langwortby and her sister were not likely
to tolerate such dishonour as the receiving an actress to
their hearth ; and the banker the last man in the world
to bear such desecration of his home. Aldringham had
its own puritanical views of the sisters of the buskin, and
held them in little esteem ; an opinion based, like many
other strong prejudices in this world, upon sheer theory
ind complete ignorance of the class it so emphatically

108 False Cards.

condemned. It was therefore but natural, under the
circumstances, that Mr. Holbourne and his family were
the last people to hear that of which all Aldringham was
just now talking.

Reginald's engagement to his cousin was a thing known
only to Grace, and had never of late been even suspected
by the townspeople. True, there had been a time when
their names had been for a little coupled by the gossips
of the place, but such rumour had long since died away,
and therefore operated as no check upon the later
scandal.

After a little, this story reached the ears of Sir John
Collingham. The Baronet was far too shrewd a man to
swallow it as a fact, although chapter and verse were
given him by the narrator in a most circumstantial
manner. But he did know somewhat of this world and
its ways — he thought with so much smoke there was
probably some small amount of fire. " Youno- men
would be young men," he muttered ; and perchance his
thoughts travelled back a little to that discarded son of
his as he made this reflection. He deemed it highly
probable that Reginald might be entangled with some
connection of the kind, and meditated much whether it
would not be friendly to give the banker a hint. " He's
a pompous fool," he mused, "but I have seen him
tolerably shrewd at times, when one has succeeded in
getting through the crust of his ineffable vanity."

And so Sir John one morning informed Mr. Holbourne
of what all the town was saying, much to that gentle-
man's astonishment; stating at the same time that,
though he did not personally believe in the rumour, it
would be as well perhaps to contradict it, on Reginald's
authorit)^.

The banker showed common sense on the occasion — he
wrote to his son at once, told him what he had heard,
and demanded either license to deny it, or admission of its
truth. Reginald's answer came by return of post, and
contained a most contemptuous though somewhat curt
negation of the report. Mr. Holbourne therefore openly
alluded to the rumour, clinching such allusion with the
most unqualified contradiction of its truth.

Robert Collin gham s Oonrtship. 109

As might be supposed, both Grace and her cousin now
became cognizant of the story, and of Reginald's denial
of it. Grace turned up her pretty lip, and was very
indignant with the scandal-mongering town in which she
lived. Marion said little ; she laughed at the whole
affair to Grace and Mr. Holbourne, but inwardly Miss
Langworthy had her own opinion, and was by no means
convinced of her lover's innocence. She kept her
thoughts locked in her own bosom, and in her next
letter to Reginald alluded jestingly and briefly to the
subject ; but she had made up her mind to know rather
more about it, as soon as opportunity offered.

A gossiping country town, however, is not quite so
easily choked off its quarry. Aldringham has not quite
done with Reginald Holbourne as yet. Sinister whispers
go about now that it is even worse than first reported.
Mr. Reginald may deny his marriage ; it would be more
respectable if he had made his associate an honest woman,
disgraceful as such marriage might be ; but there can be
no doubt that a lady connected with the theatrical pro-
fession resides with him, and is continually to be seen
about with him. Some inkling of this second rumour,
in vague, unconnected shape, reaches Marion's ears, now
rather on the qui vive for such gossip. That worldly-
minded young lady deems this perhaps a more correct
version of the affair ; still she says nothing, and nurses
her wrath in silence, but is more resolute than ever to
get to the bottom of this business.

Just at present, too, Miss Langworthy is engaged in a
scheme that she considers of more importance than that
of convicting her lover in his transgressions. It may be,
should her present project prove successful, that Reginald's
offendings shall require no further consideration on her
part. Besides, they arc going to town in about three
weeks, and it will be time enough then to investigate
<mese stories. Since the bazaar Robert Collingham has
been a most pertinacious visitor at the banker's; he
drops in continually to lunch, to afternoon tea, and at
various odd times. As before stated, he is not a man of
much conversation on general topics. It is not now the
shooting season, and consequently he is debarred in great

110 False Cards.

measure from riding one of his hobbies. Ladies as a
are not much given to talk farming, so that his other
hobby-horse fails to do him much service in Mr.
Holbourne's drawing-room. Both girls laugh at him,
and deem him rather a bore; yet both are wondrous civil
to him — Grace for reasons which we can easily divine,
Marion from ulterior motives of her own. Miss
Langworthy has made up her mind that Robert
Collingham would make a very eligible husband.

Mr. Collingham, conscious of his deficiencies in the
conversational way, has hit upon a happy though novel
expedient — he takes in Punch. On Wednesday, after
inquiring whether the ladies have seen Punch, which
now, understanding his ways, they always good-naturedly
deny, he proceeds to entertain them with the leading
facetiae of that journal ; on Thursday he runs through
the odd corners for their delectation ; on Friday he brings
them Punch; and on Saturday he looks in to laugh over
the jokes in concert with them ; if he calls on the Monday
or Tuesday, he speculates a good deal as to whether
Punch will be good that week. Grace and Marion in-
variably now dub him "Punch" in their conversation
with each other.

An impartial observer would have confessed himself
puzzled as to which of the ladies it was that constituted
Robert Collingham's attraction. His attentions were
very evenly bestowed. If he talked more to Marion, of
a surety his eyes wandered more often to Grace. Miss
Holbourne could converse pleasantly enough with those
who contributed their own fair quota to such intercourse,
but she did not possess her cousin's talent of providing
conversation for two. Marion possessed this rare gift to
a considerable degree. It was not that she did so very
much more than her own share of the talking, but the
way she threw the ball back to her companion was
marvellously clever. The hardiesse with which she
would interpolate her conversation with " As you were
saying the other day," or " I know you hold a different
opinion ; you look upon it from such a view," was scarce
credible. That these opposing views or sayings were of
her own improvising, I need scarcely observe ; but so

Robert Collingham 's Courtship. ill

cleverly was it done, that the distressed conversationalist
suddenly found himself furnished with argument or re-
joinder. And Marion never sought to interfere, as long
as her companion's talk showed a symptom of vitality ;
but when it flickered in the socket, then she stepped in
once more to the rescue. It was not much to be wonder*, d
at, under these circumstances, that it was to Miss Lang-
worthy that Robert Collingham principally addressed
himself.

He was right ! It would be well for society if there
were a few more Miss Langworthys diffused through our
social system — only think,

** Ye diners out from whom we guard our spoons,"

what a real blessing to be bidden to take such a lady in
to dinner ! I'll admit myself having a very imperfect
sense of rectitude, and having many times wished that
my yoke partner on such occasion had been more amusing,
and rather less orthodox. I don't hold that your anecdote
need stand cross-examination. Give me imagination,
and difico for veracity at the dinner-table. Some notable
liars that I have met in my day, have proved most excel-
lent company over a bottle of claret.

Mr. Collingham continued, however, to call and talk
Punch with wonderful pertinacity; and Miss Langworthy
showed much ability and patience in making the best of
him under such circumstances.

"Ah," she said, laughingly, one afternoon, " you think,
because we are a little diffident about showing our know-
ledge, that we women understand nothing about agri-
culture. Perhaps we don't ; but when you tell me, as
you did the other day, that these small holdings are the
curse of the unhappy tenants thereof, I must venture to
disagree with you."

Now this was pure improvisation upon Miss Lang-
worthy's part. Robert Collingham, to do him justice,
had studiously excluded his views on the land question
from his conversation ; but there was really no more to
be said about Panel on that occasion, and Marion felt it
incumbent upon he* to give him a fresh opening. She
knew perfectly well on what subjects his tongue was oiled

112 False Cards.

The bait took. Robert Collingham flew at it like a pike
at a frog in March, and waxed eloquent upon the misery
twenty-acre farms entailed upon the proprietors. The
young lady picked his brains as he spoke, and interlocuted
pungent remarks on his observations, derived entirely
from such knowledge as she acquired as he went on.
Grace listened much amused at her cousin's shifty
manoeuvring, especially at the audacious way in which
Marion occasionally quoted him against himself. Even
Robert Collingham, at last, denied some of the statements
Miss Langworthy put in his mouth, upon which that
young lady threw up her hands in the prettiest mannei',
and proclaimed herself the veriest fool to have tried to
argue on such a topic with a man who understood it in
all its branches.

" Beaten, Mr. Collingham — beaten, I admit. You are
too clever for me. You have thoroughly studied the sub-
ject, and I, woman-like, have dabbled in it, and formed
wild judgment thereon ; as Sir Andrews says, ' An I had
known you were so cunning of fence, I had never have
fought you.' But I stick to my prerogative — ' Con-
vinced against my will, I'm of the same opinion still.' "

As Robert Collingham walked home that evening, he
was rather perplexed himself about which of the girls it
really was that he so constantly called at the banker's
house to see. He knew perfectly well that his original
attraction had been Grace, but there was no denying
that her cousin was fair likewise, and gifted with a silvery
tongue and rare intelligence. He was also indistinctly
conscious of not progressing quite so satisfactorily with
Miss Holbourne as he did with Miss Langworthy. Still,
marrying the wealthy banker's only daughter was one
thing, and marrying his next door to penniless niece
another. If he could but have transposed them, how
simple it would then be ! In the meantime, Mr. Collingham
felt that he had a somewhat abstruse problem to solve.
A man of slow, lethargic temperament, and not likely to
compromise himself lightly — a man who would contem-
plate matrimony in a somewhat commercial spirit, and
look for an accession of money or connection in any alli-
ance he might form, yet of sufficient calibre to compre-

Robert Collingham s Courtship. 1 13

hend that, situated as he was, it was possible that a clever
woman like his wife might more than compensate for
such deficiencies hy her tact and talent. If he was not
qualified to shine much socially, yet Robert Collingham
had strong common-sense. He had seen several of his
compeers who had owed a considerable amount of their
rise up life's ladder to the assistance of their helpmates,
albeit they had brought their lords no better dowry than
a woman's shrewd wit and a woman's strong heart.

Still Robert Collingham was not at all the man to
depart from his original intention lightly. He had com-
menced his visits at the banker's with the distinctly laid-
down object of wooing Grace for his wife. He had been
much struck with her at the ball, he had thought it over
in a most business-like manner ; he argued very naturally
that he would be a son-in-law whom Air. Holbourne must
thoroughly approve — that, at all events, in course of
time, Grace must inherit a considerable sum of money.
She was very handsome, a favourite of his father's — his
god-daughter, in fact. In short, he deemed hera most
eligible damsel at whom to throw his handkerchief, and
this son of a provincial Caliph fell momentarily into the
error of thinking he had but to woo to win. He had
some justification for such mistake; he knew that there
were plenty of maidens, well dowered as Miss Holbourne,
who would gladly have accepted the heir of a tolerably
well-to-do baronetcy, should he but ask them. To do
him justice, he soon saw that Grace was not one of that
stamp— that she was not to be won so lightly ; but, in
very sooth, at this present moment Robert Collingham
would have been much puzzled to decide as to which of
these girls it was he would fain marry. Marion's tactics
of that afternoon had increased his admiration and regard
for her considerably.

Grace had been over to Churton two or three times
since the day of the walk to "The Hazels," and upon
one occasion by herself.' Sylla could talk of nothing else
but her meeting with Charlie. She mourned so that she
had not extracted from him what had been the cause of
his rupture with Sir John.

" It was stupid, foolish of me, Grade. If I did but

114 False Cards.

know the truth of that story, I might put things right
again, I think. But I was so wild with delight at meeting
him, I quite forgot to ask about it."

" It would have been no use if you had, Sylla," replied
Miss Holbourne. " That subject is a forbidden one.
Charlie won't allow me to allude to it even, though he
will tell me anything else about himself."

" Ah ! but it would have been different with me,"
murmured Miss Collingham, softly.

Grace's colour heightened as she replied,

" Sylla, if I thought Charlie could share a trouble with
you, such as I know this is to him, and could refuse to
let me also bear my share of his sorrow, although I stand
his plighted wife now, I would never go to the altar with
him. But I don't think so ; I trust him thoroughly, and
know I shall be told all in due season."

A sharp pang shot through Miss Collingham's heart.
She was loth to recognize that she was no longer to
stand first in the affection of that brother whom she so
worshipped. She saw her speech had wounded Grace's
jealous love. Small wonder. What girl passionately in
love could have borne the intimation that her lover
might confide to his sister what he declined to entrust to
her?

A few seconds, and then Sylla stole her arm around
her companion's waist, and almost whispered into her
ear,

" Forgive me, Grade. I have been first to him so long
that I forgot. Let us be true sisters, and pardon my
foolish speech. You are right, dearest, but you must
still leave me a place in his heart all the same. You
won't come between him and his blind sister, will
you ? "

She faltered forth the last words almost plaintively,
and ere they were well spoken, she was enfolded in
Grade's arms, as she exclaimed,

" Sylla, don't say such things. I could bite my tongue
out now for what I have said. True sisters, ay, true
sisters ever ! I was a wretch, even for a moment to have
felt jealous of his love for you ! "

It may be deemed that Charlie Collingham might

Robert Collin ghmris Courtship. 115

have managed to see his sister during these four years
somewhat sooner, but two or three things must be borne
in mind. Firstly, that he was rigorously forbidden his
father's house ; secondly, Sylla's affliction ; and, thirdly,
that his acquaintance with Grace had only been renewed
some few months back, and had but of late waxed into
what it had now become, and so given him title to lay
claim to her assistance in the matter.

CHAPTER XIII.

AT THE PEOPLE'S COSMORAMA.

CENE, that small
■which those two

workshop at Brompton, in
shining- lights of literature,

Collingham and Donaldson, manufacture much
manuscript for the delectation of the public.

Standing on the hearthrug, Mr. Donaldson, a silver
goblet in his right hand, moulded in the likeness of a
skull, and inscribed round the rim with the appropriate
inscription of " Here's a health to them that's awa'," is
holding conference with Miss Meggott.

" So you don't like it, Polly, eh ? That's what comes
of letting her take her own character for a week, Charlie.
I told you it would never do. When you let 'em select
their own parts they always get bumptious."

" I know what I like, and I know what I don't like,"
replied Miss Meggott, tersely, " and that's more than a
good many people do. And I say what I think, with no
humbug about it, and that's more than most people do.
Fiddlesticks," replied that young lady, snapping her
fingers. "You know you are not so good as usual this
time, as well as I do. The reviews may butter you
up, but if you want Polly Meggott's opinion, you've got
it!"

" Yes," retorted Jim laughing, " there was not much
doubt about my getting that, whether T wanted it 01
not."

At the People's Cosmorama. 1 1 7

"It's all very fine, young people," replied Polly,
demurely. "It's my duty to look after you and see
what you're doing. Bless me, I'm bound to see you're
grinding enough corn to pay the rent ! You're a precious
idle couple, and it's quite as well you've somebody to
keep you up to the mark."

" Don't be scurrilous, Polly ; here's your health," and
Donaldson drained the goblet and placed it on the table.
" Now what's the matter with the comedy ? "

" Well, I'll tell you. It drags in the last act. All the
interest is out of it after the second. Bless you ! I didn't
want to wait to see what came of them all, because I
knew. Now I hate to know how it's all going to finish
till within ten minutes of the curtain. Them's first
principles of the drama, and you'd better stick to 'em in
future. Now don't be down in your luck," continued
Miss Meggott; "I'll go to-morrow with mother's um-
brella and see what I can do for it. What's it to be —
dinner at home, and give trouble ; or dine out, and spend
money ? "

" We'll dine at home, and get half-a-dozen evil spirits
to come and keep us company. Sing choruses till sunrise,
and otherwise make the welkin ring again ! "* retorted
Donaldson, laughing.

"All right, I'm used to being put upon, and the police
station is handy when you get past bearing," replied
Miss Meggott. "What's it to be ? Are they to be fed
upon bread and cheese, or are we to run into the
extravagance of chops ? You men are always thinking
of supporting the system, as you call it, instead of enlarg-
ing your minds."

" With your talent for the amenities of conversation,
Polly, we can't be sufficiently thankful that you were not
born dumb."

" Yes, it would have been sad that. What a lot of
wholesome truths you would have escaped hearing, Mr.
Donaldson ! "

" Never mind, Polly, as you're losing your temper
we'll go out to dinner. I know you'd turn out a perfect
fiend if we did not."

"It would be a wonder if I didn't lose something,

1 1 8 False Cards.

considering the company I have got into," retorted Miss
Meggott laughing. " And as to how I might turn out,
you needn't taunt me with my weakness, Mr. Donaldson ;
I know I pick up the ways of those I associate with,
worse luck ! "

Miss Meggott was an adept at chaff, and it was by
no means easy to obtain the best of her in such light
persiflage.

" I give in, Polly," said Donaldson. " Your tongue is
all too glib for me this morning."

" Sorry I can't return the compliment," retorted Miss
Meggott. " But I suppose that means we are to stop
joking. I notice you always do when I have the best
of it."

•• And is not that always the case, when I am rash
enough to match myself against that quick wit of
yours ? "

" Come, no more chaff. You get the best of me quite
as often as is good for yow. No dinner at home to-night ? "
said Miss Meggott interrogatively.

" No, Polly, we are full of high intent and virtuous
resolution. We are going to study from life a bit."

" Ah, I know ! Don't forget your latch-key. Recollect
vou may break the street door in, but I'm not to be
knocked up. If you haven't a key there's nothing for
you but burglary, or to sit on the steps till the milk
comes ! " With which advice Miss Meggott departed.

" Well, Charlie, was the Aldringham trip satisfactory ?
I am quite ready to do postman again for you in that
quarter, whenever you please, although I can't say, as
far as I was concerned, that the lady was

' Prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did starve the general world beside,
And prodigally gave them all to her.'

Your sweetheart's very handsome, Charlie, but she didn't
seem to care about paying sixpence for your letter."

" Yes, she told me of your avarice, and how you
wrung that amount from her, and bade me say that you
owed it to charity of some sort."

" Now, Heaven forefend that I should ever play Mercury

At the Peoples Cr.smr>rama.

again ! " retorted Donaldson. " Could sweeter charity

- be exercised than the ministering to two ".
stricken mortals ? And ye: Fin sed of la

:e ! By-the-way. I rr.aie a mistake in the :
instanc-. tried hard tc :ur misri'r tc

.-- — a nice-looking girl, too."
that was her cousin. I don't know why for '
have barely eve it I

a friend to me. I've adverse sy if you ur

stand what that means.'' replied C am, laughing.

" Charlie, my boy, don't I _

melodrama. You're encroaching or. .

When your love affair goes aw; ill be m

to dr e it, and paint the or of your hi

in ink: In the meantime, come along."

bound for?" inquired Char- hat

shall we do ? Dinner first, I presni

•"Yes. You're good for 2. stretch, are you not ? L
walk into town, and g ; B

I want to see Jemmy O'Brian there, if I can catch fa
He wa; g me the other day that he had four

place down Islington way, that * as rth our looking in

It'll make an agony column for T
we don't get more out of it. At pr I only recoil

a little past the Harmon:
"Good." replied Charlie, laughing. "A very pre
programme ; mutton chops and unlimited rowdyism to
wind up wit

All in the way of business," replied Donaldson. " I
never tire of wandering about the big City by gas-light.
To me it's a study of perpetually accumulati: 3
Amongst the thousands of people who come to London,
how very few know London ! I don't mean m

about it, but the street life and queer haunts of the
metropolis

"X:." said Charlie, sententiously. ''People wc
think we mocked them if we told them that one of the
finest sigl in town to stand at the top of North

Audi 2 reet, and gaze down Oxford S at four a.m.

on a Summer morning, and yet is but a foi
we agreed it was so."

120 False Cards.

" Yes, here we are at the Green. I don't suppose many
West-enders ever set foot on its most figurative turf. The
paving-stone has superseded the grass full many a year,
but I can fancy Clerkenwell Green looked upon as genuine
sward by many a Londoner. We haven't passed Jeru-
salem Court, have we."

" No, next turning to the right."

Two or three more seconds, and they turned sharp
down a narrow alley, from whence they emerged upon a
somewhat irregular quadrangle. Facing them stood the
grand old gateway of the Priory of the Knights of St.
John — sole vestige remaining of the magnificent establish-
ment that they once held here. This gateway is now a
tavern, and it was in this hostelrie that the somewhat
Zingari association known as The Friars was at present
located. It was not a club, in the present sense of the
term. House of its own had it none. Bare-backed
friars, bare-footed friars, the reverend community were
fond of designating themselves ; bare-faced friars, bare-
witted friars, they were dubbed by a similar glib-tongued
rival institution. Their system was to engage some three
or four rooms at an old-fashioned tavern, and there they
remained till disagreement with their landlord, desire of
change, or some other whim, sent them once more in
search of quarters. Hotels were contrary to the rule of
the order, which ordained that they should "seek shelter
and sustenance only in good old-fashioned hostelries, and
not in those new-fangled houses of entertainment which
men do call hotels."

For the present, and for some two years past, the
" Gate Tavern " had been their abiding place. Passing
through the bar, with a good-humoured nod of recogni-
tion to the young lady therein presiding, the two young
men made their way up a narrow and somewhat compli-
cated staircase, and entered a barely-furnished room — a
commonplace chamber enough, remarkable for only two
things — on one side of the room ran a glazed book-case,
tolerably well-filled, which, on investigation, was found
to contain nothing but the numbers of the Gentleman 's
Magazine, dating from its commencement ; while on a
raised dais at the upper end of the apartment stood a

At the People's Cos mo ram a. 121

straight, high-backed, most uncomfortable-looking wooden
arm-chair — a seat of much reverence all the same, known
and inscribed as Dr. Johnson's chair. From the depths
of that upright piece of furniture, tradition said the great
lexicographer had penned most of " The Rambler ; " and as
you gazed at that ponderous bit of upholstery of by-gone
days, it would seem partially to account for those sonorous
periods. One could scarcely imagine light, frothy articles
written by the tenant of that stiff old chair. Famous the
room in literary history as the editorial office of Cave, the
publisher of the Gentleman 's Magazine, and scene of that
dinner with Harte, in which the author of the " Life of
Savage," from his poverty of raiment, had his dinner
sent to him behind the screen. Sad episode to look back
upon in the life of so great a man ; and yet the lives of
many of our greatest lights are but too prolific of such
trials. Massinger died a pauper; -'rare Ben Jonson" was
hard put to it to scrape bread and cheese together at
times ; while Carey, the author of our National Anthem,
committed suicide with three halfpence in his pocket.

But a truce to such gloomy reflections — times are
better with the literary profession in these days.

Three or four friars lounge about the fireplace, attired
in the costume of the day, with no savour of conven-
tual garments about them. They are engaged princi-
pally in the consumption of tobacco. They hail the
advent of Collingham and Jim Donaldson with much
geniality, and in answer to the latter's inquiry about
Jimmy O'Brian, inform him that the sub-prior is in the
next room, manufacturing a grill, of extraordinary biting
character, for his own delectation. Charlie and Donald-
son blunder down half a dozen steps, stumble up half a
dozen more, and enter the refectory — a fine old room,
panelled with oak, dark as night from age ; the bust of
Shakespeare at one end, faced by the bust of Johnson at
the other. Historic spot this also, for it was herein that
Garrick, a3 a stripling, first played in London before Cave
and his 'prentice boys, they little thinking that he who
fretted his hour for their amusement was destined to prove
the Koscius of his nation.

"All hail, my brethren, all hail ! " exclaimed a stout,

122 False Cards.

florid, bead-eyed little man, who, with some fragments of
chicken before him, and surrounded with cruets and
sauces, seemed engaged in some unholy incantation.
" Charlie, my chick, how goes on the mourning-coach in
which you so persistently bewail the times we live in ?
You're firing away your ammunition a trifle too fast, my
boy. You'll have us all under the red flag by Christmas
at latest ; and as } r ou know we shall all be nothing of the
sort, what do you mean to do next ? You can't give out
the revolution has commenced, you know, and call the
nation to arms without something to go upon."

" Never you mind," retorted Collingham. " The
Misanthrope is never likely to lack matter to wail over.
We shall see a foreign war, or something of that sort,
' looming in the future ' by that time. At all events,
sanitary reform is always a good standing dish to fall
back upon."

" Reckon you're smart, sir ; guess you've collared the
idea. You'll do to journalize in New York in another
year or two, you will," exclaimed a shrewd, sallow-faced
man, with a humorous twinkle in his eye. " That's just
it ; You must either harrow the public's feelings, or soap
'em — either find a frightful flaw in the social fabric, or
tell 'em it's about as near perfection just now as ever
they'll get it."

"Shut, up, Slymme!" exclaimed the grill-compounder.
"What do you know about journalising ? "

" Think I'm talking tall — eh, O'Brian ? " responded
the American. " Bless you, I've run ' a daily ' in my
time. There's not a darned trade I didn't have a shy at
before I settled down into the show business. How air
you, Mr. Donaldson ? You look peart and chipper.
G'wine to feed ? I've just been packing a chop myself.
Tell me your last piece has fetched the public some."

" Not done amiss," replied the dramatist. " I say,
Jemmy, where's this new entertainment you were telling
me about the other night ? Collingham and I mean
investigating it as soon as we've had something to eat."

"It's no distance from here," replied O'Brian, desisting
from his labours, with the pepper-castor poised in his
hand. " Sorry I can't come with you myself this evening,

At the People s Cosmorama. 123

but I'm engaged. It's just past the Harmonic ; bear to
your left when you come to the fork of the High Street,
and you'll soon see the People's Cosmorama in full
blast."

" Guess I'll jine in," remarked Mr. Slymme, " if you've
no objection. Shows air my business — of all kinds — ■
from two-headed nightingales to patent theatres. If I
fancy the speculation, maybe I'll buy it.

" Well," said O'Brien, " you are all three qualified to
run alone and know town ; but I shouldn't take a watch
or much money to speak of. Keep the rules of the order
in mind, my sons, and if the ungodly should turn out
your pockets to-night, see they find little in them besides
the traditional cockleshell."

" Ora pro nobis, O frater," laughed Collingham. " The
brethren of the order would hardly pay for looting, even
in their Sunday clothes. No professional would waste
time in turning out a journalist's pockets. Besides, I
take it, like most of my guild, my face is pretty well
known about town by this."

" Yes, Charlie, that may be ; but you're going to
witness to-night a revolutionary diorama, commented on
by a political incendiary — with an audience one half of
whom are roughs, the others probably decent artizans
out of work, either from a strike or bad luck. The
rowdy element are very likely to go in for hustling and
robbery."

" Reckon, O'Brien, if it comes to a free fight, we can
straighten out and look ugly as well as our neighbours.
I don't rile easy, but I rile cussed strong when I du ! "

" Now, then, Charlie," exclaimed Donaldson, " the
sooner we're off the better. If you've finished your food,
let's make a start."

"All right," said Collingham, as he hastily gulped
down the residue of his sherry.

" Good night, and luck attend you," laughed O'Brien.
" If I don't hear of some of you in three days — the
mysterious Pollaky and self will be in communication.
Consider me

' The sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch o'er the life of poor Jack,*

124 False Cards.

for which consult Dibden, ' and when found, make a note

on.' "

The trio made their way up St. John Street, and
pushed on till they found themselves abreast of the
Harmonic.

" Reckon we'll look in here for five minutes," observed
Mr. Slymme. " Knott, who owns the concern, is a friend
of mine. Smart man Knott, with gumption and go
about him. Found this place pretty near a dead horse
business, and there ain't a prettier saloon in all London
than he's made of it."

Passing through the bar, they entered a spacious,
gaudily-decorated music-hall, got up with stalls, private
boxes, and gallery — sumptuous fittings, which, judging
from the closely-packed audience had proved a by no
means unremunerative outlay. On the stage a some-
what curtailed representation of one of Offenbach's pieces
was in course of representation, and the enthusiastic
plaudits that greeted the performance showed clearly that
the English lower-jlasses have much appreciation of good
music, when placed within their reach.

They had not been long seated before they were de-
scribed by the lessee, who speedily came forward to greet
Mr. Slymme. Mr. Knott wore the lowest of turn-down
collars, the narrowest of neck-handkerchiefs, and the big-
gest of diamond rings. These extreme points in his
costume once got over, there was nothing very striking
about Mr. Knott, beyond his vivacity of manner. He
was one of those men whom it is impossible to reduce
to despondency. If the Harmonic had blown up com-
mercially the next day, Mr. Knott would have started in
some other speculation long before the debris of his last
venture had been cleared away. It was perhaps this
somewhat American point in his character that had so
won Mr. Slymme's admiration.

When the lessee of the Harmonic heard of their pro-
jected visit to the People's Cosmorama he laughed.

" Well, gentlemen," he said, " you don't know when
to let well alone. If you stay here you will be fairly
amused, and I can promise you a tidy supper and a good
cigar when the curtain's down. You're going amongst

At tltc People s Cosmorama. 125

a set of roughs, to see something that in all probability
won't amuse you a bit. Best keep your places here,
believe me."

" Guess you're three parts right, old man," replied
Slymme ; " but, you see, we've a thirst for novelty, we
have. Your show ain't jad, and that's a fact ; but then
there's heaps of shows like yours on hand in this metro-
polis."

" Very good of you, Mr. Knott, to ask us," chimed in
Collingham ; "but our friend Slymme here has just hit
it. We don't much expect to be amused, but we fancy
we shall see an entertainment very different from any we
have ever witnessed — that's the attraction."

" That's so," chimed in the American. " We go in
for doing all creation, and the People's Cosmorama air
next on "the list. Night, old oss."

" Wish you well through it," laughed Mr. Knott.
" Allow me to phophesy that, next time you are this
way, you'll patronize the Harmonic, and not the Cosmo-
rama."

" Very likely," laughed Donaldson, " and shall most
likely wish we had stuck to it to-night." And nodding
gaily to the lessee, he followed his friends.

Now the advent of the trio had awakened the atten-
tion of an indolent lounger at the other end of the stalls.
lie eyed them keenly during the conversation with Knott,
and upon seeing them take their departure, caught up
his hat and followed their example. He lounged listlessly
through the bar and lobby after them, never approaching
very near them, never apparently taking any notice of
them ; but, for all that, never for one instant losing
tit of them. In the street it was the same ; he saun-
tered leisurely along some fifteen yards or so behind them.

At last Donaldson exclaimed, "Here we are !" as, up

turning a few yards to the left of the Liverpool Road,
he caught sight of a gaudy fanlight, bearing the inscrip-
tion of " The People's Cosmorama." The entrance is
not imposing — the box-office still less so.

"What's to pay? — any difference in the seats?" in-
quired Donaldson, from the precocious youth installed
therein.

126 False Cards.

" It's tuppence all over, and you sits where you can,"
was the laconic rejoinder.

" Simple — very," said Jim, as he paid for their tickets,
and passed on into a large, dimly-lighted room.

The walls were bare and whitewashed, destitute of any
attempt at decoration, unless the few sconces with their
guttering candles might be deemed such. These too
appeared only at the lower end of the room, at which
you entered. The upper part was enshrouded in dark-
ness, with the exception of the dim, weird light which
lit up the panoramic views upon the stage. These fol-
lowing in historical sequence, and commencing with the
destruction of the Bastille, were all illustrative of the
upheavals of the mob ; while from out of the darkness
to the left of the stage came the wild, nervous voice of
the lecturer, explanatory of the rude pictures set before
the audience. In fierce, harsh, denunciatory language
did he point out the endless struggles of the working-
men to obtain their rights ; dwelt in tones of exultation
upon how often they had nearly succeeded, then died
away into a very diapason of mournful ness as he recorded
their successive failures. He quoted the Gordon Riots,
the illustrating picture evidently composed from Barnaby
Rudge, as the last stand of the freemen of England.
The Paris conp-d 'c'faf of '48, representing, as he said, the
hard-working artizans shot down by the ruthless soldiery
of a tyrannical despot, formed another view. The final
scene pictured the advance of the Versaillists over the
barricades of the Commune, " the strangling of the new-
born Republic in its cradle," continued the orator, " and
the setting up of the veriest mockery that was ever
designated a government. Working men," he went on,
" you have hands, you have heads, but ye lack hearts.
The days of serfdom are past, and ye continue slaves.
Co-operation is what we require, throughout the length
and breadth of Europe. Your assembly squabbles over
re-distribution of seats ; we want re-distribution of pro-
perty. They throw to you the sop of the ballot — tell
them that you will have no large landed proprietors ;
that their deer forests cry out against them ; that
they shall no longer batten on their acres, while the

At the People 1 s Cosmorama. 127

proletarians starve ; that the people have been down-
trodden long enough, and that your right in the soil of
your birth must be established by bloodshed if no milder
argument holds sway. What says Proudhon, the philo*
sopher of our class ? ' Property is theft.' And I tell
you it is your own hands must right your wrongs. I
^ave spoken. Send round the plate, Tom," said the
orator, sotto voce, as he resumed his seat, and the curtain
fell upon the storming of the barricades of the Com-
mune. "I've pitched it in very strong, and they ought
to come down for the International pretty handsome to-
night."

" Neat," said Charlie. " Of course a new division of
the family silver must be highly beneficial to those
who've got no plate."

" I'm a republican, I am," said Mr. Slymme — " I reckon
it rather tops any form of government invented yet.
When it's beat, it'll be by something brought out our
side the water, and we shall patent it, of course. But if
that cuss broached his ideas about going halves in other
people's dollars in New York, he'd be either laughed out
of the city, or lynched. It would depend, you see, a good
deal upon how our folks took it."

Several more tin sconces were now illuminated, and the
lights upon the stage also turned up ; and then a young
lady, far more profuse in paint than petticoat, explained
in shrill tones, to the accompaniment of a jangling piano,
that her " love was a saileur boy, only nineteen years old ! "

Collingham, meanwhile, was studying the room and its
inhabitants, which the hitherto imperfect light had
afforded no opportunity of doing. He saw that in front
there were several rows of benches closely filled by grimy,
serious-looking men, evidently of the working-class.
Many of them dropped half-pence into the plate that was
now handed round, for the benefit of the distressed
brethren in Paris, according to the placard on the breast
of the holder, a good-looking, neatly-dressed girl, deco-
rated with tricoloured ribbons. At the back, where he
and his companions were standing for lack of seats, he
noticed that the men were of a different class — much
younger, and with a speciality for gaudy neckerchief, and

128 False Cards.

that peculiar description of long curl on either side of
the head so appropriately designated a Newgate -knocker.
Further, he remarked that whereas on the front benches
there was a great paucity of women, in the back and
unseated space there were divers gaudily- dressed females,
young in years, but all wearing that hard, unmistakable
countenance, that bespoke them but too clearly as of the

"Forty thousand women with one smile,
Who only smile at night beneath the gas,"

Taking all this in with the keen eye that to those accus-
tomed to describe on paper what they see becomes
almost instinct, Charlie soon became conscious that he and
his friends were also under surveillance; that they in
their turn had attracted the notice of a small knot of by
no means honest-looking citizens, who apparently were
involved in deep counsel concerning them. He quietly
called his companions' attention to the circumstance.

" A rough-looking lot," observed Donaldson. " Well,
we've seen all there is to see here, and may as well be
going — eh, Slymme ? "

*' Right you air," replied that worthy. " Don't sup-
pose you've either of you got a shooting-iron ? "

Donaldson and Charlie shook their heads.

" Guessed as much," continued Mr. Slymme. "You'd
better let me bring up the rear, then. Daresay your
London police are right smart, and all the rest of it :
but I've seen the police in my time interfere just two or
three minutes after it ceased to be of much consequence
to one of the parties — just when ' the subsequent pro-
ceedings interested him no more,' so I always carry a
Derringer on principle. I was raised down West, where
you might get along without a watch, but not without a
six-shooter. Now, Mr. Donaldson, slope ! "

As the two made their way leisurely to the door, it was
quite evident that some half score of raffish-looking young
men were following them, and gradually closing upon
them.

" Keep clear," muttered Mr. Slymme — " they'll likely
rush us the minute we're outside. If they'd only give
me an excuse to show the iron, it would prevent a row,
perhaps."

At the People s Cosmorama. 1 29

But though quietly surrounding them, not one of these
people had as yet given any overt cause of offence.

It may be remembered that an individual had seemed
struck with the appearance of Donaldson and Collingham
at the Harmonic, that he had subsequently followed them
in the street. He had indeed tracked them to the door
of the People's Cosmorama, and, after some apparently
slight debate with himself, paid his money, and entered
that place of entertainment. He had contented himself
with a post near the door, and though apparently but
little interested in the lecture, was keenly observant of
the behaviour of the audience. As the trio neared the
doorway, he slipped through the throng, and contrived
for a second or two to get close to them.

"Hist! Mr. Donaldson," he whispered; "you're
spotted. You will all three be tripped up as soon as they
get you outside. Keep clear of the women, if you can,
and run, if needs be, for the High Street."

Ere Jim had time even to recognise the speaker, he had
vanished. But he proved a true prophet, for before they
had gone fifty yards a woman attempted to clutch his
arm, from whom, thanks to this timely warning, he
swung himself roughly clear, and faced about just in time
to knock down a man who attempted to close with him
from behind. Collingham, meanwhile, was struggling
with two or three men, while the American, having
hurled a woman who had grappled with him into the
middle of the street, flashed his revolver in the face of
his foes, placed his back to the wall, and thundered out —

" Stand back, you skunks, or by the 'tarnal, some of
you'll go under before your time ! "

The sight of the pistol, and the vigorous resistance of
both Donaldson and Collingham, caused the enemy to
fall back — the latter had stnuiidcd clear of his assailants,
and now stood with his back to the wall by the side of
Slymme. How it would have fared with them it is
bootless to conjecture, for, at that instant, from the other
sidc of the street, rang, clear and shrill, the blast of a
police whistle, and a voice from the darkness exclaimed,

" Double up, men, look sharp ! here's a gang of pick-
pockets on the lay."

1 30 False Cards.

In a second, both men and women were scuttling in
the opposite direction from that of the advancing police,

" Come along, gentlemen," said Mr. Lightfoot, as he
crossed over to them — " we've no time to lose. I've
only a whistle, and deuce a policeman to back me up.
They're well scared for the present, but we'd better not
wait for them to discover it's a bam."

" Upon my word," exclaimed Collingham, when they
had regained the High Street, "we're confoundedly
obliged to you, whoever you are. You have rescued us
from rather an awkward scrape."

" Dear me, Charlie, don't you recognise your Scar-
borough entertainer, now we have got back to better-
lighted streets ? " said Donaldson, laughing.

"No! Not Mr. Lightfoot, is it ? How on earth did
you happen to turn up so opportunely for us ? " •

" Well, gentlemen, I saw you in the Harmonic ; out of
sheer whim and curiosity I followed you, to see what had
brought you to these parts. When I saw you turn into
the Cosmorama, it struck me that pretty much what did
happen would happen. My personal assistance wouldn't
have been worth a farthing; they were too many for
that, and my head's worth more than my hands any day.
My only chance of serving you was to create a panic as
soon as you were attacked, I don't think I succeeded
badly."

" Stranger," said Mr. Slymme, who had listened at-
tentively to the foregoing, " you're a great strategist.
There have been great commanders who haven't sucked
in a half of your requirements. You're spry down to the
soles of your boots, you air — and might run alone amongst
the Green Mountain boys. If a V spot — that is to say,
a sovereign — is the slightest use to you "

" Say no more, sir, say no more," interrupted Mr.
Lightfoot, airily ; " the ever fluctuating tide of fortune is
just now with me upon the ebb. I think there is a des-
cription of payment generally recognised among ship-
owners as salvage. Under the circumstances, gentlemen,
I think I may accept that from you, without derogation
of caste."

The American grinned as he placed the coin in

At the People's Cosmorama.

131

Lightfoot's hand ; it was a bit of humbug after his own
heart, that conceit of salvage. His companions followed
suit, and then, raising his hat, Mr. Lightfoot wished them
good night.

" Never check curiosity," muttered Mr. Lightfoot, as
he walked leisurely home ; " it's a laudable and lucrative
passion. I've made three sovereigns to-night by the
mere whim of ascertaining where those men were going
to. There's nothing like acquiring information ; you can
never tell but that it may turn out saleable some day."

iiiiii^kj^L.

CHAPTER XIV.

A BITE AT THE TRIMMERS.

^EONIDAS LIGHTFOOT, philosopher and
philanthropist, resided at this time in Islington.
Change of scene, he was wont to declare, was
essential to his health. Ill-tempered people
might have suggested that there were other reasons for
his wandering existence — that, after the manner of the
Bedouin, it behoved him to strike his tent, and away
after a successful raid. However that might be, Mr.
Lightfoot was no petty swindler; constantly as he
changed his lodgings, he always duly satisfied all trades-
people's claims in the neighbourhood, and paid his rent.
" Miserable mistake," he would say, "the not doing
so, committed only by wretched neophytes who pretend
to understand the grand mystery of living by their wits
— occult science, which, while it never fails the past
master, crushes 'prentices and bunglers by thousands in
its complicated machinery. It requires as deep study as
law or medicine, and is a vocation for which not one man
in a thousand is adapted."

It is the morning after Mr. Lightfoot had earned his
salvage at the Cosmorama; breakfast is spread in a
neatly-furnished sitting-room, into which the sun shines
cheerily; a smartly-dressed and by no means bad-look-
ing woman flits about the apartment, makes the tea, and
then quietly turns her attention *o a pile of newspapers.

A Bite at the Trimmers. i?3

She cuts these, and deliberately places the advertisement
sheets upon the writing-table. While she is thus en-
gaged, a man's voice humming a popular air, proceeds
from the adjoining room. For a second he pauses and
exclaims,

" Only three sovereigns ! Damme ! like Clive, when
I think upon it, I'm lost in astonishment at my own
moderation. Ah ! " with a deep sigh ; and then he
burst forth into a fragment.

" 'In a second back parlour in Chancery Lane

Lived a knowing old man, who did always maintain,
What you get you should stick to, and ever retain ;
Which is understood only in Chancery Lane.

In Chancery Lane, in Chancery Lane,' &c."

"Leo," exclaims the lady, "breakfast is ready, the
papers sorted, and there are a pile of letters for you."

"Thanks, my dear," replied her husband. "I am
rather late this morning. I threw away my time and
health last night from sheer good-nature. I saved three
lives, three purses, and made three sovereigns by the
transaction. There is a rule of three sum for you ;
three threes are nine, and that's the number of the
muses. I'll be with you directly.

•' ' When your ' limited companies' burst up and smash,
When your insurance ditto come down with a crash,
When creditors fail their assets to obtain,
There's by no means bad pickings in Chancery Lane —

In Chancery Lane, in Chancery Lane,
There's by no means bad pickings in Chancery Lane !' "

A few minutes more, and, robed in a shawl-pattern
dressing-gown, Mr. Lightfoot, still humming the refrain,
makes his appearance.

" Well, Etta," he exclaimed, " have you run your eye
over the daily record of man's wants, whims, and weak-
nesses, and ascertained whether there is anything that
looks like conducing to our benefit?"

" No, I haven't had time," rejoined the lady ; " we'll
go into business after breakfast."

" Certainly, my dear. The foolishness of man is too
sad a study to contemplate fasting, and, thanks to the
infatuation of that elderly spinster who sought a home
with a kindred spirit above ordinary conventionalities,

134 False Cards.

we are not at present in impoverished circumstances. It
did you great credit that last hit," said Mr. Lightfoot, as
he sipped his tea.

" Yes," returned his lady ; " she kept a good house for
us for six months, and if she had not fallen so desperately
in love with you, it might have gone on still."

" Yes, Etta ; it's the one weakness in your otherwise
faultless disposition, that soup con of jealousy "

" No, sir, it wasn't the case there. I'll not deny but
what I can't stand more than a certain amount of yout
love-making, when it looks dangerous to myself. I
wasn't afraid in this case, but the complications were
getting beyond us ; it was safest to quarrel."

Mr. Lightfoot laughed softly.

" Yes, it was very rich, you two quarrelling over the
fascinating Colonel ; and she, poor soul, little dreaming
that I was your husband all the time. I never met a
woman more determined to marry me."

There was a dash of sharpness in Mrs. Lightfoot's tone
as she replied —

" Yes, but you know well I'll stand no bigamy— I'll be
true to you, Leo, in aught else, but I'd give relentless
evidence on that point."

" Don't be excited, Etta ; one wife is, heaven knows,
enough for any man, and I'm well satisfied with the one
I've got."

The lady's face softened.

"I don't think I've been a bad one to you, Len," she
replied gently ; " but if you've finished, we had better
commence work."

Now business in the firm of Lightfoot & Co. was cer-
tainly of an original description, Mr. Lightfoot ran
rapidly through his letters, with a keen and practised eye.
About three-fourths of them he tore up, and then threw
into the grate, the remainder he laid aside for more
mature consideration. The breakfast-things cleared
away, Etta produced a couple of most orthodox-looking
ledgers, placed the pile of advertisement-sheets she had
previously collected at his elbow, and awaited further
orders.

" The trimmers first, Etta— let's take up the trimmers,

A Bile at the Trimmers. 135

I forget how many there are down just now — look at the
book, my dear."

Mrs. Lightfoot turned over the pages rapidly for a few
minutes, and then replied,

" We have nine catching advertisements out, reckon-
ing all sorts, and twenty-two notes of what you call
' night-lines,' with the addresses you gave opposite them."

" Let's have the regular trimmers first, Etta," replied
her husband.

" Well, here is, ' Wanted a gentleman with five hun-
dred pounds capital, and of good business habits, to join
the advertiser in floating a patent from which the highest
results may be expected. To a young man of energy
this affords an opening worthy of consideration. Highest
references given and required. Address, in first instance,
to R. O. Y., Post-office, Islington.' "

" Nobody nibbling at that hook," rejoined Mr. Light-
foot. (< Not a letter amongst the lot that inquires about
that patent. We haven't taken it out luckily; but
what's the idea opposite it ? "

" Something to be done in perforated cork," replied
Mrs. Lightfoot, laughing.

" Very likely," replied her husband ; " but as nobody
seems inclined to study the scheme, I'll not bother my-
self about working it out just now. My present concep-
tion goes no further regarding it than the application of
the domestic corkscrew, as occasion requires. Go on."

" Then here's ' To Commercial Travellers. — The ad-
vertiser is in a position to place two or three gentlemen
in the way of joining a light but profitable business to
their usual avocations. Address, Zeno, Post-office, King
Street, Cheapside.'"

■' Ah, that was the gingerbeer scheme with Alliance
labels and teetotal ballads pasted outside the bottles. It
ought to have come to something that, if I had managed
to catch the commercials. An extra trifle per bottle for
the outlay of a taking label should prove lucrative, if
you can only sell enough of it. I am afraid, Etta, the
commercials are not a credulous class. We'll stop that
advertisement at once."

But it would be wearsome to follow Mr. Lightfoot

136 False Cardi

through his nine trimmers. Suffice it to say that at the
conclusion of the investigation he remarked to his wife,

" Two fish on, apparently, and one of them, I think,
from his letter, it would be sheer waste of time to try to
land. Although he has nibbled a little at joining a
flourishing concern at the West-end, yet he writes in a
suspicious, business sort of way that is most offensive.
While humanity is, as a rule, so sweetly confiding, who
would be foolish enough to court commercial relations
with a coarse, sceptical exception ? That young man
who offers a bonus to anyone starting him in business, I
think must be taken care of. We may as well have his
bonus as anyone else ; it will be a useful lesson to him,
do him a deal of good — show him what a wicked world
it is, and impress upon his mind that the tenth com-
mandment is very imperfectly observed, and that, sad to
say, there are many people who go a step beyond covet-
ing their neighbours' goods."

" Will you look at the night lines next ? " inquired his
wife.

What Mr. Lightfoot denominated his night lines, were
such letters as he addressed to Miss Langworthy. He
invariably gave as his address, in case of reply, certain
initials ; an advertisement headed with which, in one of
the leading journals, was certain to meet with his atten-
tion. You would scarcely believe on what absurd
grounds he launched these missives. He constantly
wrote such notes as that he had addressed to Marion,
without one whit more foundation to go upon. He
found that about one in twenty bore fruit. The man
was simply a most inventive and audacious swindler.
He had lived well for years, principally on the advertise-
ment sheets of the daily papers. He spent a large sum
per annum in fraudulent notices such as above alluded
to, and immediately replied to any advertisement that
struck his practised eye as likely to lead to beneficial
results to himself. He expended as much time, energy,
and talent in concocting and perpetrating his robberies
as would have acquired him a comfortable income at any
legitimate business. He was most thoroughly aware of
this himself, but there was an excitement about it, in the

A Bite at tJic Trimmers. 137

perpetual scheming, in the perpetual hovering just
outside the clutches of the law, in the winding through
the clumsy fingers of the police, that to this man had a
fascination similar to the gaming-table.

He gloried in his own adroitness. His restless brain
was ever contriving. The obtaining possession of some
one else's goods or money, as the result of such plotting,
was of course the primary, but certainly not, in Lightfoot's
case, the strongest motive. He revelled in outwitting
his fellow men. Given the most favourable opportunitv,
and a purse laden with gold, and Lightfoot might have
hesitated to pick a pocket ; but he would have left no
stone unturned to bamboozle the proprietor out of such
gold all the same. A more delicate shade of morality is
seldom encountered.

Mr. Lightfoot busies himself over the newspapers, and
neglects to reply to his wife's question. Suddenly he
exclaim?, with a laugh,

" This reads well : ' A widow lady and her daughter,
residing in a well-furnished. house at Notting Hill, offer
a most comfortable home, replete with every convenience,
to a bachelor of domestic habits.' Ha ! ha ! Etta,
before I was married I should have taught that firm a
iittle lesson. Intention evident that such bachelor
should be led like a lamb to the altar. What fun it
"5vould have been ! I should have fooled both ladies to
the top of their bent, named the day, &c, and, one quiet
afternoon, have vanished, and left no trace behind. A
sacrifice, my dear, to conjugal love, that I don't even
now take revenge on such an audacious attempt to entrap
the unwary male creature."

"It does read very like a plot of that description,"
replied his wile, laughing; " but I don't think it's woi th
your while to pro eo."

" Perhaps not, unless for the fun of the thing, or on
public grounds. It reads a little like poaching on our
manors, Etta. However, now let us see if there's ■
a fish on the night-lines.

" ' I- a secorvl back-parlqjir in I try Lane,' "

hummed the volatile Lightfoot, ;is he still scanned the

138 False Cards.

papers, while his wife ran through the list of initia,
headings he had given to people by which they might
communicate with him, should they need his services.

Mr. Lightfoot had not altogether overstated his
detective powers to Donaldson. He knew every inch of
London, was thoroughly conversant with all the ins and
outs of crime, and had rather a taste for doing a little bit
of amateur detective work now and then. He would
occasionally follow up a case of celebrity, entirely for
his own satisfaction — working it out sometimes altogether,
sometimes only to a certain extent, as whim or fancy
might dictate. Keeping his acquired information for
the most part to himself, though occasionally disposing
of it, when it turned out both valuable and marketable.
It constantly happened that it was not the latter, as Mr.
Lightfoot eschewed being brought into contact with the
authorities as much as possible. At times, too, the pur-
suance of the clue necessitated a larger outlay of money
than he deemed advisable ; and when the chase unmis-
takeably headed out of town, Mr. Lightfoot generally
abandoned the pursuit, unless he had a retainer, and
now and again he had found such upon his night-lines.
Few things he liked better than such applications, and if
he made his clients pay for their information, he was
very indefatigable in their interests.

" Stop, Etta, what was that you read out for the
Times" he exclaimed.

" Z, three asterisks, R," repeated his wife, slowly.

" Ah ! a bite ; ' Z * * * R is requested to drop a line,
to say where the advertiser can communicate with him
more fully.' What name is opposite those initials ? "

" Miss Langworthy, Aldringham, niece of Holbourne,
banker thereat."

" I recollect all about it now. Good-looking girl, with
a clever face, and something just a little suspicious about
her mouth. What can she want ? I never fired a more
chance shot than that. However, never mind. This is
a fish worth landing, Etta.

" ' In a second back -parlour in Chancery Lane,

Lived a knowing old man, who did always maintain,' "

sang Mr. Lightfoot, rubbing his hands cheerfully. A

A Bite at the Trimmers. 139

young lady client of this nature, with a prosperous banker
for uncle, seemed like hitting off a vein of gold to the
scapegrace adventurer who traded on the follies and
passions of humanity. " Etta, my love," he resumed at
length, " this is a young lady with a golden relative
behind her. She is probably curious upon some point.
I delight in administering to the wants of my fellow-
creatures, and deem curiosity a most laudable passion.
Why should I not appease her thirst for information ? —
more especially, my Etta, when I look upon her as well
able to pay for it. She looked a sharpish young lady,
but I don't suppose she comprehends what an expensive
amusement she is embarking in. Knowledge of one's
neighbour's affairs should always be priced amongst the
luxuries of life, and the purveyor of such tidings must
be an arrant fool, if he fail to establish an indirect claim,
which shall stand him in good stead for many a day to
come. '

CHAPTER XV.

PASSION CONQUERS PRUDENCE.

ppIlT must not be supposed when that Aldringham
rumour was put before Reginald Holbourne in
his father's letter, he was not deeply moved
thereby — he was furious, angry with the world
— angry, although loath to acknowledge it, with himself.
His wrath was characterised by all the fierce, hysterical
indignation of a woman. He knew how he was betraying
this confiding girl, who so implicitly trusted him, with
whom his word was law, who rr^de no effort to conceal
her love. He knew that day b) lay, hour by hour, he
was winding his way into the ver^ depths of her nature
— that already she dressed, read, studied, thought but to
please him ; that she was gay or sad even as his own fitful
mood varied ; that his frowns or smiles constituted the
clouds or sunshine of her young life. He knew all this,
and cursed himself because it was so. Weak he was, but
Reginald Holbourne was no libertine. He shuddered to
think that Lettice's fair name might be smirched through
his imprudence ; and yet he perfectly comprehended that,
if such fate had not already befallen it, such must be the
upshot of their intimacy. He was cheating himself
when he pretended not to believe that he had already
done her that injustice. In his heart of hearts, he was
conscious how men spoke already regarding her.

He suffered much at this time — he was torn by con-

Passion Conquers Prudence. 141

tending emotions; alternately swayed by paroxysms of
remorse for the wrong he was doing Lettice ; then again
swept away entirely by the violence of his passion. Anon
he is plunged into the depths of despair, as he reflects
upon the impossibility of bursting the fetters that bind
him to Marion ; and even were that accomplished, how
is he to present this unknown, friendless girl, met with
in an obscure lodging-house, as his affianced bride to his
pompous father ? He would have spurned the idea of
wronging Lettice, and yet he is stealing all her fresh
young heart from her, garnering up all her girlish love,
to give in return — what ? Is he to tell her, a few weeks
hence, that the past is all a dream, and that he is engaged
to marry his cousin ? Is he to woo her still closer, and
leave her blighted, a thing for women to scoff at, for
angels to weep over — a flower snapped ere it had fairly
bloomed ? Reginald would thrust such suggestion down
the monitor's throat who should point it out ; and yet
such sad ending is ofttimes seen to misplaced passion.
He carefully avoids all his friends and acquaintances at
this time, or else it was impossible but that they should
have noticed how ill he looked. His confreres in the
City remark upon it. His eyes glitter with a feverish
light, and exhibit livid rings beneath them. Lettice
notes it too, and redoubles her care and attention. She
would fain treat him as an invalid, and timidly urges
him to seek medical advice. He knows better. His
passion and his conscience tear him to pieces in the
fierce struggle that rages between them. He is beyond
the skill of the physician. Flight! — yes, he must fly;
but shall it be from Lettice, or with Lettice? He is
drunk with passion; half mad with remorse! Poor child,
she half shrinks at times from his ardent gaze; and
the blood surges to her temples when her eyes meet
his.

But as yet he has suffered no word of love to escape his
lips, and hugs to himself this miserable subterfuge as
puny consolation for his conduct. He tries unavailingly
to stifle the pricks of conscience with the thought that
he has given no utLtjrance to the passion that consumes
him. Buoj mockery ! — as if hia evci\ glance, everv

142 False Cards.

gesture had not wooed Lettice for weeks past, as if he
could be blind to how she regarded him.

Ke looks in on Lettice one morning, as is his wont
before starting for the City; he has passed a restless
night, consequent upon the intelligence that his people
meditate coming to town for three weeks or a month ;
a id a strong presentiment that neither the keen eyes of
Marion nor his sister will be blind to the fact that there
is something amiss with him. He looks more haggard,
seems more nervous and depressed than usual even.
Lettice is struck with it, and as she greets him says,

" You look too ill to go to business to-day, Mr.
Holbourne. Believe me, you are wrong not to see a
doctor, and take some care of yourself."

"Nonsense," he replies, somewhat roughly; "I must
go, and there's nothing the matter with me."

" Your hand burns," said the girl. " Will you promise
to come home as early as you can, and take me out
somewhere ? We haven't been into the country for a
week," she faltered, " and that always does you good,
you know."

Yes, for a whole week ne had debarred himself from
the pleasure of these country rambles, thinking that by
so doing he was smothering his love. For the last few
days he had avoided her as much as possible, only to be
conscious of her mute look of distress when they met, and
the sorrowful appeal of her large earnest eyes as to how
she had merited his displeasure. He hesitated, the temp-
tation was great. He knew that to roam over the grass,
or sit beneath the spreading branches of the grand old
trees in Richmond, Bushy, or Greenwich Parks with her,
represented paradise. He struggled to maintain the
\ virtuous resolution he had formed.

" Oh, what have I done," cried Lettice, " that you treat
me so unkindly ! You have hardly spoken to me all the
week. Please tell me my fault. It is only justice, Mr.
Holbourne, to let me know wherein I have offended.
You know I would not displease you wittingly," and the
girl's cheeks flushed, and her mouth quivered in the
ardour of her appeal.

He gazed at her a moment as she stood there before

Passion Conquers Prudence. 143

him, her hands loosely clasped, her eyes cast meekly
down, awaiting the specification of her misdoings.

" Done ! you have done nothing, child. It is I that
have been out of sorts, out of temper, harassed, worried."

" Then you are not angry with me ? " she exclaimed, as
her eyes flashed brightly up into his face, and a smile
played about her lips. "Ah, I was so afraid — I did not
know how, but I thought that I had offended you ! "

" Nonsense, Lettice ; I have not been well, that is all."

" Oh yes, I know how selfish I am, but," she continued
smiling, " I am so afraid of getting into disgrace with
you. You sometimes scold me, and that I don't mind,
but you must never be angry with me without scolding.
You won't, will you ?"

" No, you foolish child, and we will go for a run to-
day. It will be good for both of us," replied Reginald,
his prudential resolutions scattered to the winds. " Mind
vou have your bonnet on by half-past four."

"Delightful!" cried the girl, clapping her hands.
" If I have clone amiss I know I shall be forgiven now.
Where shall we go ? "

"Think. I must be off, and you shall tell me when
I return."

Lettice sat for some time after Reginald had left her
wrapped in thought. No unpleasant dream-land that, I
ween, into which her fancy wandered, if the shining light
in her eyes, and happy smile on her lips, may be deemed
indication of a maiden's mind. She was beginning to
awake to the fact that Reginald Holbourne was all the
world to her. She did not attempt to disguise it to her-
self—she acknowledged she loved him. Did he love her ?
did not know: she thought so, she hoped so, but
then he was so far above her! And then romantic
Lettice reflected that King Cophetua loved the beggar-
maid, and had not Helena won Bertram at last ? Did
not Ferdinand woo Miranda, not knowing her a Princess ?
And did not all the old romancers tell that love was lord
of all ? She was so happy in her new-born love, that she
gave but little thought of what might come of it. If
Reginald would but confess that he loved her, that was
all she wished for at present. Reginald ! she murmured

144 False Cards.

the name softly to herself twice or thrice — would the
time ever come when she should dare address him' thus?
But she was wasting time sadly ; this would never do —
she must see to her wardrobe. She must look her very
best when she was to go out with him. He was dread-
fully particular, and dressing for one of these excursions
was matter of as much thought and perturbation to
Lettice as a toilette for the Queen's ball is to some of her
aristocratic sisters. Then she had to settle where they
were to go, and Reginald always expected her to know all
about the trains ; and, with these reflections. Lettice
jumped to her feet, and began to be very busy indeed.

First, she explained to her grandfather that Mr. Hol-
bourne had offered to take her out for a trip info the
country, and asked his permission. Little difficulty about
that. The old gentleman thought little about anything
unconnected with his own comforts. He was lapped in
the egotism that is so constantly educed by the infirmi-
ties of age — more especially when conjoined with indif-
ferent health.

" Very well, Lettice," he replied. " I am glad to think
of your getting a little pleasure at odd times — it is some-
what dull for you here, child. But I can't have my
dinner put off — I can't be kept waiting for you to come
home."

" No, grandfather dear, I will see about all that. Sarah
shall bring up your dinner at the usual time ; and, as for
me, I daresay I shall manage to find a crust of bread-and-
butter and some tea later."

" Ay, that will do. I hope you will have a pleasant
afternoon." And the old man once more resumed his
study of the paper.

" Grandfather dear, will 3'ou let me have a little
money, please?" said Lettice, timidly, as she seated her-
self on a stool at his feet.

" Money ! — and what may you want with money? I
presume Mr. Holbourne doesn't call upon you to pay for
cabs or railway fares on these occasions ? " And the old
man peered suspiciously down upon her.

" No, indeed," faltered Lettice, as she coloured pain-
fully ; " I'm afraid he knows the emptiness of my purse

Passion Conquers Fni deuce. 145

but too well. But, grandfather, there are articles of dress
that I must have. I want some gloves, for one thing."

" Gloves ! What does it signify whether a child like
you has gloves or not ? "

"You forget I'm not far from seventeen years old,"
retorted Lettice, defiantly; " and people begin to think
us young women at that age."

" Seventeen years old, you monkey ? How time passes !
■ — I'd never have thought it. And now, just like your
mother before you, you want to scatter my gear to trick
yourself out in gews and gauds, in ribbons and laces. Go
to, wench ! "

" Nay, grandfather, I'm sure it's seldom I come to you.
It is but little I spend on my dress — no girl could manage
upon less than I do. But you must let me have a sove-
reign now."

" D'ye think I'm made of gold, girl ? — or have share
in the sands of Pactolus ? An' I be not guarded of my
gold,

' In spite
Of all my thrift and care, I'll grow behindhand.' "

Things looked ill for Lettice's request, but that young
lady was cognisant of a pet weakness of her grandfather's.
For a second she paused, and then, with a smile of mock
humility, made answer —

" ' Wc, ignorant of ourselves,
Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers
Deny us for our good.'

But nevertheless, grand father, pleasure me in this thing,
I pray you."

"Aptly quoted, wench! — well put!" exclaimed the
old man, in great delight. " But mark me, Lettice, this
must last you a long time — it's gold, child, and gold
waxes hard to come by."

A quarter-past four sees Lettice in gipsy-hat and
dainty muslin robe, sitting at the window, anxiously
awaiting Reginald's return. Thanks to her quick memory
and knowledge of her grandfather's weakness, her hands
are neatly gloved. The girl's eyes sparkle with antici-
pation of pleasure, and glance impatiently from the street
to the timepiece. Shall this day and that apt quotaf' '

146 False Cards.

recur to her memory in days to come ? — who knows ?
No anticipation of evil clouds the bright, eager young
face at present. The sorrows of the future are as yet
mercifully locked in the womb of Time. At last she
catches sight of him, and runs to open the door.

" Ready, Lettice ! " he exclaimed — " come along, then.
What a punctual little girl it is ! " and he looked fondly
down upon her as she slipped her hand beneath his arm.
" And where are we bound for ?"

" Let us go to Richmond, and stroll along by the river,
or Avander in the park — whichever you like best. It is
all beautiful down there, and we can forget hot, dusty
Baker Street for two or three hours."

So to Richmond they wended their way. Reginald
felt a thrill of exultation run through his veins as he
noticed the glances of admiration that were more than
once bestowed upon his fair companion. Weak and un-
stable of character, even in his love he would fain be
endorsed by the world's opinion — would wish that men
should deem the object of his worship peerless among
women. To-day he has thrown aside all scruples of con-
science, and given himself up wholly to the enjoyment
of the hour. They have wandered about the park till
they are tired, and have now seated themselves on the
soft, velvety turf, beneath the shade of a gnarled old oak.

" Have you no relations beyond your grandfather, Let-
tice ? " he asks, lazily, at last.

" Not that I know of," replied the girl, slowly. " I
had a sister four or five 3/ears older than myself, but she
married, and died shortly afterwards. I loved her very
dearly, but never saw her but once after she left us."

" Have you never seen your brother-in-law since ?"

" No," said Lettice, musingly. " He was very kind to
me, and used to make rather a pet of me when he was
courting Lilian. I think sometimes it is perhaps grand-
father's fault. You know, Mr. Holbourne, he is very
fond of money. I was hardly old enough to learn the
rights of the story, but either my brother-in-law wanted
money, or, what is quite as likely, grandfather fancied he
might, and so gave him scant encouragement to come
and see us. It was perhaps that, but I don't know," and

Passion Conquers Prudence. 1 47

Lettice absently pulled to pieces some wild flowers she
had plucked.

" Then, if an}^thing happened to your grandfather, you
would be all alone in the world ? " said Reginald.

" All alone," she murmured, sadly. " Ah i Mr. Hol-
bourne," she continued, as the tears welled to her eyes,
" it is cruel to remind me of how desolate I may be ere
long ! "

" No, Lettice," he whispered, in deep, passionate tones,
as he drew her to him — " never alone in this world while
I live. I love you, Lettice — love you so dearly that to
lose you would be to lose the sun of my existence — to
leave life a blank — to canker the very current of my
blood ! I never told you so in words, but you have
known it for weeks past. Say, dearest, I do not woo in

vain."

She hid her face upon his shoulder for a few seconds
as she yielded to his embrace; then raising it, roseate
with blushes, murmured simply " I love you," and surren
dered her lips to his passionate kiss.

" There," he exclaimed, as he released her. " Mine
now, Lettice, come weal, come woe; are you not ?"

" Come weal, come woe," she faltered, in low tones and
with downcast eyes.

She could scarce trust herself as yet to speak ; she was
afraid to let him see the rapturous light that glistened in
her eyes. She took shame to herself that she had aban-
doned her lips to him so readily. The blood surged
madly through her veins, and she feared that he might
even detect the wild pulsations of her heart.

They sat silent for some little time, her hand locked in
his. The declaration of pent-up passion had at last burst
its bonds, and neither was inclined to speak. The fierce
impetuosity of his love had infected her, and she trem-
bled at her own happiness..

" Come, Lettice," he said at length, "it is getting time
to go;" and as he raised her from the ground he once
more clasped her in his arms.

" Oh ! please don't, Mr. Holbourne," she whispered.
" Let me go."

11 You don't deserve it," he replied. " Say Reginald."

148

False Cards,

She raised her lips to his for a moment, then, murmur-
ing shyly " Please, Reginald," slipped from his embrace.

Slowly they sauntered back to the station, but little
conversation passed between them. Reginald Holbourne,
at the height of his passion for Marion, had never found
himself tongue-tied, and now he seemed to have no words
to bestow on this girl whose love he had won — a love,
too, that thrilled through his every pulse in a manner all
unknown to that first passion of his youth. Lettice,
however, seemed quite content ; her heart was too full
for speech, and Reginald felt her little hand flutter as he
gave her his arm through the crowd.

u I won't come in to see your grandfather to-night,
darling," said Holbourne, when they again arrived in
Baker Street. " I shall go to my own den, and dream
over my happiness. Good night, Lettice, my own."

" Good night," she whispered, and with a shy little nod
disappeared.

CHAPTER XVI.

AN AWKWARD MISTAKE.

"EMANDEZ ma voiture ! "

" Le ma est l'accomplissement du mariage.
Pendant deux ans on a dit la voiture de
Monsieur, la voiture, notre voiture, et
cnfin ma voiture." So saith Balzac. But woman
is at no loss to insinuate such authority over he.:
male surroundings, although not fortified by the
chains of matrimony ; old bachelors have been but as
tops in the hands of termagant housekeepers ere now,
more sleepy and less mutinous in proportion to their
scourging; while mothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, &c, have
reduced widowers to complete subjection in two years
and demanded " my carriage " when it seemed good to
them.

Miss Langworthy had ruled her uncle's house now for
four years, and, I need scarcely add, at the present time
exercised perfectly despotic sway therein. The banker,
good, easy man, at times fussed and fidgeted, and made
a feeble demonstration of domineering over his own
blishment, but it imposed upon nobody but himself.
The servants knew perfectly well that master's bluster
was as nothing in comparison with the calm, cutting
reprimands of his .niece — that Mr. Holbourne's wrath
evaporated in stormy, incoherent reproof; but that when

Misi Langworthy found fault,

something

was wont to

150 False Cards.

come of it. Marion would dedicate herself to the per-
secution of an offending housemaid with an assiduity
worthy of a better cause.

Of late she had been rather disturbed by the rebellious
spirit manifested by her cousin. Grace was perfectly
aware of how Marion usurped the position that of right
belonged to herself. She was now old enough to make
a stand against Miss Langworthy's dictatorial edicts, and
more especially did she now wage fierce internecine war
on the subject of "ma voiture" She claimed equal dis-
position of the carriage with her cousin, and flatly
declined to abate one particle of such privilege. Marion
was much annoyed at this disaffection in her domestic
kingdom, and felt rancorously disposed towards Grace in
consequence. She could hardly expect her uncle to in-
terfere in the matter, to the prejudice of his own
daughter — that daughter, moreover, only laying claim
to a half when she was fairly entitled to a whole.

It had been Grace's growing intimacy with Sylla
Collingham that had given rise to this difference between
them. Grace continually wanted the carriage to go to
Churton. Miss Langworthy detested Churton ; she did
not get on either with Sylla or Sir John, and from ex-
perience she knew that she was much more likely to see
Robert Collingham in Aldringham than at Churton. A
sharp passage of arms had taken place between the
cousins on the subject, whereby Miss Langworthy made
two disagreeable discoveries, to wit, that her monopoly
of the carriage was at an end, and that Grace could suc-
cessfully assert her independence. These seemed positive
injuries to Marion's mind ; she brooded over them at
times with feelings much the reverse of friendly towards
her cousin.

Robert Collingham, meanwhile, continued his visits to
the banker's house. He was quite an habitue there now,
and they saw him fully four days out of the seven.
Aldringham was not likely to overlook such fair cause
of gossip, but varied much in .opinion as to which it was
of the young ladies that so attracted him. While one
portion of the town held that he wooed Miss Holbourne,
the other declared that his attentions were directed to

An Awkward Mistake. 151

her cousin. Marion was herself at times somewhat per-
plexed upon the subject, but of late, upon discovering
that Grace's absence produced apparently little effect
upon him — that he was quite as willing to sit, talk, and
have tea with her, and that the non-appearance of Miss
Holbourne led to no more than courteous inquiry con-
cerning her, and a civil message of regret at not seeing
her — Marion had come to the conclusion that these
visits were meant exclusively for her fair self.

Miss Langworthy was gifted with quite her share of
vanity, yet she appraised her attractions in by no means
an extravagant manner. If she held her personal
charms rather higher than circumstances quite warranted,
she laid far more stress upon her tact and talent of
making the very best 'of herself in every way. She knew
well that a woman who could talk pleasantly, and help
men out in the making of conversation, oftentimes dis-
tanced her handsomer sisters in the race matrimonial.
She had seen many a beauty with all the men at her
feet upon first coming out, and marked how short such
sway held power, unless the pretty face had something
behind it. Boys' heads were still turned, it was true,
but those of more mature growth and understanding;
soon tired of such doll's flesh. Marion knew that few
who had once paid court to her ever failed in their alle-
giance ; and it was knowledge of this that filled her
breast at times with bitter indignation against Reginald
Holbourne. He, she felt, was bound to her by faint lies
of affection now. True, she cared in reality nothing
about him ; but that did not the less prevent her resent-
ing bis defalcation. She took a malicious pleasure in
making him feel his chains at times, although she had
slight idea of ever marrying him.

Marion had, in sooth, good reason to suppose herself
the magnet that attracted Robert Collingham. Even
when Grace was present, it was to Miss Langworthy that
he principally ad<! I his conversation. Robert Col-

lingham was deemed hi avy among men. lie could talk
-ibly enough if the con ion ran in those two

grooves, agriculture or shooting, in which his life was
bound up; but outside them he was mute. Now, that

152 False Cards.

ingenious idea of Punch with which Mr. Collin 2"h am had
opened his undefined siege in the banker's drawing-room,
although it had done him yeoman's service in the preli-
minary skirmishing, of course proved inadequate as his
visits waxed of greater length. But when Miss Lang-
worthy had finally determined that this devotion was
meant for herself, that it was at her altar that such in-
cense was burnt, she devoted herself nobly to his
assistance. This ingenious young lady took to reading
the Agricultural Journal, and divers other works of a
similar character, and, by airing the knowledge thus
acquired, made conversation both easy and interesting
for her admirer. Mr. Collingham was delighted ; he got
quite animated upon one occasion, and was so carried
away by Miss Langworthy's critical remarks upon the
double plough that he declared he must speak to Sir John
about letting her a farm.

" Hum," mused Marion, after his departure, " this scien-
tific talk is not favourable to flirtation. If he'd talk to
Sir John about letting me a husband, 'twould be more to
the purpose. I presume that at last is to be the issue of
his bucolic mind. Ah ! me, it's weary work when one
has to do so much of the wooing oneself."

And then her thoughts reverted to those bygone days
when Reginald was at her feet, and she bitterly contrasted
his wild, boyish devotion with the phlegmatic attentions
of her present admirer. Had she tried to keep that
love ? No ; in all honesty, Marion was fain to confess to
herself that, though she had been at some pains to main-
tain their engagement, she had exercised little industry
to keep alight the fire which had once burnt so fiercely.

It is a delicious Summer morning. The hum of the bees
and the fragrance of the flowers come pleasantly through
the open window, at which Grace Holoourne sits reading, or
to speak, perhaps, more accurately, musing. Her book lies
in her lap unheeded, although the slender fingers still
keep mark of the page. Miss Langworthy is busily
engaged writing letters at a Davenport, and the scratching
of her pen alone breaks the silence. Suddenly the door
opens, and the banker appears — apparition most unusual
at that hour in that apartment. His countenance flashed

An Aivkward Mistake. 1 5 3

with gratified pride ; he flourishes the double gold eye-
glass with much magnificence — his whole form is swelling
with self-importance. His tall, portly figure positively
dilates with the intelligence of which he is bearer.
Marion at a glance sees that her uncle is overflowing with
some subject tending to his self-glorification, and patiently
awaits the unfolding thereof. Grace, too, although by
no means so quick at reading her father as Miss Lang-
worthy, speedily discerns that he is in a state of great
jubilation, from some cause or another.

''Ha! girls," he exclaimed, jocularly, "what for my
news this morning, eh?"

" That would be to buy a pig in a poke, indeed, uncle,"
retorted Marion. " It may be that consols are down,
which concerns us little. It may be that discount is
raised, which concerns us less."

" It may be that you bring new dresses, which concerns
us much ; or new ornaments which concerns us more,"
cried Grace, laughing.

" Faith, child, that's not altogether a bad shot of yours.
If I don't bring silks or jewels, I bring that which leads
to both," replied Mr. Holbourne. " A welcome gift to
most young ladies at any time."

" And that is ? " inquired Marion.

" A husband ! "

" What ? " exclaimed Grace.

" A husband ! It's a doosid flattering thing, and a
handsome tribute to my position in the country, to find
a good old county family like the Collinghams seeking
an alliance with mine. I'm quite aware, my dears, that
your own charms are quite sufficient warranty for young
men falling in love with either of you, but of course they
would feel also that William Holbourne is rather a desir-
able relation to count upon in these parts. I think," he
continued, with facetious humility, the name is not alto-
gether unknown in Aldringham and the surrounding
neighbourhood."

The banker paused, and played with his c^ •- glass, as,
with half-shut eyes, and benignant smile, he took an intro-
spective view of his own importance.

" Of course," he continued, gazing apparently at the

154 False Cards.

mantelpiece, and speaking more as if soliloquising than
addressing himself to either lady, " I should never dream
of asserting any authority of mine on a point like this.
It is obviously my duty to point out that a man like
Robert Collingham is a desirable parti ; that he is of a
good family, good position and of fair means ; that he in
due course will take yet higher position. Still, if you
have any objection to view him in the light of a
husband "

" Then Robert Collingham has asked your consent to
pay his addresses, uncle," interposed Miss Langworthy,
with a pout. " He might have known in these days that
it is more usual to obtain the lady's consent first on such
a subject." And Marion tossed her head with much con-
sciousness.

G race, meanwhile, contemplated this announcement with
grave interest. She was quite aware how unsuited Marion
was to her brother, and suspected that very little love
existed between them at present. What would Marion
do ? Would she have the hardihood to boldly throw
Reginald over in the presence of his sister ? How stupid
it was of her father not to have made this announcement
to Marion alone ! As it was, she felt in the delicate
position of being looker-on in a conference at which it
was most desirable she should not be present.

" I don't agree with you, Marion," replied Mr. Hol-
bourne, pompously. " It may be the custom in these
levelling days, but I think Mr. Collingham is perfectly
right. I am old-fashioned enough to consider that the
head of the family is the first to be consulted in a matter
that so nearly concerns him."

Miss Langworthy saw that she had made a mistake
— that she had ruffled the feathers of the banker's self-
importance.

" Excuse me, uncle," she replied ; " it is no doubt right
that it should be so ; but girls," she continued, smiling,
" can't help feeling a little jealous when the avowal is not
made to them in the first instance. We take it ill that
men should dare ask our hands from anyone but our-
selves." ,

"Well, I daresay you don't quite mean as much as you

An Awkward Mistake. 155

say, Marion ; but Robert Collingbam's is an offer worth
consideration. What am I to say to him Grace ?"

" Grace ! " ejaculated Miss Langworthy, as the blood
fiew to the very roots of her hair.

'I, father!" exclaimed Miss Holbourne, in blank
astonishment — "why, what have I to do with it ?"

" Do with it, girl ! Why, when I tell you as plainly
as I can speak that Robert Collingham asks vou to be his
wife, I should fancy you had a good deal to do with
it."

" Ask me, father ! You mistake, your message is for
Marion."

"Not at all, Grace," exclaimed Miss Langworthy,
quickly. "I have foreseen his proposal was imminent for
some time, my dear. Pray allow me to offer my congratu-
lations, and leave you to arrange matters with your father."
And darting a most malignant look at her cousin, Marion
swept out of the room.

"Old idiot! " she muttered between her clenched teeth,
as the door closed behind her ; " to think how he has
made me commit myself, and to know that my chit of a
cousin saw it all ! That I, Marion Langworthy, who
deemed she had a head upon her shoulders, should have
been made a mere catspaw of ! But take heed, the three
of you," she continued, as the hot, angry tears of shame
and vexation started to her eyes; "you shall find Marion
ill to jest with — albeit you have fooled her this time."

" Oh, father ! " exclaimed Grace, as the door closed —
" how could you lead her into such a trap ! "

Air. Holbourne was dimly conscious that he had con-
ducted his embassy badly. Despite her efforts to control
herself, he had not been blind to his niece's flushed face
and indignant exit.

" Good gracious ! " he exclaimed — " why, what is the
matter ? "

"Can't you see, father? Marion thought, as she had
good right to think, that Robert Collingham's proposal
was addressed to her. He has paid her far more attention
than he ever did me."

"God bless me ! " ' the banker; "and I thought

I had put i rfectly clear before you."

156 False Cards.

" But you did not, father ; until you had mentioned
my name, I had no idea but what it was to Marion you
were speaking."

" Now don't be absurd, Grace. You and Marion of
course had come to a foregone conclusion on the subject,
and therefore had made made up your minds as to whorr.
Robert Collingham's proposal would be addressed ; but
as for telling me, a magistrate of nearly twenty years
standing, and a man of business to boot, that I can't put
a case lucidlv, it's too ridiculous."

" Well, father," replied Grace, " the fact remains the
same ; we did misunderstand you, and I am afraid you
have caused Marion much annoyance."

" I am sorry for that," returned Mr. Holbourne, " very
sorry, I should be grieved to wound Marion's feelings ;
but, at the same time, what am I to say to Robert
Collingham ? His message is to you, Grace. Let us
have no further misunderstandings.

" Tell him, please, that I am very sensible of the
honour that he has shown me, but that it cannot be."

" Don't be foolish, child. It's a good match for you.
Think over it till to-morrow before you say him nay."

" If I thought over it till doomsday, I should never say
him otherwise," retorted Grace, decidedly. " You may
tell him so when you please ; " and to evade further con-
verse on the subject, Miss Holbourne made her escape
into the garden.

And what all this time were Marion's reflections ? She
had betaken herself to her own room, and shutting her-
self in with her wrath had sat down to think. Bitterer
meditation seldom fell to the lot of maiden. She who
was wont to hold her head high, had stooped to angle
for a man's good will, only to find herself tricked, and
her cousin whom she held in slight esteem preferred
before her. Then she had but little doubt that Reginald
was playing her false, and bestowing on another the love
solemnly plighted to her. True, she had been just as
ready to prove false to her vows as he could be, and she
had as yet, moreover, nothing but mere rumour on which
to accuse him of infidelity. Still in Marion's eyes her
jilting him was a thing to laugh at, while the converse

An Awkward Mistake. 157

was a crime which called upon the gods for vengeance.
Then, again, Marion was a woman who loved power, and
she viewed with some dismay and much dislike Grace's
calm but gradual assertion of her actual position. Miss
Langworthy felt that the domestic sceptre was slipping
from her grasp. She ground her white teeth as she mused
over all these things, and gradually worked herself into a
feeling of extreme rancour as regarded three people — to
wit, Grace, Reginald, and Robert Collingham.

" As sure as there is a sun in heaven, Grace and Robert
Collingham shall pay dear for this morning's work ! "
muttered Marion at last, with an angry stamp of her
foot. " She will be out of my way if she marries him,
and one path to vengeance open to me at once. 'Twould
be best so. He may wed her from prudential motives,
but I don't think he will altogether forget that the hours
sped lightly in my society. He will stoop to my lure
again, I fancy ; and if so, be it my business to see the
matrimonial shackles sit none too easy. As for Reginald,
I must first have clear proof of his guilt. Time enough
then to think of fitting punishment for the offence. I
can, I suppose, do nothing regarding this till we go to
town. We all lie glib enough on paper. Stop ! Where
did I put that eccentric epistle I received at the Fancy
Fair. It's a mere chance, but the man declared himself
a detective. I'll try him ; he shall ascertain who this
light-o'-love of Reginald's is, if he can."

The result of these reflections was that Mr. Lightfoot
found a nibble at one of his night lines, as we have already

Sl'CU.

CHAPTER XVII.

ORDERED ABROAD.

EGINALD HOLBOURNE, the morning after
that Richmond excursion, springs from a bed
of roses to confront once more this world's dull
realities. He had fallen asleep lulled by the
sweet consciousness that Lettice loved him — that the
words that bound them irrevocably to each other had
been at last spoken — that the struggle between his con-
science and his passion was over — that he had won the
girl in whom his whole being Avas wrapped up.

But reflection comes with the dawn, and the roses of
evening are apt to develop their thorns by daylight. As
he goes through man's grimmest matutinal task, the
operation of shaving — when, looking our worst, we are
compelled to confront ourselves, and meditate upon the
lines that sins and advancing years have written upon
our countenances — he muses in troubled fashion upon
his complications. Of course he must break with Marion
now — but how ? The letter that is to carry that intelli-
gence does not seem quite so easy to pen as he had
deemed it last night. How is he to put it ? What is
he to say ? This new love of his will hardly be an
eligible excuse for the breaking of that long-plighed
troth. And then Reginald feels bitter shame at the idea
of throwing over a girl whose love he had won as an
heiress, now that she is but slenderly endowed with this

Ordered Abroad. 159

world's gear. He need have little compunction, did he
know all ; but then, that is precisely what he does not
know, and he believes Marion thoroughly true to her
engagement.

Well, he thinks there is no necessity for writing that
letter to-day. Like most weak men, he takes comfort
in the idea of procrastination. Something may turn up
— of a verity something will turn up, that shall make
him regret such procrastination for many a long day. A
jealous, irritated woman, stung to madness by recent
disappointment, is even now searching into the truth of the
story so current already at Aldringham, and her emissary
will have scant trouble about striking the trail. Better
he should make a clean breast, did he but know it, than
live to learn of what an outraged woman can be capable.
When they are of a type as cool, clever, and unscrupu-
lous as Marion Langworthy, the beverage produced by
such brewings is wont to be bitter in the mouth.

Anon, Reginald begins to think upon what he is to
do regarding Lettice. He is pretty nearly dependent
upon his father, as far as income goes, his salary in the
City at present being a very small affair. That his
pompous father, with his exaggerated notions about his
own position, would listen for one moment to the idea of
his marrying a girl with neither money nor family, was
scarcely probable. Nothing should induce him to give
up Lettice ; and yet he was quite aware that, if this busi-
ness came to Mr. Holbourne's ears, and he should persist,
in defiance of his father's wishes, in adhering to his
engagement, it was more than likely that his allowance
would be withdrawn.

The more he thought over things, the more unpleasant
chey seemed, and it was with a moody brow that he
descended the stairs. The door of the ground-floor
parlour stood open ; he entered, and Lettice, her eyes
sparkling with pleasure, and her cheeks glowing with
blushes, advanced t<> meet him.

"Reginald," she said shyly — "I'm almost afraid to call
/ou so as yet — I couldn't let you go without seeing you
his morning. Was it all a dream yesterday, or did you
,ell me you loved me ?"

160 False Cards.

" I told you so yesterday, and tell you so again this
morning, darling," he replied, as he clasped her in his
arms and kissed her ; " and mean to tell you so for ever,
as long as I have breath wherewith to give it utter-
ance."

" Ah ! " said the girl, as she looked fondly up into his
face, " it is true, then, and not a fevered vision of the
night ? I am yours, and you are mine — my very own,
Reginald."

" Yes, sweet, ' an ill-favoured thing, child, but thine
own,' as your grandfather would say. Are you sorry,
Lettice, that you gave away your heart in Richmond
Park yesterday ? "

" No, I am proud and pleased I did so. But I think
you had it before, if all were told."

" Well, child, that is a confession you shall make to
me this afternoon. ' For which of my good parts you
did first suffer love for me ? ' Your grandfather's talk is
catching, Lettice — he leads me into quotation, as he did
into reading the dramatists. Mind you have your bonnet
on by half-past four. For the present good-bye." And,
snatching another kiss, Reginald Holbourne took his
departure in far more jubilant spirits than those with
which he had descended the stairs.

Fair to gaze upon is Lettice as she sits curled up in
the window this Summer morning, her masses of dark
hair skilfully coiled round her head, and deftly kept
within bounds by a bright blue ribbon, a smile playing
on her lips, and the dark luminous eyes glowing with the
happy light of assured love. She is not thinking in the
least of the future ; the present suffices her amply. She
supposes Reginald will marry her before long ; but in
the meantime he loves her, and she is going for a ramble
with him this afternoon — what more can she want ?
Love him ? — oh ! yes — does she not truly and honestly ?
And then Lettice amuses herself trying to puzzle out
how it was she first lost her heart to him ? And the
psychological question occupies her for near upon an
hour. Commend me to those under the influences of
the god. Sweeter warrant for all folly shall never be
quoted. Sad it is when our hearts wax callous, and laugh

Ordered Abroad. 1 6 1

to scorn the arrows of Eros, when, alas ! we no longer
vow the grandest scene of ancient history was

"Actium, lost for Cleopatra's eyes."
We may be wiser, we may be richer, we may be better,
but the golden hours have departed never more to return.
T have always thought that Anthony was more blessed
than is common to mortals. The power to love lasted
long with him, and he perished in the hey-day of his
passion.

But there are ever links in love's flowery chain, and, to
Lettice's dismay, her grandfather insisted upon it that
she should accompany him to the Regent's Park that
afternoon. The girl strove hard to evade this arrange-
ment, but the old gentleman was peremptory, and she
did not quite like to tell him that Reginald had promised
to take her out. She felt angry with herself for not
stating so boldly — and yesterday it had been easy to do
so ; but now he was her avowed lover. Lettice's heart
fluttered as she thought of it, and her lips seemed less
glib with his name than they were wont to be. What
was she to do ? She did not like to confess how matters
stood between them to her grandfather, until she had
Reginald's permission to do so. And yet he might feel
hurt if she failed in her tryst ; so she scribbled a little
timid note, telling him where she was gone, hoping he
would not be cross with her, "for indeed she could not
help it," and would he follow them ? Having entrusted
this to the servant, with stringent injunctions that it
was to be given into Mr. Holbourne's hands the moment
he returned, Lettice set off with her grandfather on the
proposed walk.

Before they had got twenty paces from the door they
encountered a well-dressed man, with somewhat retrousse
nose and keen grey eyes, who regarded them attentively
as he courteously made way for them.

" Hum ! " he muttered, after they had passed. ''That's
the young lady, I'll lay a guinea to a gooseberry. My
esteemed client, fair though you be, if you suspect a
rival in Mr. Holbourne's affections, you have good cause
to feel somewhat uncomfortable. I should fancy your
thirst for information springs from that amiable weakness

1 62 False Cards.

called jealousy. However, now to prosecute inquiries.
A stroke of luck seeing the lady to start with. Yes, no
doubt about it, this is the door they came out of." And
without further ceremony he rang the bell.

"You let lodgings, I think?" said Mr. Lightfoot,
airly, as the maid-servant appeared.

" Yes, sir ; but we are quite full at present."

" Mr. Holbourne lives here, does he not ? "

"Yes, sir; but he ain't in just now. Shall I tell him
you called ? "

" No. I understood the gentleman and his daughter,

Mr. Good gracious, I've forgotten his name ! " And

here Mr. Lightfoot knit his brows anxiously.

" Mr. Cheslett, you mean, sir, who has the parlours ? "

''Exactly. I thought he was about to give up his
rooms? "

" Oh ! no, sir. He has only just gone out ; you must
have passed him,- if you'd known."

" True, I did pass an old military gentleman and his
daughter."

" Bless you, sir, he ain't an officer, any more than Miss
Lettice is his daughter."

" Excuse me, Major Cheslett and his daughter, I was
informed, were the people about to give up their apart-

ments."

" Well, he don't call himself Major, or Captain, or
anything else of that sort ; and as for Miss Lettice, why,
she's his granddaughter, everyone knows." And Sarah
quite grinned at the ignorance of the inquirer.

That the world is small there is no doubt, and I often
hear my wandering friends complain of their inability to
cut themselves off from the ken of their acquaintance ;
but we all suffer in our turns from the pith of Sarah's
last observation. Unless you never change your own
social tramway for another, you must have, at some time
in your life, been covered with confusion at not knowing
" the great Craggs." Every stratum of society is more
or less cursed with its Craggs — in forty-nine cases out of
fifty the most miserable fetish ever worshipped. Sarah's
idea of a Craggs was much sweeter and more justifiable
than such as usually does duty for that wretched mock

Ordered Abroad. 1 63

idol. She looked upon Lettice as the dominant goddess
of her little world, and felt pity and disdain for this
unfortunate who was so ignorant of her history.

" Then you have nothing at all to let at present ? "
said Mr. Lightfoot.

"No, sir."

" Thank you ; I must try elsewhere." And with an
affable nod to Sarah Mr. Lightfoot took his departure,
having acquired all the information he sought without
the slightest difficulty.

Marion's instructions had been curt and business-like
in the extreme. She gave him Reginald's address. He
was to ascertain whether a young lady lived in that
house ; if so, who she was, what she was, whether young
or good-looking. Equally short and business-like was
the missive despatched by that night's post to Miss
Langworthy.

" I have made the inquiries you desired. The ground-
floor of No. — , Baker Street, is occupied by an old
gentleman named Cheslett and his granddaughter.
The young lady appears to be about seventeen, and is an
extremely handsome brunette, by name Lettice. Await-
ing your further instructions, I have the honour to
be, &c,

14 Your most obedient servant,

" Leonidas Lightfoot."

Reginald Holbourne experienced infinite disgust upon
his return from the City, when, instead of finding Lettice
herself waiting for him, he only found her note. I am
afraid he referred to the venerable Cheslett in terms very
far from complimentary. Sarah had a confused idea of
catching such muttered commentary on that note as
" Imbecile old mummy ! " " Exacting old idiot ! " &c,
and wondered not a little what it was that had put "the
drawing-rooms," as she denominated him, so much out
of temper. That observing and gossiping damsel had
for some time made up her mind that " the drawing-
rooms " and the " parlours " would make a match of it.
She looked upon it as a very fitting arrangement. She had,
as before said, much reverence for Lettice, while Reginald
was the only yuuug gentleman that she had knowledge

164 False Cards.

of whom she deemed at all worthy to aspire to Miss
Cheslett's hand. Sarah, putting her own construction on
the note, and this grumbling commentary, came to the
conclusion that Grandpapa Cheslett had demanded Mr.
Holbourne's intentions, "which it's getting time they
was spoke out and acknowledged publicly," observed
that damsel to herself in conclusion. Sarah was more
cognizant of how Lettice was committing herself with
Reginald Holbourne than either Mr. Cheslett or his
granddaughter.

Crushing the offending note in his hands, Reginald
made his way rapidly towards the Regent's Park, and
was not long before he descried the pair he sought seated
on a bench/in the straight double avenue that leads up
to the territory of the wild beasts. Lettice greeted him with
a blush, and a somewhat anxious look, as he saluted them.

" Shall we go into the gardens, Mr. Cheslett," asked
Reginald, "and have a look at the hippopotami and
monkeys ? "

The old man's face brightened.

" Yes," he replied. " I rather like watching the
animals ; they amuse me. And when you come to my
time of life, Mr. Holbourne, you will find that there is
not much that does. Sign, perchance, I draw toward my
dotage. ' Thou'dst shun a bear,' but I love to see him
climb his rugged pole, court popularity, and beg for buns.
It reminds me of what I once was."

Reginald rather anxiously waited for further disclo-
sures on Mr. Cheslett's part. He was extremely curious
concerning the old gentleman's antecedents; but Mr.
Cheslett vouchsafed no further remark.

" You are not angry with me ? " whispered Lettice.

" No, child, why should I be ? Disappointment though
it is not to have you all to myself to-day."

" Ah ! that's good of you," returned the girl, in a low
voice, as she slipped her little hand through his arm.
" I was so afraid you might think it my fault."

They wandered down the Zoological Gardens. Mr.
Cheslett stopped in solemn contemplation of the Poiar
bear, and let fall a remark that strengthened Reginald's
suspicion as to his original calling.

Ordered Abroad. 165

" Queer brute ! " he muttered. " He's like a third-rate
tragedian. He never stops ' taking the stage. ' "

To the uninitiated I may remark, that this means
crossing it from right to left, or vice versa, in front of the
other performers thereon.

" Lettice, my own," said Reginald, as, leaving the old
gentleman to study the white bear and the hyaenas, they
strolled a little apart from him, " I have a bit of dis-
agreeable intelligence to break to you."

She said nothing, but he felt the clasp upon his arm

tighter as the big black eyes looked anxiously up at him.

" I have to go away and leave you for a little while.

The firm want to send a confidential agent to Frankfort,

and they have selected me."

"Oh, Reginald!" she murmured, "it won't be for
long, will it ? "

" No. I should fancy not above a month at the out-
side. It's very disgusting, that just as I have acquired a
right to call you my own, I should have to leave you."

" And you don't think a month long ! " exclaimed the
girl. " Are you sure you love me ? " And she stopped
and peered curiously into his face. " No, don't speak,"
she continued, "I have my answer, and know you do ;
but they will be weary weeks, Reginald, all the same."

u Yes, pet, for me at all events. But, Lettice, I must
not refuse. It is a high compliment the being selected
for this business, and will probably lead to further ad-
vancement. I must consider how I am to earn bread
and cheese for my little wife that is to be, remember."

She " blinkit sae sweet in his face," as Joanna Baillie's
grand old song says, and then whispered, " I forgot that.
But you will write to your little wife, won't you ? "

" Yes, pelt her with letters till she hates the sight of
my handwriting."

" Ah, that will take some time," replied Lettice,
smiling ; " but as long as I hear from you now and then,
and may send you sheets of my own foolish scribble, it
will not be so bad."

"Sheets of your inditing, child, I shall look forward
to. I wonder whether you will weary of mine? They
may, perchance, prove the more voluminous of the two.''

1 66 False Cards.

" As if that were likely ! You will be busy, occupied
with fifty things ; while I shall have nothing left me
but to wait, write, and it may be weep."

"You foolish Lettice, what should you have to weep
about ? "

" Nothing, except that I cry when I am sad, and that
is like enough to happen when you leave me," she re-
plied, with a faint smile.

But here Mr. Cheslett rejoined them, and suggested
that it was getting time to wend their way back to
Baker Street ; and as the old gentleman waxed some-
what garrulous on the road, Lettice achieved no further
tctc-d-teie with her lover.

CHAPTER XVIII.

AMONG THE FRIARS.

card, Polly ? " inquired Jirn

ND he left no
Donaldson.

" No," replied M r ~s Meggott ; " he left
nothing but a flavour of u. paralleled im-

I've

training

" Oh, mine Araminta
Collingham. " Oh, for a tithe of this vagrant's

pudence behind him, and, thanks to th

had, I should be a judge of that article, at all events."

of the ebon hair ! ' ejaculated

inso-
lence, that I might warble my love to thee !

' Say, dearest, say, while the moments are flying,
While I sing my sweetest — like swans that are dying.
Say, love, oh, say, what exactly escapes rne ; '

" I don't know precisely what, but it's something or
other makes me."

" You be quiet, Mr. Collingham," replied Miss Meg-
gott, with a humorous twinkle of her eyes, * or you'll
find yourself cast for damages before long."

"Never mind, Polly, I should report the case myself;
and we'd write some good comic love-letters here,
wouldn't we ? — and have a rattling leader on the trial
afterwards. Not a bad idea, O Ouccn of the Ever-so-
many Islands."

" So he was dissatisfied with his mutton chop, was
he ? " asked Donaldson.

"Dissatisfied!" rejoined Polly,

tossing

her head.

1 68 False Cards.

" He had the impertinence to ask whether it came frcwn
the boot-maker's, and was cooked by the young gentle-
man who attended to the blacking department. It
wasn't a very good chop, maybe, but he took us aback.
I ran out and did the best I could, but I had to take
what I could get at the nearest butcher's ; and mother
made the best she was able of a bad fire. I don't think
it was a success," continued Polly, " but it Avas pretty
cool of him letting out in the way he did. When I got
him the sherry "

" Ah ! " exclaimed Donaldson.

" He asked if that was what you drank yourselves, so
I told him Yes. ' Got from the nearest public-house, I
should think, and laid in by the bottle,' he remarked,
after tasting it. ' Perhaps, as I happen to have a wife
dependent upon me, you'd run out and get me a pint of
the more humble but less deleterious half-and-half.' "

" Well, and what happened next ? " inquired Col-
lingham.

" Why, he took one of your cigars, lit it, and, after a
few whiffs, said, ' I cant't wait any longer. Tell your
master he's a fool to go on smoking this rubbish at six
and thirty shillings a pound — that he had better smoke
less and pay rather more. It will improve both his
health and his comedies.' I ventured to suggest that
you were pretty well, and that the comedies drew pretty
fair houses, as it was."

" And what did he say to that ? " asked Donaldson.

" Well, he smiled grimly, and replied that there was
nothing like giving free vent to your sentiments, and
that, as those were mine, I had better blazon them on two
boards, get between them, and perambulate the Strand."

A burst of laughter from her auditors here inter-
rupted Polly.

'' Yes, you may well grin," said Miss Meggott, a little
tartly ; then, suddenly she broke out into a peal of
laughter herself. "Drat his impudence!" she ex-'
claimed, at last ; " think of his coolly recommending me
to turn ' sandwich ! ' "

" And he left no name ? — no indication whereby to
identify him " asked Donaldson

Among the Friars. l6g

"No more than this. Although I was boiling over
with wrath, I did keep my temper sufficiently to ask
again what name I should say. ' Oh, tell Donaldson,'
he said, ' the friend who got him out of a scrape by
paying for his ticket from Croydon some two months
ago, called to see him.' "

" Lightfoot, by the immortals ! " exclaimed Jim.
'"'But what induced you to give him lunch, Polly?"

" Well, he said you had asked him — that he knew
no place about here to get anything to eat at, and
that he was pressed for time. Truth it is," observed
Miss Meggott, " I've played landlady to some of your
friends before upon little better grounds."

"Doubtless! However, upon this occasion, Polly,
my adored, you've been done brown as mushrooms.
The gentleman who was so critical upon our resources,
is of a kind who lives upon his fellow-creatures. He
certainly does know me, but you needn't entertain him
asrain."

Miss Meggott's eyes sparkled as she replied — —

" I should like him to call just once more."

" Why ? "

" That I might give him in charge for obtaining a
mutton-chop under false pretences — and I'd do it,
never fear." And Polly shook her head defiantly, as
much as to say, " Who shall say me nay ? "

Although Polly used much freedom in her converse
with her masters, yet she was always extremely re-
spectful to her master's guests. She was a young woman
of great tact, and took a most sincere interest in the
well-doing of both Donaldson and Collingham. She
was almost as excited about their failures or successes as
they could be themselves, and, whatsoever she might
say on the subject, believed most implicitly that they
were young men of extraordinary talents. Angry as she
had been at the disparaging remarks of Mr. Lightfoot
on their housekeeping, and flippant as she usually was
with her tongue, still Miss Meggott had contrived to
curb that unruly member on the occasion of the adven-
turer's visit, under the impression that he really was a
friend of Jim Donaldson's. It had been a supreme effort,

J7o False Cards.

and taxed Polly's patience to the utmost. Her wrath at
finding that she had been tricked by a — shall we say,
mildly, citizen of the world ? — was naturally propor-
tionate.

" Well," she exclaimed at last, "it seems Polly Meg-
gott, who thought she knew London a little, wants a
nurse about with her yet. Advertise, Mr. Donaldson, to-
morrow for a companion to a lady of weak intellect ; I've
nothing to say against it. We must get somebody in to
look after the three of us. But if ever I come across that
Lightfoot again, if he don't get chops from the boot-
maker's my name's not Polly Meggott ! "

" Araminta, queen of my soul, and goddess of the grid-
iron ! " cried Collingham, "dry your tears, and remember
that ' men are deceivers ever.' He might have stolen
your heart, under pretext of merely wanting a chop. 'Tis
well it's no worse."

" My heart, like newly-killed meat, takes a deal of
cooking," replied Polly, laughing. " After the attacks
that have been made upon it of late, there's not a pulsa-
tion left in it. Bless you ! I can't marry you both, and
could never make up my mind between you. I shall go
and rehearse ' Dulcibella the Deceived ' in the ashes of
the back kitchen." And with a pleasant wink Miss Meg-
gott left the room.

It was late in the evening when Collingham dropped
in at " The Friai's." There was a somewhat full meeting
upon this occasion, and Mr. Blunderstone, who did " the
mangling business" for the Morning Misanthrope, was
laying down the law after his usual arbitrary fashion. A
little, wizened old man, who looked as if he had been
suckled upon nitric acid, and come into the world with a
liver complaint, Mr. Blunderstone had essayed literature
in various forms ; he had written plays, which managers
had rejected; he had given birth to novels, which pub-
lishers had declined ; he had penned essays, which still
remained in the privacy of his desk. As he had so far
failed to construct, it was obvious that his mission was to
pull down ; so Mr. Blunderstone betook himself to re-
viewing, and Mr. Blunderstone had of late acquired some
reputation for the pungency of his pen.

Among the. Friars. 171

But Mr. Blunderstone, alas ! as is sometimes the case
with those who achieve notoriety, had a little lost his
head in consequence of his success, and had latterly
thought fit to set himself up as an authority on art and
literature amongst the Friars. It was a dangerous weak-
ness to give rein to. The brotherhood were cynical and
unsparing of tongue as a rule. If you had made mistake
with pen, brush, or pencil, you might rest assured that it
had not escaped the ken of the wandering community.
And yet Mr. Blunderstone, in his new-blown effulgence,
had the rashness to think that the failures of his youth
were beyond the memories of the brethren.

Woes me ! but before that condonement of our indis-
cretions is arrived at, we must bury our co-mates and
attain that approach to reckoning our years at a hun-
dred, that must be saddest of doom meted out to man in
this world. . We all cling to life, but it must be fraught
with melancholy to those who stand isolated ruins, while
the grass grows green over all those who once laughed
and wept with them. " Those whom the gods love die
young," said the ancients. Can the converse thereof be
equally true, that those whom they contemn, they leave
to moulder here on earth in their decrepitude ?

The Friars were immensely amused at, to speak fisfn-
ratively, the new aspirant to Doctor Johnson's chair.
The novices of the order especially delighted in drawing
out the great Blunderstone upon all occasions, deferred
to his opinion in manner positively sycophantic, and
meekly murmured their new litany of " Be merciful in
thy strength, O Blunderstone, lest no one dare put pen
to paper in the land."

" While many a wicked smile they smole,
And many a wink they wunk."

Mr. Blunderstone, carried away by the immunity that
he has so far experienced, is at present tearing to tatters,
in high piping querulous tones, Donaldson's last comedy.
" Deficient in plot, weak in dialogue, it cannot much
longer impose upon the credulity of a London audience,"
he wound up with, as his voice reached well-mVh to 3
shriek

172 False Cards.

"' Awfully jolly sad for you, when it goes out of the
bills." observed Charlie quietly, as he lit a cigar.

"Why ? " inquired Mr. Blunderstone sharply. Had he
noticed the presence of Donaldson's most intimate friend,
he would have been rather more guarded in his language.

" Because his next piece is to succeed that, and he's got
you in it. You're rather well done, Blunderstone. Jim
took a good deal of pains to hit you off correctly. As he
said, you're a man of mark now, and the public ought to
be introduced to you."

" The man, sir, who would make literary capital of his
associates, deserves the execration of the civilised world,"
retorted Blunderstone.

" Just what Jim said when he read that personal attack
in the Mohawk" rejoined Charlie phlegmatically, with
the quiet addendum that he'd try to promote that laud-
able sentiment.

"And who presumed to insinuate that I wrote that ?"

" Bless you, I don't know. I always said it was too
clever to be of your penning, but Jim thinks otherwise,
and declares that such insolence and invective could have
been written by no one else."

" Mr. Donaldson will do well to think twice before he
provokes the enmity of the press," piped Blunderstone.
" He'd better bear in mind that those who made him can
unmake him."

" Quite agree with you," retorted his tormentor; "but
there's no arguing with Jim, he only laughs and says
you are not the press by a good many chalks, and that
nobody pays much attention to your criticism."

"He shall see, sir — he shall see ! " spluttered the re-
viewer.

" Reckon, Blunderstone, you've slipped the whip-cord
into the wrong nigger," remarked Mr. Slymme, with a
broad grin. " You'd better hold on to crucifying the
small fry, who can't yelp back. It makes things unplea-
sant when they don't lie down to the lash, don't it ?"

" Hush, Slymme, don't talk blasphemy," interrupted
Fred Nightingale, of the comic papers, and light litera-
ture generally. " When the gods inspired Blunderstone
to give up afflicting the managers with incomprehensible

Among the Friars. 173

pieces, they bestowed upon him the gift of judging of
other people's works. Like Diogenes, he passes his life
in seeking for something that he may praise. Like the
Greek cynic, he fails in his search."

The bantered reviewer bestowed a malignant glance
upon the speaker, as he exclaimed, in the half-scream
that became natural to him when excited,

" I deny the article in the Mohawk"

" Daresay Jim will deny that Dr. Grindstone is meant
for you in his new piece," observed Charlie, meditatively ;
" but self-denial is one of the virtues, we all know."

" What's the use of riling up, Blunderstone ? — if you
splash the mud about, it's likely some will come your
own Avay. You don't suppose you've got a monopoly of
the cow-hide, do you ? " remarked Mr. Slymme. " Guess
you'd better take a hint from our citizens. When anyone
gives you fits, just look reound and see who's handiest to
pass it on tew. Pay out the stripes, and make 'em sharp
in the same proportion that you were hurt."

" I am not in the habit of riling up, as you call it,"
returned Mr. Blunderstone, with a countenance highly
contradictory of that statement, " and have the honour
to wish you good night."

" Quite right, sir — quite right," retorted the unabashed
American. " Take it out of some one before you sleep.
If you let off about a couple of columns of bile before you
turn in, you'll wake crisp and chipper to-morrow."

Mr. Blunderstone vouchsafed no response, but left
the room enveloped in the shreds of his outraged
dignity.

" He'd have made a tall slave-owner," observed Mr.
Slymme, musingly. "He'd have seen justice dealt out
on a plantation, he would ! He'd have been the boy to
mind the niggers didn't get fat and sassy ! He's born to
ride over people as have had their teeth drawn and their
claws filed, but he'd cut up skeary down West."

" I suppose that's all a flam about Dr. Grindstone ? "
observed Fred Nightingale.

"Yes; I only wanted to take old Blunderstone down
a peg or two. He's an arrant bully, and was running
riot with regard to Donaldson's comedy. I knew if J

174 False Cards.

suggested Jim might retaliate, he would speedily subside.
What's the best news with you ?"

" None to tell, Charlie. ' A day of doleful dumps ' it's
been with me. Stay ! I picked up a good thing for the
paper this morning — make a neat sketch, I think. I was
passing down Duke Street, St. James's, when, on the
opposite side of the way, I espied a chimney-sweep
clothed in all his sooty panoply. A hansom cabman,
wearing a white hat, and driving a horse pale as that of
Death in the Revelation, was walking his vehicle up the
street. His eye twinkled as he saw the chummy, and,
touching his hat, he cried out, ' Cab, sir ? ' The chimney-
sweep stopped, regarded him critically for a second or
two, and then replied — ' Werry neat turn out, from the
top of yer tile to the 'oofs of yer 'oos, but — ' and here he
paused — 'yer the wrong colour /'"

" Smart ! " said Mr. Slymme. " That flue-scourer
could run alone, bet your pile."

"Well, it's time to be off," said Charlie. "Good
night." And, nodding to Slymme and Nightingale
Mr. Collingham betook himself homeward.

Blliili

IlESiEJ

CHAPTER XIX.

RETALIATION.

R. HOLBOURNE carries his head higher, and
flourishes the gold eye-glass more ostentatiously
than ever. An accession of importance accrues
to him from the fact that he has declined the
honour of an alliance with a Collingham of Churton, and
that Collingham, moreover, the heir to the estate and
title. He expands under the genial influence, and be-
comes more benevolent and patronising of manner to
Aldringham than before, if that be possible. True, he
reflects ruefully that it is not etiquette to blazon such
rejections to the world, and that if Grace had but been
a sensible girl, he might have been openly exulting over
the forthcoming connection instead of having to swell
silently with pride that his daughter had gainsaid the
young heir of Churton. But Aldringham is keen of nose,
quick of ear, and avid of tongue when scandal or gossip
is afoot, and the banker soon finds much solace to his
vanity in parrying the attacks, congratulations, or inter-
rogatives that are showered upon him. Aldringham had
little doubt that Mr. Collingham's love had arrived at
that stage when men demand deeisive answer to their
wooing.

Aldringham was anxious to hear its acutcness con-
firmed from Mr. Holbourne'3 own lips. From the depre-
catory disavowals, the tattling little town had no diffi-

176 False Cards.

culty in assuring itself that the young squire had wooed
her in vain. But which of the ladies was it that had said
him nay ? Marion, already sore-wounded in her vanity,
was destined to have that gall kept alive for some
time, thanks to the keen cross-examination of her dear
friends. Harder still to brook for one of her tempera-
ment, when, in answer to such keen questioning, she
was fain to admit that Mr. Collingham had never solicited
her hand, were such remarks as, " Good gracious ! Miss
Langworthy, and we all deemed you the object of attrac-
tion ; but there's no accounting for men."

In the family circle, Marion maintained her usually
Buave demeanour, and albeit she felt an almost uncon-
trollable desire to bite her " dear Grace " at times
instead of kissing her, she allowed no sign of this to be
manifest in her conduct towards her cousin. Indeed, at
this time she made her uncle and Grace exceedingly un-
comfortable from the ostentatious deference with which
she consulted their approval upon all household arrange-
ments.

" Pooh, nonsense — of course, child ! Why do you
pester me about it ? " would the banker reply, uneasily,
upon being appealed to on some minor point of domestic
polity, which Miss Langworthy had been wont to decide
off-hand.

"It is different now, uncle, that Grace has grown up.
I am bound to think of how she may regard such things,"
would be Marion's soft rejoinder. "It is not your ap-
proval only I have now to look to."

Mr. Holbourne pished and pshawed, but became dimly
conscious that his establishment was not working so
smoothly as heretofore ; while slowly was incubated the
idea that it was his daughter's jealous temperament and
petty desire to hold the reins of government that were the
cause of all this unpleasantness. Gradually, too, Marion
insinuated into his mind a sense of injury inflicted upon
him by Grace's refusal of Robert Collingham's suit. She
painted in glowing colours the accession of dignity and
importance that would have attached itself to him as
father-in-law to the heir of Churton, until slowly the banker
began to regard his bonny Grace as a very Regan orGoneriL

Retaliation. 177

Grace, meanwmle, opened wide her brown eyes at her
cousin's new-born meekness. With unfeigned surprise
she listened to Marion's constant appeals as to whether
this, that, and the other would suit her convenience.
With regard to the carriage, Miss Langworthy waxed
perfectly apologetic, although she used it quite as much
as formerly for her own purposes ; but she made much
parade now of " If dear Grace was quite certain she would
not want it," before she ordered it.

If Marion showed no outward sign, inwardly she was
consumed with rage. All the malice of her nature — no
inconsiderable quantity — had been aroused by her failure
to win Robert Collingham, and she chose to regard
Grace as the cause of that disappointment. She furiously
resented, too, Reginald's defalcation, and, interpreting
Mr. Lightfoot's epistle by her own lights, she at once put
down Lettice as his chere amie. She vowed vengeance
on both brother and sister. As regarded her offending
lover, she saw her way, but as to wreaking her spite upon
Grace she was not as yet quite so clear. Still Miss
Langworthy thought of late she had detected undue
signs of interest in her cousin when Charlie Collingham's
name was mentioned. She was not certain ; but only let
her find such a point of weakness in Grace's armour, and
she should know where to strike. Then Marion reflected
about Charlie Collingham's appearance at the ball, her
cousin's admission that she had known him the season
before in London : and the more she thought over it, the
more convinced became Miss Langworthy that there were
love-passages between Grace and that discarded son of
Sir John's.

This idea once installed in Marion's brain, she prose-
cuted her search for corrobation thereof with all the
subtleness and energy of a skilled detective. She was
down by times of a morning to scrutinize her cousin's
correspondence, and was rewarded by the occasional
advent of a letter in masculine hand, bearing the London
postmark. Still she was a stranger to Charlie's hand-
writing, and, whatever she might think, she required
proof positive on this subject. She determined to con-
sult the astute Lightfoot in the matter.

178 False Cards.

It may be remembered that the last chapter contained
the record of an eccentric raid made by that distinguished
personage on the small house at Brompton — object ap-
parently no other than a mutton-chop. Mr. Lightfoot's
real business was to procure a specimen of Charlie
Collingham's handwriting. His disparaging remarks on
his entertainment were all matters of calculation, and
when, pronouncing the sherry undrinkable, he requested
Miss Meggott to fetch him a pint of half-and-half, he
thereby secured a few minutes to himself in the apart-
ment. Both desks were strewed with manuscript —
notes of articles, ideas for scenes, &c, lay scattered about,
and to a man of Lightfoot's experience it took little time
to select an unimportant scrap of handwriting from each
desk of the predominant penmanship thereon. He did
not know which was which, it was true, but his client
could easily ascertain if either of those would serve her
turn.

These two scraps of paper were duly forwarded to
Marion, with the remark that one was Mr. Collingham's,
one Mr. Donaldson's, and that she would be perfectly
justified in concluding that to be Mr. Collingham's in
which, on comparison, she found a resemblance to any
writing she should suspect to be his. Miss Langworthy
had no longer any doubt as to who was her cousin's
London correspondent.

Simultaneously with this acquired knowledge on
Marion's part arose once more the rumour in Aldringham
that the cause of quarrel between Sir John and his son
had been the disgraceful marriage of the latter ; that
Charlie was wedded to a lady of fame beyond suspicion,
in the most malignant sense of the phrase. Who she
was, gossip as yet forbore to state, but the story trickled
from house to house, and gathered strength as it
spread.

It was not long before the scandal reached Grace's ear,
and the girl's face flushed, and she bit her lips as she
mutely confronted it. She scorned to give credence to
such vulgar report. Was not Charlie her own betrothed,
and did she not trust him thoroughly ? But for all that,
Grace could not forget that her JiaJice had owned to her

Retaliation. 179

that there was a Blue Beard's chamber in his past life,
and that it was connected with his rupture with his
father. Grace bore herself gallantly, and she had need,
for though she knew it not, she was undergoing vivi-
section at the hands of a clever woman who hated her.

Day by day Marion watched her cousin wince under
the last garbled version of the popular rumour that she
detailed to her, in pursuance of her own schemes of
vengeance. Day by day she smiled softly as she perceived
that the rift between the banker and his daughter was
surely though imperceptibly widening. Miss Lang-
worthy's exceeding deference to Grace or her uncle's
wishes at this time covered them both with confusion,
and yet it invariably seemed that what she did to pleasure
the one, produced corresponding discomfort to the other.
This, of course, told most upon Mr. Holbourne, whose
pet comforts and hobbies were apparently always set
aside for the gratification of his daughter.

The banker fidgeted and got irritable under these
circumstances. Pompous and grandiloquent he had
ever been to his family, but a more kind and indulgent
father it would have been hard to come across. Now,
Mr. Holbourne began mentally to credit his daughter
with much selfishness of disposition. He leant more and
more upon Marion, and deemed her failures in the
furtherance of his comforts were due solely to Grace's
perverseness.

Grace was not altogether blind to all this — she saw
clearly that there was an adverse influence dominating
over her home, that nothing she could do seemed now
right in her father's eyes. Her woman's tact told her
hut too assuredly that Marion was at the bottom of all
this mischief; but indignant as she was at the miscon-
struction put upon her every word and action, she felt
that she was powerless to stem the tide. She was
struggling, poor girl, against the machinations of a clever,
unscrupulous woman, who had divined her secret, and
who indirectly at times gave her reason to suppose so. It
was as difficult to lay hold of anything tangible regarding
Marion as to handle an eel. She slipped through the
fingers, to speak metaphorically, much after the manner

ISO False Cards.

of that astute semi-reptile, and often as Grace had vowed
to ascertain from her lips whether she did know of her
engagement to Charlie Collingham, yet Marion had
always cleverly evaded such questioning.

Grace grows very sad under all this — her letters to her
. over bear a tinge of melancholy, and she cannot refrain
.'"rom alluding to the Aldringham rumour. She takes
out his letter received that morning, and runs over it for
die sixth or seventh time.

" Can't you trust me yet a little, darling ? " it ran.
"- Believe me, I can most effectually silence all those
Aldringham idiots when the time comes. That I have
reasons strong for still keeping the key of my one secret
chamber, is it not palpable ? Or else, Grace, would you
not have been possessed of it long since ? You cannot
doubt me — if you do, you must have ceased to love me.
I have but this one reservation from you. I ask you to
bear with it but a little longer, and promise that you
shall know the whole front of my offending before I
claim the biggest prize this world can offer me — yourself.
Will not that suffice? You'd scarce wish to humiliate
me, but bitter scorn might prove my father's benediction
on our bridal now ; curt rejection be probably your
father's answer, if I asked him for you as things are at
present. Trust me, Grace, a few months more, and no
one but yourself shall gainsay me your hand. Ever your
own "Charlie Collingham."

This might have been denominated " the nagging
period " of Grace's life. To be nagged at by one's fellow-
creatures is well-nigh the supreme torture of civilized
life ; but to be nagged at by circumstances also is to reach
the nethermost hell. When you can do nothing right,
say nothing right, think nothing right, or even, God help
you, dream nothing right, one is apt to wonder why
men hold this a fair world, and are loth to leave it. But
so it is. The ills we know seem better to face than an
unknown future. When an artiste of Miss Langworthy's
calibre pulls the domestic strings of your establishment,
and feels herself aggrieved in any shape, it is extra-
ordinary the discord that becomes prevalent through the
household. But when she holds a member thereof guilty

Retaliation. 181

of dire offending, it is incredible how circumstances
appear to mete out punishment to the delinquent.
When the culprit happens to be a daughter (therefore
tied to the stake), who has refused an eligible offer, the
denizens of Pompeii, at the time of the eruption of the
burning mountain, were comparatively in easy circum-
stances. Their troubles were soon over, but your domestic
volcano will vomit smoke and trickle lava for many a
month to come. Though the smoke may not choke,
nor the lava kill, they leave much singing in the head
and blistering of the mind behind them. I know two or
three moral volcanoes that are always in full blast. I
shirk them cleverly, for the most part ; but there are
times when escape proves impossible, and I sit and suffer
while the hot ashes permeate my shirt, trickle into my
boots, and scorch me into recognition of my manifold
delinquencies.

The only happy days Grace had at this time were
those which, having escaped to Churton, she passed with
Sylla Collingham. The blind girl had got over that
temporary pang of jealousy with which she had been
first stricken, upon learning that she was no longer to
hold first place in the heart of that dearly-loved brother
of hers, and now welcomed Grace most cordially as a sister.

Miss Holbourne had driven over to Churton one
blazing Summer day, to bid Sylla good-bye, her father
having resolved to transport himself and his belongings
to London for three weeks or so — the usual country
cousins' holiday. Miss Collingham is at home, and she
is not — that is to say, she is somewhere in the grounds.
Will Miss Holbourne sit down while Thomas goes to
find her ? asks the portly butler. No, Miss Holbourne
will conduct the search herself; and having ordered the
horses to be put up, Grace stepped into the garden.
Two or three turns told her that Sylla was not there.
She scans the Park narrowly, but fails to catch sight of
skirt or petticoat that might betoken Miss Collingham;
and then Grace determines to walk up to The Hazels. As
she ascends the little knoll, Dandy makes his appearance
upon the summit, gives her a rough bark of welcome,
and then bounds down to meet her.

" Ha, Dandy, man, I thought I should find you and
your mistress here ! " cried Grace, as she caressed the
collie. "Run on, boy, and tell her who it is that's
coming."

The dog jumped round her for a minute or so, and
then sped like an arrow on his mission. As Grace gained
the crest of the eminence, she saw Sylla seated on the
turf, her head thrown slightly forward to catch the
coming step of her visitor.

" It is you, Gracie, is it not ? " she asked.

" Yes," replied Miss Holbourne, as she bent over her
and kissed her. " Come to bid you farewell for a little,
and to pour some of my troubles into your ear as I do
so."

" Farewell ! — troubles ! — what do you mean ? "

" Nothing to frighten you, Sylla," replied Grace, as
she seated herself. " First, papa is going to take us to
London ; secondly, I am very unhappy."

" Going to London and unhappy, Gracie ! Why, you
will see Charlie ! "

" Good heavens, Sylla ! don't I tell you I am going
with papa, and not to stay with my aunt ? "

" It don't much matter," returned Miss Colhngham,
smiling, " whom you are with in London ! you will see
Charlie all the same, unless you have kept him in igno-
rance of the fact."

" No, I think he knows all about it," replied Grace, in
a low voice.

" I can't perceive your troubles so far, my dear."

" No, and I can hardly make you comprehend them.
How shall I make you understand that I have an uncom-
fortable home ? The daughter of the well-to-do banker,
with everything she can ask for, should be happy ; and
yet, Sylla, I could cry my eyes out with vexation six
days out of seven."

" Gracie, I don't understand you."

" No, and I don't know how to explain matters. Can
you imagine everything you do, everything you say,
misconstrued — your slightest word distorted to your dis-
advantage — your very looks misinterpreted ? Can you
picture the admission you have a headache made ground

Retaliation. 183

for putting the house into mourning ? Can you fancy
my father's whims systematically interfered with, on the
plea that they annoy ' dear Grace,' who would cut her
little finger off sooner than object to them? I," con-
tinued the girl, passionately, " who never knew what it
was to have a cross word from my father, am now the
target for what bitter remarks he may have in him ! "

" But how comes all this, Gracie ? Who can have
come between you and your father ? "

" Marion, of course. I am helpless, I could not allege
a single thing against her ; but I feel nevertheless that
'tis she makes all this mischief. She used to snub me,
bully me, and laugh when I rose in rebellion. At present
she affects to consult me in everything, she yields to me
in everything, and I never had less my own way than
now. She garbles my own speeches, till I doubt
whether I can express myself clearly on any point."

" But surely if you pointed out frankly to your father
that your wishes or observations had been misunder-
stood "

" You don't know Marion," interrupted Grace ; " I
can't fathom her myself, and Regi, poor boy, although
he's engaged to her, knows her still less ; as for my
father, she can twist him round her little finger, and
make him believe anything she chooses in the course of
a few days."

" I don't know how to advise you, Gracie. If I could
but see for myself," said Miss Collingham mournfully.

" Hush, Sylla dearest," whispered Grace, as she passed
her arm round her friend. " I feel ashamed of myself
when I think of what my trials are when compared with
your affliction ; and do not I hope that some day soon
Charlie will take me away from them all ? But the
Aldringham people worry me cruelly ahout him. They
have revived the old' story of his marriage, and though I
know it false, the rumour frets me horribly all the
tame."

" Gracie, child, my brother's all too good for you.
Can't you trust him ? "

"Yes, and I do implicitly; but, Sylla, when youi
whole world seems out of gear, it comes hard to haw it

i»4 raise L>aras.

constantly impressed upon you that your lover is married
besides."

A faint smile nickered over Sylla's face as she replied,

" O Fatima, don't hope to gloss over your curiosity,
you are wild to have possession of the key of my Blue
Beard brother's closet. You had better have taken
Robert, about whom no mystery exists."

"If you ever say that again, I will never set foot in
Churton more ! " replied Grace sharply.

" Don't be angry, sister mia, but let's go home and
have some tea. Oh, you forgive then, you hot-tempered
Grade," said Sylla, as her companion drew her arm
within her own. " I half thought I should have to trust
to Dandy to take me back. Where are you, my dog ?
You believed in your master, didn't you ?" she continued,
as Dandy thrust his black muzzle into her hand. " Tell
her, Dandy, it's a crying shame to doubt him, and that
you and I say so."

" I don't Sylla, I don't — you know it ; but to be con-
stantly told that your affianced lover is already married,
does grate upon the ear all the same."

Faith is a great virtue, and heaven help man or woman
who, despite the decay of youth's bright illusions, does
not succeed in keeping some modicum of belief in his
fellow-creatures, to travel through the world with. But,
as Miss Holbourne remarks, to be continually told that
your plighted love is already married, is a strain on such
faith scarce warranted in these times.

CHAPTER XX.

DEATH OF GRANDPAPA CHESLETT.

NLY four days since that walk in the Zoological
Gardens, and Lettice is busy at early morning
making coffee for her departing lover. She
had made him promise over night that he
would run in, wish her good-bye, and take the grace cup
and god-speed from her own fair hands. She feels
rather sad at parting with him, but it is not for long.
She knows it is for his own good — indeed, he insists
upon it for hers — and then he has promised to write.
There is magical consolation to the girl in that last fact.
Lettice has never known what it is to receive letters of
any kind, and now she is about to entertain love-letters.
She may well dream of sunshine even in her lover's
absence. Does sweeter reading ever meet us than these
silly, ungrammatical notes that come to us during the
flood-tide of our first passion? The balcony scene in
" Romeo and Juliet " is as thrilling love poetry as ever
was written, but it will never stir the pulses as did those
foolish little notes that reached us from our heart's first
queen.

She flits about the room, a little nervous and anxious.
She pushes back the dark masses of hair from her
temples, and once more raises the lid of the coffee-pot.
She looks pale this morning: as when she sits up all
night to broider a cigar case for her lover will be the lot

lS6 False Cards.

of maiden ; and Lettice could not let him go without
something to remind him of her. Ever and anon she
glances at the third linger of her left hand, on which
sparkles a handsome emerald, a recent and dazzling
addition to Miss Cheslett's most modest stock of jewelry.
The cab is at the door, and Sarah comes tumbling down
the stairs with the traveller's baggage. A sharp tap at
the door, and Reginald enters.

" Quick with my coffee, pet, for I have but a few
minutes to spare."

" It is all ready," replied the girl, as she lifted it from
the fender and commenced to pour it out.

" Halloa ! what's this ?" he exclaimed, as he raised the
cigar-case from the table. "Is this for me ?"

" Yes, Reginald. I sat up all night to get it finished.
I did so want you to have something to remind you of
me while you should be away."

He turned the case over in his fingers. It was of
velvet ; on the one side was embroidered his initials ; on
the other, in gold, Lettice.

"You think I want something to remind me of you,"
he said at length, and as he spoke he tumbled over her
work-basket carelessly. " Good ! Come here." He
took her in his arms and kissed her, and as he did so
there came a slight click, and one of Lettice's ebon
tresses fell upon the carpet. He picked it up and placed
it in the cigar-case. " There," he said in a low voice,
" I shall contrive to recollect you now."

She smiled up in his face, and said timidly,

" I might have thought of that, but I did not know,
you would care to have it. You will write often, won't
you ? It will be so new to me to get letters — so sweet
to get them from you."

" Yes, Lettice. And now good-bye, my own ; I must
linger no longer."

He clasped her again to his breast, once more their lips
met in a long, loving kiss, and then Reginald dashed from
the room, and threw himself into his cab.

She watched from the open window till the vehicle
was out of sight, gazed dreamily after it long after it was
beyond her ken, and then, with a long-drawn breath,

Death of Grandpapa Chcslett. 187

Lettice sat down and was lost in a delicious love-
dream.

" How nice it was of him to steal my hair from me/'
she mused ; "and how delightful it will be to get his!
letters ! I never noticed the postman's rap before, but
now my heart will nutter with every stroke of the
knocker ! " And then she fell to calculating what was
the earliest date she might expect to hear from him.

Reginald, meanwhile, as he sped on his way to Charing
Cross, was also immersed in reflection. He was honestly
and deeply in love, and the roseate hues of that leave-
taking still hovered around him. But mingled with such
thoughts was a sense of relief that he should escape con-
fronting his own people in town. A letter from Marion
had informed him that they would be in London in a few
days, and situated as he now was, he shrank from the idea
of meeting Miss Langworthy. After the fashion of men, he
was glad of an excuse to put off the inevitable explana-
tion that must take place with her. The procrastina-
tion of unpleasant subjects is an infirmity of most of us.
A friend of mine, much given to such treatment of the
" disagreeables," justifies his conduct in this wise, "Time
enough to face such things when you needs must. Never
be in a hurry, for there's no saying what the railways or
street-crossings may do for you ! "

Of course I do not mean that speculation as to his
cousin's death ever for one second crossed Reginald's
brain ; but he did hope vaguely that something might turn
up to render that explanation more easy than it seemed
at present. As it was, the more he thought of it the less
he liked it, to use a homely phrase much in vogue in the
hunting-field. And even as those who contemplate the
awkward fence over-long seldom think it practicable, so
Reginald deemed his " obstacle" the bigger the more he
dwelt upon it.

Days slip away. Lettice, I am afraid, dedicates much
lime to voluminous letter-writing, and on the fourth day
from Reginald's departure a foreign-stamped missive
arrives for .Miss Cheslett. The blood rushes into the
girl's face as she clutches her treasure. " Odd," she
murmurs, as she reads the superscription. "I never

1 88 False Cards.

thought to tell him my name. I know the people in the
house always call me Miss Cheslett, and he always called
me Lettice. It is funny," she continued, laughing,
" but Reginald doesn't even as yet know his betrothed
wife's name. Well, I don't think I shall tell him now
till he comes back. I will keep that as a joke against
him."

It was not a very long epistle, but Lettice was delighed
with it, and quite sure that such a love-letter never was
penned. She read and re-read it, and referred to it at all
times and seasons, as if it contained a code for her guid-
ance through life. I know her conduct is preposterous.
Conceiving such love as this, for a young man with Regi-
nald's shadowy prospects, is an iniquity that passes belief
in these times. Still, bear in mind she is but a child,
and a nobody to boot, and knows naught about the con-
ventionalities or the ways of those that sit in high places.
She loves because she cannot help it, and has given no
more thought about how she and Reginald are to live
than if she were a young sparrow. The man that could
pen a wise love-letter would most assuredly be very little
in love. Reginald's was not particularly remarkable for
foolishness, and it contained what, after all, is the gist of
such letters — plenty of good, honest affection and sweet
words. When they have that within them, I fancy a
maiden recks little if they want wisdom, and would be
blind to much want of understanding. Any way, Regi-
nald's note seemed to satisfy Lettice — she danced about
the house and chirruped like a bird. Her black eyes
sparkled, and a smile played ever on her lips, till even
Sarah, stolidest of housemaids, wondered " whatever had
come over Miss Lettice." She laughed at her grand-
father's querulous complaints, till even he gazed in
amazement at the child, and wrathfully inquired " what
she saw to be so pleased about ? " And Lettice only
laughed the merrier, and said there was no law that she
should not be happy.

Bright and brisk Lettice emerges from her own little
nest some few days later, and trips into the sitting-room.
It is a glorious Summer morning, and the soft air comes
in through the open window, and kisses her cheek

Death of Grandpapa Chcslett. 189

lovingly. Quite possible, she thinks, that the tardy post-
man may have something for her when he does come.
At last that functionary makes his appearance, and he
has a letter for Miss Cheslett. The girl's eyes flash, and a
low laugh trills from her lips as she opens her second love-
letter. She reads it through thrice, and then sits, lost in
thought, gazing into vacancy, apparently — gazing in
reality across the bright blue tumbling waters, even unto
Frankfort and the gardens of Sachsenhausen. Wrapped
in her reverie, she takes but little heed of time, till the
chiming of the pendule on the mantlepiece recalls her to
herself.

" Ten o'clock ! " she exclaims,. " and no tea made ! I
shall have grandfather down directly, and then, woe's
me ! I shall have a lecture on my laziness." And
Lettice bustled about, rang the bell, and made divers
preparations for breakfast.

Mr. Cheslett was an habitually unpunctal man, so his
granddaughter took but little heed of his non-appearance
at first. But when the timepiece rang out eleven, Lettice
thought it behoved her to see after him. She drummed
accordingly upon his door, which opened into the sitting-
room, with her fingers, but elicited no response. She
then called him by name — still no answer came to her
from within. The girl's heart began to beat, and she
softly turned the door-handle and looked in. The
curtains were still drawn, and she could barely distin-
guish one thing from another, coming as she did out of
the bright sunshine ; but already a chill ran through her
veins, and she became dimly conscious that she was alone
in that room. She rushed across, tore back the curtains,
and as the light poured into the room, she crept silently
to the I; Pale, calm, and still, her grandfather's

face lay turned towards her, and his eyes confronted her.;
with the stern fixity- of death. She snatched the hand
which lay listless <>n the coverlet, and pressed it to her
lips, and as the dullness of the dead overcame the warm
blood of the living, Lettice uttered a faint cry, sank dowf.
by the bedside, and knew that her grandfather's spirit
had sped.

She had slight consciousness of how long she remained

iqc False Cards.

there ; it was in reality but a few minutes, yet to Lettice
it had seemed a considerable time. She rose from hei
knees with a glimmering idea that she stood all alone in
the world, with no soul to advise or assist her, save one,
and that he was far away. She rang the bell, and with
streaming eyes bid Sarah run for the doctor — that her
grandfather was dying. She knew well that he was
dead, but she still scarce liked to admit that it was so,
even to herself. She went back into the room, kissed
the cold, still face once more, and sat down by the bed-
side till the doctor should come. She thought over her
young life, recalled to her mind that dead sister who a
few years back used to come home tired, but radiant with
delight, from the theatre where she earned her bread,
and pour forth stories that seemed of Fairyland into her
childish ears ; then she recollected how that gay, joyous
lover of the dead girl's had appeared upon the scene —
what mirth and laughter there would be in the little
sitting-room of their then habitation when he dropped
in, and how they had both petted hei ! Then she con-
jured up their wedding-day, and how Lilian promised
her that she should come and live with them. Ah ! well,
she saw little of Lilian after that. And then she thought
how her brother-in-law had appeared one day clothed in
deepest mourning, and in a voice choked with sobs had
announced to her grandfather that Lilian was dead.
How she cried ! She remembered how her brother-in-
law took her in his arms, and while the tears stood in
his own eyes, told her they must hope poor Lilian had
gone to a happier and better world. How well she recol-
lected his last words ! " Lettice, child," he whispered,
" we have lost her — the sunlight is all gone from my
life, and if I don't work, I shall go mad ; but I am your
brother, bear in mind, and for my poor wife's sake, let
alone your own, shall be ever one to you. Write to me
now and then, little one, and tell me about yourself."
But her grandfather immediately changed his abode,
and as she did not know where her brother-in-law lived,
she had never been able to write to him. Where was he
now ? she wondered.
Here the doctor made his appearance. A glance suf

Death of Grandpapa ChesJett. 191

ficed almost to tell him that the old man was dead — had
been dead indeed, for some hours. He gently closed
the staring eyes, and broke the fact to the girl, but she
answered —

" I knew it when I sent for you, but was loth to give up
all hope."

" You had best come away now," he replied, and
Lettice suffered him to lead her back to the sitting-room.

"Sad thing," he said to the landlady, before he took
his departure. " She seems all alone in the world. You
ought to get her out of these rooms, if you can, till after
the funeral. I can certify to death from heart-disease, so
that I don't think you will be troubled with an inquest."

" Poor child ! yes," replied the landlady ; " and as luck
will have it, I've a lodger, a great friend of theirs, who's
gone abroad for a little; she can have his rooms, and
welcome,"

So, a little later, the landlady suggested to Lettice that
she should occupy Reginald's rooms until after the
funeral. A faint smile flickered on the girl's lips as she
assented. Yes, she should like that. There was nought
left her in the world now but his love It would be
sweet to live where he had lived, to sleep where he had
slept, and brood over his letters. To Lettice's romantic
mind, few suggestions could have proved more acceptable,
and that evening saw her installed in Reginald's rooms.

^-4>,n /r ?/>

W0m

f*# wvi

CHAPTER XXL

marion's commission,

BOUT ten days after Reginald Holbourne sped
on his way to Frankfort, his father, sister, and
cousin had established themselves in a com-
for table first-floor in Sackville Street. None of
the party, to say the truth, were very conversant in the
ways of the metropolis. Of course Mr. Holbourne bad
often been there, but never very long at a time. His
lines had been cast in provincial waters, and he under-
stood little of the big, seething London cauldron. Miss
Langworthy, too, had slight experience of town ; and so
it was, thanks to a six weeks' sojourn with her aunt, Mrs.
Wilkinson, the previous year, that the ways of the big
city were more understood by Grace than by either of her
companions.

Marion felt that she had much delicate business to
transact during her visit. It was necessary, in the first
place, that she should see her mysterious agent, on
whom, to her knowledge, she had as yet never set eyes.
She had an ex. emely confidential mission to entrust to
him ; and further, Miss Langworthy considered that, as
he evidently had a perfect knowledge of her appearance,
it would be as well that she should be able to identify
him. Marion would have preferred that he should never
have seen her, but, as he undoubtedly had, it was useless

Marian s Commission. 1 93

o scruple further about an interview. She was well
satisfied with him so far. True, he demanded large pay-
ment for his services, but what information she had
required of him had been obtained promptly. He
troubled her with no details as to how it was acquired,
but forwarded it curtly and swiftly, and she had no reason
to doubt its accuracy. At all events, she meant to test
some of it during her stay in town.

Gracie, too, had a little conspiracy of her own ; but,
as it amounted to no more than persuading her aunt to
arrange a meeting for herself and Charlie, it can hardly
be deemed anything but a plot of the most common-
place description, and yet Gracie puzzled her pretty head
over it a great deal. You see, she did not quite wish to
inform Mrs. Wilkinson of her engagement, and yet her
request was not so easy to urge, unless she did so. What
thought and scheming these love-affairs cost, to bring
them to a satisfactory conclusion ! That we have either
not time or not talent to conduct such purposes to a
prosperous issue, is the reason, perhaps, that so many of
us are doomed to remain unwedded.

Miss Langworthy was, by this time, of course, pos-
sessed of Mr. Lightfoot's address at Islington ; so, the
second morning after her arrival in town, she despatched
a note, saying that she wished to see him — that her own
knowledge of London was somewhat limited, and that
she left it to him to suggest where she could meet him
with least inconvenience and chance of observation.

Mr. Lightfoot replied, with much promptitude, " that
he should do himself the honour to attend Miss
Langworthy's commands upon any day she might think
fit to name; that if he might presume to advise, the
fountains in Kensington Gardens afforded a rendezvous
not much frequented in the morning by the fashionable
world ; that, if Miss Langworthy would be there at any
lime she might think fit to name, take a moderately con-
spicuous seat, and do him the favour to keep her veil up
and remain stationary, he had not the slightest doubt
about finding her. "But," said Mr. Lightfoot, in con-
clusion, " wherever you may think proper to seat yourself,
do me the favour not to move, as my experience teaches

1 94 False Cards,

me that, though it is very easy anywhere for one person
to find another, yet, if two people mutually set about
such discovery, they seldom meet."

It having been settled one afternoon that they should
devote the next day to " doing the Royal Academy."
Miss Langworthy wrote a line to say that she would be
at the fountains at half-past twelve, and pleaded at break-
fast a severe headache as excuse for breaking the engage-
ment. Mr. Holbourne and his daughter accordingly
started without her. No sooner were they well off than
Marion set out to keep her assignation.

She took a chair on arriving there, and in less than
ten minutes a quietly- dressed man raised his hat to her,
and announced himself as Mr. Lightfoot.

" Take a seat, please," said Marion, " as our conversa-
tion may last some little time. Now," she continued, as
the adventurer placed himself beside her, " as far as my
commissions have extended, I have been satisfied. You
charge high, Mr. Lightfoot, for your information ; but it
is certainly prompt, and I believe accurate."

" Secret intelligence, Miss Langworthy, is mostly ex-
pensive. If you have made no mistake about the details
of the inquiries you have entrusted me to make, I pledge
myself to the accuracy of the information 1 have for-
warded to you."

" Some of it, sir, may be probably tested shortly,
although I have no cause to doubt that it is true enough,
But I have a more elaborate mission for you just now.
You know Mr. Charles Collingham ? "

" Certainly."

" You know where he lives, what his pursuits are, who
are his friends ? " said Marion.

" Pretty well, but could know the latter much more
fully in a little time."

" You know his wife by sight, probably."

" Assuredly not, and am unaware at present that he is
married."

" I have reason to believe that he is," replied Marion,
sharply, " and the discovery of that marriage is the com-
mission I now give you."

" It shall be investigated at once, but any hints you

Mariorfs Commission. 195

may be able to afford me to start on will, of course, make
matters easier. He most certainly does not live with his
wife at present. Though I never heard he had one, it is
quite possible. I do not know very much about him — ■
should, indeed, not even be aware of the fact that they
don't live together, had you not commissioned me to
obtain a specimen of his handwriting."

"Let me think a few moments!" exclaimed Marion,
u while I place together the scraps I know about the affair.
They don't amount to much, but may afford you some clue."

For a few moments Miss Langworthy was silent, and
then continued —

" He quarrelled with his father. Sir John, some five
years ago — he would be just leaving Oxford then — sup
posed reason that he married a woman of bad character,
in spite of Sir John's remonstrances ; and though nothing
is known for certain, he is assumed to have lived in
London ever since."

" Thanks, Miss Langworthy ; that gives me much to go
on at once. I know now somewhere about the date of
the presumed marriage, and that it was probably con-
tracted in the vicinity of Oxford, or took place in London.
Mere presumption, of course, but fair presumption all the
same. Someting to work upon."

" How long will it be before you can furnish the infor-
mation I require?" asked Marion.

" Impossible to say. You see this is a much more com-
plicated business than your former commissions, Miss
Langworthy. To begin with, it is not even certain that
there was a marriage," and Mr. Lightfoot regarded his
companion with some curiosity.

" No, but my woman's instinct tells me there was."

" Very likely, but with every deference for your judg-
ment, it is still but pure conjecture on your part, if I
understand you rightly."

Marion bowed her head.

"To do anything in this business," resumed Lightfoot,
" I must have money. I don't wish to discourage you,
Miss Langworthy, hut unless you put that pretty freely
at my command, I tell you frankly there is little chance
of my being able to as ist you."

1 96 False Cards.

"I came prepared for that; there is twenty pounds to
start witn, and I will send you some more shortly. I think
that is all I have to say at present — anything you have
to communicate you had better address to Aldringham,"
with which Marion rose, bent her head slightly, and
walked slowly away in the direction of the Park.

Lightfoot followed her with his eyes for a little, and
then fondly regarded the two ten-pound notes she had
placed in his hands.

" In a second back parlour in Chancery Lane
Lived a knowing old file who did always maintain."

hummed that citizen of the world airily. " It is a start,
it is, this," he muttered, pausing in his minstrelsie. Now
what the deuce is this girl driving at ? Imprimis, ascer-
tain all about Miss Cheslett. Motive simple there — some-
thing between her and her cousin most likely, and an
attack of jealousy supervened. But what can she want
with Collingham's writing, aud what is it to her whether
he's married or not ? I must know this. When I exer-
cise my talents for investigation, although of course the
assuaging of a fellow-creature's curiosity is the first motive
— bless 'em, they're always wanting to know," muttered
Mr. Lightfoot parenthetically — " yet I look not only to
pocketing the flimsies generally, but to the acquisi-
tion of a slight hold upon my employer. To speak meta-
phorically, it is essential that a contemptible weakness for
prying into his neighbour's affairs should knot a silken rope
round his own neck, the holding of which shall conduce
to my future benefit. Miss Langworthy, I regret it, but
it is all in the way of business. I must have your delicate
neck within the noose. Niece of a prosperous banker,
the very stones would cry shame upon me should I let
you escape with the hook so deep set in your gills. It's
a curious world — very," mused Mr. Lightfoot, addressing
his remarks to the nursemaids and fountains generally.
" Here's a young woman of good position, to gratify her
malice, spleen, or jealousy, putting herself in the hands
of a man of whom she knows nothing. The public
would look upon this as a singular case. The public ! "
continued Mr. Lightfoot, contemptuously, " upon my
word I doubt if it is possible to conceive the extent of

-C

Marion's Commission. 197

the gullibility of the public. Although the newspapers
contain records of such imprudent faith in the plausible
stranger, and what comes of it about three times a week,
there is always a succession of fatuous individuals who
believe men only advertise to benefit their fellows. They
go shovelling their money into all sorts of gaudily adver-
tised concerns, knowing as much about them as I do of
the equator; and then how they scream when the kettle
boils over, and the monkey hops off with the chestnuts !
It is hard to expect one to be exactly honest while there
are so many foolish people about. They say indis-
criminate charity makes beggars. J Tis such continuous
credulity makes rogues. Now it is quite possible preju-
diced people might class me in that latter category, but
what does it signify as long as they fail to establish such
mistaken theory in the eyes of the law ? Ah, what a
blessing it is that we have no such animal as a public
prosecutor ! Folks who have been gulled are loth to
show what arrant fools they have been, by taking
summary proceedings against men like me. Having lost
your money it is small satisfaction to be laughed at
besides."

At lengck something occurred to cut the thread of
Mr. Lightfoot's reflections, and that gentleman arose and
Strolled leisurely towards the Bayswater Road.

" It's him, and no mistake," observed a sleek, close-
cropped, dark complexioned man, as he sprang briskly
from an adjacent seat, which had been masked from the
philosopher's gaze by the intervening bushes. "I wonder
what his game is this time ? I should like to have fol-
lowed the lady, and made out who she is. I can't follow
them both — that is as clear as mud ! Lightfoot, my boy,
you've done me brown twice, take care I don't turn the
tables this time ! Tom Bullock's not the man to for
being bowled out ! What a bit of luck my happening
to come here this morning?" and with this thedete<
commenced to dog the footsteps of his amateur brother
with much skill and craftiness.

The situation reminds me of a story I was once told by
an Indian sporting acquaintance. He was out after deer,
and in the ■: 0111 so of the day wounded one badly, and

198 False Cards.

commenced to track it. Before he had pursued his quarry
a quarter of an hour he became somehow conscious that
something was tracking him. "The sensation was
uncomfortable," he continued. "I don't know how the deer
felt, but I grew scary all over. Bear in mind I had never
had a turn at big game of any sort, and was quite unpre-
pared to encounter such. Picture my feelings when my
shikarree, casting most uneasy looks over his shoulder,
exclaimed,

" ' Sahib ! Sahib ! I tink tiger after deer, and we
be' ween 'em!'"

" Good gracious ! what did you do ?" I asked.

" Do ! why, stepped out of the way, of course ! " replied
my friend.

You see, we have Mr. Lightfoot on the track of Col-
lingham, and there is a sharp watch-dog of the detective
police, who, though Lightfoot does not know it, is busy
upon his own trail. Will he also receive timely warning,
and " step out of the way ? "

Mr. Holbourne had never been favourably impressed
with London. When you are accustomed to play the
bashaw with three tails in 'your own country, there is
something supremely levelling in the crush of the big
city. Mr. Holbourne, the great Aldringham banker, was,
of course, nobody in London. The metropolitan crowd
trod on his toes, and ground his ribs, with slight reverence
for his pompous and dignified appearance. The double
gold eye-glasses that, when levelled, were wont to pro-
duce such an impression down at Aldringham, had once
or twice elicited the somewhat opprobrious epithet of
" old gig lamps " from the vulgar herd, and a con-
tumacious cabman had refused his proffered shilling, with
the somewhat familiar and enigmatic remark, " Come,
that won't fizz, governor ! " Mr. Holbourne was horrified
at the democratic strides of public opinion, and found it
hard to believe that the rabble should dare to address a man
of his undoubted respectability with such irreverence.

It is trying when the world refuses to acknowledge our
position, and treats that dignity upon which we so pride
ourselves with scant deference.

Mr. Holbou*ne finds himself of no more account in the

Marion? s Commission. 1 99

fashionable mob at the Royal Academy than he has been
elsewhere during his London sojourn. He fumes and
frets, pishes and pshas, as people tread on his feet, or
jostle him in their anxiety to obtain a more favourable
view of some picture recorded in the papers as among
the elect of the year. Now and then, it is true, Grace's
pretty face extorts courtesy from the men, which Mr.
Holbourne acknowledges with much mao-nificence. It is
on one of these happy occasions, while he is staring with
his most patronizing air at a large painting, the subject
of much varied criticism, that his daughter, who is
standing a pace or two further back, is startled with a
whisper behind her in well-known tones.

l< Lose your father, Grade," murmurs the voice, " and
meet me at the entrance-wicket."

Miss Hojbourne turns sharply round, and recognises
her lover, already some two or three yards away. She
gave a little nod in reply to his glance of interrogation ;
and, singular coincidence, within five minutes the
banker misses his daughter. He naturally seeks his lost
sheep round and round the room in which she has so
un ccountably vanished.

To those unfortunates disapproved of by the authori-
ties, there are few finer fields for the prosecution of their
unlawful love-making than that vouchsafed by the Royal
Academy. Losing your party there is easy enough when
you would fain avoid doing so ; but with disposition to
eva le it, nothing can be so simple. You may get
separated from them before lunch, and rettrrn home late
in the afternoon, wrathful, petulant, and abusive, pro-
testing that you have spent hours hunting for them,
that you are tired to death, that you have never b
so miserable, and that you never, never, ne-ever will
go anywhere with them again. You can enact the
martyr till your own family feels penitent on the score
of not taking proper care of you. Wise in her genera-
tion was the lady fair who first explained to me the
manifold readings of " seeing the pictures."

" Charlie, Charlie, I did so want to sec you ! " said Miss
Holbourne, as she greeted her lover a tire above-named
trystii g-place.

200 False Carets.

" Well, I rather hoped so," returned the latter, laugh-
ing. " The reason why I addressed you in that melo-
dramatic whisper "

" Do be serious," she continued. " It, is all over
Aldringham that you are married, and it makes me
very unhappy."

" It would make me very happy if it were true ; but I
trust it won't be long, Grace, before we prove Aldring-
ham right, though a little premature in its knowledge."

" You always laugh," she replied, petulantly. " But
do you think this is easy for me to bear ? Marion
more than suspects our secret, and never spares me an
indirect jibe upon the subject."

" Ah ! I was not wrong, then, in my first estimate
of Miss Langworthy's character. Grade, if you've
become the target of a bitter woman's spiteful tongue, I
shall change my programme — I cannot, must not leave
you exposed to that."

" Oh ! Charlie ! " exclaimed the girl, rather peni-
tently, as she saw how deeply her lover was moved, and
so awoke to the consciousness that she had somewhat
exaggerated her own woes, " I did not quite mean that.
Marion is exasperating at times, and tries me sorely, but
not beyond what it is quite possible to endure."

"Is it so?" he replied quickly, and looking keenly
into her eyes. " Listen, Grace ; it will not be long now
before I claim you before all the world. It would be
better that we should wait a little, I think ; but it shall
be for you to decide."

"No, Charlie, you — I trust you implicitly."

" Then, dearest, you must wait, with this proviso, that
if Miss Langworthy should prove past bearing, you let
me know. Concealment shall end then, hap what may.
But I see your father approaching. Good-bye."

A warm clasp of the hand, and he was gone, leaving
Grace to explain to her father how she had missed him
in her own fashion.

CHAPTER XXII.

AX UNEQUAL BATTLE.

room

the

jRAPED in deepest mourning, her pale cheek
resting on her hand, and her dark eyes lost in
vacancy, sits Lettice, two days after the funeral.
She is curled up, after her favourite fashion,
window-seat of Reginald Holbourne's sitting-
She is thinking dreamily what is to become of
her ? She is lost ; she does not know exactly even how
she is to live. She has locked up all her grandfather's
papers till Reginald shall come back. She pored over
them for four hours yesterday, but failed utterly to under-
stand what she read. She does not know where his
money, such as it was, came from, It might not be
much, but it had enabled they two to live — if somewhat
poorly, at all events in tolerable comfort. Had it all
departed with him, and was she left destitute ? She does
not know ; she cannot understand those papers. Her
lips parted in a soft smile, as she murmured — " It does
not much matter. I belong to Reginald now, and he
must take care of me."

She had received one more letter from him since
that last we had cognizance of, and has written to tell
him of her grandfather's death. " Please come back,"
she urged, " as soon as you can ; lor not only am I very
lonely and miserable, but I have no one to tell me what
to do about my poor grandfather's affairs. I cannot

202 False Cards.

understand those musty law papers. I puzzled over them
yesterday till my head ached. I don't know whether
there is anything left for me to live on, or whether I
ought to begin to earn my bread at once ; and worse
than jJl, Reginald, I don't know how to set about it, if
it is so. Come back, dearest, as soon as you can, for
your Lettice is in sore trouble, and not a soul in the
world to look to but you. I know, of course, you
cannot return till your errand, whatever it may be, is
accomplished ; but, that done, you will not linger, will
you ? but think of your own Lettice."

But though Lettice might well write despondently, that
love-dream of hers served her well as yet. But for that
her grandfather's death would have been utter desola-
tion. She grieved much for the queer, querulous old
man, who had so long been her protector and guardian ;
yet, wrapped in all the glamour of a girl's first passion,
she did not feel it as she otherwise would have done.
She is so assured of Reginald's love, so happy in the
receipt of those letters, so confident, on his return, that
all her troubles will be swept away ; and yet even now
the malevolent spirit that sways her destiny is approach-
ing — wending its way up Baker Street in silken robes
and high-heeled shoes, with heart pitiless and firm of
purpose as a millstone. Little mercy need you hope,
poor child, from a vindictive woman, who has fair
grounds to consider herself wronged.

Slowly Marion Langworthy pursues her way up the
street, bent on her errand of vengeance, should such be
practicable. But she knows not her foe as yet, and this
girl who has dared to step between her and Reginald
may, perchance, be of a brazened kind, and not easy to
cope with. Still Marion has implicit faith in her own
powers of dissimulation, should such be necessary, and
it is with resolute hand that she knocks at the door of
Reginald's lodgings.

" Mr. Holbourne lives here, I believe ?" she observed,
interrogatively, as the door opened.

" Yes, ma'am," replied Sarah, " but he's abroad just now."

" I know. I want you, in the first place, to show me
up to his rooms."

An Unequal Baffle. zo}

" Can't ma'am ; there's a lady in 'em," replied Sarah.

" A lady ! " exclaimed Marion. " Oh, Miss Cheslett,
I suppose. It is her I want to see. You can show me
up."

" What name shall I say ? "

" Never mind my name. It is not likely Miss Cheslett
would know it if she heard it. Say simply a lady to see
her."

Marion followed the servant girl so closely up the
stairs as almost to preclude any chance of denial

Sarah, thoroughly abashed by the fashionably-dressed
visitor, simply threw open the door of the sitting-room,
and with the curt announcement, " A lady to see you,
Miss," vanished.

Marion enters. At last she is face to face with this
girl who has tempted Reginald from his allegiance. She
starts invohmtarily, as a shy, timid, shrinking figure,
clad in deepest mourning, comes hesitatingly forward to
greet her.

Marion is mistress of the situation at a glance Not
much to be feared in this encounter, is her first thought.
The girl is pretty, very pretty, is her second. Not likely
that latter admission will incline Miss Langworthy to
show much mercy.

" You wish to see me," faltered Lettice, after a pause
of some seconds, during which Marion surveyed her with
an insolent stare. " Or it may be that you come to see
Mr. Holbourne, for these are his rooms."

" I came to see you," replied Marion, in slow, mea-
sured tones, "although I scarcely expected to find you in
Mr. Holbourne'.-, apartments."

" No, of course not. I must explain," said Lettice,
blushing.

"Better not, I think; the explanation could but be
painful to you, and 1 fancy I am tolerably well aware of
the circumstances."

"You arc very kind to spare me the story," said the
girl, simply, little dreaming of the misconstruction that
her visitor placed upon her words. " But will you not
sit down ? "

Marion seated herself with the slightest possible incli-

204 False Cards.

nation of her head, in acknowledgment of her hostess's
courtesy.

" You have lived here some time ?" she asked.

" About eighteen months, I think. I did not like it at
first, but I have got fond of the place now."

" Perhaps the relation you have stood in latterly to
Mr. Holbourne makes a difference ? " remarked Miss
Langworthy, suavely.

" Ah, yes, it is that. Has Reginald told you, then ?
You are a friend, connection of his — is it not so ? " And
Lettice clasped her hands and looked eagerly at her
visitor.

" I am his cousin."

" And has he told you about me ? " said the girl, as
she crossed and placed herself on a low stool at Marion's
Let. " I did not know he had yet spoken to his family.
From what he said, I thought he was afraid that they
might not like it. But you will befriend us, will you
not ? I do love him so, and I am left now all alone ! "

"Either this girl is a consummate fool, or I've not read
my riddle right," mused Marion. " So you are very fond
of him, child?"

" Yes," she murmured, blushing. " He stole my heart
before I knew I had one ; he had it, shame on me, before
he asked it ! Was it he sent you to see me ? " she con-
tinued shyly.

" No," replied Marion ; and then, with a sudden inspi-
ration, she added, " You must promise solemnly not to
let Reginald know that you have seen me until I give
you leave."

Lettice hesitated, and then said timidly, " I don't like
having secrets from Reginald."

" But suppose it is both for his good and yours, child,"
retorted Miss Langworthy sharply.

" You would not have come to see me unless you
meant to be a friend to me," murmured the girl slowly.
" I promise."

" See you keep it. How long have you been living
here — these rooms, I mean ?"

" Since my grandfather's death," replied Lettice m a
low voice.

An Unequal Battle. 205

Once more Miss Langworthy was puzzled. They were
playing at cross purposes those two. Yet, although her
rival stood apparently condemned out of her own mouth.
Marion, as she looked at her, felt intuitively that no
guilty love was Lettice's, and wondrous quick is woman's
instinct in such matters. But Miss Langworthy had
jittle intention of letting that conviction influence her
further proceedings.

" I suppose it never occurred to you," she resumed,
" that people might remark upon your intimacy with
Reginald Holbourne ?"

Lettice opened her eyes wide for a moment, and then
with a smile said, " Who are to trouble themselves about
me ? I know no one."

" But you never thought what the neighbours might
say," continued Marion, pertinaciously.

''What should they say? — why should they notice
me ? " cried the girl quickly, as she became instinctively
aware that danger was impending. " And who are you
that question me so closely ? "

" Who am I ? " returned Marion, in clear ringing tones
— " I am Reginald Holbourne's affianced wife. What
have I come for?— -to confront Reginald Holbourne's
mistress, and to judge for myself whether he has offended
past forgiveness."

Lettice bounded to her feet ; the blood crimsoned
neck, cheek, and temple to the very roots of her hair.
But it was the righteous blush of indignation that dyed
her face, not the tell-tale banner of shame.

" Ycu wicked woman ! " she gasped at length, " how
can you tell such falsehoods, when you know 1 am Regi-
nald's promised bride ? "

"Promised bride!" sneered Miss Langworthy. "Do
men lodge promised brides in their bachelor quarters ?
Do men of good position like Reginald Holbourne wed
nobodies like you? Do men wed with the shop-girls
■with whom they may amuse their idle hours? Some
rumours of this reached my ears some time back. I'll
have no more of it, and he shall choose between you and
me. You say you love him: such as you never
love ; but should your influence prose stronger than

206 False Cards.

mine, you will be his ruin, if that's any satisfaction to
you."

Lettice stood as if stunned. For the first time she
recognised what construction could be placed upon her
inhabiting Reginald's rooms in his absence — how inno-
cently, we already know. For the first time it was
brought home to her how her intimacy with Reginald
might be interpreted. Child as she was, and guileless of
the world's ways, she might well be thunderstruck at the
fell charge brought against her. For a few seconds she
cowered as if stricken to the ground by her ruthless
assailant ; then rearing her head proudly, she replied,

" That I am not what you call me, you know. The
people of the house can tell you I have inhabited these
rooms but a few days, and that in consequence of my
grandfather's sudden death, which left my own no fit
place for me for a time ! " She could not suppress an
hysterical sob here, but mastered herself bravely and
went on — " You say you are Reginald's affianced bride,
and being that, you could bring yourself to believe this
of him ? You say such as I cannot love. If so, I know
not what you ladies call love. I could sacrifice myself
for him, and if his love for me bodes him ill, he shall
never see me again. My heart may break — let it — it
were best so. If I am never to see him more, it matters
little what happens to me. But I could not have spoken
such cruel words as you have done even to a dog that he
had once caressed."

She ceased, and the tears gushed tempestuously from
her eyes. It was but for a few moments, and then she
dashed them impatiently aside.

" What would you next?" she cried almost fiercely.
" Do you wish to look further on the misery you have
wrought ? or what is it that you have come for ?"

Marion felt a certain admiration for the girl's courage-
ous vindication of herself and her lover, but wavered no
iota in her purpose. She had come there to break this
connection, if possible. She saw now that her task was
easier than she had looked for.

" If I have done you wrong, blame yourself," she
replied coldly. " If I took you for Reginald's mistress, it

An Unequal Battle. 207

is but what the gossip of your own street would endorse.
If he has but filled your foolish head with the idea of
being his wife, he has done you less harm than I
thought."

" He means me to be his wife, and I can trust him ! "
cried the girl indignantly.

"And this is your love ! I say nothing of the claims
I have upon him, but if he weds you, it will be at the
sacrifice of every family tie he has — certain rupture with
his father, who will scarce consent to receive a girl picked
up in a lodging-house as his daughter. His people are
likely to resent the affront put upon me sharply, and do
you think I shall bid them stay their hand ? "

" No," moaned Lettice, " from the way you have treated
me, I can fancy what mercy you would mete out to those
that should offend you. " But," she continued defiantly,
"I could be more to him than you ever can. If he
married you, would you ever forgive his treason ? "

Marion's eyes flashed fiercely, for the last shaft came
home. She knew, hap what might, she should be little
likely to condone Reginald's lapse of allegiance ; but it
was in cold, steely tones she replied,

" And you think you can be all in all to him ? Have
you pictured him alienated from his father, sister, kindred
— all assistance, pecuniary or otherwise, that might
enable him to push his way through the world forfeited,
because he lost his head about your chit's face, and in a
mad moment of passion made you his wife ? "

The battle was too unequal. Lettice, with only the
great light of her love to guide her inexperience, pitted
against a cool, calculating, worldly woman such as
Marion, who was making capital of that very love to win
the crafty game she was playing. There was silence
between them for some minutes. Lettice had thrown
herself upon the sofa and buried her face in her hands,
while Miss Langworthy was too astute not to give her
last speech time to work.

"What is it you want ? " cried the girl at last, raising
her head and looking her visitor full in the face. " What
is it you have come for ? "

" Come for ? " replied Marion, with more animation

208 False Cards.

than she had yet shown, while a relentless light glittered
in her pale blue eyes. " I have come to see the woman
for whom Reginald Holbourne would sacrifice his honour
— to look upon the face that had lured him to break his
plighted word — to see what he was to get in exchange
for all the prospects he forfeited — to see/' and her voice
sank to a fierce whisper, " what she might be like who
had dared to come between him and me ! "

Lettice shrank beneath the bitter words, but only
covered her face with her hands, and spoke not.

" You talk of your love, and declare if it boded him
harm you would never see him more," continued Marion,
vehemently, " What do you say now ? I tell you it is
destruction to him to wed you. Will you act up to
your words, and disappear from his sight — bury yourself
so that he shall seek vainly for a trace of you, or will you
face the storm of a jealous woman's wrath, and expose
him to the worst that she can work on him and you ?
Speak ! speak ! — if it is but to confess your love falters
at such sacrifice — that it is no purer nor better than
mine, nor of a vintage strong enough to turn to such gall
as mine is capable of ! "

" I do love him — love him in a fashion that you cannot
comprehend. If he wronged me ever so cruelly I could
but go on loving him. What is it you require of me ?
You say I shall be ruin to his whole life if he wed me.
That, then, shall he never. But forgive me if I say,"
continued Lettice, rising, drawing her girlish figure to
its full height, and looking proudly at her adversary—
" forgive me if I say that it will be equal ruin to his life
should he marry you. You do not love him, and will
never forget that he once forgot you. Say what you
would have of me."

" That you disappear from this, and leave not a trace
behind," replied Marion, sternly — " that all communica-
tion between you cease from this time. Whether he
and I are ever anything to each other again or not, I am
doing him a good turn when I step between him and you.
Will you promise ? "

Lettice bowed her head.

" Then I have done my errand," said Marion, rising.

An Unequal Battle. 209

" It is little likely that Reginald Holbourne will ever be
more than cousin to me now. I shall, thanks to you —
and you do love him dearly, or you'd not have promised
it — save his life from shipwreck at the outset. If I have
thought evil of you, and said bitter things to you, I now
ask your pardon." And, with a frank smile, Miss Lang-
worthy extended her hand.

A slight shudder ran through Lettice's frame as she
shook her head gently.

"No," she replied; "I will keep my promise, but I
cannot touch your hand. Your lips have brought too
cruel a charge against me for us to part friends."

" As you will," returned Marion, with a forced laugh.
" I will bid you good-bye, then." And, with a haughty
inclination of her head, Miss Langworthy made her way
to the door. Pausing there for a moment, she turned and
said, slowly, " Don't forget you promised not to mention
my visit."

" But I must ! " cried Lettice, passionately. " I cannot
go away without leaving a line of explanation. How
shall I make him understand without mentioning your
name ? "

" I have nothing to do with that — you pledged yourself
not to mention it, and I expect you to keep your word."
And, so saying, Marion closed the door behind her, and
departed.

For a few seconds Lettice stood, with parted lips and

eyes fixed in stony stare upon the door. Womanly pride,

and indignation at the scandalous accusation that her

visitor had ventured to bring against her, had so far

sustained her, but now she awoke to the consciousness

that her love- dream was shattered. She felt dazed. She

to be taunted with working evil to Reginald, who felt

she could give her life for him ! Life ! she had promised

to do more — to sacrifice her love. " Oh ! that I could

but die ! " she murmured ; " it were easy that, compared

with what I have pledged myself to. Who is this

woman ? His cousin, she said, and I never even thought

to ask her name! I- her story true?" And, as she

asked herself the question, she shuddered, for she felt

intuitively that it was so. Reginald had never spoken to

J 10 False Cards.

her of his relations, but, young as she was, she could
quite understand that they might fiercely oppose his
marriage with herself.

" All alone ! " she cried, piteously, as she threw herself
upon the sofa. " None in the world have I to look to for
counsel or protection save him, and that cruel woman
says I am wrecking his life by loving him ! What's to
become of me I don't know; but they shall never have
the power to say that it was I who brought trouble on
him. And yet I know he loves me — he will be sore at
heart when he returns and finds his Lettice gone. How
could he ever have cared for that cold, insolent woman,
with her merciless eyes ? He never did — she must have
entrapped him into wooing her. If there were such
things as love-philtres, I'd say she had given him one."

Strong in her new-born love, Lettice had not as yet
recognised how desolate she was left — now, for the first
time, she was brought face to face with the grim fact that
she had to brave the world alone. She tramped up and
down the room with tearless eyes, but the quivering lip,
and fretful nervous movement of her hands, showed how
she yet wrestled with her agony. Her voice sounded
strange to herself as she bade Sarah take away her tea
and close the shutters ; and that handmaiden, as she
regarded the untouched tray, ventured to ask if she was
unwell.

" No. What should make you think so ? " replied
Lettice, sharply. " One does not always want tea and toast."

Sarah made no response, but came to the conclusion
that the strange lady had upset Miss Lettice ; but as she
had nobody to confide her opinion to except the cook,
and the cockroaches that shared the kitchen with her,
there was little speculation on Lettice's conduct that
evening in Baker Street.

" Oh ! bed ! bed ! delicious bed !
That heaven upon earth to the weary head,
Whether lofty or low its condition ! "

But when the sun streamed into Lettice's bed-room
next morning it was greeted by a tear-stained face, and
a pair of dark eyes heavy with weeping, that showed
little sign of refreshing slumber.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MISS MEGGOTT IS DECEIVED.

ISS MEGGOTT is whisking about the sitting-
room at Brompton, duster in hand, attempting
to set that somewhat chaotic apartment in
order. Miss Meggott does not condescend to
meddle with bed-rooms, but it is a stipulation between
her and her lodgers that no housemaid's unhallowed
hands were to interfere with their books and papers.

" There, it looks a little better now," she said, pausing
in the midst of her labours to take stock of the effect.
" I should like to right up those two tables, but, bless me, I
daren't. I should be mixing tragedies and comedies,
leading and magazine articles, and never hear the last of
it. Very littery are these literary gentlemen ! " — And
Miss Megott indulged in a quaint little smile at her own
joke. " They keep their very papers in such a muddle,
it's a wonder they don't make awful mistakes at times.
Perhaps they do, and that's when the reviews let 'em
have it. However, they don't seem to mind much when
they do. I have never felt it my duty to place their
razors under restraint when the newspapers write their
wickedest concerning 'em. Mr. Donaldson seems to
take it out in tobacco — the more they abuse him the
more he smokes; while as for Mr. Collingham, it's my
impression he passes it on, and just pitches into some one
else in the Misanthrope. There, it's £t for a Christian

212 False Cards

to sit down in now ! " continued Miss Meggott, as she
glanced round the room, H and I wonder how long they'll
leave it so ? "

A peal at the door-bell interrupted that young lady's
reflections, and she hastened to answer the summons.
She found herself confronted by an elderly man, whose
iJng grizzled hair overflowed his coat-collar. He was
decently dressed, but there was an aspect of respectable
poverty about the well-brushed and somewhat thread-
bare garments that was unmistakeable. His hat showed
sign of much careful manipulation, and there were cracks
yet visible in his well-darned gloves. In somewhat timid
manner he asked if Mr. Donaldson was at home.

" No," replied Polly, curtly, " he's not, nor likely to be
till about five."

" Oh, dear ! " said the man, shuffling his feet nervously
to and fro on the step ; " and he promised to see me at
twelve. It is a matter of the utmost importance to me,
although I don't suppose he ever thought of that. You
see," he continued, while his restless fingers kept con-
tinually buttoning and unbuttoning his coat, " it is a
little matter of money, a trifle of no consequence to him,
but it represents fire and food to me and mine. Times
have gone badly with me of late," and here a racking
cough convulsed the speaker. " Could I write a line to
him anywhere ? " he gasped, when he had somewhat
recovered. " He would be sorry, I know, to think his
carelessness had caused an old friend considerable
distress."

Polly's womanly heart was melted, and it was in much
subdued tones that she bid the stranger come in ; and
ushering him up to the sitting-room, placed pen and
paper before him. He took off his hat, and put on a
pair of spectacles with great deliberation, but as his
trembling fingers took the pen, he was seized with
another paroxysm of coughing that threatened to shake
his feeble frame almost to pieces. " Water ! water ! "
he gasped at length, and Polly, who was really frightened,
flew downstairs to procure some. No sooner were her
footsteps out of hearing than a singular change mani-
' >ted itself in the old gentleman — the racking cough

Miss Meggott is Deceived. 213

was replaced by an unmistakable chuckle, and jumping
from his chair with an agility much at variance with his
hitherto debilitated manner, he crossed as quick as
thought, to the nearest writing-table. " Ah ! this is the
wrong one ! " he muttered, after a cursory glance at the
handwriting of one or two of the manuscript sheets that
lay scattered about — " the other is Collingham's." In a
second he was there, and had tried the drawers. "All
open but one," he continued, "and that of course is the
only one it is worth my while to tumble over. But here
comes my hostess," and regaining his seat quickly, he
rested his head upon his hands, and appeared completely
exhausted by the paroxysm he had gone through.

Polly bustled in with her glass of water, of which the
old gentleman took a few sips, and then endeavoured to
resume his pen, but his hand shook so that he was forced
once more to lay it aside.

"I beg your pardon for the trouble I am giving," he
said, in a low voice. " but these attacks leave me so
prostrate that I am really incapable of anything for a
time. Allow me a few minutes, please," and as he spoke
he placed his hand upon his heart, and appeared to
breath painfully.

" Let me get you a glass of wine, sir, or a little brandy -
and-water," said Miss Meggott, soothingly.

She really quite felt for this poor afflicted old gentle-
man, and thought Mr. Donaldson deserving of much
reprobation for such careless neglect of his appointment.

"Thanks, no, my dear," replied the old gentleman.
" The doctors prohibit all stimulant of that nature. If —
but it would be giving you too much trouble "

"Never mind about the trouble," replied Pollv,
quickly. " If you can mention anything that will do
you good, I will get it, if it's to be got."

"It's very kind of you. If you would not mind
running round to the nearest chemist's for a strong dose
of laudanum and ammonia, such as is commonly given
to people troubled with a bad spasmodic cough, you
would confer a real service on me." And here the old
gentleman was troubled with another though milder
attack.

214 False Cards.

"Laudanum and ammonia," repeated Polly — "I'll
fetch it. You stay quiet here till I come back." And
Miss Meggott sped away on her errand.

The sufferer remained motionless till he heard the slam
of the street-door, then, rising with a grin of intense
satisfaction pervading his features, he exclaimed, " Man-
kind are very gullible — especially women. It is really
no credit deceiving them. That's a sharp girl, and yet
this is a second occasion within a few weeks on which I
have fooled her. But I mustn't lose time. Now for this
drawer. It didn't look anything elaborate in locks, and
[ should think will answer to one of these." As he spoke
he drew from his pocket a varied collection of keys, and
one or two instruments appertaining to lock-picking.

In less than five minutes his dexterous fingers had
succeeded in forcing back the lock, and he was running
hastily over the contents of the drawer, but apparently
without result. " Nothing here," he muttered, " to give
one any clue. If he ever was married, and keeps any
letters or papers that show proof of such marriage, he
doesn't keep them here, that's clear. I wonder whether
it is possible to get at his bed-room ? I am afraid not.
It would be risky to stay much longer — one of them
might turn up. Ah," he exclaimed, as the ring of the
street bell caught his quick ear, " my Hebe is back with
the nauseating nectar. I must swallow it and depart.
You will have to pay high, Miss Langworthy, for such
dread service as this," and so saying, he hastily closed
the drawer and resumed his original seat.

" Here is what you want," said Miss Meggott, as she
entered breathless, " but I hope you are more yourself
by this;" and Polly, placing a small phial on the table,
hastened to get a wine-glass.

Mr. Lightfoot — for of course the reader has already
recognised him — poured the draught he had sent for
leisurely in the glass and drank it. " Yes," he said,
" I am better, much better, and this will do me good
besides. I will just leave a line for Mr. Donaldson, and
then go." Seizing a pen, he wrote rapidly for a minute
or two, then folding the letter up addressed it.

" There." he said at length, " if you would give him

Miss Meggott ts Deceived. 215

that when he returns I should be obliged. Donaldson
has a good heart, and means well," continued Air. Light-
foot, abstractedly, " but he is thoughtless — very thought-
less. That is to pay for my medicine, I only wish my
poverty did not prevent my acknowledging your kindness
besides, but you must rest content with an old man's
thanks," and as he spoke Mr. Lightfoot presented Polly
with a shilling, very much to that young woman's dismay.
For Miss Meggott was powerfully impressed by this case
of genteel poverty, and instead of taking that shilling,
would like to have bestowed one on the donor, had she
known how to do so without giving offence.

Polly looked after him with a heart overflowing with
sympathy, as he limped down the street leaning heavily
on his stick.

" Poor old fellow," sbe muttered, <l it was downright
shameful to take his shining, but what could I do ? It
was too bad of Mr. Donaldson to forget his appointment."

Polly's eyes would have opened wide could she have
seen the object of her commiseration discard his limp as
he turned the corner, stride along for half a mile or so,
most vigorous of elderly gentlemen, and finally hailing

a hansom, bid the driver energetically to drive like

to Pentonville Road. " Playing detective for Miss Lang-
worthy," ruminated Mr. Lightfoot, " has so far been an
easy and profitable business, but she has set me a stiffish
riddle to solve this time. It is a great question whether
this Collingham ever was married. At all events, I can't
procure a rag of evidence as to that fact to begin with —
let alone where it was done, and who was the lady. I
wonder whether Miss Langworthy is knocking her head
against a wall. She's a cutish young woman, but ad-
mitted that she was not very clear on this point — that
it was but conjecture after all. Well, I've made nothing
of it so far, and haven't even got the end of a thread
wherewith to start the unravelling of the tangle as yet.
If I could only be assured that he had been married, I'd
bet my life I got at it in time, but there's no use hunting
for proof of a marrige knot that never was tied. Till I
can get hold of some evidence that there was a wedding,
it's no use going into where it took place."

2 1 fi False Cards.

In Pentonville Road Mr. Lightfoot dismissed his cab,
and strolled thence leisurely towards his own residence
in John Street. As he approached it, he was struck by
the appearance of a respectable artizan, who was loung-
ing on the opposite pavement. A low laugh broke from
Mr. Lightfoot as he took stock of this individual ; then,
once more assuming a limp, and leaning heavily on his
stick, he crossed the road, and inquired timidly of the
stranger " which was 22 ? — could he tell him whether
Mr. Lightfoot lived at 22 or 23 ? — he was short of sight
and scant of memory, getting old, in short ; he had an
appointment with that gentleman." The artizan retorted
gruffly that he " was a stranger in the neighbourhood,
and knowed nothin' about no Lightfoots nor anyone
else." To which the lame old gentleman responded with
a little bow, and then, recrossing the road, knocked at
22. The stranger observed this proceeding in a lazy way,
as he stood with his hands in his pockets, sucking a short
black pipe ; but his nonchalant air was considerably
upset when, upon the door being opened, the infirm old
man, facing about, laid his forefinger playfully to the
side of his nose, bestowed upon him a most significant
wink, and finally kissing his hand affectionately, ex-
claimed, "Bye-bye, Bullock!" and vanished-

The detective slunk away completely chapfallen. It
was quite a craze of his, and a subject of much ridicule
amongst his mates, this fierce antipathy he held to
Leonidas Lightfoot. The truth was, Mr. Bullock was
an enthusiast in his profession, and Mr. Lightfoot had
upon two occasions proved too clever of fence for him.
His fellows had chaffed him much upon the way that
■astute adventurer had bamboozled him, or, in their ver-
nacular, " put the double on him," and vowed that all
his energies should be devoted to a return match. He
had lost all sight of his adversary since their last passage
of arms, till he had come across him accidentally that
morning in Kensington Gardens. He had tracked him
home upon that occasion, and had since dedicated much
of his spare time to observation of that gentleman's
dwelling, in the hope of once more obtaining an inkling
of his nefarious pursuits. It is not to be supposed that

Miss Mcggott is Deceived. 217

Mr. Bullock had not recognised his antipathy's delicate
touch in more than one instance — witness his call upon
the editor of the Morning Misanthrope — but he had
succeeded in laying hold of no offence against the law
upon which he could take positive action. He conned
the Times advertisement-sheet carefully, and now and
again put his finger upon an insidious notice which he
pronounced Lightfoot's composition — traps for the un-
wary all. But whether the public fell into such traps or
not, he was without knowledge. If they did, they sub-
mitted to the shearing without outcry or appeal to the
police.

And now his bete noire actually detects him watching
his dwelling — speaks to him so cleverly disguised, withal,
that he, Mr. Bullock, fails to penetrate it, and then
laughs at his beard. It was enough to bring salt tears
into the eyes of a man enthusiastic in his art, and looked
upon as a shining light of Scotland-yard.

" This would be a nice story to get round," muttered
Mr. Bullock, as he slunk away discomfited. " I shall
have a nice time of it if ever my pals get hold of this.
I could never stand it. They'd laugh me clean out
of the force. To think of Tom Bullock, who's sup-
posed to be up to a trick or two, and has got the
reputation of being one of the smartest officers in the
' Yard,' being bamboozled like a country policeman.
Done, diddled, sold, clean, by the very party he was
supposed to be keeping an eye upon ! It's all very well
to talk," he grumbled, " but I don's suppose there's one
of our lot ever tackled such a slippery customer as this.
Confound him!" exclaimed Mr. Bullock, with enthu-
siasm, " he is clever ! To give the devil his due, he is
clever! He just saw through my disguise quick as wink,
and what a make-up his own was! I never twigged him
no more than if I'd been a baby ! Blessed if I didn't
think he was an old' buffer who'd been caught by one of
those crafty advertisements he's always putting in the
papers, and that I might make something of it if I
waited till he came out again. But I don't mean to be
oeat. Lightfoot, my boy, you've scored one, but one
point don't make game at anything that's played, and

21 8 False Cards.

those that score first don't always win." With which
philosophical reflection, Mr. Bullock wended his way
homewards.

When Jim Donaldson returned home, he was much
astonished at the asperity with which Miss Meggott
greeted him.

" It's too bad of you, Mr. Donaldson, making an ap-
pointment with an old gentleman who, it's my belief, is
not long for this world, and not being here to keep it,"
said Polly. " To say nothing, poor soul, of his being
evidently in distress, and looking anxiously for your
promised assistance. He spoke better of you than you
deserved, for he said you had a good heart, though you
were thoughtless — very thoughtless."

" Polly," retorted Donaldson, " I have very great
respect for you, but whether you are suffering from
insanity, or imbibing champagne at midday, I am not as
yet quite clear."

" It's all very well to try and laugh it off," replied
Miss Meggott, " but if you had seen how ill he was, and
what a cough he'd got ! "

" Stop ! " interrupted Donaldson ; " I had no appoint-
ment of any kind with anyone. Your old gentleman
was a flam, if he came to see me."

" What ! " cried Miss Meggott ; " why, he's left a note
for you — here it is ! "

Donaldson ran his eye over it — " Regrets not finding
me at home, hopes to be more fortunate on some future
occasion. Yours respectfully, Cornelius Walkingham."

" Don't know such a person, never heard the name in
my life — there, read it ; " and as he tossed her the note,
Jim remarked quietly, " I suppose he went in for chops
and sherry, Polly ? "

" Do you mean to say," replied Miss Meggott, getting
very red in the face, and speaking with great deliberation,
" that he was an imposter ? "

Donaldson nodded. " What was the extent of his
plundering?"

" I don't believe it ! " cried Polly, vehemently ; " he
took nothing, would have nothing : he was seized with a
terrible nt of coughing, for which I ran out and got him

Miss Meggott is Deceived. 219

some medicine he asked for, and he gave me a shilling to
pay for it."

"Well, I don't know his object, or whether he has
taken anything away with him, but he had no appoint-
ment with me, nor did I ever hear his name in my life ;
and I have no hesitation in asserting, Polly, that you
have been once more imposed upon, though with what
reason I confess I do not understand."

Miss Meggott stoutly combated this view of the case,
although, at the bottom of her heart, lurked a horrible
suspicion that it was the truth as regarded that elderly
visitor. " But," she argued, " what could be his object ?
— nothing was missing — why such a causeless mystifica-
tion ? " And to all this Jim Donaldson had nothing to
say.

" Really," he exclaimed, at length, when Polly's elo-
quence began to worry him, " I am too much bothered
weaving my own plots to have inclination to unravel
other people's."

w£0$

£?*8S*S

CHAPTER XXIV.

ALONE IN THE WORLD,

ETTICE stole into the sitting-room the morning
after Miss Langworthy's visit with a vague sensa-
tion of terror. Was it possible that the neighbour-
hood credited her with such shame as Marion
had dared to allege they did ? She shrank from Sarah
as she brought in the breakfast, as the thought struck her,
" Perhaps she deems me the vile thing that pitiless
woman called me ? What am I to do ? " she moans,
inwardly — " what power have I to rebut this scandal ?
None. Reginald only could right me, and scarce that,
save by marriage. He loves me well, and, if I wait and
tell him all, he will do it. But is this the love I have
been so proud of ? Is it so women should love ? Shall I
bring ruin upon him ? No ; I stand all alone, and what
happens to me concerns only myself. Better my fail
name should perish than that I should drag him down in
the world. It is hard, too," she cried, as the tears rained
down her cheeks, " when life looked all so sweet, to see
it thus shattered on the threshold ! Did he deceive me ?
No, I'll not believe that of him. I have won his love,
but that woman holds his plighted troth. Wrung from
him how, I know not; but she vows his ruin if he fails to
keep it. Reginald, my dearest, what I have promised
would seem less bitter, if it were not for the thought that
she may one da}' be your bride. Girl as I am.

I can

see

/J /one in ffie World. 221

whal misery such a wedding will bring to you. My
wretchedness will be no greater than yours, if ever she
should call herself your wife."

One thing only is clear to Lettice at present, that she
must go away and hide herself. " I have done no wrong,"
she murmured, " but the people around hold me 'guilty.
I cannot stay here — I should be afraid to go outside the
house. False as the accusation is, I should sink with
shame to meet the eyes of those that deem it true. Ah !
Reginald," she cried, in her agony, "was it well to expose
me to this ? You might have known what scandal those
pleasant country excursions would give rise to ! I, poor
fool, thought only of how sweet it was to be with you —
to listen to the song of the birds, to gaze upon the green
fields and glittering waters, nor dreamt the world was
whispering away my good name ! 'Tis done, 'tis gone,
and I, your love, am left a thing for honest women to
shrink from."

Lettice, in her present overwrought frame of mind,
her love-dream shattered, her character, as she thinks,
blasted, derived her sole ray of comfort from the thought
of the sacrifice she was about to make. She would dis-
appear and leave no trace behind her. Let the world
deem her Reginald Holbourne's mistress if they would, she
would not gainsay it. Marrying her involved ruin to
him she was told; that she would never bring upon him.
He at least should know how devotedly, how purely she
had loved him. That Marion s allegation was derived
only from her own vindictive, cynical temper, never
crossed Lettice's mind for an instant. In reality, Baker
Street had troubled itself little about her movements,
and the breath of scandal had scarce scorched her fair
fame ; but so stricken was Lettice by the foul imputation,
that she never dreamt that her cruel assailant might be
speaking with slender grounds to go upon. She had been
so overwhelmed by the construction Miss Langworthv
had placed upon her occupying Reginald's rooms that slie
deemed assertion of her innocence would be credited by
no one. She hardly dared to dwell upon what the people
of the house might think of her, knowing though they
did all the circumstances of the case. In her own eyes,

222 False Cards.

poor child, she stood convicted of want of modesty in
having consented to occupy her lover's rooms.

Till this slander reared its head, it had never occurred
to Lettice's mind that it was anything but natural that
she should do so under the circumstances ; now she
regarded everything through a poisoned lens. She fancied
the blight that had descended upon her reputation was
bruited abroad far and wide — that all the neighbourhood
were cognisant of the slur cast upon her good name. She
pictured to herself the averted heads of the women, the
bold, insolent stare of the men. True, she had hardly
an acquaintance, but to Lettice, in her present excited
state, it seemed that her story must be known to all Baker
Street. Yes, she must go away and hide herself — bury
herself somewhere in the big city, so that none might
ever discover her ; and then Lettice literally cowered on
the sofa beneath the weight of her woe.

Towards evening she put on her bonnet, and trusting
to the protection of her heavy crape veil, crept out. She
was infinitely relieved to find that no one noticed her ;
and once clear of her own immediate neighbourhood,
Lettice sped rapidly on her errand. Down Weymouth
Street she walked swiftly, turned up Portland Place, and
quickly made her way into the Euston Road ; past the
huge termini of the Midland and- Great Northern Rail-
ways, till she comes upon the borders of " Merrie Isling-
ton." Lettice turns up to her left a little before she
comes to the " Angel," and finally knocks at the door of
a quiet house in John Street. It was here that she and
her gandfather had lived previously to setting up their
tent in Baker Street, and Lettice has come to see if their
old landlady will once more take her in.

A maid unknown to her responds to Lettice's ring,
and, in reply to her inquiry for Mrs. Bopps, straightway
ushers her into that respectable matron's sanctum.

" Lor, if it ain't Miss Lettice ! " exclaimed that stout
and buxom landlady, as she rose to welcome her visitor.
" Why, you're as welcome, my dear, as the flowers in
May! My gracious! how you have grown! why,
you're quite a woman now. Dear, dear, time slips
away — it seems as if you only left yesterday, and yet

Alone in the World. 223

it must be getting on two years since you lived with
me ! "

" Very near," replied Lettice, in somewhat unsteady
tones. " I have come to see if you can take me in again.
I have just lost my grandfather."

" Poor thing ! " replied the sympathetic landlady. " I
might have guessed it," she continued, with a glance at
the girl's black dress, " but I was, so to say, struck all of
a heap at seeing your pretty face again, that I forgot to
notice what your frock betokened. Well, well, I'm
sorry for poor Mr. Cheslett ; he was a good, quiet, pleasant
gentleman, but he was old, and it's what we must all
come to. Are you all alone in the world now, Miss
Lettice ? "

" All alone," she replied, struggling hard with a sob
that rose in her throat. " None in this huge city can be
more desolate than I." And here that awkward, choking
sensation would be no longer denied ; but Lettice burst
into tears, and sobbed as if her heart would break. Mrs.
Bopps's question had recalled vividly to her recollection
how entirely alone in the world she now stood.

That good lady soothed and comforted Lettice to the
best of her ability, and when the girl became a little
calmer, Mrs. Bopps gave her to understand that she could
have her own old room on the second floor, if that would
suit her. The landlady had always been fond of and kind
to the motherless child in the days when she and her
grandfather had lodged with her, and they had resided
in the house for hard upon three years.

Lettice dried her eyes, and then had to submit to much
questioning on Mrs. Bopps's past, as to how things had
lured with her lately. The jolly landlady meant well, yet
could not refrain from some sly inquiries as to whether
such a pretty girl had not attracted a lover to her side by
this; but the tears in Lettice's eyes, and her troubled face,
warning her from pursuing such badinage. After some
little further conversation Lettice rose and declared she
must return home; and having arranged to take posses-
sion of her room on the morrow, bade her friend good
night.

She felt much relieved in mind as she threaded her

224 False Cards.

way back to Baker Street — all was settled now, and to-
morrow she would disappear from Reginald's ken, and be
lost to him for ever. A shudder ran through the girl's
frame at the thought. She was never to see him more !
For his sake, to save him from the evil that his love for
her promised to bring upon him, she was going to vanish
utterly, amidst the wilds of the huge Babylon, leaving
behind but a vile stigma on her name ; and then, as she
reflected on her utter loneliness, her lips quivered. Brave
heart as Lettice had, she could but wonder a little what
was to become of her.

She was astir by times the next morning, and busied
herself in packing up her things. Her grandfather's
books and papers, too, took some time to put together.
Lettice could not repress a shiver as she moved about the
old rooms, and thought how a bare three weeks ago, she
had given Reginald that cup of coffee before his departure.
She still seemed to hear the sharp click of the scissors as
that tress of her hair fell upon the carpet, to feel his
farewell kiss upon her cheek. What sunshine all was
then ! — what desolation now ! All was finished at last,
and, sending for the landlady, Lettice announced her
sudden departure. Manifold were that lady's ejaculations
of astonishment, and more than one curious interroga-
tion did she hazard concerning such hasty resolution on
Miss Cheslett's part ; but Lettice was very reticent, and
replied merely that she was going to stay with an old
friend for some time.

Having settled her bill, Lettice sat down to rest. One
thing only remained to be done, but that was by no
means the easiest of all the tasks she had set herself that
morning. She must write one last letter to Reginald,
and the writing of that letter, she knew, would cost her
much anguish, and wring her heart-strings sore.

It is no light matter for a woman passionately in love
to say a final farewell to the object of that love at any
time. But picture to yourself a mere girl like Lettice —
her fair fame already stained through that honest love
of hers, now called upon to tear it up by the very roots !
She has no sympathizing friends nor relations to pour
words of comfort into her ears, to 6olace her in her

Alone in the World. 22$

trouble, to mitigate her grief. She must face her sorrow
single-handed, as she best may.

For some time she ponders over that letter — at last
she takes her seat at the table, and dips her pen in ink.
Four or five times does she write rapidly for a few
minutes, then stop and tear the sheet into the smallest
possible fragments. But at last she seems more satisfied,
and the pen traverses the paper in steady and continuous
fashion.

" I must say good-bye," she wrote, " though my heart
tells me it were better not — that it were best I should
disappear, and leave not a line behind me. But that,
Reginald, is more than I can bear. You must, at all
events, know why I fly from you. They tell me your
family would cast you off, if you dared to think of marry-
ing me — that you are already pledged to another, that I
should but bring ruin on your future. I could not do
that — I love you too well. If we part, dearest, it is for
your good ; better that I should suffer alone than become
a mill-stone round your neck. How sweet to me has
been the treasure of your love, you will never know. I
cannot tell it, nor make you understand what it was to
me. It is gone now. I must never see you more, and
bear my sorrow as I best may — one thing only I ask at
at your hands ; slander is busy with my name, and has
linked it foully with yours ; you will do me justice — will
you not ? — and contradict that vile falsehood, as far as is
within your power. You should have spared me this ;
you knew how ignorant of the world's ways I was, and
ought to have guarded the fame of one innocent of all,
save love for you.

H Was it fair to me, Reginald, to win my heart while
you were bound to another ? And yet I cannot blame
you. I believe I had your love, though that other might
hold your promise. I like to think so — it is some solace
to me now to dream that your love was mine for a little,
happen what may. I think I could have been a good
wife to you, but it is useless to muse on what might
have been. They have made me see but too clearly that
we must part. Pity me a little, Reginald, for my future
looks so dreary that I hardly dare to think of it. I

226 False Cards.

scarce know what I write, for my eyes are blind with
weeping. I would fain tell you all that has happened,
but I have promised not. God bless you, my dearest !
In memory of some wrong that you have done her,
perhaps unwittingly, think sometimes of one who can
still only sign herself your own

" Lettice."

This written, and addressed to " Reginald Holbourne,
Esq.," Lettice rang the bell, and ordered a cab. She
placed her letter in a conspicuous place on the mantel-
piece, and, moreover, exhorted Sarah to call the atten-
tion of the proprietor of the rooms to it when he returned
from abroad. Then she bade adieu to her landlady and
the afflicted Sarah, seated herself in the midst of her
belongings, and directed the cabman to drive to Farring-
don Street Station. She was not exactly going there,
but she wished to leave behind no clue to her new resi-
dence. In- pursuance of this scheme, Lettice had herself
and her boxes deposited at Farringdon Street and dis-
missed her cab. Taking a fresh one, after a little, she
drove to Mrs. Bopps's, and deemed she had effectually
severed herself from all whom she had known the last
two years.

CHAPTER XXV.

HOME AGAIN.

■SHORT, chopping sea. A heavy, turbulent,
south-westerly gale, blowing noisily up channel,
and rolling the vexed waters before it into a
sheet of foam, causing the fretting waves to
lash and break in fitful indignation at the fierce pressure
it puts upon their caprices, forcing them back upon their
tidal impetus with a blustering might, at which they
rebel savagely, and toss their white crests aloft in im-
potent derision. For the wind is master of the waters,
vainly though the latter would repudiate the yoke. A
steamer, pitching, lurching, and driving, makes her way
heavily through the seething cauldron. But one pas-
senger is on deck, for it is " a naughty night to swim in,"
although it is fine over-head. The moon flashes out
ever and anon, but the skipper prognosticates heavy
rain so soon as the wind shall drop. It is an ugly time
for even a sailor to pace the deck. The steamer groans
and labours like one in heavy travail. Ships complain
in their trouble with much vociferation, and almost
shriek in their final agonies. They die as if invested with
human attributes. When they perish silently, as in case
of being waterlogged, &c, it is exactly like mortification
setting in with man. They depart in a weird silence
painful to witness.

But the sturdy steamer that we are at present watch-

228 False Cards,

ing holds her own bravely ; she buries her nose in the
waves with a grunt of defiance, albeit she cannot refrain
from a cry of anguish as the angry waters crash heavily
on her quarter, and come streaming over her decks in a
flood of glittering spray. But she picks herself up gal-
lantly, once more boldly faces her antagonists, and
responds cheerfully to the dull thud and measured stroke
of her powerful engines. If she herself makes moan
about her voyage, we may safely conclude that there are
dire cries of distress from the freight of humanity with
which she is laden. Such have chiefly ceased now. The
state of collapse has set in with most of these hapless
victims. They are past proclamation of their sufferings,
and would be content to be drowned forthwith ; life, as
at present constituted, offers but slight attraction. " Put
me on shore or beneath the billow — anywhere, any-
thing ! — but rescue me from this accursed steamer ! "
Yet a few hours more and these despairing fragments of
humanity shall be vociferous for ham, eggs, and buttered
toast.

The traveller who, wrapped in thick pea-coat, and
with travelling-cap drawn close over his brows, so deter-
minedly kept the deck, was cause of marvel to the ship's
officers. Once or twice they had respectfully recom-
mended him to go below ; but he curtly rejected the
advice, and might be seen at times tumbling in the lee-
scuppers, anon clinging to the weather-rigging, then
again making a staggering effort to pace the quarter-
deck, the last proceeding usually producing a repetition
of the first. He was wet, drenched indeed, but seemed
to heed it not ; apparently he would do anything rather
remain still — he was unquiet as the fabled Hebrew. His
extreme restlessness attracted the attention of the
skipper, who drew no favourable augury therefrom.
He, the Captain, had carried across a felonious levanter
or two in his time, and that excessive inquietude he
deemed rather characteristic of the class. He foresaw a
couple of detective officers greeting their arrival, and
his unquiet passenger invested with a pair of handcuffs,
some few minutes after they should come alongside the
pier at Dover.

Home Again. 229

But he was wrong. That restless passenger ia
Reginald Holbourne, returning from Frankfort sick at
heart — Reginald Holbourne so changed from the weak,
vacilating man we saw leave Baker Street some months
ago, that in character we shall have some difficulty in
identifying him. For the last month Reginald has
written letter after letter to Lettice, and received not a
syllable in reply. In that month he has come to com-
prehend that this girl's love means to him everything.
He is ready now to defy his father, Marion, or aught
else in defence of that love, and recks little what the
consequences may be. Fiercely had he chafed over his
detention at Frankfort. But the business he had been
sent upen was tedious in its details, and it was impos-
sible for him to leave that city until the final arrange-
ments were completed. What had happened to
Lettice ? Her last letter had told him of her grand-
father's sudden death, and how she was left alone in
the world. Since that, not a line has reached him.
What can it all mean ? Has she, too, been struck down
by the destroyer ? The thought makes his brain reel.
But how otherwise explain her silence ? That last letter
overflowed with love and tenderness ; what has paralysed
the writer's pen. He is hurrying home, with the chill of
impending evil striking heavy at his heart. No, he does
not think, thank Heaven, that she is gone from this
world. Her farewell message would have reached him
ere this had it been so. He feels that Lettice would
have whispered such with her dying lips into some
friendly ear before death scaled them for ever. But
some one has poisoned her mind against him. Her in-
experience lias been practi ed on. By whom? Who
could possibly have an object in interfering between
them ? And once more Reginald dismisses this, as he
has a score of other conjectures. Will this miserable
steamer never reach Dover ? Was there ever such a tub
employed in the carriage of passengers ? Did man ever
encounter such accursed weather as it was his lot to
meet with ?

Thus did Reginald fret and fume during his transit
across the tumultuous channel; but at last the tall

230 raise earns.

chalky cliffs are visible through the haze, and the grey
old Castb can be faintly discerned when the moon
glimmers out for a few minutes. That vexed passage is
well-nigh over. Though the sea runs heavy round the
Foreland, and the steamer groans dismally over her un-
courteous reception, she shall rest at peace under shelter of
the Admiralty pier in a little while now. With slowed
engines, amidst incoherent shouts from porters and hotel
touts, the steamer is warped alongside that colossal quay.
The hand-railed plank is run quickly across her gang-
way, and all the confusion incidental to a disembarkation
is immediately in full swing. With cadaverous counte-
nance, and in a state of more or less prostration, the
miserable passengers crawl from the dark cells that have
witnessed their agonies, appear on deck, and feebly en-
deavour to claim their luggage, and indicate _ their
wishes respecting it. Many feel that a couch without
motion represents Elysium to them at present, and are
borne off to the Lord Warden Hotel helpless and un-
resisting.

But Reginald is not of these ; and having, after the
use of much violent language, laid hands upon his
baggage, he proceeds at once to the railway. He tries
to sleep as the train whirls him towards London, but he
is wet, cold, and wretched. Racked with the thoughts
of what can have happened to Lettice : feverishly
anxious to be once more in Baker Street. Sleep is not
for such as he. The capricious god favours not those
who woo him as a mere refuge from trouble and anxiety.

Have we not all experienced this ? — when oblivion for
awhile from grief or care would be so delicious ; when
we so crave for a few hours to lay down our burden and
rest ; when, worn with sorrow, harassed by the fierce and
unsuccessful struggle with life, we thirst for a little to
forget all and be at peace. Can we then ever sleep ?
Tired we may be, but our weary head tosses from side
to side on our unquiet pillow, and we cry querulously,
" Sleep is granted only to the happy ! " To the miser-
able is meted out wakefulness, memory, and self-accusa-
tion. And in those open-eyed hours of the night what
weird, ugly shapes those shortcomings of ours take upon

Home Again. 231

themselves — squandered time, squandered money, squan-
dered opportunity, confront us like remorseless furies
with their jeers and jibes of derision; tell us we are
weak, purposeless, wanting in pith of character, and
shall never more be of account in this world ; that our
chance has been and shall never come more. Bitter
reflections are wont to gather round the sleepless pillow,
and happy is he who can bear such enforced meditation
with equanimity.

Reginald shared the usual fate of such anxious wooing
of the poppy-crowned deity. He fell into a fitful dog-
slumber some fifteen minutes before he reached Charing
Cross, and woke with a shiver when called upon for his
ticket. It was early morning as he threw himself into
a cab, and drove rapidly to Baker Street. Small sign of
vitality is as yet visible at his own domicile, but that
troubles him little ; he lets himself in with his pass-key,
makes his way upstairs to his own rooms, enters, and
throws open the shutters.

The first glance of unwcdded man, on return to his
peculiar stronghold after absence, is in search of corres-
pondence. It may be with anxiety, with hope, with
dread, with indifference, but his first look around the
rooms of which he is master is for letters. Reginald, as
may be readily supposed, was not likely to prove an ex-
ception to this rule. A small pile of these lay upon the
writing-table. He runs his eye over the superscriptions
in search of that one hand-writing which alone he so
s, yet half fears, to see, and throws them contemp-
tuously down again. Lettice's delicate but somewhat
ular caligraphy is not among them. He gazes
moodily out of the window, wonders whether the morn-
ing is yet far advanced enough to justify him in ringing
his bell, in order that he may cross-examine Sarah con-
cerning Miss Cheslett's health, &c. In pursuance of this
latter train of thought, he turns and glances mechan-
ically at the clock, and becomes aware that there is
another letter still awaiting his attention. One glance
at the handwriting suffices, and in another second he is
absorbed in the perusal of Lettice's farewell. As he
read, his face darkened; alight came into his eyes that

232 raise Cards.

neither friend nor foe of Reginald Holbourne's had ever
seen yet. With still lowering brow, he read it through
a second time, and as he finished, a savage expletive
escaped his lips.

" I'd give two years of my life," he muttered, " to
know who ' they' may be upon this particular occasion.
If ' they ' happens to be anybody but my own father,
there will be a heavy account to settle with me for this
uncalled-for interposition. I begin to understand it all
now. Accused of shame, poor child, through my
criminal carelessness regarding her good name — pressure
put upon her that her marriage with me would be my
ruin — crushed and dispirited by her grandfather's death
— there would be small difficulty in bending her to their
will ! She has, of course, left this, but I daresay the people
here know pretty well where she has gone to. Lettice,
my darling, I must have you unsay all that letter before
the sun sets." And then once more Reginald relapsed
into angry speculation as to who it was that could have
seen and imparted all this knowledge to Lettice, and
exacted a promise from her not to betray their name.

This puzzles Reginald amazingly. He had deemed his
intimacy with Miss Cheslett unknown to any of his rela-
tions. True, he was not blind to the fact that many of
his town acquaintances had cast most significant glances
Avhen they had encounted him walking with Lettice.
His face flushes as he thinks how, in pursuance of his
own selfish passion, he has allowed her fair fame to be
suspected. But whatever they might think, what could
justify them — what reason could they have for inter-
fering ? No, it was no acquaintance who had taken this
extraordinary step, and of intimates Reginald had so
few. Charlie Collingham was perhaps as great a chum
as he had, but he and Charlie met but seldom ; their
paths in life were so very different. It was doubtful if
Charlie had ever even heard of Lettice's existence.

But by this time the sun stands so high in the heavens
that he has no further compunction about the disturb-
ance of the house, and rings for Sarah accordingly. From
that damsel he extracts the facts that a lady called upon
Miss Lettice just after her grandfather's death — that

Home Again. 233

Miss Lettice seemed very much put out, and went away
quite suddenly the next day but one, leaving a letter for
him against the clock.

" Yes, he has got it. What was the lady like ?

But on this point Sarah becomes unreliable. She was
a real lady, and beautifully dressed. No, she didn't see
her face — at least hardly — the lady kept her veil down
when she spoke to her. Was she fair or dark ? She
thought fair, but couldn't exactly say. She wasn't sure.
Where had Miss Lettice gone ? She didn't know — missus
might know, but she didn't think she did.

Sarah proved right in her conjecture. The landlady
was also in complete ignorance as to whither Lettice had
departed. Reginald was much perturbed at this intelli-
gence. He had deemed there would be no difficulty
about ascertaining Miss Cheslett's new address, and would
not believe at first that Lettice had disappeared and left
no trace behind her. But further inquiry proved only
too confirmatory of this. After considerable research, he
at last discovered the cabman who had carried away
Lettice, but that worthy could only impart that he had
driven the lady to Farringdon Station. Reginald drove
thither, but near a month had elapsed, and he could
make nothing out of the cabmen or officials there. " A
good many young ladies with luggage had come and gone
— they were always coming and going," a misanthropical
porter informed him, since the date he mentioned.

Sick at heart and sore distressed, Reginald drove back
to his lodgings. He had grown wonderfully in earnest
about this love of his, and a sullen determination never
to abandon it now possessed him. In a hazy indefinite
way he somehow coupled Marion with Lettice's dis-
appearance. In very shadowy fashion as yet, but still
that suspicion was germinating in his mind. Suddenly
a thought struck him. He would go down and consult
Charlie Collingham. Charlie was an adept in the occult
mysteries of London, and could doubtless advise him how
to prosecute his search for Lettice. Moreover, he felt
impelled to make a confidant of some one. When our
withers are sorely wrung, we mostly see!; for sympathy
from our kind. Neither man nor woman ever locks a

234 False Cards.

disastrous love affair altogether in his or her own breast.
Reginald felt that it would be a relief to talk over matters
with a friend, at any rate.

"Mr. Holbourne," exclaimed Polly, as she opened the
door in answer to his ring. " Well, it's a blessing I'm
sure to have somebody I do know call, instead of
mysterious parties who want mutton-chops, or have fits
and cry out for strange chemicals. Parties, too, who
can't be identified on description, and whom Mr. Donald-
son declares he knows nothing of, although they come
on purpose to see him. Oh ! yes, Mr. Collingham is in.
Come up, please sir. Now, Mr. Donaldson," exclaimed
Miss Meggott, as she threw open the door, " here's Mr.
Holbourne. If you had not happened either of you to be
at home, there's no saying what his requirements might
have been, in this vale of mystery Ave live in."

The young men rose and welcomed Reginald cordially.

" Mr. Collingham ! " exclaimed Polly, " perhaps you'd
be kind enough to examine him closely. There's no
knowing who is who now-a-days. If he's the Pirate of
the Savannas, disguised as Mr. Holbourne, let me know ;
if he wants chops, or shows symptoms of fits, I'd best
call in the police, I suppose, instantaneous. Fits
especially," observed Miss Meggott, with lofty sarcasm,
" we know to be a sure sign of imposture."

" Polly the betrayed, cease thou thy discordant
prattle ! " cried Collingham, in most melodramatic tones.
" Hist, girl, the next inimical spy Avho would .penetrate
our castle's mystery will demand Welsh rarebits. 'Twas
the witch of Bagdad told me. See thou emptiest the
cayenne castor on the cheese when thou ministerest to his
monstrous requirements."

" If I've more mysterious visitors to lunch, I'll mix
ratsbane in their food," retorted Miss Meggott. " They'll
be here for you to look at on your return, then, at all events."

"Peerless Dulcinea!" cried Donaldson, "forget not
the words of the Saga, that the silken flattery of age is
no more to be relied on than the fervent protestations of
youth."

Miss Meggott deigned no reply, but made a mone at
her tormentors and departed.

Home Again. 235

" Well, Reginald," said Collingham, " you don't often
favour us with a visit. Been abroad, though, lately,
haven't you ? "

" Yes, I have been at Frankfort close upon two
months. I hardly expected to find you. I thought
both you and Donaldson were probably off for your Sum-
mer run."

'•Jim is; lucky beggar, he's just on the verge of start-
ing now. As for me, I've no chance of getting my neck
out of the collar for the next month. ' God is great, and
Plugson of Undershot is his prophet,' as Mr. Carlyle
says ; and I must stop and turn my ideas into dollars for
a little longer yet."

"I came down to have a serious talk with you, Charlie.
I want your advice and assistance."

" All right, old fellow. They are both very much at
your service — especially the cheaper article. I give the
public yards of it every month."

" I am off now, Holbourne," interrupted Donaldson,
who had been hurriedly scribbling a note at the writing-
table, " so you and Charlie can hold your palaver with-
out interruption. Good-bye both of you !" And after
shaking hands warmly with them, Jim took his depar-
ture.

" Now then," said Collingham, lighting a pipe, " let
us hear an outline of the trouble, for I suppose it's grief
of some kind. Men never want advice and assistance
under other circumstances."

" Yes, something in that way, though not of a kind
you are likely to imagine;" and then Reginald made a
clean breast of it — told of his boyish engagement to
Marion, how bitterly he had repented of it this long time,
how Lettice had been thrown' across his path, and how
he had struggled against the attachment he had gradually
conceived for her, how his love had proved too strong for
his prudence, and how he had left for Frankfort, solemnly
pledged to her.

" Jt's awkward," observed Charlie; "but that's not all,
I can see. Go on."

Then Reginald narrated the sudden death of old Mr.
Cbeslett. His auditor gave a slight start at the name,

236 False Cards.

and dropped his pipe. How, upon his return, he found
Lettice had disappeared. He told of her farewell letter,
of the mysterious lady who had visited her, and wound
up with a bitter denunciation of the officious " they " of
Lettice's epistle, and a solemn declaration that nothing
should induce him to give her up.

Collingham sat for some little time in silence after his
companion had finished. At last he said,

" You have made your election for good, Reginald,
between these two, eh ?"

The latter nodded.

" Of course you are aware that you must behave badly
to one of them. I need scarcely add that treason to
Miss Langworthy, in the eyes of the world, will be by
far the most heinous crime. I mention this as your
adviser."

Once more Reginald nodded assent.

" And of course you mean to brave consequences, and
adhere to your latter engagement ?"

" I mean to marry Lettice, and no other," replied
Holbourne, sententiously.

'" It must have been Miss Langworthy who visited
her," said Charlie, meditatively.

"Yes, I fancy so," said the other. "I have a strong
suspicion she is ' they,' but no proof."

" Pretty fair presumptive evidence, though. You said
your engagement to Miss Langworthy was a secret — that
your father did not know of it. How many people do
you suppose did ? "

" I can't say," replied Reginald. " Let me think."
After a short pause, he said, " To the best of my belief
no one but my sister."

" Then, if you are right in that supposition, it could be
only either Miss Langworthy or Miss Holbourne that
came to Baker Street."

" True ; but then how on earth did either of them
know of my engagement to Lettice ? That was known
only to our two selves."

" Impossible to say, these things leak out in manner
most mysterious."

"Exactly ! Granted ! But, you see, my first engage

Home Again. 237

ment was much more likely to become known than my
second. The first extends over four years, and was con
tracted, and has gone on, under the eyes of a gossipin
community who know me. The latter is an affair of a
few weeks."

" Quite true ; but, all the same, I have no doubt Miss
Langworthy was the lady who visited your present
inamorato in Baker Street," replied Charlie. "Your
people were in London at the time, recollect. The next
question is, what are you to do ? My advice is, break,
with Miss Langworthy at once. You ought to get clear
of that entanglement, to begin with. Secondly, we must
discover Miss .Cheslett. By-the-bye, you are quite su e
that is her name ? "

" Of course ; she was never called anything else. Bi t
breaking with Marion is an awkward business. It must
be done, but I don't quite know how to set about it."
And Reginald looked anxiously at his friend, in hope of
some suggestion on his part.

" Yes," replied Charlie, slowly, after a pause of some
length. " Backing out of engagements generally is
fraught with unpleasantness, more especially those mat-
rimonial. It won't be a nice letter to write."

" It will be written, though, and that at once," re-
turned Reginald sharply. " But how am I to discover
Lettice ? "

" Oh ! you need not be uneasy on that point. Nobody
can disappear in London for long from people who have
made up their minds to find them. I know two or three
men who would ascertain Miss Cheslfitt's whereabouts in
the course of a few days. But, Reginald, you ought to
have done with Miss Langworthy before you see Lettice
again; and unless you pledge your word to that, I must
decline to help you further in this matter. I have some
idea I know more of poor old Cheslett and this girl than
you dream of, and I will have no hand in bringing you
together until all is over between you and Miss
Langworth .-.''

Charlie spoke very seriously, almost solemnly, and
Reginald raised his eyes in some astonishment at the
gravity of his manner.

238 False Cards.

" You need not fear," he observed quietly. " You have
taken a load from my mind in telling me that you have
no doubt about discovering Lettice. As you say, it will
not be a nice letter to write, but all will be finished
between Marion and myself before the week is out."

He was not cognizant of Miss Langworthy's resources
■ — that young lady permitted not such easy doffing of her
silken fetters. She wove her nets of no cobweb material,
and was little likely to tolerate so ready an escape from
them.

u Well," said Reginald, rising, " I am very glad I've
had this talk out with you. I was wretchedly hipped
when I came ; but you tell me you have no doubt about
finding Lettice ; and you mean it, Charlie, don't you ? "
And he eyed his companion keenly.

" Yes," said the other. " You do what you have said
with regard to Miss Langworthy, and I will undertake
that you are in possession of Miss Cheslett's address
within a few days."

" Good night, and ten thousand thanks, old fellow,"
replied Reginald ; and having interchanged a warm grasp
of the hand with his friend, he took his departure.

Charlie remained staring vacantly into the empty grate
for some time afterwards. Memory carried him back
three or four years in his life, and a fair, laughing face
once more looked up into his. Sadly he thought of those
gay, joyous times when everything looked all so bright,
and " the fairy birds were singing." His eyes were moist
as he thought of the wreck and desolation that had come
upon him so soon after. Then his mind wandered back
to this affair of Reginald's, and Charlie rapidly arrived
at the conclusion that it was a more complicated business
than the delinquent dreamed of.

" It's likely to lead to a thundering row between him
and his father for one thing. I can vouch personally for
that not being an advantage to a man starting in life.
Old Holbourne is not quite the sort of man to take
kindly to a penniless daughter-in-law. In the next place,
Miss Langworthy, as far as my knowledge of her goes —
and though personally I know little of her, yet I have
heard a good deal about her from Grace — is not likely to

Home Again.

2 39

stand being thrown over quietly. Reginald has a good
deal stiffer work cut out for him than he thinks. How-
ever, he must fire the first shot before we can have any
idea of what sort of storm it will raise ; and crying off
with Miss Langworthy is clearly the opening move of the
game. Reginald, my boy, my advice and talents are at
your disposal, and I wish you well through it ; but I think
it's likely to be roughish weather with you shortly."

CHAPTER XXVI.

DELICATE CORRESPONDENCE.

R. HOLBOURNE, to his intense delight, was
once more back at Aldringham. He described
London as much too densely populated for
comfort, and as pervaded by that terrible demo-
cratic spirit which would make any place unbearable.
" In the days of my youth," says Mr. Holbourne,
with considerable action of the double gold eye-glass,
" the metropolis was pleasant enough for a few weeks.
You generally ran across a good many old friends, and
managed to see something of them ; you heard of others,
hunted them up, and they were glad to see you. Now it
is simply chaos — a fermenting mass of humanity, all
struggling to get uppermost. Whether people are pur-
suing business or pleasure, ambition or knavery, they all
do it with such vehemence in these days that they have
no time to stop and talk over old times." And then
Mr. Holbourne indulged in some well-rounded observa-
tions about the levelling spirit that was abroad, and the
want of respect to their superiors vouchsafed by the
lower-class Londoners. Perhaps the memory of those
impudent street-boys, and that vulgar and irreverent
cabman, still rankled in his breast.

Miss Langworthy also was well satisfied to be back
again. She had not been favourably impressed with
London, as it nresented itself to her from the furnished

Delicate Correspondence. 241

apartments point of view. True that they had been in
possession of most excellent rooms, and in a good locality,
but Marion was a young lady who craved to keep pace
with the upper circles wheresoever her lot might be cast.
She came to the quick conclusion that it was no use being
in London unless you had a house and a carriage ; and if
not an opera-box, at all events license to run a tolerably
heavy bill at Mitchell's. As these had not entered into
her uncle's programme, she also was well content to find
herself once more at Aldringham, where she enjoyed the
former advantages, and was of the elect of the neighbour-
hood.

Miss Langworthy of late had been troubled with some
misgivings as to whether her scheming propensities had
not led her rather too far. She was troubled with no
compunctions — on the contrary, she felt that to deal out
fitting punishment to Reginald for his lack of loyalty to
herself, and retribution to Grace for what Marion deemed,
however unjustly, her treachery in the matter of Robert
Collingham, was not a whit more than they deserved ;
but Miss Langworthy began to have a suspicion that her
later manoeuvres might recoil upon her own head. She
almost wished that she had never taken Mr. Lightfoot
into her counsels, and saw that the time might come
when that unscrupulous adventurer might prove trouble-
some. He was that, indeed, to some extent even now ;
his demands for money in prosecution of her last instruc-
tions being con>Merably in excess of what she had con-
templated when she had given him that commission in
Kl-m. -Hilton Gardens.

Ahuion had been a schemer from her cradle — she
was a born intrigante. As a child she had never sought to
attain her aim except in an indirect manner. The passion
had grown '.villi her growth — strengthened with her
strength. From the days when she had so cleverly ousted
her uncle's old servants, she had male rapid strides. It
washer passion. She was continually plotting, intriguing,
in her domestic circle It was not that she particularly
cared, perhaps, for the object in view, it was the sheer
love of out-manoeuvring sorn other person. It was but
natural that she should grow bolder in her artifices as

242 False Cards.

she saw her designs so constantly crowned with success.
She was quite aware that her assumption of the role of
martyrdom had caused considerable discomfort both to
Grace and her uncle — she meant that it should. Every-
body concerned deserved punishment for Robert Colling-
ham's misconduct, and it was well for the delinquent
himself that he was beyond Miss Langworthy's reach.
Marion had given his case deep consideration but had
failed, as yet, to strike out any method of avenging
herself — else she felt that she could have prosecuted such
design with much energy.

She dwelt with great satisfaction on her interview with
poor Lettice. She considered the promise, that she had
extracted from her at the commencement of their con-
versation, as a stroke of superior diplomacy ; and, frorn
what she had seen of the girl, she felt pretty confident
that she would keep her word. That Lettice had left
Baker Street she had easily ascertained through the
agency of Mr. Lightfoot, who, calling there upon some
frivolous pretext, at her desire, had assured himself of
that fact. Miss Langworthy, in short rather plumed
herself upon the dexterity with which she had managed
the matter. She had relegated her rival to obscurity,
without giving Reginald a hint even that she was aware
of his defection. She quite purrs over 'the success of her
schemes, and if Mr. Lightfoot would only enable her to
drop the bitter intelligence of Charlie Collingham's
marriage into her cousin's cup of happiness, Marion
feels that her Summer will not have been spent in vain.

She is very obstinate as regards her theory of Charlie's
quarrel with his father. She holds that he made a dis-
graceful marriage — entrapped into it probably — and that,
though now separated from his wife, yet that there is a
shameless woman somewhere with a right to that title.
Marion has no evidence on which to justify this opinion.
Here and there she can certainly point to circumstances
which give some colour to her story, but the filling in of
this most meagre outline is due entirely to Miss Lang-
worthy's lively imagination ; yet she has not hesitated to
circulate this scandal, bit by bit, through Aldringham.
She is not wont to hesitate at the dissemination of such

Delicate Correspondence. 243

gossip as may serve her turn, and Miss Langworthy ia
continually distilling insidious and dubious stories into
Aldringham's avid ears, in furtherance of some pet pro-
ject of her scheming brain.

Marion has been slightly taken aback this morning b3
the receipt of a letter from Reginald. It is not so much
the actual contents that disturb her, but there is an asser-
tion of independence pervading the whole epistle which
she has never encountered in any previous effusion of his
He writes to sever their engagement. That Miss Lang
worthy has been prepared for any time the last twelve
months. So little does she value his plighted troth that,
had there been no Lettice in the case, it was odds but
that she had let him go in peace. But Marion has not
the slightest idea of granting him his liberty, in order
that he may affiance himself to some one else. No ! she
has, she trusts, in fact his letter admits as much,
frightened this new attraction far enough away to pre-
vent any immediate meeting between them. Six months
hence, if she can ascertain that he has still failed to dis-
cover Lettice, well, then, perhaps she may release him,
but it is little likely that she, Miss Langworthy, is quietly
to submit to affront, so that he may be blest with the
love of another.

-Marion gives a scornful toss of her head, and her lip
curls as she once more glances over Reginald's letter.

" He means," she murmured, " to be very conclusive,
and thinks this is so, no doubt. I don't know that I
ever saw a much weaker production. It contains an
exhibition of temper, and an assertion that he can't sub-
stantiate ; but, with all its weakness, there is an air of
dogged determination all through it to have done with
me. That is nothing now. It is a mere consequence of
the greater slight put upon me when he presumed to
place that girl before me in his thoughts. As far as site
is concerned," continued .Marion, with a scornful smile,
"I think I have had some satisfaction. I Hatter myself
I somewhat dissipated that minx's day dream."

Once more she looks at the V tin'. "That our engage-
ment has been a mistake, Marion," wrote Reginald,
" has been as patent to you as to me for some time past.

244 False Cards.

It has been visible when we met, transparent in our
correspondence this year or more. An error of our
teens, that has been allowed to continue, from want of
moral courage on my part, certainly ; most likely from a
similar feeling on yours. Let it end. We are unsuited
to each other in every respect. With mji) at present,
uncertain prospects, it can be no loss to you to terminate
it forthwith. I would have added, let us continue
friends, but after the outrage you have thought fit to put
upon an innocent girl on my account, that is no longer
possible. What fiend prompted you to come here and
insult a helpless girl in her sorrow ? — to attribute both
to her and me wrong-doing which you should have been
the last to believe in ? — to hunt a girl, still stricken with
the recent loss of her sole protector, from the only roof
under which she could look for friends and assistance ?
Why do I constitute myself her champion ? you will ask.
Who has better right than her affianced husband to
hurl back the base stigma you have sought to inflict
upon her ? I had lain at your mercy but for this.
False as I have been to my promises to you, I must have
craved release from your hands, with abject apology for
the wrong I had done you. But you have made my
task easy when you cast such shame upon Lettice
Cheslett and myself. I no longer ask to be set free — T
throw off the chains of my own accord, and hold myself
justified by your own conduct. It was unwomanly,
heartless, unfeeling on your part. Had you poured
forth your wrath upon my head, it had been just, and
I should have bowed meekly to your reproaches ; but you
have reviled and insulted one whose youth and recent
sorrow alone should have placed her above attack, let
alone that the scandalous representation which reached
your ears should have been held unworthy of credit in
your sight.

" Further correspondence between us is, of course,
useless. In time I may feel this less, and trust, for the
sake of what has passed between us — in memory of what
we once were to one another — that I shall some day be.
able to say that I forgive you."

That letter had cost Reginald some trouble. Had it

Delicate Correspondence. 245

not been for his great wrath, it would have cost him
still more : but he did flatter himself, when it was posted,
that he had thoroughly broken with Marion. As I have
said before, he did not quite know Miss Langworthy.

Marion mused for some time over this epistle. " Yes,"
she said gently at last, " I shall answer it, and that,
Reginald, is a thing I have no doubt you don't expect.
I shall deny the whole of the charges against me, and
that, O thou false love of mine, is a contingency which
has never occurred to your imagination. I think, when
you get my reply, you will feel a wee bit bewildered.
Now, the question is, how much does he really know,
and how much is conjecture ? That girl could not have
told him my name, because she did not know it. She
went away, and from his letter it is pretty evident that
he has not yet discovered her retreat. Of course she
left a written good-bye behind her, and it is clear in that
she informed him of some of the wholesome truths I
thought fit to communicate to her. I wish I knew how
much she told him exactly. Still it doesn't signify a
great deal. I can guess pretty nearly what his actual
information amounts to, and how much of this " — and
she tapped the letter in her lap — " is conjecture. The
story I shall write him will hold good, whatever he may
think of it, until he meets that girl again. I think I
must Avrite to Lightfoot, to make out where she has
gone to. I am paying him pretty heavily just now for
the gratification of avenging myself upon Grace, and her
milk-and-water manoeuvring. He may as well ascertain
this point also for me. That he and this Cheslett chit
will meet again, I fear, is too probable ; but if I can delay
it I will. With all her innocence, she will never resist
putting the clue to her whereabouts into his hands even-
tually — just the sort of girl to fancy herself dying, and
having sent for him to wish her good-bye fpr ever, then
recover from that moment."

Miss Langworthy fell into the common mistake of all
those who play with packed cards. Schemer herself,
never could believe but that tho around her were also
having resort to much under-play and finesse.

Marion glances out of the window across the glowing

246 False Cards.

parterre to where Grade, draped in diaphanous robes,
and looking the incarnation of indolence, sits absorbed in
her book. The fact that one of the objects of her spleen
is apparently so little affected by her machinations
rather stirs Miss Langworthy's bile, and confirms her
intention of making things as unpleasant as possible to
the victim within her toils. Yet that she has cost Grace
some unhappy hours she is well aware, and it is with no
feeling of penitence that she recalls such circumstance to
her memory. Marion's mind is warped on this point.
The disappointment to her hopes and the shock to her
vanity occasioned by Robert Collingham's preference of
her cousin, when she had deemed him encompassed by
her own charms, she could neither forget nor forgive.
Nor would it have been possible to disabuse her mind of
the idea that Grace had deliberately contested the win-
ning of Robert Collingham's love with her from the
sheer spirit of coquetry, or to amuse herself, or to test
her power, or from caprice, or anything else you may
choose to mention. Marion was aware that she herself
could have derived much enjoyment from such exercise
of her faculties, and was supremely incredulous of Grace's
victory being as unsought as unexpected.

She rises, and walking to the writing-table, takes pen
and paper and proceeds to answer Reginald's angry
epistle. That the soft answer turneth away wrath we
have Scripture for believing, and of a surety when the
wrath is poured on best Bath post, there can be little
doubt of the difficulty an irritated mortal will have in
establishing a quarrel with a correspondent determined
to avoid it. But it seems to be a law of quarrelling on
paper that both sides should display the most captious
acerbity ; and under these circumstances commend me
to it for the production of a feud past healing, for the
hatching of a vendetta that shall terminate only in the
grave. The word spoken may fade from the memory in
time, but when the biting sentences are placed on paper
we can always feed the furnace of our wrath by recurring
to such passages. And I have observed that men always
keep the whole of an angry correspondence, and are
neither reticent of discussing the question nor slow to

Delicate Correspondence. 247

refer to it, turning to it, one may say, upon very slight
provocation.

Marion's pen glides rapidly across the paper. Her
letter costs her far less thought in its composition than
the one which provokes it had cost her lover.

" Dearest Reginald," she writes, " your note is an
enigma, which I must at all events trouble you further
to explain. If our engagement is the mistake which you
seem so suddenly to have discovered, you will excuse my
observing that you have till this given me no reason to
suspect so. Neither by letter, nor word of mouth when
we met, have you indicated that you were weary of my
love, that you would fain be free from the tie that bound
us to each other. What have I done that you should,
with such undisguised brutality, inform me that you are
affianced to another ? Who is this woman that has
bereft me of your affection ? Upon what plea do you
dare, casting honour to the winds, to so violate )'our
troth to me ? Did I not, when I found myself com-
paratively penniless, at once release you from your
engagement ? Did you not voluntarily renew the vows
which you had before made to me ? Who, I ask once
more, is this woman that has come between us ? Has
she taken advantage of your infatuation to persuade you
that I insulted her ? Is it likely that I should visit
your rooms at any time ? Is it probable that I should
do so knowing you to be abroad ? Insult there might be
should we meet ; but I at all events should consider
myself the victim of such insolence if this person pro-
claimed herself your betrothed.

" You say you throw off the chains and free yourself.
You cannot. Such calumniation of the woman you
have professed to love, such a total repudiation of every
sense of honour and justice, loads you with fetters you
shall bear to your dying day. I will not, cannot restore
your troth to you, as things are at present. To release
you now, would be to acknowledge the truth of your
wild accusations, to acquiesce in the blackening of my
own character. Do not think that I wish to compel you
to an unwilling fulfilment of our engagement, hut that
engagement 1 will have acknowledged and ruptured b'

248 False Cards.

the face of the world. It is the only atonement you
can make for the vile scandal that your hand "has
penned.

" I never dreamed that I should weep over letter of
yours. I little thought that my hand would ever write
such lines as these to you. Has that woman so mad-
dened you, Reginald, that you can have no pity for her
who has loved you from your youth up ? — who has
sympathized with all your aspirations, and dropped
tears over } 7 our disappointments? It would seem so.
Your letter is not only merciless, but brutal. I had
bowed meekly, though sorrowfully, to your decision had
it been otherwise conveyed ; but my honour is at stake,
and in defence of that it becomes my duty to insist that
our engagement be publicly acknowledged, as a pre-
liminary to its dissolution. Good-bye, Reginald. You
have treated me cruelly, but I can forgive you. While
under that woman's thrall you are no longer yourself.
That you may never experience the bitter sorrow that
(redding her will entail upon you, is the sincere hope of
one who even yet cannot refrain from signing herself

" Your own

"Marion."

Miss Langworthy read her composition over with
much satisfaction.

" I think that will do," she murmured at last. " It
will be a lesson to him, at all events, that the dissolution
of an engagement is not to be achieved by simply drop-
ping a letter into the nearest pillar-box the minute you
discover a face that proves more attractive than your
fiancee's. What he can see in that chit of a child I
can't imagine. A pretty face certainly, but she has no
style, no manner. He will probably weary of her in a
month. It is in strict accordance, however, with the
foolishness of men, who are wont to deem a face will
last a lifetime, instead of looking for the more durable
endowments of money, brains, or connection."

Marion's composition did her infinite credit, from one
point of view. As a specimen of veracity, it was per-
haps rather a failure. But the high tone that she took

Z)elicate Correspondence.

249

with' regard to her assailed character, and the dexterous
manner in which she implied that she had never visited
Reginald's rooms, •without explicitly denying it, was
certainly artistic. The persistent way in which she
spoke of the girlish Lettice as a woman, thereby in-
geniously insinuating that it was impossible she could
have seen her, or she would not have so described her,
was also clever. Her intimation that their engagement
must be first publicly acknowledged before it could be
dissolved, would, she knew, place Reginald in an awk-
ward position ; and her final burst of tenderness she
calculated would further embarrass him

As she herself had expressed it, he would awake to the
fact that a matrimonial engagement could not be broken
through at the mere cost of a sheet of note-paper and a
penny stamp.

P^r?

HHHB

&j&

lis^m®*

j»*vN[«)

Wwul

ft3

CHAPTER XXVII

ON THE TRAIL.

|N a very plainly-furnished room in Scotland-yard
are two men, engaged in earnest conversation.
The upholstery of the apartment is of what
might be denominated the early Spartan period,
and consists of a massive table, three or four Windsor
chairs, a heavy office-inkstand, a blotting-pad, and an
empty coal-scuttle.

" It's curious," continued Mr. Bullock, who had evi-
dently been expatiating at some length. " very curious,
that this young lady should, whether by accident or
design, have so completely vanished. Still I have not
had time to work the case out as yet. I bore in mind
what you told me, that the gentleman you are acting
for had lost the trail at Farrin^don Station. But I
generally, on these occasions, like to reckon up things
myself, and so I took the liberty of looking up the cab
man that drove her there. Now, though I got nc
additional clue as to what had become of the young
lady, I picked up one rather singular circumstance, and
that is, we are not the only people trying to trace Miss
Cheslett."

" You are not thinking of Mr. Holbourne's own efforts
in that way, are you ! " said Collingham, who was sitting
on the table.

"No, sir, no," retorted Mr. Bullock, with a con«

On the Trad. 251

temptuoua smile. " The party as made these inquiries
was only about a couple of hours ahead of me in his
investigations. I imagine that he has come to a dead
stop at Farringdon Street, like myself. We shall pro-
bably meet when I pick up the trail again. From what
the cabman said, he is evidently a workman. ' Blessed,'
says he, ' if yo\x ain't a asking me question for question
just what the t'other chap, who was here a couple of
hours or so ago, did. Why didn't you come together,
and save me all this wear and tear of intelleck ? '
1 Perhap,' said I, ' we wanted to hear if you always told
the same tale. Perhaps we wanted to present you with
five shillings twice instead of once.' He winked pleasantly
at this. ' I tumble, governor/ he remarked. ' I'm good
to tell it, at five bob a sitting, from now to next Derby-
day. You can put me through as often as you like, but
you needn't be afeard but what I shall come out all right
in the box ! ? '"

"What the deuce did he mean by that?" inquired
Charlie.

" Why, he thought we wanted his evidence in a court
of law, and that we were testing him severely, to make
certain that he would not break down."

"Well what do you propose to do next?" inquired
Collingham.

" Why, we must have an advertisement or two in the
papers, to give the young lady a chance of discovering
herself, if she will, for one thing. And the wording of
of those I shall leave to you and Mr. Holbourne. No
necessity to mention names, you understand. I should
like to see them before they're inserted. In the next
place, I must have a regular overhaul of all the cabmen
who work about that station. I can give a very much
more accurate description of how the young lady was
dressed than Mr. Holbourne could, what her luggage was
like, &c. I have found out all that, and I am much
more likely to get what I want out of those chaps than
he was. What makes the difficulty about tracing her is
the time that has elapsed before we set about it."

"Very good, Bullock," replied Charlie, as he dropp I
leisurely oli the table. "There's no more 10 be sa& ai

252 false Cards.

present. I'll get Holbourne t© make out the sort of ad-
vertisement you want, and leave it here for you. Don't
lose time about the thing, that's all."

" Trust me for that, sir. As soon as I hit off the scent
at all, I'll let you know." And Mr. Bullock, having
politely seen Collingham to the door, wished him good
day.

As Charlie wended his way home across St. James's
Park, the boast of Mr. Lightfoot suddenly occurred to
him. That worthy upon one occasion had declared to
Donaldson that he would always back himself against the
London detectives in the obtaining of information upon
any subject. It was true he had coupled it with the
contemptuous rider that they were not to have the
opportunity of muddying the stream before he com-
menced his investigations. Reginald was very much in
earnest, and Bullock so far had made but little progress.
Two strings to one's bow was not bad policy. Would it
be worth while to communicate with this brazened ad-
venturer ? He didn't know where Mr. Lightfoot resided,
it was true, but that gentleman he regarded as perfectly
conversant with where he and Donaldson had their abode,
Was he not the supposed epicure who had found fault
with their chops, and traduced their sherry ? A man of
that sort always studied the advertisements of the papers,
and it would be easy to communicate with him through
their columns. He would ask Reginald what he thought
about it.

A very weak conclusion this of Charlie's. As if
Reginald Holbourne was a sane and sober man to consult
on this occasion — a Colin who made but the one wail,
" Shepherds, I have lost my love ;" and who would have
repelled with fiercest disdain the mocking rejoinder of the
cynics — " O rest, child of fortune, and be thankful that
much anguish and heart-burning has therefore been
soared thee." But Charlie was a sufferer from the same
complaint, and had all that fellow-feeling which makes
us wondrous kind. Reginald would naturally urge the
employment of half London in the discovery of Lettice's
whereabouts, and was scarce likelv not to be an advocate
for the retention of Mr. Lightfoot's services.

On the Trail. 253

Charlie had not been at home long before Miss
Meggott announced Mr. Holbourne, in that airy manner
that constituted her principal characteristic.

"You will do him good, sir," she said — "he wants a
little rousing. His work in the Misanthrope is sadly
wanting in pepper since Mr. Donaldson left. There was
a time when I had great hopes he might be prosecuted
for libel, but he's grown tame, dreadfully time — chickens
is nothing to it."

" Polly, my dear, since that elderly party persuaded
ycu there was no such thing now-a-days as ' a heart for
falsehood framed,' you've grown sadly satirical. That
hoary trifler with a maiden's affections, who simulated
convulsions of the lungs when he should have proffered
his hand, has much to answer for."

" You have never had proof that he was an imposter,
after all," retorted Miss Meggott, sharply. She was a
little sore on this subject.

" Proof ! " said Charlie, with intense solemnity. " Has
he not vanished into thin air ? Poor blighted flower, that
should have knelt at the altar with him, hast thou '

But here Miss Meggott, with some smothered allusion
to " blighted grandmothers," slammed the door and disap-
peared.

" Well, Reginald," continued Charlie, " I thought you
would drop in this evening, although you oannot expect
that I have any intelligence for you as yet. I saw
Bullock this afternoon, but, of course, he's carried the
case no further yet than Farringdon Street ; but I've no
doubt he will have news for you in a few days."

" No," returned the latter, wearily, as he dropped his
head upon his hands ; " I hardly expected you would
have anything to tell me, though I have to tell you. I
fulfilled my promise, and wrote to break decidedly with
Marion. It is not quite so easy as I thought it."

Charlie said nothing. It had been his opinion from
the first that Miss Langworthy would prove cunning of
fence, and a lady little likely to submit to bemg thrown
over passively. It would have puzzled him, perhaps, to
give reason why, but he most assuredly reckoned Marion
a clever and unscrupulous woman.

254 False Cards.

" She denies that visit to my rooms, in toto" said
Reginald, after a pause.

" Good heavens ! you don't mean to say you were rash
enough to accuse her of that, with no positive proof to
go on ?" cried Charlie, aghast.

" Yes, I did, and told her pretty strongly what I
thought of her treatment of Lettice, to boot," returned
his companion, doggedly.

" My dear fellow, a woman who acted in that way
would be just as certain to deny it as that we are sitting
here. It was foolish of you, Reginald — excuse my saying
so — to allude to the circumstance."

" I thought otherwise, and so do still. I had it all out
at once, and told her I was going to marry Lettice,
besides."

" You're grit, and no mistake ! " replied Charlie, with
some admiration — " but what's the gist of her letter ? "

" Oh, she insists on a public declaration of our engage-
ment, previous to breaking it off — of course, that's only
to make things as unpleasant as possible for me. I don't
mind that, if she had only kept to that style of argument
I shouldn't care ; but she winds up with a pathetic
appeal, which is awkward. You see, Charlie, I know I'm
not behaving well to her, whatever she may have done.
Of course, Lettice had no business ever to have been any-
thing to me, and then what I deem Marion's great wrong-
doing could not have taken place."

" You'll be good enough to recollect that I pointed out
to you, when you first consulted me about the complica-
tion, that you were bound to behave badly to one or the
other, and that it was for you to elect which."

Charlie spoke with a tinge of bitterness, for his sym-
pathies were with Lettice, and he did not like the signs
of what seemed to him a re-action in Marion's favour.

" I know all that," replied the other, quietly. " I have
no intention of departing from the decision that I then
came to. But it makes matters harder for me to put
straight, all the same."

" She showed little mercy to her rival," retorted
Charlie, sharply ; " which may, in some sort, excuse your
conduct."

On the Trail. 255

•' And yet you said just now I was a fool to have
pleaded that in extenuation. I thought it, in some
measure, justified the badness of my case."

" Ah, well ! " exclaimed Charlie, " you must struggle
through this the best way you can. I decline to advise
you further."

" I don't much think you could. It's one of those diffi-
culties that a man has to fight his way out of single-handed.
I thought that first letter an awkward one to write, but it
strikes me this next is still more unpleasant."

" Stop ! " cried Charlie — " I [have a bit of advice for
you. If this next letter fails to terminate things between
you and Miss Langworthy, then tell your sister the whole
story, and see what she says about it."

" What good would that do ? " said Reginald, with an
inquisitive stare at his counsellor.

" How can I tell ! Try it, and see what comes of it ?
It can't do any harm, at all events."

Reginald gazed keenly at his companion for a few
seconds, and then said slowly.

" You think highly of Gracie — are you in love with
her ? "

Collingham's temples flushed for a moment, and then,
in steady, resolute tones, he replied —

" Yes, and she has promised to marry me. Won't you
welcome me as a brother-in-law ? "

" That I will, with all my heart ! " returned Holbourne,
as he clasped the other's hand warmly. " What a beetle
I have been ! Of course, that's why you dragged me
down to that Aldringham ball ? "

" Yes. It was worth all the journey, as far as I was
concerned."

" What an everlasting humbug you are, Charlie. I
thought all the time you meant attempting reconciliation
with your father."

"Not very successful about that, was I?" cried
Charlie. " That will come, though. It's Grace's mission
to mend that quarrel, though I have never told her so,
and you must say nothing about it as yet."

" I am mute as a dormouse in Winter-time ; and now
j'moffto indite that dreaded letter. It's all very well,

256 False Cards.

Charlie, but when a girl you can't help feeling that yon
are behaving badly to falls back upon the bygone

days "

" You had better become ice and granite," interrupted
Collingham, hastily, " if you ever mean to break the
engagement off."

" Yes — I suppose you are right." said the other, as he
sought his hat.

" Oh ! by the way, Reginald, there's one thing I
wanted to ask you. A brace of setters cover more ground
than one, and though Bullock is doing his best to discover
Miss Cheslett, there's another fellow I know, who is not
in the force, but who, I fancy, is clever at commissions
of this kind. Should you like him employed also ? "

" Look here, Charlie," replied Holbourne, " I'll spend
every guinea I have — every shilling I can raise — to dis-
cover Lettice. I take it, the more lavish I am of money,
the sooner I am likely to hear of her. You understand
this work better than I do, but you can scarce befriend
me worse, remember, than grudging expense now."

"Good!" replied Collingham, sententiously. "I
think, then, I shall set a second sleuth-hound to
work."

" Thanks ; and now, good night."
" He is very much in earnest this time," mused Charlie,
as he listened to his visitor's departing footsteps. " He
is wonderfully changed from the listless, vacillating, un-
certain fellow that he was a few months back. This new
love of his seems to have made a man of him. I thought
Miss Langworthy was of a kind that scarce bear the
snapping of their chains so lightly. That woman will
cost Reginald trouble yet. Before this new-born energy
was fused into him he could no more have cast off her
shackles than flown. There is a great opportunity for
him, on that very account. She will not comprehend the
change in his character — will be too confident of the old
sway that she exercised over him so long — will rely too
much upon the weakness of his nature. Yes, he has a
great pull over her there. It's like playing at ecarte
with vour king masked, and as Ave all know there is one
stage in the game when that is likely to tell. Reginald

Oft the Trail. 257

is exactly in that position just now as regards Miss
Langworthy. May it stand him in good stead ! "

The graziers of Romney Marsh would tell you that, in
estimating the percentage of loss upon their flocks, they
always allow so much for the "jump shorts." Their
pastures are divided, not by fences, but by ditches, broad,
deep, and steep in the bank. Among the sheep that they
turn out to feed upon the fat meadow land, there is always
a small proportion of adventurous " muttons," who,
instead of pursuing their proper vocation of sleeping,
grazing, and growing fat, persist in desiring change and
novelty. It is obvious that to obtain this they must
jump these ugly ditches, and a good many perish annually
from an ambition that unfortunately has anything but
o'erleapt itself. Such are denominated ''jump shorts."

In the great human flock you constantly encounter
some of these "jump shorts." They only perish socially,
it is true, but what lots of men one could place one's
finger upon, of whom great things were predicted, but
who somehow never quite cleared mediocrity's ditch.
They failed, and you said, "Oh! wait yet another time."
But that other time came, and again they appeared with
a blare of trumpets, and flopped plump into the middle
of mediocrity's muddy waters.

Now Reginald Holbourne was just one of these men.
At college all his contemporaries had argued that he
would distinguish himself both in learning and athletics ;
but he took a very moderate degree, and never attained
a place in the University eleven. He certainly for one
season pulled in his college eight, and showed such good
form that a great rowing career wa9 predicted for him ;
but next season saw him drafted. He was too indolent
to persevere with that, as with other things. He would
take anything up hotly for a period, and develop great
promise therein, be it classics or cricket, rowing or
history ; but he had no perseverance, and luid so far been
a decided "jump short."

Hii^

CHAPTER XXVIII.

SCANDAL RUNS HIGH.

[CANDAL is a plant that thrives in most places.
It grows and flourishes amid the busy hum of
cities ; it does very fairly in distant colonies ;
will crop up and obtain reasonable size in an
Australian out-station ; but to develop it in its most
luxuriant form no soil can compare with that of a country
town. There it runs riot, spreading with the rapidity of
a pumpkin-vine, fastening its tendrils round young and
old. If you doubt the truth of my assertion, remain
passive in your scepticism, but I recommend you not to
attempt proving my theory a fallacy. In a provincial
town observance of your neighbours' affairs is the salt of
existence. Life's river flows slowly through those un-
peopled streets ; society is rather put to it for matter of
conversation. There is much piquancy given to the talk
that is spiced by the relation of some fellow-citizen's
shortcomings, and when you can transform shortcomings
into wrong-doings, discourse concerning them is flavoured
with much pungency. Mrs. Smythson Smith, unable to
settle her account with the milliner, is a source of much
gratification and innocent enjoyment ; but Mrs. Smythson
Smith suspected of illicit flirtation is a topic that sets
the town agog.

Aldringham has been much exercised in this way of
late. Thanks to the delicate hands that manipulate the

Sea n da I Runs High . ± 5 9

greedy ear of that town, there are very few crimes now
that it is not prepared to hold Charlie Collingham guilty
of. "They say," and " I'm told," preface various stories
that are whispered to his disadvantage, albeit who says
or who it is that tells is a point the avid recipients of
such hints and historiettes never trouble themselves to
inquire. He has married such woman as no man should
give his name to ; he has committed bigamy ; he is about
to commit it ; his wife has separated from him in conse-
quence of his ill-treatment ; he has forged his father's
name — in short, scandal ran breast-hip-h asrainst Charlie
Collingham at Aldringham at present. Evidence that
libellous little town never stopped to inquire for ; " they
say," and "I'm told " quite sufficed it to build its male-
volent ideas of Charlie's wrong-doings upon.

The victim of all these rumours lived his steady London
life in blissful ignorance of what wild work they were
making with his name in his own country. But Grace's
ears were stung sharply at times. She bore these stories
bravely and in silence ; further, she abstained from men-
tioning them in her letters to him.

"What matter," she said to herself, "what these
scandal-mongers say for a little while longer ? A few
months and Charlie shall claim me, and scatter such
infamous fables to the winds. I can wait and trust. It
is hard to have to listen to such vile falsehoods, but it
would only harass him to tell him of them."

vShe was a proud girl, Grace. Once or twice the foul
libels on her lover had wounded her past endurance, and
she had flamed forth in his defence ; but the curious eyes
and incredulous ears which had greeted her taking up
the cudgels in his behalf had warned her against further
complication of her troubles.

It was well she so speedily took the hint, for Aldring-
ham was quite prepared to give credence to a report that
she also had fallen a victim to Charlie Collingh;!
manifold wickedness — that he had wooed, won her affec-
tions, and then left her to weep over such rash parting
with her heart. But Grace, fortunately, was advised in
time, and dropped the open championship of her lover.

Current as all these stories are in Aldringham, yet uc

IUOL- V^/ (. I / I ( O .

word of them ever reaches Sir John's ear. Few people
have the hardihood to speak to the Baronet of his
youngest son. He has so publicly renounced him, so
ostentatiously proclaimed the severance of all tie between
them, so studiously avoided the slightest reference to
him since their quarrel, that it is scarce likely to be a
topic that any one of his friends would like to touch
upon — more especially with such unpalatable tidings as
it would be their lot to convey to him at present. Mr.
Holbourne, it is true, has once or twice thought it might
be as well that he should let Sir John know of the
rumours rife in Aldringham about Charlie ; but some-
how his heart failed him when it came to the point, and
he shrank from risking a probable rebuff from the stern
old Baronet.

Miss Langworthy pursues the even tenor of her way
calmly and relentlessly. She is still bent on avenging
herself upon Grace, her uncle, and Reginald. But Marion
is troubled at times with sore misgivings. Her scheming
is becoming more complicated than she considers
judicious ; and then again, beyond gratifying her malice,
what is to come of it all ? She reflects a good deal upon
this, and at times half regrets that she has so thrown
away her time and money — for Mr. Lightfoot has of late
become more pressing in his applications. It is true she
■nay succeed in severing Reginald from Lettice — in
breaking off Grace's suspected engagement with Charlie
Collingham. There will be some private satisfaction to
be derived from the attainment of these objects ; but
beyond that there will accrue small benefit to Marion
Langworthy. She hardly desires to wed Reginald now,
even if such marriage was at her option. What is it
that she wants ? Marion knows what it is that she
desires well enough — wealth and position ! But this
gratification of the malice provoked by her wounded
vanity will contribute not a whit to the main object of
her life. Then Miss Langworthy's thoughts revert to
Robert Collingham, and she meditates whether it is not
possible to solace him for Grace's refusal. She so seldom
sees him now, or else Marion thinks that his subjection
is still not beyond her capability.

Scandal Runs High. 261

Mr. Holbourne's temper, meanwhile, which is by
nature of the easiest, has become somewhat touchy ui der
his niece's manipulation. The trip to London had to a
great extent put a stop to the want of harmony so
manifest of late amid hij Lares and Penates. But now
they are once more settled at Aldringham, discord is
again rife within his home. The banker frets and fumes
over the petty dcsagrements which mark his daily life.
The more so that, as far as he can understand the cause
of these little vexations, they are entirely attributable to
the whims and caprices of his own daughter. Mr.
Holbourne is very fond of Grace in his way, but has
arrived at a time of life when man bears interference
with his habits and customs with scant toleration.
Moreover, his vanity has received two or three slight
blows of late, and to a man of the banker's character
that is a source of much irritation. If there was one
thing Mr. Holbourne piqued himself upon next to his
oratory, it was his dinners. The last two or three had
turned out signal failures. He was not at all aware how
much these entertainments had owed their success to
his niece. But so it was. Marion was as clever at mixing
ihc social element within her reach as she was in devising
a menu. She knew exactly what people would blend
pleasantly together, and possessed the rare art of ming-
ling them with as much dexterity and nicety as is dis-
played by the artistic salad-maker. It may easily be
imagined that now Miss Langworthy had assumed the
rule of a domestic Nemesis, there was small difficulty to
a lady of her talents in mixing discordant ingredients in
these dinners.

She would ask Grace, in the .ost careless way, if she
did not think that the Traceys ought to be bidden to
the feast. Miss Holbourne would probably reply : " Yes,
anyone you choose." When it was palpable that the
Traceys, or whoever it might be, failed utterly to amal-
gamate with the remainder of the guests, and threw an
unmistakable wet blanket over the whele entertainment
(and trust Marion to make that appear clear and visible
to the observant eye), then Miss Langworthy, talking
Dver it afterwards, would say deprecatingly,

262 raise Lards.

" It' was those dreadful Traceys, uncle — they would
kill any party. I can't thing what Grace wanted them
asked for."

Grace was quite conscious of her cousin's malevolent
influence over her home, but she felt herself powerless to
counteract Marion's machinations. Although aware of
'diem in the abstract, she failed to penetrate the crafty
details which involves such sore discomfort to her father
and herself. A species of armed truce subsisted at this
time between her and Marion, in which Miss Holbourne
felt she was being gradually worsted, and that open
war between them would be infinitely more to her
advantage ; but Miss Langworthy took care to give
no pretext for a quarrel. Grace's only pleasant days
at those times were those she passed with Sylla at
Churton.

It is a glorious August afternoon. The corn, though
for the most part cut, is as yet far from gathered. The
stooks of golden grain stand piled about the fields. Tha
creaking of the carts and waggons, and the shrill whirr
of the reaping machine, break the solemn stillness that
so often inaugurates the birth of the Autumn. Faint
sounds of laughter are now and again wafted from the
distant fields, but the toil is too earnest to leave room
for much of that. When the eye of the farmer is con-
tinually bent on the barometer, his men are called upon
for exertions that leave but short time for laughter.
Harvest, in these days of high farming, means the
highest possible strain, put upon every man, woman,
child, and horse connected with the holding. Extra
wages, extra food, extra beer, but the minimum of rest
that nature will be contented with, till the corn is all
housed. I do not mean that the labour is not given
with a will, but that the tension is too severe to leave
much time or inclination for laughter. I fancy there is
little mirth in a university eight during that dour strug-
gle from Putney to Mortlake. If those rollicking
boisterous harvests that we read of ever did exist except
upon paper, then I can only say that, like the stage-
coaches, they have vanished. Farming in these days is
a business. Men are not satisfied with obtaining a living

Scandal Runs High. 263

by it, they look to making a fortune, and a good many
of them succeed in doing so.

There is a story told of a youthful barrister who was
so completely carried away by his OAvn eloquence that
he became quite oblivious of all details of his brief, and,
after a supreme burst of most impassioned language,
stopped, and whispered to the attorney, " What the
devil is it the fellow is beinar tried for ? I have clean
forgot ! " I must plead guilty to a somewhat similar loss
of the thread of my argument upon this occasion ; but
it is difficult not to be discursive when speaking of a
real Autumn day.

On the top of the before-mentioned hazel-crowned
knoll, that constituted one of the chief ornaments of
Churton Park, are Miss Collingham and Grace. They
recline on the grass close to the edge of the copse, in
order to enjoy the grateful shade of the tall bushes.
Dandy is curled up at Sylla's feet, his black nozzle rest-
ing between his bright tan paws — an occasional twitch
of his ears at the pertinacity of the flies the sole sign
that he is not wrapped in the soundest of slumbers.
Gracie has been reading aloud to her friend, but the book,
at the present moment, has dropped negligently on her
lap, and the girl's dreamy eyes are striving vainly to
pierce the vista of the future. She muses over this
secret of her lover's more than is good for her. She is
very loyal and trusting to Charlie, but it must be borne
in mind that she lives amongst people who are willing to
credit anything to his disadvantage — amidst rumours to
his detriment not pleasant for his betrothed to listen
to. Sylla's hand steals quietly into hers, and Miss Col-
lingham inquires gently —

" Dreaming, Gracie ! — what about ? What makes you
so still ? "

" Foolish thoughts," replied Miss Holbourne. " I was
thinking of all these absurd Aldringham stories about
Charlie, for one thing."

" You did right to say foolish thoughts ! " cried Sylla,
hotly. " You should despise such calumny, and banish
it from your mind."

"I do despise it — I do look upon it all as false, mail-

264 False Cards,

cious libel; but," said Grace, sadly, "I cannot but muse
over it, try what I will. Sylla, it is harder than you
deem to have to sit silent and passive, while your lover's
character is torn slowly to shreds before you — when your
teeth grate, and the blood surges madly through your
veins, to feel it incumbent to preserve a nonchalant
demeanour. I tore a pocket-handkerchief literally to
pieces in stifling my wrath the other night, and was
utterly unconscious of what wild work my fingers had
made, till I got home."

"Yes, I can fancy it hard upon you; but remember it
won't be for long. You must be patient, for Charlie's
sake."

The remark jarred upon Grade's ears slightly. Sylla
was too apt to think that self-sacrifice for her brother
was a privilege that any girl might glory in.

" I am bearing a good deal for Charlie's sake just now,
did he but know it," she retorted, petulantly.

"True, replied Miss Collingham, with some slight
anxiety manifest in her voice ; " but, Gracie, dear, surely
where one loves that very love carries power of en-
durance with it, and he only asks you to trust him a
little while still."

As his mistress spoke, Dandy raised his head sharply,
and with pricked ears snuffed the air. Grace did not
notice him, but the dog's eyes were turned towards the
copse, and his nostrils quivered slightly, though he made
no further movement.

" If our engagement was but acknowledged," replied
Miss Holbourne, after a pause of some duration — " if I
was but known to be Charlie's affianced bride — then half
my troubles — "

" Who talks of being Charles Collingham's affianced
bride ? " interrupted a low stern voice behind her, as Sir
John issued from the bushes. "My hearing must have
played me false, Gracie ; I cannot have caught your last
words right."

A slight cry broke from Sylla's lips, and she buried her

face in her hands as her father's speech smote upon her

ears. For a few seconds Miss Holbourne also was covered

confusion, but quickly recovering herself, she

Scandal Runs High. 265

sprang to her feet, and, with flushed face, confronted
the Baronet.

" What nonsense is this you two are talking ? " con-
tinued Sir John, with lowering brow. " What do you
mean, Gracie, by speaking of being engaged to Charles
Collingham ? "

" You have surprised our secret," returned the girl in
firm, defiant tones. " I am not sure but that I am well
pleased that you have. The concealment has ever been
hateful to me. Sir John," she said, and here her voice
dropped, " I have promised to marry Charlie, and, come
weal come woe, I'll keep my word ! "

The Baronet's face was troubled, and for some seconds
he made no reply. At last he said gravely, " Charles
Collingham is nothing to me now, and I have no right
to interfere with him in any way ; but I have a right to
protect my god-daughter. It is no pleasant thing to be
called upon to proclaim one's son a scoundrel, but if he
has sought your hand, Grace, he is nothing else. He is
already married ! "

Again a cry broke from Sylla's lips, and the blind
girl cowered to the earth in her dismay ; but Grace
raised her head proudly, and her dark eyes flashed as she
replied,

" I have been called upon to face that calumny these
months past, and my heart has not failed me. You, Sir
John, at least might have spared me such vulgar taunt !
Pitiless I saw you to Charlie with my own eyes in. the
Aldringham ball-room. It's little likely that you will
judge him fairly. I believe and trust him thoroughly,
had I never given him my promise. That promise
I intend to abide by."

"How can you, child ?" replied the Baronet harshly.
"You don't intend to abet him in bigamy, I presume ? You
talk like a romantic love-sick girl — as indeed I suppose
you are. The sooner you come to your senses and break
off all connection with him, the better. He has evidently
deceived you in a way that even I did not deem him
capable of."

Gracie was staggered. Boundless as her faith in
Charlie was, yet it was trying to have 'his scandal con-

266 t^atse Lards.

cerning him, to which she had so resolutely shut her
ears, deliberately confirmed by his own father. She knew
Sir John well. Relentless and hard man though he was,
she knew that he would not soil his lips with an untruth ;
what he now stated he doubtless believed himself. What
was she to do ? What was she to think ? Still, if her
own tones were lower, they were none the less firm as
she replied.

" I will hold to my promise till what you allege against
him is proved."

" There is but slight difficulty in doing that," returned
the Baronet, " as I will show you in a few days' time.
But it is getting time to go in. Let us forget this un-
pleasant conversation for the present."

" As if that were possible," murmured Grace, as she
drew Sylla's arm within her own and the three walked
somewhat moodily back to the house.

A sad drive home was Miss Holbourne's that evening.
Little recked she of the glorious harvest moon and the
flower-scented air, of the delicious calm and stillness,
broken only by the creaking of the carts as they rolled
from field to homestead, laden with golden grain. She
had borne herself bravely thus far, but Sir John's testi-
mony against his son bowed the proud head, and, though
she had suffered no sign of weakness or unbelief to
escape her at Churton, yet the tears trickled fast from
Grade's eyes as the carriage swept back to Aldringham.
She knew that she had staked her all. Could it be that
the master of her heart was what his father even held
him ! She had believed and clung to her belief in him
despite all these rumours. But now, alas ! that belief
was shaken. Sir John might be stern, unforgiving, but
he would scorn to say the thing that was not. Had she
thrown all the richness of her virgin love away upon a
traitor — untrue to his wife, untrue to her ? Was she but
the sport of a confirmed 7'oue's idle whim ?

Grace closed her eyes and shivered. No, she must
trust on still ; and should such trust turn out at last mis-
placed — ah ! then she would be indeed bankrupt ! And
once more the girl shuddered at the thought of such an
awakening from her love-dream.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE CARADOC ARMS.

R. LIGHTFOOT and the partner of his life are
at breakfast in their sunny sitting-room in
John Street. Mr. Lightfoot is apparently in
exuberant spirits. He makes much vocal re-
ference to " the old gentleman who lived in a second-
floor back in Chancery Lane," as is his custom when
greatly pleased with anything. He chips the top of his
egg in a manner positively sportive, and expresses his
opinion that eggs and idiots are produced in correspond-
ing proportion. "Really," soliloquises Mr. Lightfoot,
" the credulity and curiosity of mankind must be practised
on to be comprehended. It is a remarkable thing, my
dear," he continued, addressing his wife, " that it never
rains but it puurs. Blessed if here is not another party
all agog to know what has become of Miss Cheslett, and
to think that I should have been such a fool as to let
that girl slip away without my knowing where she was
bound for. As if it was not a moral certainty that she
would be inquired after."

" Well, Leo, I don't suppose she will give you much
trouble to find."

"Then the , less you indulge in suppositions, Mrs.
Lightfoot, the better. She seems to have utterly vanished
from Farringdon Street Station. That is nothing, but
that she could disappear with a considerable amount of

268 False Cards.

luggage, and leave no trace, is mysterious. I have
ascertained that she saw Miss Langworthy before she left
Baker Street, or, to speak more correctly, a lady, who
I have no doubt, was her. Now, from my knowledge or
Miss L., I think it quite possible that, if she had a hold
upon this girl, she was quite capable of worrying her
over Waterloo Bridge. I think if she had a sister by the
throat, her grip would be somewhat relentless. But,
then, how about the portmanteaus ? You can't make
away with 3'ourself and baggage."

" No, of course; she has done nothing of that kind,"
returned Mrs. Lightfoot. " I am surprised at your not
having hit off a clue to her hiding-place before this."

" Don't be irritating, Etta. This, and that Colling-
ham's marriage business, are two of the most aggravating
cases I ever had in hand."

"Never mind the latter, Leo, that's my business just
now. The church registers of London can't be over-
hauled in a day, unless you spend a deal more money
over it than we can afford. I am getting on very well.
If there was a marriage, and it took place in London, I
shall know all about it before the month's out."

" My love," replied Mr. Lightfoot, in his airiest man-
ner, " I intend to leave that to your intelligence for the
present, and dedicate my own energies to the discovery
of Miss Cheslett, and this Aldringham young lady's little
game. I don't understand her anxiety for this marriage
certificate. As to her inquiries regarding Miss Cheslett,
right or wrong, I have a theory about them."

" That she is in. love with Mr. Holbourne. Yes, that
I should think you are probably right about. But you
have an excuse for seeing Mr. Collingham now. Why
not do it, and try if you can make anything out of him ? "

" Because I have strong reasons, consequent upon a
couple of previous irregular visits, for not intruding
again upon Mr. Collingham's residence. That certificate
has got something to do with Miss Cheslett — but how ?
lie couldn't have been married to her, at all events, five
years ago."

" Not much use speculating upon it until we get it,
Leo. You're always too theoretical."

The Caradoc Arms. 269

" Prosaic woman ! Know that a detective without
imagination is like a hound without nose. Deficiency
in that faculty on their part has enabled one or two
notable criminals to slip through their fingers. They
failed to shake off their individuality, and never got
beyond speculating what they themselves would have
done under similar circumstances. Instead of which,"
exclaimed Mr. Lightfoot, with enthusiasm, " the moment
you find yourself at fault, discard your first theory.
Better to conceive a new one, however wild, than keep
hammering away at a cold scent."

" Very well, Leo, you trust to your imaginative powers
to find Miss Cheslett, and leave me and steady hard
work to find that certificate," returned Mrs. Lightfoot
drily, as she rose and left the room.

Her husband paced up and down for some time, lost in
meditation. He was strictly carrying out his own theory,
and trying to imagine what a girl like Lettice would
probably do under the circumstances. He had subjected
Sarah to a most insidious cross-examination, had con-
trived to interest that damsel in the success of his search
by the unscrupulous affirmation that he was employed
to discover Miss Cheslett by some distant relations who
desired to offer her a home. He had formed a pretty
correct idea of the circumstances that had led Lettice to
fly from her old lodgings. He had ascertained that,
spite of what she had said upon leaving, she was not
likely to have any friends to take refuge with. All this
Mr. Lightfoot had carefully pieced together. Now the
problem was where Lettice was likely to take refuge. A
town-bred girl, he thought, would scarce leave London.
What part of the big city had she lived in before she
came to Baker Street ? Most likely she would seek an
asylum in a neighbourhood that she was previously
acquainted with.

" Yes," mused Lightfoot, " that's it. I'll give up try-
ing to pick up the trail at Farringdon Street. I'll go up
to Baker Street and see if I can make out at all where
they lived before they came there, and if I can, by gad
I'll try that ! She would he likely to go back to her old
lodgings, or their vicinity — not but that I think a look in

270 False Cards.

at ' The Carrot ' on Saturday night might be advisable.
The cabmen on the Clerkenwell beat crop up there
pretty thick on Saturdays, and it is as well not to throw
a chance away. In the meantime, here goes ; " and Mr.
Lightfoot donned his hat, took up a thickish walking-
stick with an imposing tassel, and emerged into the
street, to all intents a most respectable citizen. Still
there was a jauntiness about Mr. Lightfoot's walk, an
impropriety in the angle at which he wore his rather too
glossy hat, which savoured rather of the stock exchange
than of the quiet, decent burgess. He was both genial
and animated in his progress ; stopping upon one occa-
sion to pick up a child that, having been overturned,
was filling the air with its lamentation ; upon another to
witness an act of Punch ; upon a third, to hold some
slight gossip with a crossing-sweeper ; but whatever he
was about, Mr. Lightfoot's eyes were ever alert and
vigilant. In due time he arrived at the north end of
Baker Street, in company with a barrel organ and some
white mice. Bestowing sixpence on the cunning Savoy-
ard, Mr. Lightfoot strolled leisurely along the pavement,
while his quondam companion discoursed much lugu-
brious music from the roadway.

Mr. Lightfoot wished, if possible, to obtain an inter-
view with Sarah without ringing at the house. He
judged nothing more likely to bring a servant-maid to
the front door than an afternoon organ. In the morning,
as he knew, they can seldom spare the time, but, north
of Portman Square, the afternoon organ is quite a recog-
nised entertainment amongst the denizens of the base-
ment story. Cook, Mary Jane, and William Buttons,
all rush up the area steps for a little fresh air and gossip,
50 soon as the seducing tones of "If ever I cease to love"
resound through the street.

Mr. Lightfoot proves right in his conjecture. A most
monotonous rendering of " Down among the coals "brings
Sarah to the door, and he has little trouble in attracting
that handmaiden's notice, and in beckoning her to his side.
" Lor ! Mr. Saunders," she exclaimed, " who'd ha'
thought of seeing you to-day ! Have you found out
anything about Miss Lettice ?"

The Caradoc Arms. 271

H No — not, that is to say, for certain. I don't sup-
pose we shall know the number of the house until the
day after to-morrow."

'•Only to think now! — it's wonderful!" exclaimed
Sarah, in open-eyed astonishment at this proof of the
extraordinary powers of the secret police, of which force
she deemed Mr. Saunders, as he thought fit to designate
himself, a member.

" No," continued Mr. Lightfoot ; " there's not much in
it. As we supposed she would naturally go back to
where she lived before she came here." And he looked
somewhat inquisitively at his companion.

" And she has ? She's gone back there ! " exclaimed
the girl.

Mr. Lightfoot felt a slight inclination to shake Sarah
for the baldness of her rejoinder, but then it was possible
she did not know where Lettice had previously resided.

" Yes," he said, at last ; " that's what we think — where
was it you told me ? "

" Oh ! Islington," exclaimed Sarah, quickly ; but I
don't know what street, or anything of that sort."

Mr. Lightfoot indulged in a low whistle.

"Ah ! " he said ; " yes, I recollect, thank you. I'll call
round and let you know, when it's all right. I daresay
you'd be glad to hear." And, nodding pleasantly to
Sarah, he went on his way.

" Islington ! " mused Mr. Lightfoot, as he strolled
irely westwards. " If my theory has anything in it,
Cheslett, likely as not, is living within half a mile
of me. It may be in the same street — it may be in the
next house ; I shouldn't be surprised. Now," thought
the adventurer, with that intense appreciation of his own
abilities which constituted such a prominent trait in his
character, " most men would have continued puzzling
their heads over that lost clue at Farringdon Station, or
have begun to cast about in the country. It's a great
thing to be imaginative in these cases. I'll bet a sove-
reign that girl is somewhere in Islington, and I'll stick to
looking up my own parish for the next two or three
days."

"In Red Lion Street, abutting on Clerkenwell Green,

272 False Cards.

was a well-to-do tavern called " The Caradoc Arms." It
did a thriving if roughish trade in the vicinity, and was
notably a house of call for cabmen. To its habitues it
was known familiarly as "The Carrot," an endearing
abbreviation which originated in the abortive attempts
of an old and valued customer to articulate its name at
a late hour in the evening. The joke had spread, and
the new sobriquet became common in the mouth of all
frequenters of the house. That it was an old building
was evident from the outside elevation. But the bar dif-
fered little from half a hundred houses of the same stamp
within a mile of it, unless it was that it was rather more
roomy and commodious. There were the same gigantic
barrels labelled Old Tom, Kinahan's LL, and Cognac ;
the same wooden settles, the same smart ringleted young
ladies behind the counter ; but a critical eye might have
noticed that the latter were supplemented by a couple of
bull-necked, low-browed, broad-shouldered male assist-
ants, who looked marvellously fitted to put anyone out
who might wax riotous in his cups.

The throng in front of the brass decorated beer-engine,
at which the barmaids work as sailors at the pumps in a
leaking ship, is also of the usual type. The trembling,
pale-faced, red-nosed, habitual dram-drinker — the strong,
noisy, truculent ruffian — the quiet artisan who has but
lately resorted to the fatal stimulant — the decent work-
man who has dropped in for his evening pint — the
flushed, too full-lipped woman irretrievably bitten with
gin-fever — the pale, bruised girl who shrinks spiritless in
the corner, waiting till it shall please her lord and master
to come home, and express the exhilaration of his feelings
by knocking her down and dancing on her. All the
ordinary types that figure at such places have here their
exemplars. But you would still be puzzled to understand
why it should be considered favoured by the knights of
the whip, inasmuch as there are but some two or three
of them to be seen amid the motley throng.

But on the left is a door which opens into an apart
fnent, half tap-room, half coffee-room, and it is this inne
sanctuary which the cabmen of the Clerkenwell circuit
chiefly affect, albeit it is by no means exclusively confined

The Caradoc Arms. 273

to their cloth. It is a long, somewhat narrow parlour,
with sanded floor and several scattered wooden tables and
benches. A portrait of the late Mr. Sayers in fighting
costume figures over the fire-place, and some half dozen
prints of terriers of rat-killing fame, and of pedestrians of
mark, decorate the walls. Around the tables are grouped
all the varieties of the cab-driving class, from the driver
of the swell hansom (and be it understood that there are
hansoms and hansoms), with a white hat, a flash belcher
handkerchief, and a sprig of geranium in his coat, to the
driver of the night-cab, who is clothed apparently in
patched sack-cloth, rejoiceth in a " gin and fog voice,"
and, like his vehicle, should be seen only through the
shadows of imperfect gaslight.

Holding forth to a small knot of his intimates at one
of the centre tables, is a dark whiskered man, a very gem
of his' class. He wears a low-crowned, curly-brimmed
felt hat, a light drab overcoat, with a somewhat faded
rose in the button-hole, is smoking a short cutty-pipe,
and narrating to his audience how he drove a fare to
Bromley Races.

" He was a queer fish that. I'd seen him about many
places before, racin *, at Shepherd's Bush, down the river
to a boat race, and such like — and I never forgets a face,
I don't. He hailei 1 me in Farringdon Street. ' Are you
for sport ? ' says hi :, ' because I want to go to Bromley.'
' All right, sir,' sai 1 I, touching my hat. ' What's your
fare ?' he asked. ', Stop, never mind that — I am going
down to back " H; .ppy-go-lucky " for the handicap, to
win me a couple of hundred — here's five per cent, if it
comes off, and you shall give me my drive for nothing if
it loses.' Well, I rather fancied that 'oss, so ' In with
you, sir,' says I, ' it's a bargain.' The horse won, and he
handed me a tenner when he got back to town. That's
what I call a satisfactory outing, eh, mates ?"

" Not bad ! " exclaimed a sporting-looking gentleman
in tall shiny hat, pepper-and-salt cut-away, rather light
trousers, and wearing a scarf pinned with a fox's tooth.
He was evidently not of the guild, although he frater-
nized easily with them, and was apparently well known
— at all events, to some of them. " That's very good,

274 False Cards.

Durfey," he continued. " Now, that comes of keeping
your eye on faces. Lord, if you men only did take count
of who you pick up and put down, why, there's five-
pound notes innumerable you might put in your pockets."

" I don't quite follow you," observed Mr. Durfey.

" Why, you'd never have taken up that fare on those
terms, only you recognised him as a gentleman in the
ring. You can't think how many five-pound notes there
are for men of your trade who can only recollect where
they drove certain people to a few weeks back. Some-
body's always wanting to know something of that kind.
Why, here have I this minute got a ten-pound note to
give to any one of you who can tell me where he drove a
young lady and her luggage to on the afternoon of the
13th of last month from Farringdon Street Station."

There was a low murmur amid the group, and more
than one question was put to the sporting gentleman,
who, it is needless to say, was Lightfoot, as to particulars.

" That's a sum as ought to be ciphered out ! " ex-
claimed Mr. Durfey, oracularly. " Give us time to digest
it, sir, and we'll ease you of that money yet."

" The sooner the better, as far as I am concerned," re-
turned Mr. Lightfoot ; and he rose and wandered across
to another group, to whom he speedily introduced his
little puzzle.

Sitting in a corner by himself, with a wide-awake
slouched over his brows, was a dark-haired man, attired
in the garb of an ostler, if that class can be said to wear
raiment distinctive of their vocation. He looked like an
ostler rather run to seed, who had found employment
and sixpences scarce of late, and had been driven to be-
take himself to horseholding and odd jobs for a liveli-
hood. He sat moodily smoking and drinking, without
deigning to hold converse with his species, as if times
were so bad with him that they did not admit of talking
over. He listened attentively to Lightfoot's speech,
bending slightly forward to catch the remarks upon it
that followed, and puffing forth dense clouds of tobacco
smoke as he did so.

Mr. Lightfoot, meanwhile, was here, there, and every-
where — he fluttered in and out like thrushes in the

The Caradoc Arms. 275

Spring-time ; he was gossiping at this table, hobnobbing
at that, and even essayed a verse or two of a song in one
place, at which he paused for a few minutes in his mer-
curial circuit. It bore reference to " Chancery Lane,"
and met with a somewhat equivocal success. But wher-
ever he stopped and gossiped, there, in some shape or
other, did Mr. Lightfoot eventually propound his enigma,
and proffer ten pounds for a solution of the same.

Still the swarthy ostler continued to smoke and watch
Mr. Lightfoot's proceedings, with face blank as a wall,
and eyes fast relapsing into the vacant stare of intoxica-
tion. At times he appeared to be trying to write with
his forefinger amidst the spilt ale on the table ; then he
took a blunt bit of pencil and a greasy card from his
Avaistcoat pocket, and with some labour succeeded in
writing a few words upon it. That done, he gave vent to
a grin -of mixed cunning and imbecility, and restored
card and pencil, as he thought, to his pocket, but the card
slipped through his half-paralysed fingers, and fluttered
beneath the table. Watching him with the eye of a gled
was a man who, to judge from his dress, was a small
tradesman. He was apparently absorbed in his news-
paper, and the management of a long clay pipe — a verit-
able churchwarden. What with the paper and the cloud
of smoke in which he at times enveloped himself, it was
not easy to get a fair look at his face. But from under
cover of that paper he was observing closely all that
passed. He was seated at the same table as the ostler.
Neither a word of Lightfoot's speech, nor the keen
interest manifested in it by his neighbour, escaped him.
When the latter turned away in order to more easily
follow Lightfoot's movements, the smoker of the long
pipe leant over and gazed keenly at the tracings his wet
finger had made on the rough oak table. He made out
a. J and an 0, but could distinguish nothing further ; but
apparently even these two letters had rather changed the
current of his thoughts, for whereas his eyes had roved,
over the top of both his spectacles and paper, keenly
round the room at times, he now contented himself with
watching narrowly the movements of his neighbour.
He eyed the ostler's struggle with the blunt pencil and

276 False Cards.

greasy card with much interest, saw the card slip through
his beer-sodden fingers, and fall beneath the table — dived
almost immediately in pursuit of his own tobacco-box,
which he let fall with somewhat ostentatious clamour, and
in less than thirty seconds that soiled piece of pasteboard
was in his waistcoat pocket.

The ostler meanwhile, after staring vacantly at
Lightfoot for some time, suddenly turned abruptly to
his neighbour, and whispered confidentially, " Know all
'bout it — ten poundsh in pocket. Say whish was it —
sheems to be two. Take table out o' way. Give sh
arm — feel little drunk. Gemman who'sh got ten pounds
— zat's man."

Hereupon the ostler, steadying himself by the table,
rose to his feet, and edged cautiously out from the bench
on which he had been sitting. As long as he had the
benefit of the table to support him he did pretty well,
but having cleared his bench he made a frantic clutch at
the empty air, as if taking somebody's arm, and ex-
claiming wildly, " Whish is it ? " his legs doubled up
under him like a dislocated camp-stool, and with a heavy
crash he came to the ground.

A man drunk at " The Carrot " was scarcely a sight
to make the frequenters thereof even look round. The
helpless ostler was picked up and laid upon a bench.

" Cut his head a bit against the table/' observed one of
the Samaritans who assisted in these semi-funereal
rites, " but he'll perhaps be all the better for it in
the morning. A little blood-letting's good for the con-
stitution."

Whether he was better for it or worse was a point
upon which he had no opportunity of testifying, as the
blow in his state of intoxication produced congestion of
the brain, and the morrow's sun saw his trials and
struggles in this world brought to a conclusion.

Prominent among those who had come to the assistance
of the ostler in his fall had been his neighbour of the
newspaper. This man manifested much sympathy with
the senseless drunkard, assisted in placing him upon the
bench destined to prove his bier, and, little dreaming his
race was all but run, showed much curiosity regarding

The Caraaoc Arms. 277

him. Who was he ? — did anyone know him ? Had he
any friends there ?

Yes, there were plenty of them knew him — Shiny
Dick was his name. Who was he ? Well, he used to
drive a hansom, but the drink got hold of him, and he
lost his licence — masters wouldn't employ him ; he'd
come down in the world, and cadged about for a living.
He often did a turn of driving for an old friend who
wanted a day to himself. He could be trusted to keep
sober for a job, though he was of no use in that way for
Iouct together.

That respectable tradesman then took his departure.
As he passed through the bar, he paused beneath the
gas-light, and drawing the greasy card from his pocket,
looked at it attentively. It was an old cab-ticket, and
bore, in straggling hieroglyphics, the words — " August
1 3th. John Street, Islington." A twinkle of satisfaction
gleamed from his eyes as he issued from the door.

"Ha, ha!" he exclaimed, in low, chuckling tones,
" my dear Lightfoot, I think I have had a little the best
of you to-night. I fancy I have got what you were
offering ten pounds for, without spending a shilling."
And, still laughing softly to himself, Mr. Bullock wended
his way homewards.

As for the vivacious Mr. Lightfoot, he had cast but a
cursory glance at the slight commotion occasioned by the
fall of the drunken man, and had betaken himself to
Islington without deigning to interfere in that common-
place catastrophe.

" Nothing to be got out of the cabmen, I reckon," he
mused, as he wended his way up Farringdon Road.
" I'll stick tc investigating my own parish, for the
nresent."

CHAPTER XXX.

MARION CHANGES HER GAME.

ISS LANGWORTHY, albeit a young lady of
much discrimination of character, is destined
to be sorely mistaken concerning the effects ol
her craftily-worded epistle on Reginald. She
had read him thoroughly aright so far, and was quite
justified in the assertion that he was but as wax in her
hands. But she does not know — she has had no oppor-
tunity of observing, the change that his love for Lettice
has wrought in him. Reginald Holbourne is strong in
resolve, at present, and having thoroughly mastered his
cousin's epistle, makes up his mind to put an end to the
existing relations between them for good and all. He
pens a letter to his father, in which, while admitting his
boyish engagement to Marion, he repudiates all idea of
ever fulfilling it. He frankly admits that he is behaving
badly — that no fault in word or deed is to be attributed
to his cousin — that he has nothing to justify him further
than that he was but a boy when he entered into this
contract — that this boyish fancy has been superseded by
a genuine passion — that his troth is now pledged to
Lettice Cheslett — and that he is thoroughly convinced a
marriage with Marion could but entail life-long misery
upon both of them. Marion having expressed a wish, to
prevent all misconception, that the engagement between
them should be acknowledged on his part previous to its

Marion Changes her Game. 270

being cancelled, he obeyed her behest, and took the
opportunity of begging her forgiveness for the wrong he
had unwittingly done her.

He had intended to have written to Marion also, but
happening to give an outline of his letter to his father to
Charlie Collingham, that gentleman so strongly advised
the omission of such communication that Reginald gave
way, and left his epistle to attain the desired results
single-handed. Consequently, when the banker, with
much importance — much elevation of eyebrow and purs-
ing of lips — requested to speak with Miss Langworthy in
his own room, that young lady was filled with no little
astonishment. Rare had been the occasion upon which
Mr. Holbourne had summoned either her or Gracie to a
conference in that peculiar sanctum, and Marion marvel-
led much as she followed her uncle as to what it was that
could give cause for so portentous an interview betwixt
them.

" Sit down," said Mr. Holbourne, as he closed the
door ; " I want to talk to you about Reginald. I have
received a letter from him this morning, which, I con-
fess, astonishes me not a little." And the banker
deposited himself in an easy-chair, and began, after his
wont in difficulties, to toy somewhat nervously with his
eye-glass. If truth must be told, he stood somewhat in
awe of his niece, and felt some little embarrassment upon
opening the conversation.

.Marion saw that at a glance, but she was far from
suspecting the contents of Reginald's letter.

" What is it, uncle ?" she said, smiling — " has he got
into a scrape ? Has he been spending more money than
is quite defensible ! Young men of his age will fall into
such mistakes at times."

" No," replied the banker — "it's nothing of that kind.
He tells me — most extraordinary thing that it never
occurred to a keen-sighted man like myself before ! Very
odd you neither of you ever gave me the slightest reason
to think such might be the case. I can see as far into a
millstone as my neighbours — in fact, my friends say an
inch or two farther, but I never dreamed of this."

Miss Langworthy began to have some inkling of the

280 Faise Cards.

truth, and yet she could hardly believe that Reginald
had avowed their engagement. She said nothing, but
awaited quietly, to see what her uncle would say next.

" Well," continued Mr. Holbourne, after a short pause,
"why don't you tell me all about it?"

He fidgeted restlessly in his chair as he spoke, and the
double eye-glass was on his nose, off his nose, shut
up, opened, wiped with his pocket-handkerchief, and
generally experienced a hard time of it.

" You must let me know rather more, uncle," she said,
at length, speaking with great deliberation, as if she
were weighing every word that escaped her lips. " So
far I am at a loss to think what there is for me to tell."

" Chut ! child," replied the banker, querulously ;
" what is this between you and Reginald ?"

" You have his letter. I have no doubt he has put it
plainly. What is it you w r ould know from me?" and
Miss Langworthy eyed her uncle keenly. She was de-
termined to know what Reginald had said before she
opened her mouth on the subject.

" He says that you are engaged to be married to him,"
blurted out Mr. Holbourne, with visible effort.

" It is true," returned Marion in a low voice. " I know
I have behaved very ill in yielding to him so far without
your knowledge. You have been very good to me, uncle.
I have urged sometimes that we should do better to seek
your sanction to our engagement ; but we were both weak,
foolish, and afraid ; " and then Miss Langworthy bowed
her head in an attitude of the prettiest possible contrition.

Now it is highly probable that Mr. Holbourne, in the
first instance, would have felt extremely indignant at the
idea of his son's contemplating marriage with his cousin,
had he known it originally. He would naturally think
that Reginald might do better. But as it was now put
before him, Reginald was apparently breaking off this
engagement to contract one still more objectionable.
Who was this perfectly obscure young lady that he now
proposed to make his bride ? At all events he seemed to
have no favourable intelligence to communicate as re-
garded her status or belongings. Mr. Holbourne conse-
quently bethought him that it might be preferable that

Marion Changes her Game. 281

his son and Marion should make a match of it, rather
than that this latter arrangement should be carried out.

" You need not feel any compunction," observed the
banker drily. " Whatever my opinion might have been
on the subject, I am spared all expression concerning it.
Master Reginald, in this precious epistle, although stating
that he is engaged to you, takes the opportunity of in-
forming me that he is going to marry some one else."

" I am rightly punished,'' murmured Marion, without
raising her head. " I deserve to suffer for my folly and
gross ingratitude. Let the blame rest upon me. I have
deceived you, and now I also am deceived. I have no
claim on your pity, uncle, but, believe me, you are amply
avenged."

There was a silence of some minutes between them.
Miss Langworthy, with her face buried artistically in her
handkerchief, presented a very perfect pose of conscience-
stricken woe, while inwardly her fertile brain was run-
ning over what she had better do next. Mr. Holbourne
meantime hemmed and fidgeted. He was an object
pitable to contemplate at this time. The weak, pom-
pous, good-natured banker was desperately puzzled as to
how it behoved him to take things. He could not be
angry with his niece. The cause of offending in her case
was already removed, while, as she herself said, her punish-
ment was already meted out to her. Of course the more
he thought upon it, the clearer it became to Mr. Hol-
bourne that Reginald's conduct was simply inexcusable.
He had jilted his cousin, and was about to tarnish the
glory of the Holbournesby wedding a nobody. Gradually
the banker worked round to the conclusion that it was
incumbent upon him to manifest much wrath with his
misguided son. It was a necessity that he should lose
his temper with somebody, and everything indicated that
the somebody should be Reginald.

Suddenly his musing is interrupted by the soft tones of
his niece. Marion, as already mentioned, possessed that
rarest of woman's attributes, a most musical voice. In
low tremulous accents she falters forth her inquiry as to
who it is that Reginald is about to marry.

" It may be foolish uncle ; it shows want of pride, I

282 False Cards.

know, but he has so thoroughly trampled upon my self-
esteem that I care not. I feel bowed to the very dust
with shame, to thinlf how lightly I let my heart out of
my own keeping. Tell me, please, the name of this
woman for whom I am scorned." And Marion raised
her face and gazed at her uncle.

That she knew perfectly well the name of her rival we
have already seen, but in these few minutes Miss Lang-
worthy had projected a fresh scheme in her restless brain,
and had determined to prosecute it at once with all the
energy and subtlety of her nature. It presented two
pcmts peculiarly attractive to Marion — namely, the gra-
tification of her revenge as regarded her cousins in the
first place, and a strong possibility of personal aggrandize-
ment in the sequel.

"A Miss Lettice Cheslett," replied Mr. Holbourne,
slowly. " Do you know anything about her ! "

" Ah ! it is as I feared," cried Marion, clasping her
hands passionately. " I have heard of her, no matter
how. I could have borne it better had I been thrust on
one side to make room for some one worthy of him.
But to be scorned for the designing daughter of a mere
lodging-house keeper ! It is hard ! Uncle, if you have
any love for Reginald, interfere, to prevent his ruining
himself for life. This girl thinks to attain position by
marrying him. She has taken advantage of Reginald's
facile disposition, and practised on him all the arts of a
clever, unscrupulous intrigante. She deems him rich, as
t.on of the great Aldringham banker. Let ber compre-
hend the prize is not so well worth winning as she thinks.
I have no right to give such advice, but I loved him,
and though all is over between us, am loth to see him
rivet fetters of misery that can never be loosened."

She ceased, and once more buried her face in her
hands. Her appeal moved Mr. Holbourne strongly.
The delicate reference to him as the great Aldringham
banker tickled his vanity, and made the idea of his son's
being entrapped into such a degrading marriage more
vividly repulsive than before. Yes, he would exert his
authority, and Reginald should know that, unless he
at once abandoned all further intimacy with Miss Cheslett,

Marion Changes her Game. 283

he -was to look for no assistance of any kind from his
father in future.

" You are a good girl, Marion," replied the banker,
" and are much more thoughtful for this young good-
for-nothing than he deserves. I shall write to him, and
give him clearly to understand that he must choose
between this young woman and me. I have no more to
say further than this, that, though you were wrong in
concealing what had passed between you and Reginald
in the first instance, you have behaved very well now."

" And you forgive me, uncle ? " murmured Miss Lang-
worthy, as she rose.

" Yes. If you were foolish you have paid dearly for it.
Now go. I must write to Reginald."

" You are very good to me," replied Marion, meekly,
as she left the room.

What sort of a letter a man of Mr. Holbourne's tem-
perament would write upon such an occasion it is easy to
imagine. Instead of asking his son to pause, and think
seriously before he committed himself to so important a
step in life, the banker fulminated a decree to the effect
that Reginald must either renounce his love or his father.

This, put in sharp, curt, peremptory form, was likely to
have but one result. Both the letter and the reply were
thoroughly foreseen by Miss Langvvorthy, and the formal
renunciation of Reginald by his sire was a circumstance
upon which she had reckoned with equal complacency
and confidence.

Marion's new scheme was simply to oust both her
cousins from their home. Like a young cuckoo, she was
firmly established in the nest, and saw her way pretty
clearly to sending one of the young hedge-sparrows
sprawling on the world. It had occurred to her that
there would be no great difficulty about the ejectment of
the other also. The possibility of removing Grace from
the shelter of her father's roof would have occurred to
few people, and would have seemed scarcely feasible, even
if dreamt of; but Marion, whose confidence in her
resources was boundless, thought it not only feasible, but
an affair of no great difficulty.

Miss Langworthy is somewhat undecided '>» mind as to

284 False Cards.

whether she can make any use of an oblong strip of paper
that has reached her by the morning's post. She has
spent a great deal of money in the search of that scrap
of writing, and is somewhat moodily coming to the con-
clusion that it is of no use to her now that she has got
it. It certainly proves her theory right, for it is an
attested copy of the register of St. Sepulchre's Church,
whereby it appears that Charles Collingham, bachelor,
and Lilian Melton, spinster, were duly made man and
wife, on September the 7th, 1865. But Marion sees
now that she has allowed her feelings to get the better of
her judgment. In her first indignation against Grace, it
was all very well to contemplate the luxury of revenge,
and look forward to the moment when she should care-
lessly flip that little bit of paper across the table to her
cousin, with a nonchalant " something intended for )'ou,
dear, that has reached my hands by mistake." Marion
had mused over that scene many times, and vowed it
should be enacted before a considerable audience, to boot.
But now she thought otherwise. It would facilitate her
new programme rather to clench Grace's rash engage-
ment, than the reverse ; even, if possible, to drive her
into a clandestine marriage.

Miss Langworthy was little likely, in her present frame
of mind to feel mercifully disposed towards her cousin ;
but, to do her justice, she looked upon it as tolerably
certain that Charlie Collingham had no wife alive at
present— that either death, or something else, had invali-
dated that marriage of which she now held the certificate.
It might be he had ascertained that this woman to whom
he had bound himself in his boyhood was already a wife,
and had contracted a bigamous alliance with himself; or
she might have died. That Marion did not pretend to
know; but she held him at all events, clear of such
incumbrance now.

"Yes," she mused, " the sooner she and Charlie Colling-
ham make a match of it the better. That will at all
events leave me mistress here. Reginald, I think, will
pay pretty dearly for his behaviour to me, and is not
likely to set foot in Aldringham for many a long day.
And ' dear Grace's ' wedding is likely to be a flitting for

Marion Changes her' Game. 285

good, I flatter myself;" and Marion's lip curled con-
temptuously as she thought of herself once more firmly
reinstated as the banker's housekeeper. "I must be the
veriest fool ever created if I can't keep the house to my-
self then ! " muttered Miss Langworthy. Still her brows
were knit slightly as she glanced at the letter which
accompanied the certificate. It was from Mr. Lightfoot,
and while felicitating her upon the satisfactory result to
which he had conducted the enquiry she had commis-
sioned him to make, it wound up with a polite but some-
what peremptory request for fifty pounds.

Miss Langworthy had winced for some time past at
the calls which this gentleman made incessantly on her
purse-strings. She looked gloomily back on the number
of bank notes that had been forwarded to meet his
expenses in her service since that interview in Kensington
Gardens. She had fortunately a London banker, other-
wise she could not have obtained money to meet these
constantly recurring claims without her uncle's knowledge.
To touch her capital involved Mr. Holbourne's signature,
as she was not of age when what little money that
accrued to her on the death of her parents had been
invested for her use. She had borrowed from her London
bankers a considerable sum, compared with her means,
and these gentlemen had politely intimated, upon acceding
to her last application, that they could not accomodate
her further. Where was she to obtain this fifty pounds ?
She did not know. She could not even imagine a likeli-
hood of procuring it. In desperation she wrote back to
Mr. Lightfoot, and told him it was impossible, that she
had no more money at present, nor was there a pro-
bability of her compassing such a sum for some few
months.

Mr. Lightfoct's rejoinder arrived by return of post, and
out of it fluttered an oblong bit of stamped paper. He
sympathised most delicately with Miss Langworthy's
temporary difficulty. It was a perplexity that he often
encountered in business. He forwarded to Miss Lang-
worthy the means of meeting it. If Miss L. would
kindly sign the enclosed bill for fifty pounds at sixty days
sight, where he had pencilled her signature, he would

286 False Cards.

undertake to get it discounted. Miss Langworthy could,
of course, take it up at the expiration of that time, 01
renew it for a similar term at a trifling cost. But he
regretted to say that the fifty pounds was an imperative
necessity with him. Marion was a keen-witted woman,
and although she knew nothing of bills, felt intuitively
that there was danger in affixing her signature to that
innocent-looking strip of paper, Yet what was she to
do ? This man pressed her hard for the money. That
his claim for expenses, &c, was an egregious swindle, she
entertained no doubt. But how was she to resist it ? If
she refused he would probably expose her, and as things
stood at present that was to be avoided at all hazards.
In two months it might be otherwise ; at all events, a
trifle would procure some further grace if it was not so ;
a sweet delusion likely to be rudely dissipated. Yet it
was with dire misgivings that Miss Langworthy at last
wrote her name across the slip of paper, much regretting
that she had ever entered into relations with the astute
Mr. Lightfoot.

CHAPTER XXXI.

MR. HOLBOURNE'S DISCOVERY.

H|T would have puzzled Mr. Holbourne to say how
he learnt it. He could by no means have
specified the lips from which he had derived
his information. It seemed to him that he had
discovered it for himself : that his knowledge of the fact
had been of gradual growth. How he had arrived at it
he knew not, but the banker by some means had come to
understand that an engagement existed between his
daughter and that diseased son of Sir John Collingham's.
Have we not all experience of how such shadowy
tidings are vouchsafed us. That untraceable rumour that
heralds the appearance of our friends at the altar, or in
the bankruptcy court, has been encountered by most of us.
Who they are that constitute this mysterious " they,"
that promulgate these hitherto occult facts in such resound-
ing whisper, is matter difficult of comprehension. They
correspond with the " we " of journalism ; but even as
among those of the literary guild, the " we" is a veil of
much transparency, so the observer of a small social
community will experience but slight difficulty in iden-
tifying the " they " of his little world.

Mr. Holbourne chews the cud of his indignation a^
this knowledge acquires palpable shape in his eyes. It is
gradually dawning upon him that there i* much belie! in

288 False Cards.

this rumour evinced by the good people of Aldringham.
He has become aware of late that this engagement is
discussed with considerable animation — mixed, did he but
know it, with more than a little speculation as to whether
Mr. Charles Collingham would incur the pains and
penalties of bigamy should it be fulfilled.

Miss Langworthy distils gossip for the^ avid ears of

Aldringham, with singular dexterity. She is delicate in

her operations as the wife of King Midas, who whispered

his secret to the reeds; and what rumour she thinks

proper to set afloat is disseminated as successfully as that

recorded in the old classical story. Mr. Holbourne could

conscientiously have affirmed that his knowledge of

Grace's engagement had not come to him through his

niece. Marion certainly had never made direct allusion

to it, but she had been at some pains to put him in the

way of obtaining information on the subject. The

banker is gradually steeling himself to have this matter

out with his daughter. He feels that the subject will

be disagreeable, and, like all weak men, he would fain

postpone the discussion of anything unpleasant as long

as possible. He has, moreover, an uneasy feeling that

Grace will not prove quite so docile as he could wish —

that she may possibly decline to yield to his wishes : in

fact, he is conscious that the discussion of the affair will

be by no means smooth, and that he and his daughter

are likely to differ widely thereon.

Miss Langworthy, analysing her uncle's mind with
unabated energy morning after morning, is, of course,
aware of this intention upon his part, and awaits the
result with considerable curiosity. She thinks it pro-
bable that such an interview will tend, in some degree,
to the furtherance of her views. Miss Langworthy,
indeed, from constant scheming, has got so into the
habit of laying out her friends on a mental dissecting-
table, and operating upon them with a psychological
scalpel, that she can scarcely forego probing the motives
of her acquaintances upon the most ordinary occasions.
She wastes much time, after the usual fashion of these
industrious searchers into moral delinquencies, and con-
stantly arrives at discoveries so common-place that they

Mr. Holbourne 's Discovery. 289

barely compensate for the trouble expended in attaining
them. It may not be an agreeable hobby — persons
bitten with this idiosyncrasy are best shunned ; yet the
constant practice of analysing the springs that move the
minds of those among whom they may be thrown, tends,
like the practice of other things, to endue such observers
with wonderful powers of forecasting the actions of their
associates — provided, of course, that they are acquainted
with the causes from which such actions will arise.

Marion had already formed her opinion as to what,
with some assistance from herself, would be the result of
this conversation between father and daughter. She
could not repress a smile as she heard Grace summoned
officially to what might be designated the " domestic
magistrate's office," and thought of her own appearance
at the bar there a few mornings ago.

" What have you been doing, Grade ?" she exclaimed,
laughing, as her cousin passed her. " Poor me was
lectured last week ! I hope you may get off more
easily."

Miss Holbourne made no reply, but followed her father
into his room, and quietly seated herself.

The banker fidgeted at his writing-table, and nervously
shut and opened his eye-glass for some minutes, after his
wont, when strongly moved on any point.

" I want to talk to you, Grace — to talk to you —
hem ! "

"To talk to me! — about what, father?" inquired
Grace, as she raised her eyes with some curiosity.

" Don't interrupt me, child," retorted Mr. Holbourne,
sharply. " To talk to you about Mr. Charles Colling-
ham."

" About Charlie ? " she replied, very quietly, although
her face flushed slightly.

Ever since the discovery of her secret by Sir John, she
had been prepared for this. He had sent her a short
note to say that he had not been speaking at random, but
that his son was married, and, to the best of his belief,
had a wife still living ; and adjured her, as she valued
her own peace of mind, to break off all further relations
with Charlie.

290

False Cards.

" Yes," resumed the banker, " it has come to my ears
that you have been mad enough to promise to marry
that good-for-nothing. Is this mere rumour, or is there
truth in it?"

" It is true," she said, in a low voice.

" Good heavens ! are you in your senses, child ? You
refuse to marry Robert, the eldest son, and are infatuated
enough to take up with the younger, who is disowned,
doubtless for most excellent reasons, by his own father."

" When those reasons are put before me, and it is
proved beyond doubt that Charles Collingham has been
guilty of dishonourable conduct, then will I give him
up," returned Grace, defiantly. " But till then," she
continued, in resolute tones, " I am his affianced wife, and
I'll hold to it, come what may ! "

"Upon my word," exclaimed Mr. Holbourne, adjusting
his eye-glasses and regarding his daughter with unmiti-
gated astonishment, " things have arrived at a pretty
pass ! Have you been attending lectures on woman's
rights ? Are you saturated with the absurdity designated
advanced opinions ? Were you not taught your Cate-
chism in your childhood, and brought up to pay proper
reverence to your parents ? "

Grace bowed her head meekly.

" And do you think, Miss, that contracting an engage-
ment with the first scapegrace that comes across your
path is honouring your father, that his days may be
long in the land ? It's enough to send a man to his
grave prematurely, to have a daughter who refuses an
heir to a baronetcy, in order to marry his brother, who
is likely to come into nothing but gratuitous apartments
in Newgate."

" How dare you assert such things of Charles Colling-
ham, father ?" cried Grace with flashing eyes as she rose
to her feet. " Aldringham gossip, I know, has dared to
whisper foul slander concerning him, but I little thought
to hear such scandal endorsed by your lips. Who is it
that has poisoned your mind against him ? Is it Marion
that has brought this story to your ears ? Tell me, I
demand it as a right ! "

Mr. Holbourne stared in bewilderment at his daughter.

Mr. IJolboumcs Discovery. 291

He-had never seen her so moved before, and was quite
confounded by this tempestuous outbreak. He had
deemed from her generally indolent habits that she was
of a mild and placid disposition, and little dreamt of the
fires that burnt beneath the crust of her usually languid
manner.

He hesitated for a few seconds, during which Graci
confronted him with flushed cheeks and sparkling" eyes_
and then replied,

" No, it was not Marion. What put her into your
head ? "

" She has come between us much of late," returned
the girl, bitterly, as she resumed her seat. " A little
while back, father, and I knew not what it was to have
a cross word from you ; now it is seldom I can please
you," and Grace dropped her head wearily on her hand,
and wondered how it was all to end.

" I don't understand you, Grace," said Mr. Holbourne,
after a short pause. " Some childish jealousy of your
cousin, is, I presume, working in your mind ; but you
are really too old for that sort of thing now. However,
that has nothing to do with the question between us ;
you admit this preposterous engagement — I require you
to give me your word that it shall at once be put an end
to."

" That I cannot give," was the low reply.

" Grace, I insist upon it ! " exclaimed the banker
angrily.

She raised her head and looked him steadily in the
face. " Prove to me, father, that he is unworthy of my
love, and it shall be as you wish ; but I'll not gainsay
my promise to Charles Collingham, though all the stones
of Aldringham should prate stories of his wrong-doing,
till I hold the proof of it."

" But he is said to be already married, girl ! "

" I know it ; there is very little to his disadvantage
that they have not contrived, either through chance or
malice, to din into my ears of late."

" You know it ! " gasped the banker, " and "

" Don't believe it, replied Grade quickly. "Recol-
lect, father, I'll admit nothing to Charlies detriment

292 False Cards.

unless positive proof of such charge is placed before me.
Convince me of what you allege, and I will obey you ;
but till then, father, I'll remain loyal to the vow my
lips have spoken."

As she spoke she had once more risen to her feet, and
before her father could reply, glided quietly from the
room.

Mr. Holbourne's meditations were by no means satis-
factory after his daughter's departure. He wondered
whether there was a parent in all England whose children
so persistently determined to wed injudiciously as did
his. " It's monstrous ! " he murmured, " they must have
taken positive pains to look about for ineligible partners..
But I'll be no party to such boy and girl folly. They
shall have neither consent nor assistance from me.
Reginald I cannot influence further than I have already
done. I have declined to contribute a shilling to his
support, if he crosses me on this point. But as for
Grace, I am entitled to use more coercion in her case,
and I will."

Mr. Holbourne kept his word, and we shall see what
came of it.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THIRTY-TWO, JOHN STREET.

R. BULLOCK'S exhilaration upon arriving at
at home was a sight to see. He had indulged
in much silent chuckling, and in many low-
pitched snatches of melody, on his way from
the " Caradoc Arms" thither. But once fairly ensconced
in his own favourite arm-chair, he fairly bubbled over
with grins and laughter. He had made, he thought, a
hit to-night, but it was not that. Mr. Bullock had made
some noted coups in his day, and could afford to take
another bit of professional success with the nonchalance
the force expected from such distinguished officers as
himself. No, that was not the cause of Mr. Bullock's
ecstasy ; but to find out that the hated Lightfoot was
also interested in the search. To feel a moral conviction
that he had obtained, by his own vigilance and astute-
ness, what the detested Lightfoot was vainly proffering
a reward of ten pounds to procure — to think that the
lost clue had been virtually under his abhorred adver-
sary's nose half the evening, and that that usually acute
gentleman had overlooked it ! Finally, most soothing
of salves to his professional pride, he had contemplated
Mr. Lightfoot's manoeuvres, and sat for some time full in
his sight, undetected, unsuspected. Remembering how
sore Mr. Bullock had felt concerning the penetration of
his disguise upon their last encounter, it is easy to

294 False Cards.

imagine that upon that one point alone it must have
been a gratifying evening to him.

Mr. Bullock is of course as yet unaware that the
drunken man he assisted to pick up is not destined to
recover from the effects of his fall, and looks to obtain-
ing some further information from him as soon as he
shall recover his senses. Still Mr. Bullock fancies
he has not much to learn beyond what the number
of the house may be. Mr. Bullock piecing things
together in his own mind, sees clearly that the ostler
drove a friend's cab upon the day Lettice disap-
peared, which accounts for the difficulty of picking up the
trail at the Farringdon Station. It was this man drove
Miss Cheslett to John Street, Islington, and not being a
regular cabman, he had not heard of the inquiries that
had been made, until attracted by Lightfoot's speech.
Then, cunning in his cups, the bemused man kept turn-
ing the thing over in his muddled brain, with a view to
making the most of the information he had to give.
Intoxication had supervened while he yet struggled with
this knotty problem, and his resolution to take Light-
foot's offer had been come to just as he became physically
unable to make his way across the room to that gentle-
man, who, on his part, little dreamt the occasion of that
untimely downfall, or thought that the senseless man
had dropped in his endeavours to reach him with the
intelligence he so much coveted.

Mr. Bullock, arriving next morning at the " Caradoc
Arms" in his ordinary costume, finds his vis-a-vis of the
previous night awaiting an inquest, instead of being in
readiness for the hospitality that he meditated bestowing
upon him. Mr. Bullock consoles himself for this disap-
pointment with the reflection that he has pretty well
obtained the information he required, and that the dead
man was more likely to have cast in his lot with the
criminal classes than to have turned out an ornament to
society. " He's as well out of the way in this shape,
as any other," soliloquized the detective. " He Avas just
about becoming troublesome, and had nothing much but
Brixton or Portland to look forward to. It is as well for
him he was taken by Providence right off. He'd have

Thirty-Two, John Street 295

been taken by us a little later if he'd lived, and there's a
deal of unpleasantness spared all round by things as they
are."

It was not likely that Mr. Bullock was going to com-
municate with his employer before, to use his own ex-
pression, he had " worked his case out." Now, though
he had little doubt that he held the correct clue in his
hand, yet he had still to ascertain in which house in
John Street it was that Miss Cheslett had taken refuge.
Simple this, you would say, for a police-officer ; so it
was, but Mr. Bullock recollected that his adversary lived
in that identical street. He was strongly impressed with
Mr. Lightfoot's astuteness, and had no intention of play-
ing the part of jackal to that cunning marauder. Who
was employing him upon the present occasion, or whe-
ther he was prosecuting some wily scheme of his own
devising, was also a subject on which Mr. Bullock thirsted
for information.

He walked quietly up to Islington, and at once put
himself into communication with the superintendent of
the police-station there. He remained quietly in the
station, while the constable on the John Street beat pro-
secuted such inquiries as Mr. Bullock chose to entrust
him with. The man was young in the force, and by no
means blessed with intelligence. A constable of the
stolid type, whose highest faculties comprehended little
more than the rigid carrying out of such orders as might
be given to him.

When he comes in he reports three recent arrivals in
John Street. One of these is a male, and need, conse-
quently, be no further investigated ; the other two
are females, but a few inquiries soon satisfy Mr. Bullock
that neither of them is the young lady that he is in
search of. R 37, who was upon that beat on the 13th
of July, has no recollection of seeing a young lady arrive
with a considerable amount of luggage, but adds that
his beat extended considerably beyond John Street, and
it was quite possible for such a thing to occur without
his knowing anything about it.

Mr. Bullock decides to prosecute his inquiries in per-
son, and accordingly lounges out to do so. keeping mean-

296 False Cards.

while a vigilant look-out for the appearance of his
particular aversion, Lightfoot. The millinery and
stationery shops of the neighbourhood are the first
places to which he devotes his attention, It is at one of
the latter that he first picks up some trace of the subject
of his quest. Yes, the proprietor perfectly recollected a
good-looking young lady in deep mourning buying some
cardboard and gilt paper from him only two days before
— he had offered to send it, but she said that she lived
close by, and took it with her. No, he could not say
where her home was exactly. Mr. Bullock accepts this
as an indication of Miss Cheslett's presence in the
vicinity, although it is but meagre evidence of the fact,
and prosecutes his inquiries with redoubled vigour.

At a large milinery and drapery establishment he first
comes upon a tangible trace of the young lady in mourn-
ing. He has heard vaguely and indistinctly of her at
more than one shop that he has visited, but the pro-
prietors, although unanimous in expression of their
opinion that she lived in the neighbourhood, have so
far been unable to indicate the exact whereabouts. But
here the lady who presided over the millinery depart-
ment was clear and precise. " A young lady in deep
mourning," she said, in reply to Mr. Bullock's inter-
rogatories, " had called there four days ago, and, some-
what to her surprise, had asked for employment. She
was astonished, as the young lady from her dress and
manner seemed superior to one dependent upon ordinary
milliner's work ; and she ventured to say as much, but
the girl replied that she was thrown upon her own re-
sources in consequence of the death of a very near
relative, and should be thankful for any work they
might be able to give her. I told her," continued the
forewoman, " that I had nothing for her just now, but
that if she would leave her address I would try her as
soon as I had a chance. Here is the address she gave
— Miss Cheslett, 32, John Street."

Mr. Bullock indulged in a quiet chuckle of satisfaction
— a low, noiseless laugh peculiar to himself, and of which
nothing but a slight screwing up of the eyes and drawing
back of the lips gave evidence to the spectator. He had

Thirty -Two, John Street. 297

doubtless found this inaudible laughter of value to him
in his vocation, and had probably reduced his natural
cachinnation by much mortification of his sense of the
humorous.

" Thank you, ma'am," he said at length. "You're a
lady as it's quite a pleasure to converse with. I belong to
the detective police, and you can't think the trouble we
have in my profession to get people to tell us what they
know clearly and concisely. If you will allow me to say
so, Miss — Miss — "

" Manners," supplied the lady, with a simper of gratifi-
cation.

"Miss Manners, exactly. You're a pattern to your
sex in that respect. It is rather a weakness of women,
if you will excuse the remark," continued Mr. Bullock
jocularly, "to be a little discursive in their evidence.
They are apt to wander from the point, and favour us
with what they think, instead of what they actually
know."

" I'm sure I feel highly complimented," replied Miss
Manners." " It's very gratifying indeed to receive such
praise, sir, from a gentleman so well qualified to judge as
yourself. But to be the object of such encomium twice
in one day," continued the lady with a bashful titter,
" might make any woman proud."

" I don't quite understand you," interjected Mr. Bullock
quickly. " What do you mean ? "

" Only that a gentleman called here about a couple
of hours ago — a very pleasant gentleman, and full of
fun—"

"Yes, yes. Get on, ma'am, please," exclaimed Mr.
Bullock, impatiently.

"You needn't take one up so sharp," said Miss
Manners, looking offended. " I'm sure I am telling you
all about it as quickly as I possibly can."

" Of course ; I beg your pardon for interrupting
you," said Bullock. " This gentleman, as you were
saying — "

" Was also inquiring after Miss Cheslett. I hope she's
done nothing wrong, I'm sure, and I so nearly giving her
some work and all."

298 False Cards.

"No, no, nothing of the sort," replied Bullock, im-
patiently.

" Well, he also said that I could tell what I had to tell
most clearly and succinctly — those were his very words,"
and Miss Manners tossed her head in defiance of the
impatience that her present questioner gave signs of.

" A fair-haired man, with keen grey eyes ? " exclaimed
Bullock.

" He was a fair, pleasant man, but I did not notice his
eyes," returned the lady.

" Lightfoot, by the eternal ! " muttered the detective.
" Thank you, Miss Manners," he exclaimed, hurriedly.
" I am very much obliged to you. Good morning ! "
And he hastily left the shop.

" The other is the most gentlemanly," said the fore-
woman, curtly. " To think of a girl coming here and
wanting work who is wanted herself by the police !
The brazened baggage ! There's no knowing whom to
trust in this world, or else I did think that pale-faced
thing in mourning looked innocent enough." With
which reflection Miss Manners betook herself once more
to the superintendence of her work-girls.

" He's before me again, hang him ! " mused Mr.
Bullock, as he made his way rapidly towards John Street.
" It's provoking, it is, considering how much the best I
got of him last night. Curse his luck ! He's picked up
the trail here by accident. What does he want with
her ? What's brought him into the business ? However,
I suppose 32 will turn out all right enough At all
events, I shall soon see, and maybe find out what Light-
foot's driving at to boot. I should like to know that. Here
we are !" And without more ado Mr. Bullock rang the bell.

Mr. Bullock had concocted a very neat story, with the
assistance of Charlie Collingham, to retail to Lettice
when he should find her, and therefore felt no compunc-
tion about asking for her.

" Is Miss Cheslett at home ? " he inquired easily of
the servant-girl who opened the door.

" No, sir. She left this yesterday afternoon."

"When will she be back? I want to see her upon
business of importance."

Tln'r ty- Two, John Street. 299

a Dear me! I don't think she's coming back at all,"
replied the girl, with open-eyed astonishment. " Least-
ways, she took all her things with her, and her room's to
let."

Mr. Bullock was generally fairly impassible in coun-
tenance, but he could not restrain a low whistle of
surprise at this unlooked-for intelligence.

"And you don't know where she's gone?" he in-
quired.

" No, sir. But you'd best see missus."

" Exactly. Just ask if she would be good enough ta
speak to me for a few minutes."

The landlady soon made her appearance, and requested
Mr. Ballock to step into her own private sanctum. But
that gentleman, with all his acuteness, was speedily
compelled to consider the interview most unsatisfactory.

Yes, the lady admitted, with the utmost candour, that
Miss Cheslett had lodged there for the last five weeks.
She was an old tenant, and had lived there with her
grandfather for some months about two years ago. She
left yesterday afternoon. She, the landlady, could not
exactly say why, but fancied that it was to take some
situation that had been offered her. Did she know Miss
Cheslett's address ? No, she had left no direction of any
kind behind her ; had never even alluded to what county
she was going, nor to what railway-station she was to be
driven to. Who were the people who took so much
interest in Miss Cheslett ?

" Thank ye, ma'am," said Mr. Bullock, as he rose to
depart. " It's a cruel pity, for the young lady's own sake,
her friends can't manage to communicate with her. She
is running away under a considerable mistake, which ten
minutes would dissipate, if she could be but seen for that
space of time."

" If you would like to leave a letter on the chance of
my hearing of her, and so having an opportunity to
forward it, I shall be most happy to take charge of it,"
observed the landlady, suavely.

" Thank ye, you're very kind. I'll mention it to the
young lady's friends, and they'll doubtless trouble you
with a note upon the chance. Good day, ma'am."

300 False Cards.

Mr. Bullock paused when he gained the street, and
with hat drawn over his eyes, and hands thrust deep into
his trousers pockets, became lost in meditation.

" Yes," he muttered, as apparently counting the eyelet
holes in his boots, and dedicating his whole attention to
the avoidance of stepping on the joining of the flag-stones,
he moved slowly up the street. " She knows all about
it. She knows where Miss Cheslett has gone. What did
she volunteer to forward a letter for, if she had no address
left her ? What made her talk about counties, and hint
at terminuses ? She was too communicative not to know,
and overplayed her part, as they mostly do. Well, I
suppose the trail's to be picked up again with a little
trouble ; but I think I'm bound to tell Mr. Colli ngham
that I fancy a letter will reach her."

" Confound you ! can't you look where you're going
to ? " exclaimed a man, angrily, who, coming sharp round a
corner, ran into the meditative detective's arms. ° Well,
I'm blessed ! " he ejaculated, on perceiving with whom
he had come so abruptly into contact. It's you again, is
it ? What the devil is it you're looking for up here ? "
and Mr. Lightfoot took a calm and deliberate survey of
his opponent.

" Never you mind, and don't forget your manners
because you live a little out in the suburbs," replied
Bullock, tartly. "If it's any relief to your feelings, I'm
not wanting you just now. I know all about you, and
can put my finger on you any time, so you had better
be uncommon careful not to overstep the limits of the
law."

" That for your laws ! " retorted Lightfoot, snapping
his fingers ; " anyone with a head on his shoulders can
evade most of them. And you, my good friend, you
positively believe you could find Leonidas Lightfoot, it
it suited him to keep out of your way ? That is too
ridiculous. Bah ! shall we have a friendly wager ?"

" Take care," returned the detective, curtly. " You
have slipped through my fingers twice. You won't find
it so easy to do again. My chance will come. Men ot
your stamp never stop till they're laid by the heels.
Mark me, Lightfoot, our next match means seven years

Thirty- Two, John Street. 301

for you. You're clever and slippery, I grant you, but
you all make an irretrievable mistake at last." And
without awaiting further rejoinder, Mr. Bullock strode
rapidly away.

Mr. Lightfoot was more put out by the detective's
speech than he would have cared to own. With all his
self-reliance and astuteness, with all his theories that
they were but bunglers who came to grief and tribulation
in preying upon their fellows, he could not but remember
that the journals at intervals bore record of marauders,
bold, clever, and unscrupulous as himself, who met their
deserts, and found themselves powerless at last to escape
the meshes of the law.

Bullock's words fell upon his ear like a knell, and even
now he was unconsciously deciding to cross the path of
that legalized sleuth-hound no more.

" What on earth brought him here, I wonder ? " mused
Mr. Lightfoot, as he bent his steps towards his lodgings.
" Couldn't have been upon my account this time. Not
much use, however, bothering my head about that. The
question is, what this Cheslett girl has done with herself.
It's too provoking ! Here she's been, for the last five
weeks, living under my nose, and disappears again just as
I discover her whereabouts. If I had only worked out
my own theory a trifle more promptly, I should have

caught my bird. Now " And Mr. Lightfoot shrugged

his shoulders despondently as he rang his door-bell.

It must be borne in mind that he has no idea that
Bullock is also engaged in seeking Lettice, although that
distinguished officer is perfectly aware that he (Lightfoot)
is interested in her discovery.

CHAPTER XXXIIL

CROSS PURPOSES.

&£

T'S no use trying to humbug me, Mr. Col-
lingham. You are not yourself, not by
several inches. Now," continued Miss Meg-
gott, " it's no use going on in this way,

writing trash in the Misanthrope, and fretting and fidget-
ing as you do. Either go away to the sea, pitch pen and
ink to Jericho, and kick up your heels; or, if you mean

being ill, let's begin at once, and let me take care

of you."

" Pooh ! Polly, there's not much the matter. I'm a
little worried about things just now. However, a few
days will probably see my troubles over."

" Mind they do, or I shall either telegraph for Mr.
Donaldson, or call in a doctor. I'm not going to have
you going off with worrits, doldrums, or blue devils, on
my hands, I can tell you," retorted Miss Meggott,
cheerily.

" Don't be a fool, Polly," interrupted Charlie, sharply.

" Not if I know it, my child ; but the misfortune is,
it's so easy to be one unawares. It's quite possible, you
know, that may be your identical complaint at this mo-
ment ! "

" 'Pon my word I believe you're right ! I am worrying
my soul out about two things which I fancy will all
come square enough in the end."

Cross Purposes. 303

" If it's about your love affair you're fretting, I'm sure
you need not. Pooh ! don't look so astonished. Of
course I know all about it. When you have so many
photographs of one young lady tossing about, and get so
many letters, all penned by the same feminine hand, it
don't need a conjuror to tell what's the matter. Bless
you, I cried my eyes out over your inconstancy three
months ago ! "

" You're letting your tongue run riot, Polly," returned
Charlie, somewhat sharply ; for much licence as he and
Donaldson had always accorded Miss Meggott, he felt a
little indignant at the thought of how thoroughly her
keen black eyes had read him of late.

" Don't be angry, Mr. Collingham. You know I
wouldn't willingly say anything to annoy you. But you
are getting hipped — indeed you are. Take the latch-key,
and go out for the evening. Even if you lose it, and I
have to get up to let you in, I won't complain."

" Nonsense, Polly, I'm well enough, and have work to
do to-night. I shall dine at home."

Charlie Collingham was much exercised in his mind
about the state of things at Aldringham. Grace had
informed him of her interview with her father — had told
him that she was forbid to think of him as a lover, or to
correspond with him in future.

u We can do nothing for the present, Charlie, but wait
and hope," she wrote. " This must be my last letter,
and I beg you not to answer it, as your handwriting
would now be certain to attract my father's attention,
and of course occasion me a severe lecture. Things are
quite unpleasant enough now as they stand, without that
addition, so we must for the present place implicit faith
in each other, and hope for brighter days. As a proof of
how thoroughly I do trust you, Charlie, I must tell you
that Sir John himself declared to me the other day you
were already married, and still I do not falter in my alle-
giance. I believe yet you will explain away all these
rumours that now so torment me. Let it be as soon as
possible, please, for I am sore tried, and find it hard to
sit silent while Aldringham gossip is so busy with your
name."

304 False Cards.

" Yes," he muttered, as he rose and paced the room
restlessly, " there must be an end to all this, and that
speedily. I had intended to wait till next year, when I
should have been quite clear of those fetters I forged for
myself in my college day — to wait till I was in receipt
of that higher salary I am promised. But Grace can't be
left down there to be bullied. Add to which, now old
Holbourne has taken up this view of the case, and my
respected father has thought proper to meddle in the
matter, it's not likely I should find things run smooth
for me then. The banker won't be much impressed with
my rent-roll, when all's said and done." And Charlie
smiled somewhat bitterly as he thought how limited his
income would appear in Mr. Holbourne's eyes, even
when his present hopes should be realized. " Nothing
for it, Gracie, but to persuade you to run away and share
my bread and cheese, as soon as may be. Now your
father has assumed the role of the domestic tyrant, I feel
no further compunctions. Better either give me up, or
do it at once, than submit to the dragooning you are
likely to undergo at home. Miss Langworthy, as things
stand at present, is scarce likely to make your cross easier
to bear. Viva ! my mind's made up. Reginald, like my-
self, is at war with the authorities, and therefore fit aider
and abettor in a scheme that sets them at defiance."

His dinner was soon despatched, and he betook himself
once more to his work, but his usually facile pen refused
to run freely. Sooth to say, he could not keep his mind
from dwelling on whether he should be able to gain
Grace's consent to the contemplated elopement. To
think of one thing, and write of another, is not produc-
tive of very effective composition ; and finding most
irrelevant words continually cropping up in his manu-
script, Charlie at last threw it upon one side, as labour
not likely to be productive of a satisfactory result.

Besides, he expected Reginald Holbourne would look
in shortly, to hear if there were any tidings of Lettice.
There was plenty of fixity of purpose in Reginald just
now. He blenched not an iota upon reading his father's
letter. He had thoroughly made up his mind to marry
Lettice, cost what it might, as soon ac ever he should

Cross Purposes. 305

find her, and treated his father's prohibition of his doing
so with sullen indifference, 'i nis genuine love of his had
much changed Reginald's character. Formerly he had
been vacillating in mind, and somewhat addicted to
sybaritism in practice. Now he was rigid, if taciturn, in
performance of all duties required of him ; a model of
punctuality, and an untiring worker. He had acquii ed
considerable praise for the dexterity and success with
which he had managed the Frankfort mission, and the close
attention he now devoted to business was winning him
golden opinions in the eyes of the firm he served. Once
released from the thraldom of Blisworth, Chantry and
Company, and Reginald threw his whole energies into
the search for Lettice. He had interviews with half-a-
dozen people every night on the subject — people for the
most part who had idly answered one or other of the
advertisements, and whose wandering stories he listened
to with scant patience. Though curious, it was trying.
These folks for the most part were imbued with the idea
that they conferred an extraordinary favour by bringing
their worthless intelligence, and that a considerable
honorarium would of course reward their desire to
restore the young lady to her friends.

Still when a Mrs. Waters called upon Reginald to
relate the story of how her cook had left her in a huff,
and driven straight to Paddington Station with all her
boxes ; when Mrs. Fitzsmithers of the Alexandra Semi-
nary for Young Ladies, Upper Clapton, dropped in to
record the sudden disappearance of a pupil-teacher, after
naving been reprimanded (Upper Clapton, lor having
been snubbed and nagged at for six months), in no
recognised direction ; when Mrs. Macfungus, wife of the
Low Church vicar of the adjoining parish, who had
taken a young woman full of grace and oatmeal from
the workhouse, with no character, and therefore ex-
tremely humble upon the subject of wages, looked in to
mention the absence of this young woman, and some
dozen or so fiddle-patterned ilver spoons conjointly;
then Reginald, as he came to undergo the task of listening
to half-a-dozen such narratives a night, which narratives
it was apparent, before half-a-score sentences had been

306 Inafse (yarcfs.

uttered could by no possible distortion be for one second
deemed applicable to the case of Lettice as stated in the
advertisements — then indeed Reginald would wax weary
and hopeless. Fell and garrulous, too, were these dread
female visitors. It surpassed the talent of man in this
nineteenth century to put a check upon their tongues.
The days of arbitrary translation to a dungeon or instant
execution are gone, and Reginald finally found that the
way to relieve himself from their presence was to pre-
serve unbroken silence till they showed some symptoms of
scarcity of breath, and then very shortly and brusquely
to inform them that their information was worthless. It
was true he had to face then all manners of application
for reward — from neat hints to violent demands, from
insinuations regarding the cab fare to querulous solicita-
tion for defrayal of time and expenses.

Reginald too, himself, wandered purposeless about the
streets — that is, if one is justified in calling such driftless
wandering purposeless which hoped to achieve by acci-
dent what it despaired of doing by design. If he felt sad
and weary at times, there was no despondency about
him — he had no doubt about recovering Lettice event-
ually. The gay, light-hearted, easy-going youth hat*
changed into a quiet, resolute, taciturn man, strong in
the earnestness of his purpose, and striving with all his
might to attain it. None had recognised the change in
him more quickly than Charlie Collingham.

The door is thrown open, and Miss Meggott, some-
what abashed by Charlie's late rebuke, ushers in Regi-
nald Holbourne, with a quietude very foreign to her
usual volatile manner. Polly, with all her glibness of
tongue, is quick to take a hint, and feels not a little dis-
composed at the idea that she should have let her
freedom of speech carry her too far. In her way, she is
very much attached to both her lodgers, and now fidgets
about the room, putting things a little straight, in con-
siderable contrition.

" You are not really angry with me, Mr. Collingham,
for my nonsense ? " she says, at length, as she brushes close
by Charlie, under some pretence of setting his desk to rights,
and her wicked black eyes look deprecatingly up at him.

Cross Purposes. 307

"Of course not," he replied; <( only bear in mind in
future that's a subject admits of no chaff."

" Certainly not," replied Polly, gaily. " Thy word is
law, my liege, and your slave would place her neck
beneath your foot, if it would not be a somewhat trouble-
some performance for both parties. Hast any more
requirements, O sun of the universe ?"

" None, thanks," replied Collingham, laughing.

" Then, good night, gentlemen. May sweet dreams
attend your slumbers, and your awaking be — be — be
monstrous jolly ! "

" Oh ! Polly, what a miserable breakdown ! "

" Never mind," retorted Miss Meggott, with a laugh
and a wink, " the sentiment ain't bad, if not quite so
poetically expressed as it might be. Once more good
night, and et cetera be with you ! "

" Now, Charlie," exclaimed Holbourne, impatiently,
as the door closed upon Polly, " have you any news for
me?"

"Well, I have, and I haven't. Both our emissaries
have found Lettice Cheslett, only to lose her again
immediately — or, to speak more correctly, have found
where she fled to, just twenty-four hours or so after she
had left the house."

" Go on," said Reginald.

" She went from Baker Street to John Street, Isling-
ton," continued Charlie, tersely, " and left that again
yesterday afternoon. The people of the house say they
don't know where for — Bullock says the landlady does,
although she asserts she does not. Lightfoot merely
reports that he traced her to that house, and is unable so
far to say more than that she left it yesterday."

"But neither of them looks to much difficulty in
tracing her now, do they ?" inquired Reginald anxiously.

"No. Bullock I saw, Lightfoot wrote — there's his
letter," said Charlie, tossing it across to his friend.
"Both think it a bit of bad luck to have missed putting
us in communication with her by such a little. But as
they say, these slips will happen in all things of the
kind. Bullock is impressed with the idea that the land-
lady knows where she has gone — a circumstance, as you

308 FUfse Cards.

see, that Lightfoot makes no allusion to. At all events,
the landlady volunteers to forward a letter, if she has an
opportunity — and here I hold with Bullock, that she
would not have undertaken that much unless she felt
pretty sure that the opportunity would not be wanting."
" I see," said Reginald quickly. " Of course I shall
send a note there ; it can do no harm, and may reach
her. Blundering fools the pair of them, or they would
have found 32, John Street a few days earlier."

" Hum, I don't know. You see, it was so long before
they were set to work that tracing Miss Cheslett became
by no means easy. But I want to talk to you about my
own affairs a little, Reginald."

" Of course, what is it ? When do you expect to hear
from Bullock again ? "

" Oh, in a few day. I told you the other day, you
know, that I was engaged to Grace ? "

" Yes, and I was delighted to hear it, old fellow." As
he spoke, Reginald Holbourne rose and began to pace
the room restlessly. Now Collingham was seated in a
low, lounging chair near the window, almost opposite
the door. It was between these two points that Reginald
commenced pacing up and down. As he returned from
the door he paused opposite Charlie's chair and jerked
out interrogatively, " Expect to see Lightfoot first, eh ?"
"No, probably not. But Grace writes me word to say
that your father is somehow aware of the whole affair."

" And that there's an awful row in consequence,
shouldn't wonder," remarked Holbourne, turning on his
heel and resuming his deliberate tramp in the direction
of the door.

" Yes, and that's what I want to talk to you about."
"I suppose you haven't the faintest conjecture of
where she's gone now?" observed Reginald, pausing in
his walk opposite Charlie's chair.

" Gone ! why where should she be gone ? " responded
tne latter, in amazement. " She's still at Aldringham."

" Excuse me," said Holbourne, after staring vaguely
at him for a moment, " but I was thinking of Lettice."

"And I was talking of Grace. What an owl you
are ! "

Cross Purposes. 30Q

Reginald made no response, but slowly turned his steps
towards the door.

" Well, your father's been going on outrageously, quite
after the pattern of the vindictive parent of transpon-
tine melodrama, and swears that he'll hear of nothing of
the kind."

"I know ; he wrote me word so," replied Reginald, once
more stopping, with his hands buried in his pockets,
opposite his friend.

" The d — 1 he did ! " exclaimed Charlie in considerable
astonishment.

" Oh, yes ; and said he should disinherit me, and all
the rest of it."

" What, because I want to marry your sister?"

" No, of course not. What a fool you are, Charlie !
Because I told him I meant to. marry Lettice. Deuced
odd where she can have gone to now ! I wonder why
she left John Street," and Reginald turned abruptly on
his heel, and recommenced his monotonous tramp.

"Listen to me, and for goodness sake don't let your
wits go wool-gathering for five minutes, if you can help
it. Your father has found out that I am engaged to
Grace, and is not a whit better pleased than at discover-
ing you were engaged to Lettice. Do you understand?"

" Of course I do, and should before, if you had only
spoken out, instead of talking about 'aware of the
affair ! ' How was I to know you meant your affair ? "

" Well, he's made Grace promise not to correspond any

more with me, and generally gives her to understand

that the converse of his blessing will attend any nuptials

contracted with myself. Pleasant that, for both of us,

i it?"

" Look here, Charlie," said Holbourne, as he dropped
into a chair, " my governor, you know, is not a bad sort,
but I'm afraid he's rather imitative. Now, an uncom-
promising father like yours, with 'a d d disinheriting

countenance,' is quite < nough to demoralize the heads of
families right through the country. Sir John lias set \ m
the example, and impressed with the manner in which
he has discarded your noble self, the parents of the
neighbourhood feel impelled to follow so meritorious an

310 False Cards.

example. Mutinous youth must be outlawed, and cursed
with bell, book, and candle. They think of your
governor's inexorable sternness, and murmur, ' Let's do't
after the high Roman fashion,' and they do "

" Go on," said Charlie, as the speaker paused. " Your
exordium's all very well, but I want to hear what line
of conduct you propose these outlawed children should
follow."

" I've set you the example, Charlie, as your father has
mine," replied Reginald, quietly. I have told him
frankly that I refuse to yield to him on this point. If I
know anything of you, and you love Grace as she
deserves to be loved, you won't give her up so easily."

"I'm not likely to do that without a hard fight,"
returned Collingham, slowly ; and then staring moodily
at the empty grate, he became lost in thought.

There was silence between them for some minutes.
At last Charlie said, in low tones, glancing the while
somewhat inquisitively at his companion's countenance,

" Did you ever hear that I was married ? "

" Yes, often ; but have ever looked upon it as sheer
Aldringham gossip. What do you mean?" And
Reginald, in his turn, looked enquiringly at his host.

" It is true, all the same. I took precisely the line of
conduct you are about to take. I married in defiance of
Sir lohn. He put forth exactly your father's present
programme if I ventured to disobey him ; and has carried
it out to the letter, as you know."

" But you haven't a wife now ? "

" No, poor child, she was not with me long. She died
within the year. She was a good little thing, made light
of the roughing we had to endure in those early days,
and was always gay as a lark in our scrambling home,
You can't think what a hopeless, purposeless beast I was for
a twelvemonth afterwards. There seemed nothing worth
living for, and as long as I earned bread and cheese I didn't
feel that I cared about doing much more. One thing only
occurred to me, and that was to conceal my loss from Sir
John. I raged against the world, Regi, in my sorrow,
and somehow connected my father's treatment of me
with my wife's death. Of course, really, that had nothing

Cross Purposes. 3 1 1

to do with it. We were poor, certainly, but never in
grievous straits. Still at the time I thought bitterly, had
I been able to send her down to Churton for change of
air, she might have been saved. So impressed was I with
this idea that I wrote to my father, and pleaded hard for
forgiveness, for the sake of my sick wife."

" And Sir John ? " inquired Reginald, as his friend
paused in dreamy remembrance of those bygone days of
sorrow and suffering.

"Never answered my letter," said Charlie, briefly; and
as he spoke, his face hardened, and his dark eyes gleamed
fiercely on his questioner.

" I can hardly wonder now that you have never come
together again."

" You would deem it strange if we had, I should think,
with that grave still lying green between us," replied
Charlie," hoarsely. " But what I want to ask you is this :
if I can persuade Gracie to marry me without her father's
consent, will you countenance our wedding — be at it —
give your sister away, &c. ? "

" Yes. I can form some idea of what domestic
discipline poor Gracie will undergo on your behalf.
Charlie, if you really care for her — and I am sure you do
— run away with her at once. If my advice is not filial,
1 know it's fraternal."

" Yes, in every sense of the word. If we have any
luck, old fellow, we might make a double marriage of
it."

" Perhaps so. Let me know the moment you have
news for me ; and now good night."

Charlie remained lost in tobacco and meditation for
nearly half-an-hour after Reginald left him. " Yes," he
muttered, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe " if I can
but induce Gracie to listen to reason, the affair will be
easy enough."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

STRUCK DOWN.

HE warm September afternoon has grown stil,
more sultry as it verges to a conclusion ; the
sun descends slowly behind a bank of ominous
clouds, to whose outer edges he imparts a
copper-coloured tinge. The stillness of the evening is
almost oppressive ; all animated nature seems exhausted.
The sheep and cattle gather beneath the trees or hedges,
in anticipation of the threatening outburst. In the villages
men loll listlessly in their shirt-sleeves around their door-
sills, and opine there will be " a goodish sup of rain before
morning." The birds seek their roosting places with low
querulous twittering ; even the boys and puppies seem
awed into quietude.

Mr. Holbourne's carriage, as it whirls into Aldringham,
seems the sole thing astir along the dusty road. The
horses are flecked with foam, although the coachman is
driving leisurely. Both he and the footman are powdered
heavily with dust, and consumed with a desire for beer.
Through the hot empty streets they proceed at a sedate
pace, while the populace languidly take note of them
from window and doorstep — some of them, indeed, inter-
changing feeble nods with the dust-covered servitors on
the box. Usually the appearance of the Churton carriage
would have given rise to speculation as to what gave
occasion for its presence, but this evening it was too hot.

Struck Down. 313

Men could but listen to the faint, far-off rumbling of the
approaching storm, and wish that the rain might descend
speedily and clear the air.

The carriage makes its way to the railway, and there
pulls up. The footman goes inside, and establishes him-
self upon the down platform, and has barely done so five
minutes when the shrill whistle of the approaching train
rings out loud and clear; another minute or two, audit
glides quietly within the station. A slight girlish figure,
with pale face, and draped in deep mourning, descends
from one of the carriages, and having claimed her luggage,
looks timidly around, and then inquires if there is any-
thing to meet her from Sir John Collingham's.

" Yes, miss," replies the porter, " Sir John's carriage is
here ; that's his servant."

The tall footman advances at this, and touching his
hat says, inquiringly, "Miss Melton ?"

Lettice bowed assent.

"The carriage is outside, Miss," continues that func-
tionary ; " and Miss Collingham trusts you will excuse
her not meeting you herself, as she is not very well to-
day. Are these all your things, Miss ? "

Lettice responds in the affirmative. A few seconds
more, and she and her belongings are on their road to
Churton. As they drive through Aldringham, it be-
comes apparent that the storm, which has been threaten-
ing for some hours, is on the verge of breaking. The
stillness is at last broken, and the wind sighs through
the streets with long, sonorous moan, pauses for a few
seconds, and then again soughs more tumultuously,
ending with a faint, spasmodic shriek; the thunder
growls deep and sullenly with ever-increasing roar, and
a few big plashes of rain spatter the pavement. The
coachman drops his whip sharply across his horses, and
rattles out of the -town at a pace considerably in excess of
that at which he so leisurely entered it a short half-hour
ago.

It is an open carriage, and Lettice cowers down
amongst her rugs and wraps as the rain begins to descend
in earnest, while the lightening flashes Luridly across the
now darkened sky, and the ominous lull of the thui

314 False Cards.

deepens into the similitude of fierce salvoes of artillery.
The girl's heart sinks within her as the pitiless storm
beats savagely in her face. The coachman pulls up for a
second, and the footman, jumping down, covers her up
with an extra rug, and remarks he's afraid Miss Colling-
ham will be very angry that they didn't bring the
brougham; but they never thought it would be like
this. He scrambles up to his place, and on they speed again.
Very sad feels Lettice. For the first time in her life
she is going to earn her bread among strangers. The
dispelling of her love-dream has left a sore gnawing at
her heart-strings, and she grieves bitterly over the
thought that she and Reginald are severed for life.
She is getting rapidly drenched by the rain, despite her
wraps. She is frightened at the thunder, and even more
so at the thought of encountering these strangers with
whom her lot is now to be cast ; she feels that she should
like to indulge in a good cry better than anything. She
knows next to nothing about these people with whom
she is going to live; she is engaged as a companion to a
young lady, is all she has been told. The especial quali-
fications required of her are that she should read well and
be able to play ; and on this latter subject Lettice is
oppressed with most terrible misgivings, for she knows
that her performance on the piano is by no means to be
regarded as brilliant, and that she is somewhat guilty of
presumption in stating that she is qualified in that
respect.

Still it was necessary that she should turn her hand to
something. Her old friend Mrs. Bopps had answered
this advertisement for her, and strongly urged her to try
it. "Ladies who have been out before objected to,"
said the notice in question. " So, my dear, they can't
expect to find you a past mistress on the instrument,"
urged the friendly landlady ; " not but what you play
very nicely, I think, and it's no use being diffident in
this world."

And so it was that Miss Melton (to call her by her
proper name), closed with Sir John Collingham's adver-
tisement, and was at this present wending her way
through rain and thunder to Churton.

Struck Down. 315

Drenched, sad, and desolate was Lettice as the carriage
pulled up. Shivering, and with chattering teeth, she
entered the big hall, feeling more forlorn and miserable,
perhaps, than she had ever yet felt in the course of her
life.

But a door is thrown suddenly open, admitting a
stream of light into the half illuminated hall, and a tall,
elderly man in evening costume comes quickly forward,
and taking her hand in his, exclaims,

" Welcome to Churton, Miss Melton ! Good heavens !
you are wet through ! The accursed fools must have
taken an open carriage for you instead of the brougham !
Sylla, my love, come here and take care of your friend.
She's half drowned, thanks to that idiot Jenkins ! I
must tell him a bit of my mind at once ; " and the Baronet
strode off in a paroxysm of wrath, such paroxysms being
by no means rare with Sir John, and woefully dreaded
by his household.

Almost as her father spoke Sylla glided into the hall,
advanced to within a few steps of Lettice, and stopped.
Lettice felt much confused as this fair-haired, delicate
complexioned young lady stood apparently contemplating
her with cool, deliberate stare.

" Miss Melton, she said, in a quiet, musical voice, " you
must come to me, please. I can't see you, you know."

Now this was precisely what Lettice did not know.
No intimation had been given her that the lady to whom
she was to be companion was blind. It was little likely
that she should discover it in that half-lit hall. She came
forward a pace or two, and then paused, shrinking and
bewildered.

" Give me your hand," said Sylla, " and let me take
you upstairs to get rid of your wet things."

It was all a mystery so far, and she regarded Miss
Collinghani with no little awe ; but, obedient to her
commands, Lettice extended her hand, and was some-
what surprised at the warmth with which Sylla's slender
white fingers clasped it.

" You are wet, and chilled to death ! " cried Miss
Collinghani. " Come along ; we must take care of you."

Lettice followed her hostess in mute astonishment as

316 False Cards

she threaded her way across a passage or two, and then
ascended the stairs. So far there was no difficulty, but
when Sylla, throwing open a door, and exclaiming,
" Here's my own den ; come in and let's see what we can
do to warm and comfort you," passed into an unlit room,
Lettice paused at the threshold, somewhat puzzled.

" Ah ! stand still ! " cried Sylla, " till I light the
candles for you;" as her quick ear detected the cessation
of her companion's footsteps. "I forgot for the moment
there were no lights here. I am cut off from much that
makes light so sweet to us; but you see I have the
advantage of you at times."

More bewildered than ever, Lettice entered the boudoir.
She could not understand her hostess in the least. But
she soon comprehended the womanly kindness with
which her wet things were taken from her. In five
minutes, Sylla, assisted by her maid, had divested
Lettice of her upper garments, and the latter, robed in
one of Miss Collingham's dressing-gowns, her feet thrust
into Miss Collingham's slippers, was sipping hot wine
and water while her own boxes were being unpacked.
Still not a suspicion of the truth crossed Lettice's mind ;
and when Sylla, consigning her to the hands of her maid,
bade her be quick, and not waste much time upon her
toilette, as dinner waited, Lettice had still no idea
that Miss Collingham's eyes were shrouded in eternal
darkness.

Even dinner did not reveal the fact. Sir John rattled
pleasantly on in conversation with his daughter, albeit
he by no means forgot to introduce a courteous observa-
tion occasionally to her companion. But Lettice was
shy and nervous, responded briefly, and kept her eyes so
riveted on her plate that it was little wonder she did not
penetrate Sylla's affliction. Robert Collingham, too,
made some slight effort to talk to her; but Lettice was
rendered so palpably uncomfortable by these attempts
that he good-naturedly desisted, and left his frightened
vis-a-vis to her own devices.

" Come and sit here," said Sylla, as they entered the
drawing-room — " I want to know you. Down, Dandy !
■ — where have you been, sir ? Why weren't you at

Struck Down. 317

dinner ? Miss Melton, I must present you to one of my
greatest friends."

The dog seemed most perfectly to comprehend his
mistress's remark. He wagged his tail, walked gravely
up to Lettice, and thrust his nose into her hand, finally
acknowledging her timid caress by placing a paw upon
her lap.

" Ah ! Dandy approves of you, Miss Melton, and that
is by no means what he does of everyone who comes to
see me. He is most capricious in his likes and dislikes.
You will think me very foolish, but I have great respect
for Dandy's judgment. And now, you must not think
me rude, but tell me a little what you are like — whether
dark or fair ? "

Lettice opened her eyes in dismay. What was she to
think of all this ? Miss Melton hazarded a glance at her
companion, whom she now deemed mentally afflicted,
and replied quietly.

" I am such as you see me. It would be presumption
and foolishness to describe myself to you."

" What ! haven't they told you ? Have you not yet
discovered it ? It was a mistake of my father not to
have communicated my misfortune to you," said Sylla,
gently. " I trust you will see my question is not so rude
as I fear you think it, when I tell you that I am blind."

Lettice started, and then gazed in mute astonishment
into her companion's face. The fixity of the pale blue
eyes that were turned towards her riveted her attention
at once. She read the truth in their calm, passionless
stare, looking, as it seemed to her, into some far-off
future. Though turned towards her, she saw that they
were not actually directed to her own countenance. A
great awe fell upon Lettice as she recognised that this
brilliantly-dressed woman who sat beside her was bereft
of sight.

"I beg your pardon — I am so sorry," she whispered,
stealing her hand into Sylla's " I didn't know — nobody
told me. I will dc anything you like. I would be a
friend to you, if I may."

" You may, and you must," replied Miss Collingham,
as she pressed the little hand within her own warmly,

318 False Cards.

and a bright smile flashed across her face. u I feel I shall
like you, and my instincts, like Dandy's, seldom mislead
me. God is good to me, and makes up for my depriva-
tion in one way by sharpening my faculties in others. I
judge people, now, a good deal by their voice. It seldom
misleads me, and yours tell me we shall be great friends.
Now, won't you enlighten me a wee bit about yourself ? "

Lettice had never known what it was to have a female
friend since the marriage of her sister, and that had
taken place when she was too young to think much of
such things — when her confidences related to juvenile
scrapes and the woes of her doll ; though even in those
days she had been but little given to such childish diver-
sions. The business of life had, in a manner, begun
early for Lettice, and she had been installed housekeeper
by her grandfather ere she was well clear of the nursery.

Quietly Lettice told her simple story ; how she and
her sister had been left orphans, and had been brought
up by her grandfather ; how her sister had married and
died, all within a year ; how the death of her grand-
father had left her all alone in the world ; how she had
first proposed to get her living by needlework ; and how,
at her landlady's suggestion, she had answered Sir
John's advertisement. " I can read aloud," she added
naively, in conclusion — " I mean I have been really
taught ; and, if you only think I play well enough, Mi^s
Collingham, I can be of use to you, 1 know."

" You will be everything I wish, I'm sure," returned
Svlla. "And now, child, what between your journey
and vour drenching, I daresay you would like to go to
bed."

When Lettice woke the next morning, it was with a
dull, oppressed feeling in her head. She felt somewhat
confused, and it required all the resolution she could
muster to rise. This produced so violent a fit of
shivering, and her brain swam to such a degree, that
she was speedily compelled to crawl back to bed again.
V\ r hen Miss Collingham's maid, despatched by her mis-
tress, at length came to look after her, Lettice could only
murmur that she felt very unwell. This speedily pro-
duced a visit from Sylla, who had no sooner passed her

Struck Down. 31 q

cool hand over Letticc's burning brow than she directed
the doctor should be sent for. That functionary, upon
his arrival, intimated that he had not been summoned
a moment too soon.

" The girl is in a high fever, Miss Collingham, and
what course it may run is, at present, impossible to
determine. But the young lady is very seriously ill, and
requires most careful tending — may, very likely, be in
danger two or three days hence."

<; I will be answerable for the nursing, doctor, only give
me my instructions. She got wet coming here last night,
which is, I presume, the proximate cause of her illness ? "

"Yes, that would be perhaps the immediate reason,
hut this fever has been lurking in the system some weeks
past, I should judge from the violence with which it has
broke forth. Fevers do at times lie locked in the system
like foul gases in a cellar, to be either dissipated by change
of air and scene, or exploded by something that acts
towards them like the candle to the confined vapour.''

The doctor was so far right. Before three days were
over, Lettice's situation was critical. The rich dark
tresses were shorn from her head, the black fever-lit eyes
gleamed wild with delirium, and as the girl tossed inces-
santly upon her pillow, the poor parched lips poured
forth a torrent of incoherent babble. Sylla and her
attendants watched over the sick-bed with unremitting
vigilance. What help careful nursing might give her in
her necessity that Leltice had. Miss Collingham often
spent hours by her side, and despite her infirmity, there
were few defter nurses than Sylla.

The spell exercised by such quiet noiseless ministration,
the soothing afforded by such light delicate fingers, is
comprehended only by those who have looked far down
the shadows of the valley of di ath.

Much raved the girl in her delirium of Reginald.
Constant were her appeals to him to protect her from
some vague impending evil. She wailed feebly that he
had left her to bear alone the brunt of some woman's
bitter tongue. " Come back, oh ! come back," she would
cry, " if you love me, and testify how false is her accusa-
tion — " " No," she would exclaim at times fiercely, " it

320 False Cards.

is not so, and you know it. Ah ! if Reginald were but
here, you wicked woman ! But he is not, and I shall
never see him more ! " And then the poor wearied brain
would wander again, and inquire querulously for that
dead sister and Charlie.

The crisis is near at hand, the doctor says. If his
patient fails to get sleep in the next twenty-four hours,
she will succumb to the violence of the disease. Sylla
sits motionless by the bedside, while the luckless girl
tosses restlessly on her pillow. Her maid glides into the
room and whispers that Miss Holbourne wishes to see
her.

" I can't leave this ; tell Miss Holbourne to come to
me here," replies Miss Collingham in a low voice.

A few minutes, and Gracie steals in and embraces her
friend.

" I don't like to leave her," said Sylla, speaking under
her breath. "■ Poor thing, it is pitiable to hear her ! She
is moderately quiet just now, but the doctor says she
must sleep or die. It is shocking to listen to her wander-
ings, poor child. She seems ever in terror of some name-
less woman.

Miss Holbourne leant noiselessly over the bed and
gazed at the sufferer. She marked the drawn pallid
cheeks, the parched twitching lips, took note of the long
dark lashes that veiled the closed eyes ; and as she gazed,
Grace sighed sadly, and thought how fair to look upon
that face must have been in health, retaining as it still
did a species of weird beauty, despite the fell. ravings of
the fever. Suddenly the lids were lifted, and the big
dark eyes gleamed fiercely up in Miss Holbourne's face.
They dilated as they did so, and Lettice strove hard to
raise herself in her bed.

" Slanderer ! — traducer ! " she shrieked, " will you
never leave me ? You have slain my fair fame — am I
never to escape you ? I have done what you demanded.
I have sacrificed all that made life worth having, at your
bidding. Will you dog me with your hideous calumny
to my grave ? Have you no mercy ? Ah ? pity," she
continued, as the wild shriek of her first words died away
to a low, plaintive moan — " I cannot tear him from my

Struck Down. 3 21

heart Save me, Reginald ! I have tried so hard, and
she persecutes me still ! My love, my own, I cannot give
you up ! Go, you terrify me ! — your looks kill me !
Reginald, my darling, why are you not here ? " She
paused, and cowered down amid the bed-clothes in ap-
parent terror. Grace, inexpressibly shocked, made a
slight movement to withdraw. It attracted Lettice's
attention. Raising herself by a supreme effort, her eyes
glittering with wild excitement, she cried, " I can bear it
no longer ! I renounce my promise — I refuse to yield
him to you ! Reginald Holbourne, stand between that
woman and me, or I shall die ! " And, with a cry of
anguish, Lettice fell back on her pillow motionless, and,
to all appearance, lifeless.

The astonishment of the two girls at hearing Reginald
Holbourne's name was unbounded. Sylla, it need be
scarcely observed, had never connected the unknown
Reginald of her patient's ravings with the banker's son.

" Go, Gracie, quick ! " she exclaimed ; " I will come to
you in a few minutes. It is very unfortunate, but she
evidently takes you for somebody else. It might excite
her again if she should happen to see you here when she

revives."

But Lettice speedily recovered from her half-swoon,
and once more tossed restlessly on her pillow. The wan,
feeble hands now fretted impatiently about her head.

"I can't find it, Reginald," she murmured — "I don't
know what's become of my hair. No, one tress is enough
for you. No, no," she whispered — " don't, dear, I'm so
tired." For a few minutes she continued to mutter
incoherently, and then, in awe-stricken tones, exclaimed,
"Dead! — dead) Charlie, you frighten me! Ah me!
all alone — all alone ! " Then, for a time, the poor
fevered brain ceased from its troublous working, and
Lettice lay comparatively still.

" She's not asleep yet, Harriet," said Miss Colli ngham,
softly, to her maid, " but she is so much quieter that I
trust she may be before long. Watch by her till I
come back." And Sylla made her way rapidly down-
stairs.

There, as may be supposed, the two girls speculated

322 False Cards.

much as to what relation the sick girl stood in to Regi-
nald. She had uttered the name quite distinctly, and
appealed to him to protect her from some unknown
woman. The terms of endearment which had escaped
her concerning him, left little doubt that there had been
love-passages between them.

" Who is she, Sylla ? " inquired Miss Holbourne.

" My dear Glacis, I knew very little about her. I have
taken a great fancy to her, considering how slight my
knowledge of her really is. This is what she told me of
herself — " And here Sylla narrated Lettice's history, as
far as she knew it.

" She never mentioned my brother's name before ? "
inquired Miss Holbourne, musingly.

" No, but she was not likely to give me her whole
confidence in one evening*-. I can't think her reticent
about her past life, considering, poor thing, the short
time that was vouchsafed her to throw light upon it."

" I suppose not. However, Ave must wait till either
she or Reginald choose to explain matters to us. That
they have been lovers at some time seems pretty clear.
Good-bye, Sylla, I hope your patient may mend before
morning."

Who was this girl that had dropped from the clouds,
and spoke in such fond terms of her brother ? mused
Miss Holbourne, as she drove homewards.

CHAPTER XXXV.
Charlie's story.

,^^^HE ways of women are inscrutable to mascu-
line understandings," quoth Mr. Lightfoot,
meditatively. "As far as my knowledge of
the sex goes, they seem always bound to do
the last thing you would expect of them. You may
draw a fair deduction of what course a man may take
under given circumstances, but as for predicting what it
may occur to a woman to do in a similar case would be a
problem that would simply convince Solomon of the
futility of wordly experience."

"What's the matter, Leo ?" inquired his wife — " what
puzzles you now ? "

" .Miss Cheslett is the matter, and what has taken her
to Aldringham is the thing that puzzles me. I under-
stand what made her leave Baker Street — I understand
what brought her to Islington — but why she has gone to
Aldringham beats me. She must know that Aliss Lang-
worthy lives there, and she should know that her lover
does not. She can't have gone down there to confront
the woman who, I- presume, drove her away from her
old lodgings. Why did she go ? It is the last thing I
should have suspected her of doing."

; ' You are, of course, sure she has gone there ? " in-
quired his partner.

" Sure as one can be without going down to see. I

324 False Cards.

have ascertained that she drove to King's Cross Station^
and that a young lady in deep mourning, corresponding
to her in every respect, took a ticket for that place.
Yes, I have not much doubt about her having gone
there."

Looked upon from Mr. Lightfoot's point of view, it
did seem strange what had induced Lettice to betake
herself to Aldringham. Not a whit less puzzled were Col-
lingham and Reginald Holbourne, when apprised of the
fact, and but for Charlie's more prudent counsels, Regi-
nald would have at once started off in search of her. But
he yielded at last, and it was finally settled that the
inquiry should be left to the versatile Lightfoot, who,
upon this occasion, had forestalled his rival, Bullock, by
some hours in his information. The latter was dismissed
with a handsome douceur, and a diplomatic intimation
from Collingham that his services were no further re-
quired, as they had discovered Miss Cheslett's where-
abouts from other sources. Charlie knew something of
the detective's enmity towards Lightfoot, and was very
careful not to inform him of that gentleman's being also
engaged in the affair.

" It's been rather an awkward business to work out,"
said Mr. Bullock, " but it's all plain sailing now ; and of
course, as you've heard of the young lady in other ways,
it's no use my running down to Aldringham. Much
obliged, sir," and the detective touched his hat and
departed.

"It's very strange," said Reginald, for about the
twentieth time, as he sat in Charlie's rooms smoking,
after the fashion of a perfect neophyte in the use of
tobacco. He consumed his cigars at this time apparently
as much by mastication as by legitimate smoking, and
was wont to chew them, and send forth volumes of
vapour in a fashion held highly indecorous by all votaries
of nicotine. In his present state of feverish excitement,
Reginald was scarce conscious of what he did. I have
heard the story of a man, temperate enough in his usual
way, who, in the excitement of a contested election at a
meeting of his supporters, finished a bottle of sherry. In
the heat of that fiery speechifying, he recked little what

Charlie s Story. 325

he was doing, and indignantly denied that he had swal-
lowed even a glass, when laughingly taxed with the per-
formance. He was as utterly oblivious of what he had
done, and as perfectly unaffected thereby, as if that
decanter had never been there.

Reginald at this time is in a similar strait. He eats,
smokes, drinks mechanically; in his fierce excitement
about Lettice he is almost unconscious of those common-
place functions of life. In the City only does he gain
any respite ; there the work takes him for the time out
of himself, and he throws himself into it with a savage
energy and indifference to the quantity, that astonishes
his compeers, who a few months back reckoned him by
no means a toiler in the hive — viewed him, indeed, as
one whose bread w-as already well buttered, and who was
perfectly aware of the fact. But a strong passion has
made and marred many a man. In Reginald's case it
seems likely to be the making of him; but even Charlie
Collingham looks with some dismay upon his friend's
worn, haggard countenance. Amusements of all kinds
— theatres, parties, dinners — Reginald rejects. He lives
but for two things — the discovery of Lettice and to push
his way in the City. Questioned closely by Charlie, he
admits that he sleeps badly, that he hates going to bed,
and is ready to leave it as soon as may be, that he eats
little, but lives a good deal upon tobacco and stimulants.

Contemplating him worrying (there is no other term
for it) the cabana between his lips this evening, Charlie
comes to the conclusion that his friend cannot last much
longer on his present diet.

" It's very strange," resumed Reginald, dreamily. "I
can't conceive what has taken Lettice down to Aidrino--
bam."

"Did she know your people lived there ? " inquired his
companion.

" She might, but it is very doubtful. I never said
much to her on the subject of my relations ; further than
that my father was a country banker, I don't think she
knew anything about my belongings."

" Did you know anything of hers ? " asked Charlie,
slowly.

326 False Cards.

" She had none but the old man who died, and a
brother-in-law long lost sight of."

Do not think that either of the young men had over-
looked the fact that it was very possible Lettice might
have to earn her bread, but it never occurred to either of
them that she could have gone to Aldringham in pursuit
of it. Her last letter nearly to Reginald had talked of
this probability, and he had heard nothing that led him
to believe that Mr. Cheslett had left any money behind
him ; in fact, Reginald had strong reason for thinking
that Lettice was in embarrassed circumstances.

" Reginald," said Charlie, " don't think that I have
behaved badly, because it is not altogether my fault, as
it happens, but I am that brother-in-law."

" You ! " exclaimed Holbourne. " Good heavens ! you
don't mean to say that you married Lettice Cheslett's
sister ! "

" Her name is not Cheslett ; but I married Lettice's
sister. Listen, Regi, and I'll tell you the whole story ;
don't interrupt me till I have done." He rose from his
seat as he spoke, leant upon the mantelpiece for a few
moments, and then commenced : " I am fond of a theatre
now, but in my Oxford davs I was wild about the busi-
ness. I belonged to the ' Shooting Stars,' and was voted
by no means bad for an amateur— indeed, in my inner-
most heart I thought that I could have made my Avay,
and taken a very respectable position in the profession.
I need scarcely say I don't think so now. Well, of
course I was always acting, doing manager, stage-manager
— in short, promoting amateur theatricals continually.
The engaging of professional actresses was constantly left
to me. It happened in my early days of theatrical devo-
tion that I made the acquaintance of Miss Melton ; she
came down from town to assist at some performances I
took part in at Bigminsthorpe. A slight flirtation sprang
up between us, and as the engaging of ladies time after
time was either placed in my hands, or conducted under
my auspices, I took very good care that Miss Melton
should be always bespoken. Our flirtation deepened and
deepened, until it got very far beyond flirtation, and we
were both as much in love as it is well possible to be. I

Charlie's Story. 327

was now incessantly running up from Oxford to see Lilian
Melton. Finally, we got engaged to each other, with very
undefined views as to what was to come of it. She was
an actress at an East-end theatre, and I an Oxford under-
graduate. It did not seem probable that our marriage
was near at hand, and I don't think either Lilian or I
ever contemplated the solemnization of that event until
some dim remote period. We were both young, dread-
fully in love, managed to see each other pretty often, and
thought things altogether were so roseate that we were
in no particular hurry to break the spell that lay over us
at the time.

" As you know," said Charlie, with a faint smile,
" there's always a bad fairy — an unpropitiated magician
or affronted sprite mixed up in all youthful love tales.
Well, some one of these brought the deluge upon our
heads in the shape of Sir John. He was furnished with
what I deemed at the time a most calumnious version of
my love affair. He interfered in his most despotical
manner, stigmatised me as a fool, and poor Lilian as
something much worse. I won't allude further to the
foul charge he brought against her, beyond mentioning
that months afterwards I found out that there was a Miss
Melton of the West-end as well as the East — that the
former drove exceedingly pretty ponies in the Park, and
enjoyed a reputation by no means doubtful, and that I
firmly believe my father confounded her with my affianced
bride.

" My temper is somewhat like my father's. I was
furious at his autocratic commands to myself — I was still
more indignant at the scandalous terms in which he spoke
of Lilian. My answer was couched in language by no
means conciliatory. A short but violent correspondence
ensued. Finally, Sir John informed me that it" I presumed
to contract this marriage, he discarded me from that
time, that he would hold communication with me neither
by word nor letter, that not a shilling he could alienate
from me should ever be mine, that he should forbid me
to set foot in Churton, and that any servant who connived
at my doing so would be instantly discharged."

Charlie paused for a moment and gazed keenly at his

328 False Cards.

auditor. No need to ask if Holbourne was interested.
His blue eyes were riveted on his companion's face.

11 1 am not of the kind," continued Collingham, " that
bow meekly to such arbitrary decisions. I was very
much in love, and frantic with indignation at the unjust
aspersions cast upon Lilian. My answer was curt. I
informed him that I should forward a copy of the certifi-
cate of my marriage to him within a fortnight, and I did.
With that one exception, at the ball, I have never seen my
father since, nor has but one letter ever passed between us.
So sore was I with him and the world generally, that
when my poor wife was taken from me some months
afterwards, I took especial precautions to prevent the
intelligence reaching Sir John's ears."

" But how came it," inquired Reginald, eagerly, " that
you so totally lost sight of Lettice ? "

" That is easily explained," replied Charlie. u If old
Cheslett never strenuously opposed, he at all events never
cordially approved my marriage with his grand-daughter.
He knew I had quarrelled with my father, he knew that
my private means were very moderate — a bare three
hundred a year, that I inherited on coming of age from
my mother, consequently I represented a needy man.
Now the old gentleman, it has always been my belief,
was much better off than he affected to be. I fancy his
son-in-law, John Melton, a scapegrace doctor, from all I
have been able to pick up, tugged hard at his purse-strings
during his brief existence. The old man was at heart a
miser, and he was terribly apprehensive that I should
prove a similar blood-sucker. I never asked him for a
shilling, but during my wife's lifetime I don't believe he
ever saw me without dreading that I should apply to him
for money. He knew I must be hard put to it to get
along ; and Lilian's father had taught him that in such
case he Avas likely to be urgently appealed to. He
eschewed all his relations from similar reasons. While
my wife lived, it was impossible to conceal his residence
from us, though I think he never saw me without a
shudder of apprehension on that point. But no sooner
was she dead, than he abruptly left his old lodgings, and
where he went I never guessed, until you told me your

Charlies Story. 329

stoiy. I have no doubt he purposely cut off all clue to
his abode, from that shadowy suspicion that I might
at some time prove importunate, and clamour for
assistance."

"Then you don't think Lettice is left destitute ? "

"I can't say about that, but I have no doubt her
grandfather has left money behind him. Whether to
her or not, is an open question ; but one would think, if
he made a will at all, that she would most likely benefit.
Those papers, poor child, she complained to you that she
could not understand, would probably prove simple of
comprehension to a man of business."

They both remained silent for some minutes. Reginald
was lost in meditation on his friend's story. It was so
odd, he thought, that Charlie should have known all
about these people so long. At last he said abruptly,

M Then if you had chanced to meet Lettice that time
you came to my rooms before the Aldringham ball, you
would have recognised her ? "

"Most likely. At all events, she would certainly
have known me. They were living there then, I sup-
pose ?"

"Oh, yes, though I didn't know them at that time.
By the way, what was Cheslett ?"

" An actor, but not a very distinguished one. His
speciality was stage management. He was of the old
school, and terribly adverse to much outlay on scenery
or dresses. They did not lie altogether in his control,
or there would have been slight expense gone to in that
respect. He used to drive dramatic authors wild by his
objections to the outlay necessary for the production of
their effects. A sensational drama of the present day
he would probably have pronounced ruinous, even if
practicable, to place on the boards. Runs of a hundred
nights were before his time, and what stage machinery
is capable of at present not even dreamt of."

"It is queer," remarked Holbourne, at length, "that
you should turn out to be Lcttice's brother-in-law, and,
what's more, I fancy her nearest relative to boot."

"Probably; but I must get to work again. That,"
he said, pointing vaguely to some loose manuscript upon

33Q

False Cards.

his desk, " must be finished before I go to bed. If you
he^r me spoken of as a married man in future, you
know now how much of truth is contained in the asser-
tion. If, in consequence of my relations with your
sister, you feel it imperative on some occasion to deny
the fact, I would prefer your confining yourself simply
to the denial, and not going into explanation concerning
it without consulting me. But I have no wish to bind
you to this remember, should you deem the narration of
the whole story a necessity."

Reginald nodded good night, and strode off in the
direction of his rooms, in a more jubilant frame of mind
than he had known for some weeks.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

AN ELOPEMENT.

ISS LANGWORTHY has resumed her pet role,
meanwhile, of martyred innocence, with all
conceivable gusto. Young ladies, when jilted,
as a rule rather emulate the stoicism of the
Indians, wear a stiff upper lip, and strive to conceal
their sufferings. To make parade of woe on such occa-
sion would be generally stigmatized by the sex as show-
ing a great want of proper spirit. But Miss Lang-
worthy had not much reverence for her sisters' theories
in such cases. She at all events played her own game
with most contemptuous disregard of the convention-
alities. She took care that Aldringham should be in-
formed of how shamefully she had been thrown over by
her cousin. She affected even sombre raiment. Her
manner and voice were subdued. Aldringham society,
in little more than a week, was in sympathetic rapport
with Miss Langworthy, and regarded Reginald Holbourne
as an abandone i profligate.

" How beautifully she takes it, poor thing ! though it
is easy to see how her heart is wrung by such shameful

desertion," chorussed the Li

" Got himself into a deuce of a mess with some girl
or other," muttered the men. " Had to break with his
cousin, or this other vowed she would bring an action
for breach of promise at once, and no nonsense about

it I"

332 False Cards.

"Worse than that, sir, a deal," remarked that lugu-
brious leaven of quidnuncs with which all society is
tinged. They seldom commit themselves to more than
such indefinite accusation, but they waggle their malevo-
lent old heads, and maunder on : " It's not for them ta
say. What has come to their ears perhaps, after all,
may never leak out. They are not ill-natured, and trust
it may not, if only for his father's sake." More detri-
mental to an assailed character, by far, these vapoury
insinuations, than most scandalous accusations directly
alleged.

All this brought but slight relief to bonnie Grace
Holbourne. If she was spared further stories of her
lover's wrong-doing, it was only to hear garbled reports
of her brother's offending. She had ascertained without
doubt from her father that Reginald's engagement with
Marion was at an end, but beyond an intimation that
her brother had behaved badly and contemplated behav-
ing worse, Grace knew nothing. That his plighted troth
to his cousin was a mistake had long been visible to her ;
but that Marion should make this display of acutely
feeling the severance of that tie puzzled her much. She
knew perfectly well that Miss Langvvorthy cared nothing
about her brother ; she thought over that affair of
Robert Collingham's, and felt perfectly assured that her
cousin would have said yes had the chance been vouch-
safed her. And inwardly Grace thought what a deal of
annoyance it would have spared her and Reginald if
Kobert Collingham had but knelt at her cousin's feet
instead of her own.

Miss Langworthy, meanwhile, seems determined on
mourning this dead love ; dead, ay, how far back on both
sides ! — and she enacts the part to perfection. In her
assumed sadness she contrives to throw a gloom over the
whole house ! she pleads want of spirits to whatever her
uncle may propose in the way of entertainment, and
succeeds in enveloping both him and Grace in her own
mock mourning.

The banker waxes fretful and irritable under this treat-
ment ; he puts his discomfort all down to the perversity
of his self-willed children ; he snubs his daughter and

An Elopement. 333

pets his niece, and imitating Sir John, whom he much
reveres, desires Reginald's name may not be mentioned
in his presence. This edict is fulminated with con-
siderable nervous trepidation and much flourishing of
the eye-glass. Grace takes up the cudgels for her
brother with considerable spirit, but is peremptorily put
down, and informed that her own conduct is pretty
nearly as undutiful. Marion, while gently deprecating
the sentence, dexterously fans the flame of Mr. Hol-
bourne's wrath.

11 Pray, pray don't be hard on Reginald, uncle," she
said in her most mellifluous tones. " He has not treated
me very well ; never mind that — I can bear my own
troubles ; but I should be loth to hear you threaten him
with punishment on my account. I loved him well
while he would let me, and am but justly punished for
not insisting that your consent should have been asked
to our engagement in the first instance."

Mr. Holbourne only stormed the more. Persecution
of the offender seemed like the dispensing of simple
justice. The banker hardened his heart against his
children, and felt that he approximated to his pet model,
Sir John Collingham, the more he stifled his natural
feelings.

But Mr. Holbourne was very uneasy in his new
character. He had always been a most indulgent parent,
and was of naturally warm affections; he was essentially
a domestic, home-loving man, and the discomfort of his
hearth weighed heavily on his soul. It was all very well
for Sir John, a man of iron will and granite disposition,
to curse and cast off a son who had disobeyed him;
but the banker's temperament was no tougher than
cheese. He carried his family troubles about with him ;
he began to falter in his pompous assurance ; he had let
slip one or two opportunities of airing his eloquence of
late ; the gold eye-gla.-s waxed feeble in its domineering
flourishes ; in short, to close observers it became evident
that the banker was uneasy in his mind. The gossiping
little town began to take note of all these things. The
disgraceful conduct of his son served to explain the
change in Mr. llolbourne's demeanour for a little, hut

334 False Cards.

ere long Aldringham began to whisper, with bated
breath, of disastrous speculations. It is well in such
places to announce publicly when your liver should be
out of order, lest observations detrimental to your sol-
vency or moral character should gain ground consequent
on your depression of spirits.

There was no reason from which to deduce this last
rumour, further than that Mr. Holbourne seemed out of
sorts. But to be suspected of embarrassment is a cruel
strain upon any bank. More than one perfectly sound
business has collapsed under the upas tree of suspicion.
They are not all card houses that go down in a com-
mercial hurricane. Goodly and substantial traders get
sometimes engulfed in the storm. The reckless specu-
lators originate the malstrom, but it sucks down a good
many whose houses were built upon its banks, though
ever so substantially. Holbourne & Co. experience an
awkward time of it, due solely, when traced to first
causes, to Miss Langworthy's clever impersonation of
Ariadne.

Things weigh heavily on Grace at this time. She
cannot disguise from herself that her father is worn,
worried, and anxious. He is shorter than ever with her,
and replies quite snappishly to her inquiries about his
health, &c. ; such confidences as he may choose to bestow
are reserved for Marion. Grace feels sadly that her
cousin has taken her place. She could bear it better did
she not so thoroughly comprehend the falsity of Marion's
character. Powerless though she is to counteract them,
she begins to see through many of Miss Langworthy's
designs, though what her object is in thus ostentatiously
wearing the willow, still puzzles Grace amazingly.
What a mockery it is, no one knows better than Miss
Holbourne.

Sadly one afternoon Grace puts on her hat and slips
out for a walk. Aldringham society she has rather
eschewed of late — the girl is sick at heart of listening to
calumnies on her lover, or feeling her ears tingle as she
catches some fresh slander about her brother. She
makes her way as shortly as possible to the outskirts of
the town, and proposes to herself a good stretch iu the

An Elopement. 335

country. But ere she clears the houses, Grace becomes
conscious that her footsteps are dogged. She has no
idea by whom, and does not like to look round ; never-
theless, she feels instinctively that a man is following
her. She is not alarmed in the least, although she
certainly feels some annoyance. It will curtail her walk
for one thing, as she has no fancy for going into the
country thus attended — more especially as she has not
achieved a good look at her follower. Having just
cleared the houses, Miss Holbourne turns sharply round,
and in ten paces confronts her unlicensed attendant.

A tall, good-looking man she thinks, as she steals a
glance at him from beneath her eye-lashes, and essays to
pass him. But the gentleman in question deliberately
bars her path, and raising his hat, exclaims :

" I must ask pardon, Miss Holbourne, for delaying
you, but it is my fate once more to prove your postman.
You drove a hard bargain for the last letter I brought you.
I have one now for you, postage paid."

Grace lifted her eyes, and at once recognised her tor-
mentor of the fancy fair.

" Mr. Donaldson ! I know all about you now,
though I didn't then," and Grace frankly extended
her hand — " I know you are one of Charlie's dearest
friends."

" First let me present my credentials," replied the
dramatist, as he handed her a letter ; " and then, if you
do not mind extending your walk, I have a further
message for you."

Grace turned about directly, and the two paced on for
a few moments in silence.

" It would make my mission much easier, Miss Hol-
bourne, if you would first read your letter. My only
desire — my only errand here is to serve both you and
Charlie. You will see what he says — I can tell you
afterwards what I am further commissioned to say. Let
us stroll quietly on while you master the contents of
that epistle. Don't trouble yourself about speaking to
me till you feel inclined."

Slowly the pair sauntered on, Grace absorbed in her
letter, her companion somewhat amused at the idea of

336 False Cards.

assisting in a genuine comedy of real life — a subject on
which his brains had been so often exercised.

Charlie's letter was honest and straightforward. He
somewhat deprecated the step he was urging her to take,
but he argued there was no help for it. "As things
stand, Gracie, there is no prospect of my ever being wel-
comed as wooer of yours. Home, I know, must be most
distateful to you ; you have been ousted from your
proper place, and Marion Langworthy has been set over
your head. It is impossible to contend with her influence
over your father at present. We can but trust to time
to open his eyes. Have you courage, dearest — have you
confidence enough in me to give yourself to me at once ?
I can find you a home, if not £0 luxurious as that which
you will discard, at all events a happier one. Were
your father untrammelled — were his eyes not blinded — I
would wait patiently for better times ; but while Miss
Langworthy reigns at Aldringham, I see no prospect of
a change in our favour. I had scarce ventured to urge
you to this step, had it not your brother's approval. He
knows all, Gracie, and I have his warrant for saying he
will receive and take care of you till our marriage takes
place. Think over it Avell, darling. If you can but
make up your mind to it, I am sure it will prove best for
both of us. You will shrink, perhaps, at the idea of
elopement, but remember your brother will meet you in
London, and that our wedding will be sanctioned at all
events by him."

There were at least a couple of pages more special
pleading, winding up with an intimation that the bearer
Avas fully conversant with the outlines of the case, and
that unlimited trust might be reposed in him. Miss
Holbourne coloured deeply as, after the perusal of her
letter, she turned to her companion, and remarked, with
no little asperity,

"I presume this effusion was submitted to your judg-
ment before it was closed ? "

"Mine ! Excuse me, Miss Holbourne ; in the delicate
situation in which I stand with respect to you at present
I can afford no mistakes. That you are engaged to my
most intimate friend against the approval of your father,

An Elopement. 337

I am, of course, aware — also that you are forbidden to
receive his letters ; I undertook, at his desire, to give you
that, and further promised to do your bidding after you
had read it."

" Forgive me ! " cried Grace ; "but I am so bewildered,
I scarce know whom to trust, or what to do."

" Don't think me presumptuous or intrusive," returned
Donaldson, quietly, "but, Miss Holbourne, I have known
Charlie for years, and you may trust him. I have seen
him hardly tried, and never knew him fail. What he
may have urged you to do, I don't know, though pernaps
I may guess. As I have already said, I am only here to
do your bidding. I am a stranger to you, but, believe
me, you will have no cause to regret such confidence as
you may please to bestow upon me."

For a few minutes they walked on in silence. At last
Grace said abruptly,

" When do you return to town, Mr. Donaldson ? "

" When I have your permission. Unless you conceive
my stay can be of benefit to you, I shall leave by the
mid-day train to-morrow. But, as I said before, I have
come here to be of use to you, if I can."

" Listen ! " exclaimed Miss Holbourne, eagerly, " I can
give you no answer now. You doubtless form some idea
of what it is that Charlie has asked me to do. It is no
light step that lie calls upon me to take. I must have
time to think over it. But I will let you know to-mor-
row morning. You are staying at ' The George,' I
suppose ? I dare not send you a note there ; but if I
pass the door between eleven and twelve, don't leave
Aldringham till the six o'clock train. If you don't see
me, your mission is ended ; if you do, consider that you
have charge of me to town. Now please continue your
walk a liule further. If wc were seen together, Aldring-
ham would have a restless night consequent upon the
consideration of my case. Good-bye Mr. Donaldson,"
continued Grace, as she extended her hand. "I thank
you for what you have already done, and gratefully
acknowledge the kindness which has induced you to
devote so much time to my service. Charlie must teach

338 False Cards.

me how best to repay you." And, with a graceful
reverence, Miss Holbourne turned homewards,

The dramatist, having struggled through the dire
dinner characteristic of a country inn, betook himself to
the study of life in the local billiard-room. As he
listened languidly to the vapid chaff and converse of the
choice spirits of Aldringham, he recognised woefully
that friendship had its duties. Consumed with weari-
ness, while the clock still asserted that it was but half-
past ten, he thought ferociously over those malignant
irreclaimable liars who had written about taking their
ease at an inn.

However, there's a conclusion to all things. Evenings
at country inns have an end, and at last Donaldson sought
his pillow. At eleven he was lounging on the steps with
a cigar between his lips ; at about half-past he saw Miss
Holbourne approaching. She raised her veil as she drew
near, so as to thoroughly expose her face, although she
never once glanced at the door of the hotel, She passed
rapidly, and although he remained there some time
longer he saw her no more. Still his instructions were
now clear, and after passing what seemed a nearly inter-
minable day, Donaldson, at a quarter to six, betook him-
self to the station. He had not to wait long before he
espied Miss Holbourne walking on to the platform, with
a small travelling bag in her hand. She passed him close,
favoured him with a significant glance, deposited her
bag upon one of the seats, and then betook herself to
the bookstall, where she commenced turning over the
periodicals. There Donaldson at once joined her. A
slip of paper fluttered from her fingers in front of him.

" Do what I ask you," she whispered, nervously; and,
dropping her veil, she disappeared quickly into the ladies'
waiting-room.

Donaldson glanced over the slip of paper. The instruc-
tions were clear and brief:

" Take me a ticket for town — put my bag into a
carriage, and reserve a seat for me. Stand outside the
door so that I may know into which carriage to get. I
shall join you at the last moment. I am afraid of seeing
somebody I know. Telegraph to my brother to meet me."

An Elopement. 339

As for the telegraphing, that had been done hours ago,
Shortly after Miss Holbourne had passed the steps of the
" George," Donaldson had sent off a message to Charlie,
to meet the nine train at King's Cross, and bring
Reginald Holbourne with him. He pounced at once
upon the bag, procured a couple of tickets, and on the
arrival of the train, lounged carelessly in front of the
carriage he had selected. As the bell rang, Grace, closely
veiled, emerged from the waiting room, passed quickly
across the platform, and jumped in without speaking.

A shrill whistle, and the train glided from the station.
Miss Holbourne's elopement was a thing accomplished.

" A new experience this altogether," mused the drama-
tist, " running away with a young lady to oblige a friend.
Levanting with another mzn'sjiance'e in consonance with
his own instructions. I trust Charlie and Holbourne will
be thereto meet us, or the situation will become farcical as
far as I am concerned, although, poor girl, she would
scarcely appreciate the absurdity of her position."

With the exception of a sleepy old gentleman, they had
the carriage to themselves, but Grace was evidently too
much agitated for conversation.

''You are very kind, Mr. Donaldson," she replied, in
answer to some commonplace remark that he had made,
" but I am too nervous to talk. Pray excuse me."

And so they travelled on in silence towards London.

As they neared their destination, Grace became more
and more troubled in her mind. She knew well how so
bold a step as she had taken would be commented on
when it became known to Aldringham. She almost
dreaded to meet her lover for fear he should hold her in
less esteem for yielding to his urgent entreaties. She
shrank back back in her place as the train swept into the
terminus, and seemed to derive but little consolation
when her escort informed her that he saw both Colling-
ham and her brother awaiting them on the platform. It
was with jealous eyes she scanned Charlie as he advanced
to greet her, to gather, ii uld, whether he regarded

her more lightly for her rashness. But his manner did
much to re-assure her.

"I can never thank you sufficiently, Grace," he whis-

340 False Cards.

pered, gravely, "for this great proof of your trust in me.
I will say no more now, for you are doubtless worried and
tired with all the anxiety this step has cost you. The
sooner Reginald can get you home the better." And
beyond a warm pressure of the hand as she drove off with
her brother, Charlie's welcome was made.

It may sound slight greeting to a girl whom he had
induced to leave her home for his sake, but in her present
mood Grace appreciated it far more highly than had it
been warmer. It showed she had not lost her place in
his esteem, and she was far more anxious about that just
now than about what hold she might have of his heart.
She felt secure of the latter, but concerning the former
she had been distracted with nervous misgivings — uncalled
for though they might be.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

MR. LIGHTFOOT BECOMES EXACTING.

T is open to question whether Aldringham had
ever tasted the full flavour of scandal until the
day that succeeded Miss Holbourne's elopement
High flavoured gossip they were accustomed to
— sad stories had gone around about many of their
citizens, and Aldringham, with untiring tongue and bated
breath, had uttered never-ending commentaries on these
miserable back-sliders. But here was a young lady,
whose personal attractions and winning manners had
naturally made as many foes as friends, who had taken
the desperate step of leaving her father's roof without
his knowledge or sanction. Aldringham wept over her,
but declared itself not astonished.

I have always held that most of our nursery ballads
are allegorical. That famous one commencing " Sing a
song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye," is undoubtedly so
— rye, by the way, an evidently mistaken spelling of wry.
It, of course, refers to a suspected scandalous story, of
which the thin crust of propriety has not as yet been
shivered — " And when the pie was open the birds b
to sing," the veil is rent, and the tongues of the public
are at length loosened — " And was not that a pretty dish
to set before the king ? " that is to say, was not this
a pretty case to bring to the notice of the constituted
authorities.

342

False Cards.

Well, the pie was open, and the birds were singing in
Aldringham at a great rate, albeit somewhat in the dark
as to how Miss Holbourne had fled. Thanks to the pre
cautions she had taken at the station, no one had seen or
guessed her departure thence. The booking clerk was
quite positive he had issued no ticket to Miss Holbourne ;
a porter had been found who certainly did recollect seeing
her at the station that evening, but no one was found to
testify to her departure by the train. These enquiries
were instituted by Aldringham generally, with a view to
assuaging its curiosity on the subject.

As for the banker he knew all there was to tell that
very evening. Grace had left a note behind her implor-
ing her father's forgiveness, declaring that it was beyond
her strength to break her troth and give up Charlie
Collingham ; yet still vehemently asserting that nothing
should have induced her to take so extreme a step, had
not Marion stepped between her and himself.

" She stands, father, between you and your children.
Reginald and I both feel we are powerless to contend against
her malignant influence. How persistently she has made
home miserable to me, I cannot describe. It is not easy
to do so. I can allege nothing against her ; and yet I
know that my lightest word was watched, weighed, and,
in many cases, twisted ii gmiously to my disadvantage.
She has your ear, father, which your children have lost.
When her tongue sings our praises distrust her most, for,
be assured, you will think worse of us afterwards than you
do now. At present she triumphs, but I trust the time
may come when you will acknowledge that my conduct
was not without excuse. Your ever loving daughter,

" Gracie."

Miss Holbourne's absence had first become apparent at
dinner-time, some two hours after she had left the house.
The note reached her father's hands within twenty
minutes of the discovery. Though she did not exactly
say that she was going to her brother's, she explained
that she should be at all events under his protection, so
that Mr. Holbourne was absolved from any great anxiety
on her account. To say that he was not grievously per-
turbed at the flight of his daughter would be to wrong

Mr. Lightfoot Becomes Exacting. 343

him much. He was wondrous silent at dinner. He
informed Marion curtly that her cousin had gone sud-
denly to town without asking his sanction, and that
Reginald was to take care of her. Miss Langworthy
angled throughout the meal, with most praiseworthy
perseverance, for a sight of Grace's note ; but her uncle
failed to take the hint, and retired abruptly to his study
when dinner was concluded.

Marion, meanwhile, mused considerably over this new
phase of affairs. She was not altogether unprepared for
it — indeed had exerted herself not a little to bring it
about ; but Grace's flight had rather taken her by sur-
prise. It was exactly what she had hoped to compass,
but she had intended to be a good deal more behind the
scenes regarding that elopement when it should occur
than she was at present. Had she as yet anticipated such
a move on her cousin's part, she would have exercised
more vigilance concerning her. She would not have
lifted a finger to prevent it, but she would have been at
some pains to obtain sight of such missive as Grace might
leave behind her, in explanation of the step she had
taken. Had that letter reached Marion's fingers, it had
never gained Mr. Holbourne's. Miss Langworthy is not
a little discomposed that she so far failed to get a sight of
that epistle. True, she is left entire mistress of her
uncle's house — the position she was aiming at — but those
last words of her cousin's might contain facts that needed
prompt refutation. She must see that letter, if possible ;
she felt that she had to confront an unknown danger till
she was aware of its contents. The banker was evi-
dently strongly moved by the whole business, and Miss
Langworthy deemed that she might encounter stormy
weather before long in the prosecution of her nefarious
;ns.

Marion was not a whit dismayed by the idea. Intrigue
was to her as the air she breathed; she rose in spirit to
the difficulties of the moment; the more imminent the
dissolution of her fine-spun diplomacy, the more indus-
trious was she in repairing the rents thereof — the quicker
in improvising fresh schemes in support of it — the more
daring in her manoeuvres to bailie such attacks. But a

344 False Cards.

Nemesis she wots not of as yet is already threatening
her — a ravening spirit that she has herself evoked — a
horse-leech to which she voluntarily stretched forth her
hand — a slave with a thirst for gold insatiable, and a
most accurate estimate of how much she is within his
power — a spirit she has been bold enough to raise,
but will find somewhat difficult to lay. When Miss
Langworthy was rash enough to sign that bill which
Mr. Lightfoot had the audacity to send her, she delivered
herself utterly into his hands.

Mr. Holbourne, in his study, sits moody and dejected,
his daughter's letter still clasped between his fingers.
He was out of spirits before. The run on the bank
consequent on Aldringham gossip had irritated him.
Though nothing more than the firm could easily meet, it
had chafed him to be even suspected of insolvency. His
quarrel with his son had rankled far more in his mind
than he cared to admit. Now came the flight of his
daughter, and the banker knew well that would be the
talk of the town next day. He thought a good deal
over Grace's letter. He loved his children dearly. Was
her accusation true, that he had allowed his niece to come
between him and them ? He turned this over and over
again in his mind, and still he could arrive at no con-
clusion. Still there was the hard fact that at this
moment he stood divided from them. In what manner
had he forfeited his claim to their obedience ? On this
count Mr. Holbourne most thoroughly absolved himself.
If a father had not the right to step between his child
and an imprudent marriage, what right of interference
with his children did he possess ? And yet Mr. Holbourne
argued that was the sole tyranny that either his son or
daughter could lay to his charge. And who, in a worldly
point of view, could say that he was not justified in inter-
posing in both cases ?

Still, as the banker reflected how entirely he had
yielded the management of his household to Miss
Langworthy, he could but acknowledge, with a slight
tinge of reproach, that he had given his daughter some
cause for feminine jealousy. The guidance of his estab-
lishment was hers by right ; but surely that was not

Mr. Lightfoot Becomes Exacting. 345

sufficient cause to justify a daughter in withdrawing her-
self from her father's protection. He utterly failed to
comprehend Grace's letter. He did not understand her
passionate denunciation of her cousin. He deemed her
hurt because the keys were not in her keeping. He never
thought her heart might be sore at seeing Marion pre-
ferred to a confidence from which she was excluded,
Finally, Mr. Holbourne rose, and wended his way to his
chamber, sad, but self-acquitted. Like Lear, he suffered
from the misconduct of his unduteous progeny.

The next morning's post brought a slight shiver to
Marion, as she recognized the well-known handwriting of
that secret agent of hers, Mr. Lightfoot. Business, he
said, had brought him unexpectedly to Aldringham. It
was necessary that he should see Miss Langworthy on the
subject of that bill she had given him a short time back,
as it was just due. He had also important information
to communicate concerning Lettice Cheslett. Would
Miss Langworthy grant him an interview ? He would
be at the first milestone on the Thrapstone road at four
that afternoon, in hope that Miss Langworthy might
condescend to be there also.

He was her Old Man of the Sea. Marion's heart
turned sick as she felt intuitively that she should never
succeed in shaking him off. Fifty pounds was the amount
of that liability, and Miss Langworthy reflected with a
sigh that she was no more the possessor of that sum than
when she signed that evil bit of paper two months ago.
What would happen if she didn't pay, Marion had no
idea. She had, however, a hazy idea that there would
be an expose of some sort, and that consequently it was a
thing which it behoved her to arrange somehow. So, a
little before four, Miss Langworthy took her hat and
walked out upon the Thrapstone road. As she neared
her tryst, Mr. Lightfoot rose from the milestone on which
he was seated, and with prompt alacrity advanced to meet
her.

"Well, sir," exclaimed Marion haughtily, as he raised
his hat, "I have attended at your bidding. I presume
money is your object. You may as well know at, once
that I have none."

346 False Cards.

" So commonplace an occurence, as far as regards my
experience of humanity, Miss Langworthy, that you can
scarcely expect me to affect surprise at your announce-
ment. But you have hit the truth, with your accustomed
perspicuity. Money is my object, — money I must have."

" But I tell you I have none ! w

" Exactly. When we have no money, the next thing
to consider is what we have that represents money,"
replied the unabashed Lightfoot.

" You mean, have I jewels, or anything of that des-
cription ! Whether I have \>r not, I have no intention
of parting with them," said Marion curtly.

" She has jewelry," thought the adventurer. " You
are quick of understanding, Miss Langworthy," he con-
tinued deferently. " Will you allow me to observe that
an accepted bill of yours is just due, and requires taking
up."

"How if I fail, sir?"

" I should be afraid there would be unpleasantness.
My friend, Mr. Hartz, who negotiated it, is an inestimable
man, but somewhat rigorous about business matters.
In short, Miss Langworthy, he'd sell up his first-born if
he omitted to meet his bill when due."

" And supposing I let things take their course ? " in-
quired Marion.

"I should be afraid your arrest for debt would be the
speedy consequence. But if you don't like to part with
your jewels, you have still your name, which represents
money."

"I don't understand you."

"If Miss Langworthy will attach her name to this,"
replied Lightfoot, producing an oblong strip of paper,
" it will enable me to quash the bill now falling due, and
also to discharge her debt to me regarding expenses
incurred in tracing Lettice Cheslett."

" You have found her, then ! Where is she ? " cried
Marion eagerly.

" Sign, and you shall know," retorted the tempter, as
he produced pen and ink from his pocket.

Miss Langworthy took the slip of paper and gazed at
it for a moment.

Mr. Lightfoot Becomes Exacting. 347

" Why, this is for one hundred ! " she exclaimed.

"Yes; interest and expenses of renewal; recompense
to self in re matter of Lettice Cheslett; k couldn't be well
less."

" I'll never sign it ! " cried Marion indignantly.

" It must be as you like, but as sure as you stand there,
old Hartz will cause your arrest the first time your foot
crosses the threshold after Sunday next."

Miss Langworthy paused. She felt she was in the
toils. She was powerless to resist the merciless pressure
put upon her. To be arrested for debt in Aldringham !
it was not to be thought of. Three months more and
her ascendancy over her uncle might be so complete that
she could compass this sum upon some pretext — ay, even
if she admitted culpable extravagance. Besides, it was
necessary that she should know what had become of that
Cheslett girl.

Her mind was made up.

" Give it me," she said, "I will sign;" and in another
second Marion's autograph figured at the foot of that
ominous piece of paper. " Now what of Lettice
Cheslett ?" she ejaculated fiercely, as she handed back
the bill to her companion.

" She is living at Sir John Collingham's, Churton
Park," replied Lightfoot deliberately, " and has been
there nearly a month."

" At Churton ! " gasped Miss Langworthy. " You arc
sure ?"

" Perfectly so," he replied, as he eyed her narrowly.
" Have you any further commands for me ?"

" No," said Marion in a low voice, as she turned
abruptly on her heel and walked rapidly back to the
town.

" Not a woman of business," muttered Mr. Lightfoot,
"or she would have insisted on having the first bill back.
As it is, I shall renew .that, if possible, and negotiate this.
If it comes to the worst, and she has no jewels to speak
of to meet 'em with, her uncle's safe to settle it sooner
than have a blow up in the papers. If old Hartz isn't
too hungry for his money, she ought to be worth about
as much in .. Anyway I can't be touched, and we

348 False Cards.

must take such windfalls as come in our way. It strikes
me she had fair information for her money to-day, judg-
ing from the way she took it."

" Lettice Cheslett at Churton ! " muttered Marion, as,
wrapping her shawl close about her, she walked swiftly
homeward. " I had a presentiment, when I saw that
girl in Baker Street, she was my evil destiny. I deemed
I crushed her beneath my feet, that I swept her from
my path that afternoon. Now she confronts me again.
It is odd I have not heard of her sooner, if she is esta-
blished in Churton ! Stay, now I think of it, Grace did
say something, a week or two back, of some girl that
had come down as a companion to Sylla Collingham,
but who was immediately struck down with fever, and
seemed as if she would hardly get through it. Can that
be Lettice ? It must be. I don't think she can work
me much harm. Yet Reginald is sure to hear of her
being at Churton from his sister. Still as long as she
does not identify me with her visitor in Baker Street,
no harm can come of it. Fortunately I seldom trouble
Churton, so that my eschewing it for the next couple of
months, will not give occasion for remark. I can't see
that she can work me woe in any shape, still I do wish
she was a hundred miles away ! " With which last reflec-
tion, Marion rang at her uncle's house.

That Miss Cheslett was going under another name in
Sir John's family, Miss Langworthy was of course as yet
unaware.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

the

AN IRREGULAR WEDDING.

|HO is this, Reginald ?" inquired Grace, as she
gazed inquisitively at a photograph that,
mounted in a stand, held a conspicuous
place on her brother's writing-table. It was
morning after her flight, and the girl was fluttering
nervously about the sitting-room, too ill at ease at pre-
sent to rest quiet. For though Miss Holbourne had
hardened her heart to the extent of running away to get
married, she suffered sore twinges of apprehension that
she had behaved very badly to her father, and that her
character Avas likely to be hardly dealt with by the gos-
siping tongues she had left behind her.

"That?" rejoined her brother, somewhat moodily — ■
" nobody you ever saw ; but she will be your sister,
Grace, I hope, some day."

"I don't know — I can't help thinking I have seen her,"
rejoined Miss Holbourne, musingly, although I can't say
where. Tell me her name, Regi."

<( Lettice Cheslett. Now are you satisfied ? Did you
ever hear of her ? "

" No, I never heard that name before ; and yet I fancy
I have seen this face. • Ah ! I recollect now who it is
that this photograph reminds me of — it's very like that
girl who has come down as companion to Sylla Col-
lingham ; but then, poor thing, as I only saw her in
bed with her hair all cut off, and delirious "

35° False Cards.

Suddenly Grace stopped aghast. She recollected now
what that sick girl had uttered in her wandering talk,
and knew that it was her likeness she now looked upon.
She bent over the picture for a few seconds, then turned
to steal a look at her brother. He was at her side.

" What is all this ? " he said, in a hoarse whisper.
" Is Lettice at Churton, and dangerously ill ? Speak
quick ! Tell me what you know."

" I will," faltered Grace. " A Miss Melton, who came
as companion to Sylla, was seized with fever the day after
her arrival. She lies dangerously ill there now. But,
Reginald, I won't deceive you — I am telling you the
exact truth — the doctor pronounced the crisis past before
I left Aldringham. She is still not out of danger, but
has got safely through the worst."

" Do they take care of her ? Are they kind to her ?"
he asked, almost roughly.

" Be easy on that point. Sylla herself tends her as if
she were a sister. All that care and nursing can do for
her, she has. Reginald." continued Grace in a low voice,
"I watched by her bedside one afternoon with Sylla.
She wandered much, poor thing, in her talk. Suddenly
she mentioned your name, and called upon you to stand
between her and some other woman."
Reginald's face grew dark.

" I begin to understand," he said. " What more did
she say ? "

" Nothing," replied Grace. " Do you love her very
much ? " she whispered timidly.

" So much," he answered sternly, " that if I lose her, I
have lost everything. Will she live ? "

''Reginald! Reginald" cried his sister, as she threw
her arms about him, " don't ask such questions ! Her
life trembled in the balance at one time — it may be,
does still ; but the doctor has great hope."

" Sit down, Gracie," he said, releasing himself gently
from her embrace — " I must have news — constant news,
mind, of how Lettice goes on. How am I to obtain it ?
Think. Whom can you or I trust to for daily intelli-
gence ? "

"I might write to Sylla; but then poor Sylla must

An Irregular Wedding. 351

trust to other eyes for the rendering of my note. Besides,
Reginald, my own whereabouts is awkward to call atten-
tion to. You forget how I am situated at present."
And Miss Holbourne dropped her head upon her hand
somewhat moodily.

" True. Forgive me, Gracie, I forgot your troubles in
thinking of my own. But we mean to put a speedy end
to yours, my sister."

Gracie raised her head with a bright blush. Her lover
was to take her to himself next day, and the girl grew
rosy-red at the thought of her runaway marriage.

" Stay," she said, "you might write to Sylla yourself.
Tell her as much or as little as you may deem necessary
about your relations with Miss Melton — the less the
better, I would say, remembering that it will be for other
eyes to translate to her. Could she read it herself, I
would say tell her all."

" Yes, I think that will do. Sylla and I have ever been
great friends, and as you say Lettice in her lightheaded-
ness mentioned my name, she will easily guess that I
have deep interest in her patient's well-doing. I will
write at once, but I can't afford to be very communicative
under the circumstances."

For a few minutes there was silence between them,
broken only by the slight scratching of Holbourne's pen.
Suddenly Grace exclaimed —

" Regi, who was the woman that Miss Melton seemed
so afraid of ? "

" Never mind — I don't know — that is, it is but con-
jecture on my part. You will comprehend it all, if my
guess is right, before long. Don't bother now, there's a
good girl," and once more his pen travelled rapidly.

Grace meditated for some time on this mysterious
woman, from whom Lettice, in her delirum, had so
shrunk ; but that it should be the image of Marion that
had so haunted the poor fever-stricken girl's pillow, never
for one instant crossed her imagination. Soon Grace's
mind wandered off to the thought of the event that was
to take place to-morrow. She could but feel pangs of
remorse and misgiving concerning this wedding she was
about to make, unhallowed by a parent's sanction.

352 False Cards.

Reverence for age, and respect for their progenitors,
are two weaknesses that can scarcely be ascribed to the
rising generation ; but Grace Holbourne was not of this
kind, and she had honestly shed salt tears before she had
left her father's roof to plunge into wedlock that he
especially banned. Nothing but the conviction of Marion's
undue influence over him — nothing but the apparent
hopelessness of inducing the banker even to think of
Charlie as a son-in-law — could have made Grace yield to
her lover's entreaties. But Miss Langworthy's silvery
tongue was hard to bear. Professing utter ignorance of
the whole affair, she would indulge in the most scandalous
fables of Charlie Collingham's wrong-doings, and make
her cousin writhe under the libels she choose to dissemi-
nate concerning him, which Grace, with her engagement
all unlicensed of the authorities, was compelled to listen
to in silence. The silken lash in practised hands stings
sharper than the knotted dog- whip. Malicious sympathy
is harder to bear even than the rough abuse of those that
vilify our actions.

" Grade," said Reginald Holbourne, as he finished his
letter, " I have something to tell you, and though I have
full liberty to do so, and it's something you ought to
know, I don't mean to go into the story. I'll tell you
why at once. You have heard all the rumours about
Charlie's being married ? — you have had your life teased
out of you on that point at Aldringham, I make no doubt.
Is it not so ? "

"It's been hard to bear that," said Grace, as she
crossed the room, and knelt by her brother's side.
" What is it ? — has he told you the secret of what he
calls his Bluebeard chamber ? I have always had im-
plicit faith in Charlie, or I could not venture on what I
now do."

" Yes, he has," replied her brother, as he stroked her
silky tresses. " He has authorized me to tell it you, if
I think good. My sister, the/? is nothing to prevent
your marrying him, and I think it best you should heal
the story from his own lips. There will be no Bluebeard's
chamber between you and him after to-morrow; and,
Grade, though he may not be rich, he does love you,

An Irregular Wedding. 35 i

and" will take great care of you. Will that do, little
woman ? "

" Yes," she replied, as the blood mantled in her cheeks.
" I think — I know — " And here Grace dropped her head
npon her brother's shoulder.

" Think what ? " said Reginald, laughing.

" That you speak truth, you tease," replied his sistei,
as she jumped abruptly to her feet, and avenged herself
by a sharp twist of his ear.

" You treacherous viper ! " exclaimed her brother.
" Thank heaven ! to-morrow will see more legitimate
bell-ropes at your disposal, and I shall suffer no longer
from your infirmities of temper. But, Grace," he con-
tinued, as his face fell, " do you think Sylla will send me
news daily ? "

" Yes," replied his sister, gravely ; " but remember,
Reginald, the girl is recovering from a terrible illness,
and, if the reports are true, as I know they will be, they
must be fluctuating. Make up your mind to hear good
news one day, bad the next."

" I have served my apprenticeship," replied Holbourne,
in a low tone. "I have spent some gloomy evenings
here since I lost sight of her ; but, hap what may, I must
see her again. If die she must, she shall know, at all
events, that I never swerved in my allegiance."

" Reginald," said his sister, solemnly, " what made her ■
put herself out of your reach, I don't know ; but it was
neither want of love for you, nor of trust in you."

Preposterous state of the elements ! If ever the
heavens were called upon to weep, it was at the contem-
plation of such an irregular wedding. Yet here was the
sun blinking over this runaway November match, as if
aiding and abetting the ceremony. Still it was such a
marriage as no woman can read of without a shudder.
Such a bridal ! Ye maidens of England who may dr
of elopement, I pray you to reflect. Two cabs ! — think
of this ! — out of which bundled — no words can be pi-
enough in which to de cribe such indecorous proceedi i
— from the one Reginald and his sister, from the other
Charlie and Jim Donaldson. More earnestness, more

354 False Cards.

reality over the ceremony, perhaps, than when it is con-
secrated by a bishop, and four horses are curveting in
the bridal chariot. A quarter of an hour at the altar —
an embrace from her brother, a warm clasp of the hand
from Donaldson, and Grace is borne away by her husband,
rich it may be in his love, but — trousseauless !

Iu the course of that afternoon Grace is taken to a
quiet suburban churchyard, and shown a plain marble
stone, inscribed as " Sacred to the memory of Lilian, wife
of Charles Collingham, Esq., who departed this life in the
twentieth year of her age." While she gazes reverently
upon it, Charlie tells her the story of his dead love.

" The love of my boyhood, Grade, lies buried beneath
that marble, and very dear to me she was at the time ;
but the love of my manhood is yours. Strange wedding
has been ours ! Never did man, perhaps, tell the story
of his past life to his bride by the side of his first wife's
tomb before. But you understand why I do this, Grace.
There must never be secret between us more. I wanted
you to understand my whole past at once, so that a cloud
concerning it may never cross our future. I look back
reverently on the wife of my youth — I look forward to
happiness with her Avho holds the heart of my man-
hood."

A quiet pressure of Grace's hand was Charlie's sole
answer, and, in silence, they left that still resting-place of
the departed. The wind sighed a requiem through the
gnarled old yews as Collingham turned his back on the
grave of her whom he had braved his father's wrath to
wed. Fit monody over the wreck of that youthful passion.
The wild love of his boyhood lies buried — the strong
earnest love of the man fills its place. Gracie has won
that honest resolute regard that, if it never burns so
fiercely, yet never wanes, but maintains its steady glow,
bright as when first kindled, till death stamps out the
flame.

^"53

CHAPTER XXXIX.

CONVALESCENCE.

N a sofa, propped up with numerous cushions, in
Sylla's own private sanctum, reclines Lettice.
The dark hair is just beginning to curl again in
short rings about her head, while the big black
eyes are positively startling to encounter as they gleam
upon you, appearing almost unnatural in size, when con-
trasted with the shrunk, pallid face they look out from.
Sylla hovers about her patient, in supreme delight at
having nursed her thus far on the road to convalescence.
But Miss Collingham's affliction spares her the discovery
of what is becoming a source of grievous disquietude to
the doctor, and one or two of the closer attendants on
the sick girl. Lettice's nervous system is woefully un-
hinged. There is a scared, frightened look in her eyes.
The appearance of anybody except those she is thoroughly
accustomed to see, causes her to tremble from head to
foot. There is much difficulty about inducing her to
talk. She answers in monosyllables chiefly. Miss
Collingham's maid tells the doctor Miss Melton is quite-
aware that she has been delirious, and at times exhibits
a feverish curiosity to know what she might have said
when her senses were beyond her control. It is the sole
subject upon which she manifests any desire to be en-
lightened. But that restless, hunted look, so habitual
to the dark eyes now, is inexpressibly painful to witness.

35 & False Cards.

It is in vain Sylla prattles cheerfully to the convalescent.
Lettice listens with that uneasy expression that now so
constantly haunts her face. Very brief are her replies,
and made apparently with some effort. She seems to
concentrate her mind with difficulty upon what is said to
her, and only to comprehend it after severe mental
strain.

" This won't do," muttered the doctor to himself, as he
left the room, after his customary visit to his patient.
" We shall have that girl's mind permanently affected if
we are not very careful. It is off its balance still, and if
we can't get at what the trouble or fear that so per-
sistently weighs upon her is, and remove her appre-
hensions forthwith, the finish will be losing the equilibrium
altogether. If one knew a little of her past life, one
might get at the cause of her anxiety, might combat this
nervous dread that so possesses her. She is in evident
fear of some person who has wrought her much wrong,
or occasioned her much sorrow, once more crossing- her
path. If she has done evil, poor child, she must have
been more sinned against than otherwise."

Impressed with these views, the doctor sought an in-
terview with Sir John, and told him his ideas of Lettice's
case. The Baronet had a much deeper vein of tenderness
underlying his granite exterior than the world generally
gave him credit for, though, like many men of his stamp,
he was wonderously afraid of giving vent to such weak-
ness. No uncommon thing, if you study mankind. Men
and women are rife enough in this world who studiously
conceal the best side of their characters — more especially
the former. They are so apt to dread the ridicule that
might attach to the discovery of the sentiment that lies
beneath the crust of cynicism they affect. In the present
age particularly men are very chary of yielding to such
temptation, and indulge their feelings in that respect
principally by stealth.

Sir John was emphatically a man of action. He
listened attentively to what the doctor had to say, then
rang the bell at once, and desired that his daughter might
be summoned.

" Sylla attended her through most of her ravings,"

Convalescence. 357

he said, " let's hear if she can piece this puzzle together
for us."

"What is it, my father?" said Sylla quietly, as she
glided into the room attended by Dandy. " You must
not keep me long, as I don't like leaving Lettice alone.
Ah ! you here, doctor ! " she exclaimed, as her quick
hearing detected the presence of a third person.

There is nothing remarkable about this identification
of the worthy medico. The good man employed a
country bootmaker, and his boots consequently cele-
brated his movements in shrill chorus. Sylla's ears of
late had grown familiar with their ominous creaking.

Sylla was much distressed when her father told her
what Dr. Meddlicott feared, and what it was that they
required of her.

" My dear young lady," urged the doctor, " if you
cannot give us some clue to what it is that so weighs
upon Miss Melton's mind, I don't know how we are to
combat her apprehensions. But if something is not done
speedily, I augur serious and permanent injury to her un-
derstanding. This fever has been the result of some
great shock to her feelings. We have arrived at a stage
now when it is of the last importance to ascertain what
the nature of that shock was. We must find out what it
is she evidently dreads. As far as I can judge, she is in
terror of meeting some person. Can you help us ? "

Then Sylla told them all she knew. How in her
delirium Lettice had at times shrunk and cowered as if
beneath the lash of some woman's pitiless scorn ; and how,
finally, she had called upon Reginald Holbourne to shield
her — to stand between her and that merciless woman.

The Baronet uttered a slight ejaculation of astonish-
ment as Reginald's name passed his daughter's lips, and
when she had finished, said :

"Thanks, Sylla, that will do. You had better leave
Dr. Meddlicott and me to talk things over now. You
recollect, doctor," he continued, as the door closed
behind Miss Collingham, "that there was much gossip
about young Holbounie and some lady in London a few
months back. It is no irrelevant conclusion to come to
now, that your patient was the lady in question."

358 False Cards.

"Just so, just so," replied the doctor; "but that will
help us very little as regards dissipating this fear of some
woman unknown which so possesses Miss Melton. Can
you divine at all, Sir John, who this woman may
be!"

"Not in the least."

For a few minutes the doctor was wrapped in thought.
At last, raising his head, he observed :

" We can wait a little longer if you like, but I don't
think it will make any difference. If that girl's to become
herself again, we must send for Reginald Holbourne."

" I don't like to do that," replied the Baronet. " As,
you know, he has quarrelled with his father, I should
hardly wish to be looked upon as supporting him in the
affair, and that of course it would appear to the neigh-
bourhood."

The doctor was a sturdy, clever man, who paid little
reverence to king or kaiser when he deemed the neces-
sities of his art called upon him for plain speaking.

" Sir John," he exclaimed, " this is no time to stickle
about proprieties, or what the gossips of Aldringham
may say. I tell you, as medical man in charge of the
case, unless that girl gets speedy mental relief, her mind
will never recover its balance. I have done all that lies
in my power. I see but one hope of averting what,
mark me, is surely-impending insanity. I can't put it too
plain. Of course there may be other springs of the mind
we could touch, if we did but know them. We don't.
We can but have recourse to the one we do. She must
see Reginald Holbourne. What Aldringham may say
has never been of much account with you."

" Aldringham ! " replied the Baronet, while his lip
curled. "No, I don't think, at Churton, we have ever
tro i bled our heads about what Aldringham thought con-
cerning our doings. But Holbourne is an old friend of
mine, ar,rl I don't like to appear to take his son's part
against him."

" And for such a mere punctilio," retorted the doctor,
hotly, " you would see that poor girl upstairs permanently
bereft of reason."

" I don't sav that," interrupted the Baronet, quickly,

Convalescence. 359

" I only say it is awkward, and I wish there were some
other way."

" Then if, three days hence, I tell you it is imperative,
you will do what I want ? "

" Yes, providing no other scheme can be hit upon in
the meanwhile."

" Thanks, Sir John, and you may thoroughly depend
upon me to suggest one if I can, but at present I see no
other alternative. Good morning," and the little doctor
creaked out of the room.

The Baronet pondered a good deal during the day over
the awkwardness of sending for Reginald Holbourne.
He, of all men in the world, should be the last to sup-
port a son who opposed his father. He had meted out
stern and uncompromising sentence to his own offspring.
How was he to side apparently against his old
friend under similar circumstances ? He recalled, some-
what sadly, how sharply he had rebuffed all those who
would have fain said a word in Charlie's behalf; and
though he would not acknowledge it to himself, yet at
the bottom of his heart lurked a faint suspicion that he
would have done better if he had acted with less severity
in that business. But Charlie had been dauntless and
unyielding as his father in the matter. His blood had
been up, and all the old obstinate Collingham temper
surged through his veins. He had even, in his wrath,
scorned all attempt to right himself in his father's eyes,
even when he ascertained the mistake under which Sir
John laboured. It must be admitted that he did not
think the Baronet would approve of the daughter-in-
law he had given him, very much more than if she were
the questionable lady Sir John deemed her. But there
Charlie was wrong. An imprudent marriage is a very
different thing from a tainted one. And had his father
known the rights of the story, it is probable that the
sun might at last have gone down on his wrath.

Still the Baronet mused over the awkwardness of the
situation. What Reginald, Holbourne's actual relations
might have been with tl I suddenly flashes across

him as another delicate point that he would desire to be
enlightened upon. But after a Jew minutes' cogitation

360 False Cards.

he does Lettice justice. That fair, frank face carries
its own justification with it. Whatever her connection
may be with Reginald, he feels that it is one that can
never call the blush of shame to her cheek.

That evening brings to him the tidings that Grace has
fled from her father's roof, and now Sir John feels indeed
that interference in the banker's affairs requires more
than ever to be approached delicately. He had not been
in Aldringham for a couple of days, or he would have
known of it forty-eight hours sooner. He is very
grieved about this. He is very fond of his god-daughter,
in his own way, and is stricken with a terrible fear that she
has fled at the bidding of that discarded son of his, whom
Sir John firmly believes to be still fettered to a worthless
woman. He sighs heavily as he thinks what a harvest
of shame and sorrow she is sowing for herself. "Well,
he did all he could," he wrote, " and warned her
that Charlie was already married, and that if he had
dared whisper words of love to her, he was guilty of rank
and reckless perjury. But when will girls believe their
elders on such points ? She knew that he and Charlie
had quarrelled. Of course he had small difficulty in per-
suading her that his father's statements were sheer
malice, and utterly untrue. How grieved Sylla would
be about it." Then he wondered whether she had any
inkling of the elopement ? Of her brother's love affair
with Grace he of course knew she was cognizant.

When thunder's about, showers are want to be plenti-
ful. When Fortune takes to astonish you for either
good or evil, it at times proceeds quickly as a panorama.
You progress up or down with a velocity past realizing.
Before you have quite awoke to the comfort of clean
sheets, you are called upon to appreciate fine linen and
delicate viands. On the other hand, before you have
quite arrived at an understanding of the scarcity of
loose silver, you find yourself ruminating on how much
nutriment may be obtained for twopence, and how, by
your individual exertions, you are to make twopence
more when that is expended. You think I exaggerate.
Not at all. But I have seen the man who " has struck
ile," and he who has struck the Old Bailey. From the

Convalescence. 3 6 1

West-end clubs to the hulks, from " Poverty Flat" to the
salons of New York, is but a jump. A few weeks have
often produced such results. Fortune is capricious in
her runs for either good or evil, and things are going
badly with Mr. Holbourne just now.

Sir John has hardly, after a night's rest, made up his
mind as to what steps it behoves him to take. He is
pledged to the doctor that Reginald Holbourne shall be
summoned if there is no amelioration of Lettice's state
in three days. But how, is another matter. Shall he
ask him openly to Churton, or tell him to come quietly
to the Dornton Station, instead of Aldringham, receive
him surreptitiously, and keep his visit, if possible, from
the banker's ears ?

All these reflections are scattered to the wind by the
arrival of the post. Amongst his letters, Sir John recog-
nises one in Grace's hand, and that letter causes an
entire change of tactics on the Baronet's part. He was
not a man of many weaknesses or affections. His son
and heir, Robert Collingham, he regarded with polite
indifference. They were upon excellent terms, but the
Baronet looked upon his son as somewhat of a prig ;
and might have felt more affection for him had his con-
duct been less irreproachable. The feeling may be
wrong, but it is, nevertheless, generally the cast that
there is always a sneaking sympathy for the black sheep
of this world, provided they are not dyed of too inky a
hue. Those parti-coloured stray lambs are always much
pitied by friends and relations. Indiscretions of theirs
are glossed over that would call down shrieks of repro-
bation if committed by their more immaculate brethren.
We are so glad it is no worse in the one case ; so shocked
that the ermine should be stained in the other.

Next to his daughter stood Grace in the Baronet's
rugged heart, and her letter made the stern old man
pace his study with quick, impetuous steps. Once more
he reads it attentively over.

'•My dear godfather," it ran, "I have thrown your
counsel to the winds, am Charlie's wife, and now ask you
to acknowledge me as a daughter. People deem you
hard of heart — they don't know you — I do. Harsh,

3 6 2 False Cards.

perhaps, when you think you have been wronged, but
just even to those who have offended you. I don't ask
you toforgive Charlie for my sake, but I do ask you to
hear his story. Believe me, you don't know the truth of
that previous marriage. Has he married to please you
this time ? Ah ! Sir John, who is to make peace for
me with my father, if you decline ? — and though I have
braved his anger, I need his forgiveness sorely. He
thinks so much of your opinion. My chief hope of
reconciliation with him lies in you. I plead for myself
— I plead for my husband. Hear him first, and then let
me tell you my story, I had more excuse for leaving
my father's house than you dream of; I was hardly
tried before I yielded to Charlie's entreaties. My god-
father, if you are stern, you are just. Don't condemn
us till you have heard us plead our cause. My future
happiness rests in great measure in your hands — think
well, I ask you on my knees, before you decide that
Charlie and I are past forgiveness. If you ever loved
your god-daughter, don't abandon her now ; if you ever
loved your son, let him tell you the story of his life.
Believe me — and did you ever know me speak falsely ? —
if you would but listen to Charlie, you would forgive
him ; and if you pardon him, I know you will pardon
me. Yonr affectionate god-daughter,

"Grace Collingham.
"P.S. — Please — please don't be cruel to me and unjust
to Charlie ! "

Out of that letter had fluttered an envelope directed,
as the Baronet noticed, by his son. It contained two cer-
tificates, one of death, the other of marriage — nothing
else ; but those strips of paper made it manifest to Sir
John that Charlie was justified in wooing again.

The Baronet is much troubled in mind as to what he
shall do. He cannot bear to think of ignoring Grace's
appeal, and yet he can but admit that interference on his
part will be in the highest degree inconsistent. He cast
off his son for marrying contrary to his wishes ! He is
asked to pardon him, because this time he has married
in direct opposition to the wishes of the bride's father.
And yet it seems to Sir John that reconciliation

Convalescence.

363

Charlie is easier now than he ever imagined it could be.
That first marriage is an affair of the past, while his
present choice meets with the Baronet's warm approval.
Still Mr. Holbourne can be hardly expected to be other-
wise than wrathful at his daughter's contumacious be-
haviour, and Sir John feels that there will be a touch of
absurdity in his becoming the advocate of a young lady
who has shown such wilful disregard of the fifth com-
mandment. But, despite all that, he finally makes up
his mind to see the banker forthwith, and to plead
Grade's cause, if possible.

CHAPTER XL.

A NEW PRESCRIPTION.

O improvement takes place in Lettice ; she fails
to gather strength, but lies dreamily on the
couch in Sylla's boudoir, and pays but little ap-
parent attention to what goes on around her.
Ever and anon that scared, hunted look is visible in the
dark eyes, and she trembles like an aspen at any unwonted
noise. In vain Sylla tries to rouse her ; the girl answers
in monosyllables or with a faint smile to all her blind
nurse's untiring efforts to interest her. It. seems as if the
main-spring of her life had snapped. She lies there
white as the snowy wrapper in which she is enveloped,
and so still that, but for the somewhat restless eyes, she
might have been deemed already numbered with the
dead.

Sylla has received Reginald's anxious note, and taken
it to her father to read. It shows the Baronet he has
made no mistake in his surmise ; and Sylla scribbles off
what comfort she may to the writer in reply. But the
third day has arrived, and Doctor Meddlicott emphati-
cally reminds Sir lohn of his promise.

"I can see no other course,'' said the doctor; "but I
think we may defer sending for Mr. Holbourne for a day
or so, though we shall have to summon him in the end.
I want Miss Sylla first to let Miss Melton know that he
has written to inauire how she is."

A New Prescription. 365

Acting under these directions, Miss Collingham, in the
course of her conversation, observes,

" I have had a letter full of anxious inquiries about you
this morning, Lettice. I have answered it to the best of
my ability, and said you are getting better. You are,
dear, you know, although slowly."

The remark hardly attracts the sick girl's attention,
and Sylla pauses in vain for a reply.

" I thought," she continued, " you might like to send
a message to one who, from the way he writes, should be
very dear to you. Have you nothing to say to Reginald
Holbourne ? "

There is no want of interest in the hitherto listless
face now. The pale cheeks are dyed crimson at the bare
mention of his name.

" Did he write about me ? " she gasped. " How did he
know I was here ? I have tried — oh ! so hard — to for-
get him as I promised, but I can't. No, I only promised
not to see him again."

" He writes in sore distress about you, Lettice and begs
me to let him know daily how you go on."

" Might I see the letter ? " asked the girl, shyly.

" Of course you may ; here it is. In future, you sly
little thing, I intend you not only to be eyes for me as
regards his notes, but pen also, the moment you are
strong enough. You must write and tell him how you
are. He would rather have a staggery line or two from
you than sheets from me. There," she continued, as
she put Reginald's note into her patient s hands. " Are
you glad to get it ? "

Lettice said not a word, but her wan fingers twined
round Sylla's in a manner quite conclusive <>n that point.

"Hah! hah! sir," cried the doctor, in <;rcat excite-
ment, when he heard the result of his experiment, "I
knew it ! They are all alike ; that girl will come back
from the jaws of the grave now her lover beckons her.
If we had not hit off that spring to the mind, we should
have had her either in a cemetery or an asylum before
the month was over. Now, Sir John, I'm not going to
press Reginald's presence on you fol a little, though I
think it may still be necessary, but we can 'bide a wee,'

366 False Cards.

as the Scotch say. Tonics be hanged ! — there's nothing
in the pharmacopoeia to compare with love's elixir, when
the patient is under twenty."

Left to herself, Lettice read Reginald's hasty scrawl
over and over again. Although he had written, in con-
sequence of Sylla's infirmity, more guardedly than he
otherwise would have done, still the dullest reader could
not be blind to the passionate anxiety betrayed by the
writer. A smile played over the girl's face as she thrust
the billet in her dress, and abandoned herself once more
to reverie. "He does love me still," she murmured —
" I knew he did ! It has seemed so hard never to hear of
him ! Did that cruel woman speak truth ? It all seems
like a frightful dream ! "

But when the brain has been overtaxed, as in Lettice's
case, it does not recover itself quite so quickly. For a
few days Reginald's daily notes proved a veritable tonic —
the patient gained ground rapidly, and Doctor Meddlicott,
rubbing his hands, told the Baronet that he believed they
should manage without young Holbourne after all.

Coming gaily into Lettice's room one morning; Sylla
threw a note from Reginald into her lap, and exclaimed,
laughing.

" There, it's directed to you, is it not ? I wash my
hands of your correspondence,/*?/^ from this moment —
you must write your own love-letters in future. I'm sure
you are strong enough now, and, if it is any consolation
to you, I don't suppose, in your most robust days, they
were ever considered quite so long as they should
be."

A troubled expression came into Lettice's face as she
took the note, and the old scared look was once more
visible in her eyes.

" Don't say that, please," she said, hurriedly. " You
must write — you will, won't you? Reginald will be so
grieved not to hear."

Sylla was somewhat startled by the tone, but, of course,
the troubled face was lost to her.

" And if he is," she replied, laughing, " whose fault
will it be, I should like to know ? He has applied to
you, not me, this time, to tell him how you are. If he is

A New Prescription. 367

grieved, my dear, it will be due to your own sweet indo-
lence, and nothing else."

" Hush ! Stop, Sylla, listen to me. I have promised
never to write to him — never to see him, if I can avoid
it ! "

"What!" exclaimed Miss Collingham, as she became
keenly alive to the increasing agitation of her companion's
voice. " Promised never to see nor write to your lover !
What do you mean ? "

" What I have said," replied Lettice. " I have pro-
mised, and I will keep my word. It might work him
harm," she continued, growing more and more hysteri-
cal — " that woman said it would. I would not — I — that
is — " And here Lettice burst into tears, and Miss
Collingham, jumping quickly to the bell, rang for further
assistance.

Of course the girl was soon soothed, and Sylla, think-
ing it no more than a morbid fancy, the result of her
severe illness, carefully abstained from alluding again to
the subject. Slill one thing did strike her as curious,
and that was, that Lettice had no letter for the post.
She would have been still more perplexed could she have
seen how the girl's eyes watched all her movements
throughout the day, and the weary, disappointed look
that gathered in them when Lettice ascertained that no
letter had been despatched to Reginald.

Absurd you may think that this girl should adhere in
such scrupulous fashion to a promise extorted under some-
what questionable circumstances. But bear in mind tbat
Lettice has been truthfully, though qucerly, brought up ;
that in her very limited number of acquaintances she
has been accustomed to see people mean what they say ;
that she looks upon her word once passi d as by no m<
to be either violated or evaded ; that she is recovering from
a severe illness, in which her brain has been seriously
affected; that her mind as yet still grasps ideas but
feebly, and is utterly incapable of 1 n any com-

plicated point; and finally, that since the fever, she is
possessed of a lurking dread of Marion's power, and
firmly believes that any infraction of her promise will
recoil upon her lover's head.

368 False Cards.

In the first thrill of delight at again hearing of him, she
had temporarily forgotten all this. In fact, so far, there
was no breach of her plighted word. But no sooner did
Reginald, in accordance with Sylla's instructions, write
direct to Lettice herself, and plead for a bulletin from her
own hand, than all the old terrors of her delirium were
revived.

It would hurt him dreadfully, she thought, not to
answer his letter, but she could not help that. Better
his feelings should be wounded than that more serious
harm should be wrought him through her not keeping
her promise. Lettice, in her diseased imagination, has
invested Marion (unknown to her by name, be it remem-
bered) with extraordinary powers. The knowledge she
displayed at their one interview concerning herself, filled
poor Lettice's mind with awe, while the merciless use she
made of that knowledge filled it at the same time with
dread. She deemed that Marion's information was
boundless, and that any infraction of their contract on
her part would be speedily conveyed to Miss Langworthy's
ears.

Doctor Meddlicott is not slow to recognise the change
for the worse in his patient. There is a return of the old
feverish symptoms next day, and it is manifest to his
practised eyes that the nervous system is considerably
unhinged again. A conversation with Sylla gives the
doctor his clue, and he quickly seeks an interview with
the Baronet.

" Well, Sir John," he cried abruptly, " we must send
for young Holbourne, after all. He was an effective tonic
dealt out in homoeopathic doses to start with, but he is
acting as an irritant now, which is the last thing to meet
the case. We must exhibit him as a whole,and see how
he agrees with her in that shape. Joking apart, that girl
has drifted all to leeward the last twenty-four hours,
and her state is still too precarious not to make that a
subject of anxiety, at all events, to her doctor."

Sir John has put off making his call upon the banker,
not in the least from that besetting weakness which
attaches to so many of us, to wit, the postponing anything
unpleasant as long as possible, but simply that he judged

A New Prescription. 369

it best in Grace's interests to let her father's first indigna-
tion burn itself out. " Let not the sun go down upon
thy wrath," is a maxim, I fear, but slenderly attended
to even by the best of us. Do you remember Frederick
the Great's grim jest on these words ? His army escaped
annihilation at Prague, owing to the inertness of the
Austrian generals, and he attributed his salvation entirely
to their recognition of the divine precept. They ceased to
press their advantage after sunset, and thus enabled him to
extricate himself from the toils. But I fear we are more
wont to cherish our anger than our good intentions, and
a man is apt to be more energetic in his wrath than
in his benevolence.

Sir John had written very kindly to Grade — had, more-
over, even sent a message to his son, that held forth fan-
promise of forgiveness at no very distant period, and
promised his god-daughter to intercede in her behalf with
her father shortly. He now wished he had done so at
once. As he had already said, he did not like welcoming
his old friend's son, while he was not on terms with his
father. If he had had that interview with Mr. Holbourne
he could have at all events explained under what peculiar
circumstances he had been induced to have it. But there
was no time for that now.

" It shall be as you wish, doctor," he replied at length,
H but I think his visit had better he kept as quiet as
possible. I will tell Sylla to write to him by to-day's
post."

" All right, Sir John. There's no necessity to advertise
it in Aldringham. I understand your motives thoroughly
and respect them, but I deem his presence here, for a day
or so, a necessity, to disabuse my patient's mind on some
point which he apparently alone can clear up. You
may rely upon my discretion, of course. A doctor
is always the confidant of his district — those who don't
confide in him die."

" And those who do also at times," retorted the Baronet,
laughing.

" True/' replied the doctor with a twinkle of his eye,
"but in orthodox fashion. It's most irregular leaving
this world without medical advice."

370 False Cards.

Two days more, and the doctor has good grounds for
feeling uneasy at Lettice's state, She has past a fevered
night, and it is obvious that her mind is again filled with
that undefined terror that before possessed her. The note
that Sylla puts into her hands this morning does little to
tranquilize her. It is directed to Miss Collingham, and
full of dire forebodings at not having received a line from
Lettice. Sylla, unluckily has given the girl this note
without submitting it to anyone's perusal. When she
enters the room and glides to the couch some half-hour
afterwards, she is astonished to feel her wrist clutched
fiercely.

" You must write, write at once ! " is hissed into her
ear. " Tell him I am better — almost well ! How could
you be so cruel as not to write yesterday, or the day
before ? You know I can't. You know what it might
cost him if I did. Hear what he says ! — how dare you
torture him thus ! How am I to get well if you treat
him so ? When he suffers I suffer. I must get well,
because he would grieve so if I did not. 1 can never see
him more, but he wills that I should live. It is enough,
I shall live for his sake. Write and tell him I am well,
and pray for him ever."

Sylla had no need to see the wild, fever-lit eye to know
that delirium had once more seized her patient. She
bitterly repented that she had given her that note.
Regret, however, was useless ; it was done, and there was
nothing left now but to make the best of it. She soothed
the troubled brain as best she mi edit, sat down and wrote
a most mendacious account of the girl's health which she
submitted to Lettice's perusal ; and, finally directing it to
Reginald Holbourne, promised it should go by that night's
post. She also penned a billet to Dr. Meddlicott, acquaint-
ing him with the unfavourable change in Miss Melton, and
requesting him to come to dinner. For Reginald Holbourne
would be at Churton by that time, and whether he should
be allowed to see Lettice or not was a point that Sylla
felt only the doctor could determine.

Reginald arrived in due course, and both Sir John
and the doctor were struck by the change in him. It
was not that he looked ill — a little worn, perhaDSj nothing

A New Prescription. 37 J

more ; but the light-hearted boy they had known a few
months back was transformed into an earnest, serious
man. He was very quiet, thanked Sir John for his kind-
ness, touched lightly but gracefully on the awkward
position it was for the Baronet, as an old friend of his
father's to have to receive a son whom that father dis-
avowed. But, he continued, circumstances at times
absolved etiquette, and this to him was a genuine matter
of life or death.

" I almost tremble, doctor, to ask you for news. You
have both known me from boyhood, and I tell you
soberly and earnestly my life is bound up in that flicker
ing life you have struggled so hard to preserve. I mean
no nonsense, of course — simply if I lose Lettice I lose all.
Men get over such blows, I know. I may, like others, in
time ; but it will be man}^ years before I have heart to
work for more than mere bread and cheese if she is taken
from me. May I see her ? "

" My dear Reginald," replied the doctor, into whose
eyes the young man's earnest speech had introduced a
most unprofessional moisture, "I think not just yet, I
want you to see her, and still I am afraid of the result.
You see, she has manifestly gone wrong for the last two
or three days. Now, speaking practically, you are my
trump card, and I am loth to use you except to the
greatest advantage. If you don't succeed in combating
an idea that haunts the poor child's brain, I own I shall
be terribly disappointed."

" I understand," replied Reginald, with a weary smile.
"I fancy I know, from Grace, and all I have heard of her
illness besides, the whole story. Still it is better you
should tell me your impressions."

The doctor then entered into the whole history of
Lettice's sick bed, dwelling upon the predominant points
of her delirium, &c.

<( I presume," he observed in conclusion, " that I can
depend upon you to keep calm when you sue her. Mind,
coolness on your part is essential."

"Never fear, doctor; if I'm under the knife I'll not
wince. This story is all plain enough to me. That
unknown woman is not in the least anonymous, as far as

372 False Cards.

I am concerned. If you can only bring Lettice round
far enough to listen to an explanation, I will guarantee
that explanation shall do her more good than all your
medicines."

" My medicines ! " exclaimed the doctor. " By Jingo !
it had need. It's mighty little I can do for her, poor girl,
after I have administered you. Now off to bed with you !
I mean to stay here to-night, but don't intend to try you
till to-morrow, at all events."

" Thanks ten thousand for all you have done ! " And
with a warm shake of the hand the pair separated.

I don't think there was much sleep accomplished by
either of them. Reginald Holbourne, it may be easily
supposed, was little likely to pass a tranquil night under
the circumstances. Dr. Meddlicott also felt so much
interest and anxiety about the result of the meeting of
the lovers that he, too, failed to consummate the sleep of
the just.

The doctor was painfully aware that Lattice's mind
was in a most critical state. He spoke in all seriousness
when he designated Reginald his trump card. He was
very sanguine that Holbourne would be able to dissipate
that terror the removal of which so completely baffled his
science. But the doctor was equally aware that the girl
had some monomaniacal idea that her writing to or seeing
Reginald would act to his prejudice. It was difficult to
foresee how an interview would influence her mind. " If,"
argued the doctor, "we can get her through the first
flurry of that meeting, we shall do ; but then, unfortu-
nately, there must be a shock— a thing of all others in
her state I should like to avoid. Yet what can we do ?
It's quite clear, after the failure of our attempt to induce
her to answer his letters, that she will strenuously decline
to see him, if we break it to her that he is coming.
Reginald evidently can solve the whole problem success-
fully that racks her distraught mind, if we can only
persuade her to listen to him for ten minutes ; but there
is no denying that the sight of him may utterly unhinge
her ; and if it does— well, it will be a bad business, I fear,"
mused the doctor. " Still something must be tried ; she
can't go on in this state. If she is no worse, I'll risk it

A New description. 373

to-morrow, in some shape. Pity that note fell into her
hands to-day — sad mistake, though Sylla worked hard to
retrieve her error. Past twelve — thi's won't do — an old
practitioner worrying his own nerves by thinking about
his patients ! No, no, I must go to sleep, if only in the
interest of other people."

Much puzzled was the doctor next morning how best
to play his trump card. Lettice's feverish anxiety was
once more painful to witness. The old nervous terror
was as apparent as in the very first days of her conval-
escence. The dark eyes wandered restlessly round the
room, and that scared look the doctor had always so much
dreaded was as manifest as ever. It was evident that the
patient had retrograded — was iv_trograding fast. He
feared the result of introducing Reginald suddenly into
her presence.

It was reserved for a woman's quick wit to solve the
problem.

" Make Reginald write her a note as if from London,
to say that he is coming down to see how she is for
himself. Tell him to say that he can show that she has
been deceived, imposed upon in every way, and let him
speedily follow his letter — that's my advice, doctor," said
Sylla Collingham, at the expiration of an earnest conver-
sation with the perturbed medico.

" You are right, Miss Sylla — that's it ! I will bring
you the note in ten minutes, and the writer had better
follow it in about an hour or two."

But the result of that note filled the conspirators with
dismay. Lettice got more excited and flighty in her talk
after receiving it than ever. Sbe declared sbe was quite
well, and must go away. Reginald little knew what
would be the consequences of his rashness — sbe did, and
it was her duty to save him at all hazards. In sbort, it
was found necessary to humour bur whim. To soothe
her, the carriage was ostentatiously ordered to meet
the evening train. Sylla's maid went through con-
siderable demonstration of packing, on Miss Melton's
behalf.

Doctor Meddlicott was dreadfully put out at the state
of affairs. He told Reginald honestly that be did not

374 False Cards.

like to undertake the responsibility of introducing him
to the sick girl's presence as things stood.

" And yet," he said, " delay seems only to increase the
difficulty. A week ago it had been easy. At the same
time I am convinced that we shall do no permanent good
with her till you have dispelled the hallucination that
possesses her."

" Doctor, she is my affianced bride, and therefore I
claim some voice in this matter. Let me see her," ex-
claimed Holbourne, eagerly.

Doctor Meddlicott mused for some moments, and at
last said,

"You shall. I'll risk it. Now listen attentively to
what I am going to say to you. It is impossible to say
how the sight of you may affect her. She may faint, be
hysterical, delirous, anything. But whatever it may be,
I want her, if possible, to come round again without
other aid than yours. You will find all necessary remedies
at hand. A touch of the bell, or even a call, will, I need
scarcely say, bring me to your assistance ; but don't
summon me if you can help it. Don't lose your nerve
if she swoons. Recollect her physical health is by no
means bad, it is her mental state that is so ticklish.
Remember, if you can pull through without me I shall
deem the victory won, and feel no fears about the future.
Now, come."

Reginald's heart beat thick and fast as he followed the
doctor upstairs. At the threshold of Lettice's door his
conductor paused, and eyed him narrowly.

"No hurry," he said. "She is by herself. Now, if
you are ready. Remember, be cool." And with this
parting injunction the doctor softly turnedthe handle of
the door, and having admitted his companion, instantly
closed it again behind him.

Lettice is lying on a couch near the window, so
absorbed in her occupation as to be quite unconscious that
she is no longer alone. Most prosaic of occupations is
hers. She is studying Bradshaw, and wondering where
she' should next hide herself. That she must put herself
once more out of her lover's reach is a fixed idea in
Lettice's mind. Her face is turned from him, rind for a

A Netv Prescription. 375

second Reginald pauses doubtfully — in the next his
resolution is taken. He crosses swiftly, though quietly,
to her side, She turns her head at the sound of his foot-
steps, but before she can rise his arms have encircled her,
and he whispers passionately in her ear,

" At last, my darling, I have found you ! "

For a few moments she yields to his embrace, then
the dark eyes dilate with terror, and she struggles to
extricate herself.

" Go, Reginald, go ! " she cries. " What madness
brought you here ? It is ruin to you to see me again !
You know it. She said so. She vowed it should be, and
I promised to save you, my own — never to see you
more ! Quick ! away, and she may not discover we have
met!"

Her last words rose almost to a shriek, and she fought
angrily to free herself from his arms. But Reginald held
her close.

" Lettice," he said, gently, "that woman lied to you.
She imposed upon you ! She has treated you cruelly !
She can do me no harm ! She can do you no harm ! On
the contrary, it is /who intend to exact a heavy reckon-
ing from her, for all the pain and anxiety she has cost us
both. Be still, child ! "

Exhausted by her struggles, Lettice now lies tranquil
in her lover's embrace, her head pillowed on his breast.
There is assurance of safety in those strong arms that are
wound about her. The quiet, resolute tones soothe her
excited nerves. Moreover, that cool threat of vengeance
on her dreaded enemy gives a confidence to the terror-
stricken girl that is of incalculable value in dissipating
her hallucination. Far from tearing that bugbear of her
imagination, to Lettice's surprise, her lover threatens
severe reprisals. Still it is not to be supposed that the
clouds that hang over her mind can be dispelled all at
once. She raises her head timidly.

' Take me away, Regi. Let's go far away," she

whispers, " where she cannot find us. I thought I could

give you up, but I can't now. Hush I" she said, lifting

hand with a warning gesture — "speak low — she finds

out everything. Let's go away to-night. I know lots of

37 6 citse Cards.

places. I was going to hide from you, dear ; now we will go
together, and hide from her. Come," and but for the strong
encircling arms, Lettice would have sprung to her feet.

Holbourne's mouth twitched, and his features worked
strangely. Fell was the curse he gulped down concern-
ing Marion Langworthy, and stern was the vow he made
at that moment to show her but scant mercy when the
tide turned against her, as he felt it assuredly would. But
he remembered the doctor's last words, and though he shook
from head to foot, it was in tranquil tones that he replied.

"You are not strong enough to travel yet, Lettice — I
am going to stay with you here till you are ; and then I
shall marry you, and take you away. You must be quick
and grow strong, little woman, for you are a very white,
woe-begone-looking Lettice just now. There, keep quiet
— I have come down expressly to nurse you, and expect
you to be very obedient to my directions."

She smiled up at him, the old trusting, loving smile.

"Listen Regi," she said ; "I shall get well if you never
leave me ; but that woman will separate us if you do.
Promise not to go away from me again. I am so afraid
of her. Are you sure she can't hurt you ?"

"Quite; nor you either, darling," said Holbourne, as
he stroked the short, soft rings of hair that now repre-
sented Lettice's once luxuriant tresses.

But the door opens, and in bounces Dr. Meddlicott.
The doctor's curiosity was no longer to be restrained.
Lettice made a faint effort to assume a more decorous
position, but her lover held her fast. " Keep still, child,"
he whispered, "they all know you belong to me."

"I thought I heard you ring," said the doctor, with a
twinkle of his eye.

"Thanks, no — I require no assistance."

The doctor looked keenly at his patient for a few
seconds — the scrutiny seemed to satisfy him.

"Assistance!" he exclaimed, turning to Reginald —
"no, you young jackanapes, I should think not. I think
I could have done such nursing single-handed at your
age. Even now I shouldn't mind taking a turn at it."
And, with a pleasant laugh, the doctor left the lovers
once more to themselves.

CHAPTER XLI.

FOR THE DEFENCE.

R. HOLBOURNE, however he may attempt to
disguise matters to the world, feels Grace's
elopement deeply. Although he cannot lay
blame to himself concerning it, still, he has an
uneasy suspicion that he did not see dcssous les carles—
that there were facts he was blind to connected with it.
The banker is a good deal altered by his domestic troubles.
It is true he still retains his old pompous manner, but his
self-complacency is perceptibly reduced. He flourishes
the eye-glass yet, but it is with a mere ghastly shadow of
the oracular manner in which he formerly twirled that
article.

Miss Langworthy, meanwhile, strives, and with

tolerable success, to be all in all to her uncle. She exerts

herself in every way. Never was the menage more

sharply looked after than it is at the present ; never were

the banker's comforts more carefully attended to ; never

were his little foibles more humoured and remembered.

Those little dinners he so delights in are constantly urged

upon him, and, upon those occasions, Marion employs all

her energies to make them go off well. Gifted with rare

tact and much fascination oi manner, it is not much to

be wondered at that she succeeds. When she threw her

powers into the contrary direction a while back, it may

be remembered she proved quite capable of putting these

little reunions out of joint.

37$ False Cards,

It is difficult to describe such an incongruous character
as Marion's. She has schemed, and is yet scheming,
with apparent success, but she is not mercenary in her
designs. She troubles her head nothing about how her
uncle may intend to dispose of his property. If the
banker showed signs of infirmity, she would make no
attempt to benefit herself at the expense of her cousins in
his will. She would like to feel that she had influence
enough over him to ask for a considerable sum of money
without giving any explanation as to why she required
it, simply because that would enable her to get quit of
Lightfoot, the shaking off of whom she made no disguise
to herself was liable to be attended with considerable
expense.

But her main object was attained. She was absolute
mistress of her uncle's house. Now her cousin was
married, Miss Langworthy was perfectly willing that she
should be reconciled to her father, and had made up her
mind to forward such reconciliation if it lay in her power.
She had forgiven Grace her involuntary share in Robert
Collingham's offence — but with Reginald it was different.
She still felt very bitter about his defalcation, and had
no intention that the grass should grow over his quarrel
with his father if she could help it. - It was a very
singular feeling on Marion's part. She had placed no
kind of value on this love when it was hers — had taken
but little pains to keep it — had always contemplated
throwing it on one side, as soon as a more eligible parti
should offer. Yet when she found he had dared to
emancipate himself from her thrall, Miss Langworthy
felt as vindictively towards him as her disposition was
capable of — and its capabilities in that direction were by
no means small.

Her wrath, perhaps, on being analysed, might be found
to spring principally from two motives — she was very
indignant at finding her hold over him so utterly gone.
That he had vouchsafed no reply to her letter, but had
written straight to his father on receipt of it, had made
Marion supremely angry. Then, again, she was bitterly
enraged at her rival not being of her own class ; for Miss
Langworthy held very high and mighty notions as to

I 1 or the Defence. 379

what constituted a lady, and, utterly ignoring the fact
that her own blood was of very ordinary vintage, looked
down disdainfully upon those whose position was some-
what inferior to her own. She hated Lettice, too, from
the moment she set eyes on her. The girl's honest,
truthful nature was a satire upon her own scheming
disposition ; she hated her still more because Reginald
so loved her ; and finally she hated her because she felt
that Lettice was likely to bear testimony against her at
some future time. The girl could expose a very pretty
tissue of false speaking on Miss Langworthy's part, should
she ever meet Reginald again face to face. And here she
was, according to Lightfoot's information, established at
Churton ! This, in Marion's eyes, was another urgent
reason why Reginald should not come to Aldringham —
and though, considering his peculiar relations with her-
self, it was scarce likely that he would do so at present,
there was much safety in that breach between him and
his father. That Reginald and Lettice had already met
was quite unknown to Miss Langworthy.

The banker is sitting in somewhat melancholy mood
in his own peculiar den. True, his niece is unremitting
in her attentions, most devoted to the study of his com-
forts; but a man cannot help feeling estrangement from
his own children, when his disposition is cast in so genial
a mould as Mr. Holbourne's. His quarrel with each of
them, moreover, as he is well aware, is based upon most
sandy foundation. He has forbid Reginald to marry a
certain young lady. Reginald, on his part, has declared
he will ; but still he has not as yet done so. As for
Grace she has thought fit to run away with the discarded
son of his old friend Collingham. It was against his
wish. He, in fact, had expressed himself strongly on the
point ; but still beyond that he was unrecognised by Sir
John, Mr. Holbourne had nothing tangible to allege
against Charles Collingham.

He is still musing over these things, when a servant
announces that the Baronet wishes to see him, and the
announcement barely precedes the visitor himself.

"Holbourne," remarked Sir John, their first greetings
passed, "I have come down to have a little serious talk

380 False Cards.

with you about this marriage of our children. What
are we to do about it ?"

" Do about it ! " exclaimed the banker in astonish-
ment. " Why, you have repudiated Charlie for the last
five years. You don't consider his carrying off Grace a
plea for forgiveness, do you ? "

" Yes, I do," retorted Sir John. " It is the most
sensible thing he ever did. The man who could carry
off my god-daughter and didn't, would have been such a
fool, that it's a mercy to think my offspring was not so
thick-headed."

"I don't understand you," stammered the banker.
" You have refused to forgive your son for running
counter to your wishes for years. You seem to expect
me to pardon my daughter out of hand."

" My dear old friend," said Sir John. " It comes ill from
me, I grant you, but I am here pledged to plead Grace's
cause. Whatever the reason of my quarrel with Charlie,
suffice it to say it is now removed ; and if his marriage
had but your sanction, it would please me more than any
alliance he could have made.

This was flattering, very. Mr. Holbourne tingled
down to his very finger-tips with gratification. Recognised
by Sir John, he felt that Grade's marriage would be
perfectly satisfactory. Still had he not been steeling
himself these last few weeks to emulate his pet model,
hardening his heart, stifling his affections, and when at
length fondly hoping he had attained to the stern un-
relenting frame of mind which he so revered in the
Baronet, lo and behold that gentleman abdicates the
position which he has held for years, and comes talking
to him about the advisability of forgiving these wayward
children of theirs ! It had been a severe struggle ere
the good-natured banker could quite make up his mind
that his dignity required him to discard his children.
But he would not be behind his neighbour, and he also
would preach a lesson to the irreverent youth of this
generation, that parents were not to be lightly dealt
with. He has arrived at this stage, recollect, only after
much petrifaction of his natural feelings, a process
which has been accomplished with more sighs and

For the Defence. 381

regrets than the banker would care to look back
upon.

Like that ancient gentleman of monkish legend, he
has attained the top of his pillar, and is prepared to
look down upon human joys and affections with disdain-
ful melancholy for the future. It accords ill with his
genial character. What matter ? Have we never seen
men make themselves miserable in the gratification of
their pride before now ? What tortures will our sisters
not undergo in indulgence of their vanity ! If you
wish really to preach a homily on that subject, I com-
mend you to a fine Ascot Cup day, which bursts into
stormy tears about lunch time. A sad sight is woman
in draggled drapery — sadder reflection still, she is pain-
fully aware of it, and the honeyed contralto of the
morning turns to the ascidulated treble in the afternoon.
Though you have abandoned your umbrella to her,
speculate not on her gratitude. A week hence she may
thank you. At present all she knows is that her petticoats
are bemired, her hair out of curl, that she is looking her
worst, and that you are looking at her.

The banker hesitated some time before he replied ;
when his answer came, it was in a constrained voice,
very different from his usual jubilant, self-satisfied tones.
The gold eye-glass with which he used to point his
speeches, dangled neglected on his waistcoat.

" Grace, like Reginald," he said, harshly, " has made
her own election. When children choose to set their
fathers at defiance, to treat their express commands as
subject of ridicule, they can hardly be surprised should
the father on his side forget that they are his offspring.
Sir John, you moot this request to an old man, sore-
stricken by the conduct of those to whom he has given
life. I loved my children dearly; they have laughed at
me. You ! you ! " he said, " have taught us the way to
deal with such untoward stock. I take my lesson from
yourself, and say that Grace and Reginald are no longer
children of mine."

"My dear old friend," replied the Baronet sadly, " I
also said that in my wrath, and with far better grounds
for doing so than vou have. If 1 tell you that I have

2 n

382 False Cards.

lived to think myself wrong, won't that induce you to
reconsider your sentence ? "

The banker only wanted in reality a decent pretext to
retire from the unnatural (to him) position he had assumed.

"Of course," he said slowly, "it does make a differ-
ence, if you choose to make it up with Charlie."

" My dear Holbourne ! " exclaimed the Baronet, " I am
not yet reconciled with Charlie, but I have fair grounds
for supposing that our original quarrel was due in some
measure to a misconception on my part. Will you pardon
your daughter if I make peace with my son ? "

The banker paused, and played after his manner with
his eye-glass.

" You must admit, Sir John," he said at length, " that
you are departing rather from the example you have held
up to us ; " and as he spoke he eyed his companion
anxiously, as if fearful he would take him at his word.

" Have I not told you," replied the Baronet, earnestly,
" that, stern and unforgiving as I am by nature, I have
come at last to think that I have meted out hard judg-
ment to that son of mine ? When you see me, after all
these years, telling you that I wish I had dealt otherwise
with him — when I consent to swallow my pride, and own
confidentially to you that I fear I have been but an
obstinate, uncharitable old fool after all, will you, then,
say no to my request ? You can't, you won't, I know
you too well, Holbourne. Gracie appeals to me as her
godfather and father-in-law. I have promised to stand
by her and make peace between you. Promise me be-
fore I go that you will write and say you forgive her."

" If you can forgive Charlie, Sir John, I cannot refuse
to pardon Grace. Is it a bargain ? " And the banker's
face lit up the idea of once more seeing his bonnie
Grace again.

" Clinched, signed, and sealed ! " cried the Baronet, in
jubilant tones, as he clasped his friend's hand. "My
pardon, unconditional, except that they come here
shortly, goes by to-day's post. Let yours also."

" It shall," replied Mr. Holbourne blithely ; and with
another warm shake of the hands the queerly-matched
friends parted.

CHAPTER XLII.

MARION IN TROfBLE.

ARION LANGWORTHY was speedily made
aware of her uncle's decision regarding Grace.
She had been, of course, cognizant of the con-
ference between him and Sir John, and led up
to the subject thereof in her usual subtle manner after
dinner. The banker would have been sore put to it had
he wished to evade his niece's insidious cross-examina-
tion ; but he had no such intention, and at once ex-
plained to her the object of Sir John's visit, and the
resolution he had come to. Marion, as we know, had
decided to throw no obstacles in the way of his re-
conciliation with his daughter, and Mr. Holbourne was,
to say the truth, somewhat relieved to find it met with
her entire approval. Though he would have scorned to
own such a tiling, yet the banker stood in unmistakeable
awe of his niece's opinion, and feared it not a whit the
less because, as a rule, it was somewhat difficult to arrive
at in the first instance. But Miss I orthy, if some-

what chary of expressing her views to .start with,
always took care they should be clearly comprehended
in the sequel, and in her own way was at considerable
pains to prove the correctness of her appri hension. J [er
uncle had arrived at a dim understanding of this fact, an( j
was therefore pleased to find that his intentions w jth
regard to Grace found favour in her sight.

384 False Cards.

" I don't see how you could hold out uncle. It was
very foolish, and I suppose I should say wrong, of
Gracie to run away. It was, at all events, behaving
very badly to you ; but it is done now, and you know
yov love her dearly, so there is nothing left but to
make the best of it. Besides, if Sir John acknowledges
Charlie again he must do something to help them ; it's
a connection you like, and I don't see why it should not
all do very well. Charlie's being so completely dis-
carded by his father was the great objection to it — and
that removed, I don't think there's much to find fault
with when you have once forgiven Gracie for her
mutiny."

" Just what I felt, Marion. I can't quarrel with my
daughter all my life. If Sir John can forgive I can,"
continued the banker, eagerly. "The minx had no
business to run away and set me at defiance, but if he had
but been on terms with his father I should never have
opposed her marriage with Charlie Collingham. Now
that's all settled, and I have written to tell them to come
here."

But Miss Langworthy had several causes of mental
disqinttude, and it was one of these that had made her
so inquisitive about the object of Sir John's visit. She
knew that Lettice was at Churton, and though not
exactly seeing how, felt that there was considerable
danger of a meeting between her and Reginald. If they
once exchanged explanations, Marion knew that she must
stand convicted of most unblushing falsehood at the least
- — how much further she might be compromised she
could hardly say. It was consequently a relief to her
mind to find out that Sir John's visit bore no reference
to Miss Cheslett (such she still was to Marion) and her
affairs. She was in happy ignorance that Reginald was
at that moment at Churton, that all had been cleared
up between him and his betrothed, and that her own
conduct was laid bare in all its mendacity and vindic-
tiveness.

Miss Langworthy, too, had received an intimation of
clanger from another quarter. Sixty days soon glide
away, and since Marion had so rashly affixed her sig-

Marion m Trouble. 38

nature at Mr. Lightfoot's suggestion, that mystic period
lias elapsed. She has received an official intimation from
Messrs. Hartz and Smelter, that two of her notes of hand
will fall due at the end of the week, requesting her to
provide for the taking up of the same. She wrote by
return of post to Mr. Lightfoot, but that gentleman
curtly recommended her to meet her liabilities promptly,
as the Israelite who was in possession of the documents
alluded to was a veritable descendant of Shylock, no-
torious for his rapacity, and capable even of attaching
her person if his lust for gold was not satiated. Marion,
though somewhat uneasy in her mind, was by no means
so impressed with this intelligence as her correspondent
anticipated. She had a hazy idea that a woman was not
liable to arrest for debt, and looked upon Lightfoot's
letter as intended to frighten her only. She thought she
would have to pay " these things," so she termed them,
some day ; but had no conception that any arbitrary
steps could be taken against her in reference to them.
Had Marion more thoroughly comprehended her lia-
bilities, she would probably have at once made a clean
breast of it to her uncle, but she did not. There would
be much awkwardness in explaining how it was that she
had got into the hands of these bill-discounters-- for
what she had wanted all this money ; and though Miss
Langworthy's fertile imagination would doubtless have
proved equal to the occasion, and devised some plausible
story to satisfactorily account for such transactions, yet
she quite failed to recognise the imminent danger she
stood in. Of course if these people did proceed to ex-
tremities, exposure was curtain, and explanation would
be difficult in the extreme ; but Marion looked upon her
quondam advi 1 1< r as simply an attempt at further

extortion, and r< solved to di d it.

Miss Langworthy, in neat hat and comfortable seal-
skin jack les from her uncle's door this ci
Novemb r morning, with no immediate misgivings con-
cerning her liabilities, intending to make a few visits in
Aldringham. She takes little heed of a flashily-dr< '•.
man, with bright scarlet n . who is illy sucking
his stick on the opposite side of the way. But that ill-

3^6 False Cards.

attired individual regards her with considerable atten-
tion, and lounges in her footsteps with an indolent,
slouching gait, as one accustomed to dog the perambula-
tions of his fellows. This man, unfortunately for Marion,
is a very epicure in his profession. Cynical and discon-
tented with the calling to which the fates have doomed
him, he solaces himself by conducting it in the most
sensational manner possible. His vocation is to serve
writs, but, unless tied tightly down by the instructions
of his employers, Mr. Trapster can never resist waiting
for the opportunity of a great scenic effect. He has no
idea of a quiet arrest ; his monomania is to explode his
torpedo when it will create the greatest sensation. _

This singular fancy has cost him several sad mishaps.
He has been hurled from the top of a drag at _ Goodwood
— precipitated from a window at Long's — kicked down
innumerable stairs — stricken to the ground at the steps
of St. George's, Hanover Square, for exercising his func-
tions at the conclusion of the marriage ceremony. But
nothing can wean him from his hobby.

"A writ served at the right moment is better than any
play," he was wont to observe to his intimates. " It's a
leetle dangerous, I grant you, but so's practical joking.
In my case, I always get paid if I am damaged— practical
jokers don't. I makes the most fun I can out of the
business, and takes the chances."

Mr. Trapster knew very well that the most business-
like course to have taken would have been to call upon
Mr. Holbourne and show him the writ issued against his
niece. He was quite aware that the probabilities would
be in favour of its being settled then out of hand, but,
Mr. Trapster argued, there would be no fun attached to
that form of proceedure. To Mr. Trapster's eccentric
conception of humour, a far more public mode of action
was preferable, and it was with a silent_ chuckle that he
now followed in the steps of his unconscious victim.

If ever there was a woman to whom a public exposure
was likely to prove unbearable, it was Marion. Her
wrath had been very great, as we know, on the discovery
that she had been made a fool of in Robert Collingham's
case— although not intentionally on his part. Yet it had

Marion in Trouble. 387

taken her some time to forgive Grace for her innocent
share in that disappointment. As for the male delin-
quent, it was well for him that he had never required
mercy at Marion's hands — that he was placed out of
reach of her vengeance. No woman would have been
more relentless in reprisal than Miss Langworthy, had
opportunity been vouchsafed her. The sorest trial to
her in that affair had been the condolence of some of her
Aldringham friends, who vowed they had been looking
forward to congratulate her on the engagement.

Marion, quite unconscious of her eccentric follower,
threads her way through the town towards Mrs.
Methringham's house. That lady, it may be remem-
bered, is one of Miss Langworthy's most intimate friends.
But ere she reaches it, she finds herself in the midst of a
bevy of acquaintances, of whom Mrs. Kennedy forms one,
and is immediately involved in hand-shaking, and con-
versation.

To Mr. Trapster, with his peculiar ideas of humour,
this seems a most suitable occasion on which to present
that ominous strip of paper which he bears with him.
Leisurely selecting it from a capacious pocket-book,
while his eyes twinkle with glee, he suddenly thrusts
himself into the group of ladies, and doffing the white
hat to Marion, observes,

" Miss Langworthy, I believe."

" Well ! " exclaims Marion, drawing herself up to her
full height, and confronting the intruder with extreme
disdain, " what do you want ? "

"Nothing much, Miss," replied the bailiff, with a grin,
" but I've a little bit of paper here for you. Suit of
Hartz and Smelter, £2(3*] 10s., with costs. What shall
we do about it ? "

"What do you mean, man ?" gasped Mrs. Kennedy,
breathlessly, as the group scattered like pigeons before
the hawk ; while Marion, with colourless cheek and
clasped hands, gazed vacantly at her persecutor.

"Simply I arrest this young lady for debt, and if she
or her friends can't settle it, 1 shall have to do my dooty,
and convey her to Drollington gaol, that's all. But
what's two hundred and sixty-seven odd to the likes of

388 False Cards,

her ? Don't you be frightened, miss. It's only walking
home to your friends for the money. You'll have to
excuse my accompanying you, but business is business,
and I'm bound not to lose sight of a prisoner."

" You are talking nonsense, fellow," retorts Mrs.
Kennedy. "If you annoy us further we shall have to
give you over to the police." But as she glances at
Marion's colourless cheeks, she feels there is very little non-
sense about the transaction.

This last idea tickles Mr. Trapster amazingly ; he bursts
into an unseemly guffaw, through the lulls of which
come half stifled ejaculations of " Give me over to the
police ! Lor, here's a start! Give me over to the police!
Well, I'm blessed if this ain't a go! "

By this time Marion has recovered her presence of
mind.

" An unpleasant mistake, Mrs. Kennedy, she exclaims,
with a somewhat forced smile. " I never did profess to
understand how I was left with regard to my poor father's
liabilities, or how I am situated with regard to my own
little property. I think I had best go home and see my
uncle at once."

This again seemed to amuse the cynical Trapster.

" There ain't nothing else to be done, miss. We never
takes ladies like you to Drollington, though, of course,
that's what it comes to in extremities. But we'd best
jog home and see about it. My time, begging your pardon
is valooable."

Marion wished her friends good-bye — such, indeed, as
had courage to see the denouement — and then, with down-
cast eyes and cheeks aflame, hurried home with her
equivocal follower at her heels.

On her arrival at her own door, Marion was doomed to
still further torture. Mr. Trapster, to her dismay,
utterly declined to wait outside, but persisted in accom-
panying her into the house, to the complete confusion of
the butler, who could scarcely credit his ears when told
by his mistress to let " that man " follow her into the
drawing-room. There Mr. Trapster proved equally
impracticable. When Miss Langworthy requested him
to take a seat while she went to find her uncle, that

Marion in Trouble. 389

imperturbable personage said he would accompany her
on her mission. It was in vain Marion urged she would
be back directly. " Can't let you out of my sight, Miss,
I'm sorry to say till the thing's settled. It's against all
rules. I'd do anything to oblige a lady, but I'm respon-
sible for your safe keeping now. Of course I know you
wouldn't, but then it is possible you might look for your
uncle at the railway station, and take a train somewhere
if you were disappointed about finding him. It's the
worst of our profession, miss — it makes us distrust our
fellow-creatures.

There was nothing to be done but to send for Mr.
Holbourne, and this Miss Langworthy accordingly did.
By this the household were all agog, and no one more
conscious of that fact than Marion, as she sat quivering
with shame and impotent wrath in the drawing-room ;
while opposite her, on the extreme edge of his chair, was
perched the monster of the flame-coloured neckerchief,
his white hat deposited carefully at his feet, beguiling the
time by sucking the top of his stick, and glancing
admiringly at his victim.

Bitter were Marion's reflections at this time. No one
could guess more accurately than she how far the news
of her misadventure had spread in Aldringham. The
thing had been so public that, as Miss Langworthy well
knew, the story of her being arrested for debt would be
fully discussed at every tea-table in the town that night.
She had guided the scandal of the place for some time
past, now she was called upon to breast it ; and Marion
felt that was beyond her. She pictured to herself the
different versions that would be given of her contretemps
She saw her dear friends each publishing her own par-
ticular edition of the follies and vanities that had led to
such a disgraceful catastrophe. Her ears tingled as she
thought how unanimous they would be upon the one
point, to wit, " that they always had suspected there was
something not quite right about Miss Langworthy."
And then Marion thought what scope there was for their
lively tongues when they came to consider how it was
that she had incurred her liabilities. "Opium-eating,"
" drawing-room alcoholism," " gambling " on the turf,

390 False Cards.

on the stock-exchange, would be the least of the charges
brought against her.

One thing alone seemed clear to Marion — that she
must leave Aldringham at once. She had queened it
there too long not to have made enemies, and she scorned
to become a cipher in the little world she had so long
ruled. She must go away she hardly knew where, but
she could face Aldringham society no more, for some
time at all events.

It was curious and typical of the girl's character that
what would have weighed upon most people's minds in
her situation scarcely cost her a thought. To the
generality of nephews or nieces so placed, the serious part
of the affair would have been the having to appeal to an
uncle for a considerable sum of money without being able
to give any explanation of how such a debt had been
incurred. Marion troubled herself not an iota upon this
point. She felt quite certain her uncle would pay it for
her. She had equally made up her mind to decline any
explanation concerning her involvements.

At this juncture the banker hurriedly entered the
room.

" What is the matter Marion ? — something gone much
amiss, so Saunders seems to think. Why, who the
devil are you ? " he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon Mr.
Trapster.

" Sheriff's officer in charge," briefly responded that
functionary.

" What does he mean ? " cried Mr. Holbourne, in
blankest astonishment.

" My dear uncle," replied Marion, in her softest tones,
" I am arrested for debt, and unless you pay that man
what he demands, he tells me I must go to Drollington
Gaol."

" Goodness gracious ! But how do you come to
owe this money ? How much is it ? Whom is it
owing to ? "

" Two hundred and sixty seven, ten — that's wot it is-
Who is it owing to ? — Hartz and Smelter," interposed
Mr. Trapster. " As for how she comes to owe it, the
lady must explain, if she can ; there's a good many would

May io7i in Trouble. 391

be puzzled to cipher out how it is they owes what Hartz
and Smelter wants of em. It ain't everyone as is acquainted
with the beauties of compound interest." And having
favoured the banker with this information, Mr. Trapster
blew his nose, and then smiled affably on his auditors.

" Marion," said the banker, " this must be a thorough
case of extortion. How can you owe all this money ?
Tell me all about it, and I daresay I can knock off one-
half of the amount.

" I will tell you nothing ! " retorted Miss Langworthy,
quietly but firmly. u That I am being grossly plundered
I know ; but sooner than expose my folly, I will go to
Drollington Gaol. If you love me, pay that man what
he demands, and question me no more. I am disgraced
for ever in Aldringham ; the further ignominy would be
of no great matter, after all."

In vain did the banker urge upon his niece that, if she
would but give him some clue to her transactions with
Hartz and Smelter, he could probably knock something
considerable off their account. Marion was resolute ; she
would explain nothing — if her uncle chose to pay that
sum for her, she should be very grateful; if not, it would
be less painful to her to go to Drollington than face the
public exposure of her folly which the contesting of Hartz
and Smelter's claim would call forth.

Mr. Holbourne could not see his niece go to prison,
and wound up by signing a cheque for the amount, upon
receipt of which Mr. Trapster took his departure,
extremely pleased with the way he had managed his
little affair, and speculating a good deal upon " what larks
that young woman had been up to."

That evening Miss Langworthy informed her uncle
that she must leave Aldringham, at all events for the
present. It was useless to argue with her. She said
frankly that she would not face the Aldringham world
while the scandal of that public arrest was still fresh in
their mouths, and the banker felt that he could not gain-
say her. So it was settled that the next morning she
should go and stay for a while with .some relationsol hers
— quiet, hum-drum people, at whose proffered hospitality
the fair Marion had hitherto rather turned her nose up.

CHAPTER XLIII.

CONCLUSION.

ETTICE'S advance towards recovery was slow

her extreme nervousness still painful to witness.
If Reginald was long absent from her, the old
dread of Marion's interposition once more
beset her; and the doctor pronounced that her lover's
presence was essential to her complete restoration to
health. Sir John himself was a constant visitor to the
invalid's room, and her gentle manner won upon his
rugged nature strangely. As for Sylla, she was wrapped
up in her patient. Most of us take a warm interest in
those it may have been our fate to befriend. We all feel
a strong sympathy for the waif we have saved from being
engulfed in life's stormy waters. Much more must this
hold good concerning the being for whose existence we
have wrestled so long and wearily with death. I can
hardly fancy a physician not feeling concern in the ulti-
mate career of the man whom his skill has for the time
rescued from the tomb.

Great was the astonishment of the Baronet and his
daughter when one morning Reginald unfolded to them
Lettice's history, and told Sir John that she was the
sister of his son's first wife.

"I have Charlie's sanction to tell you all this," he con-
tinued : " indeed more — he wished you to be acquainted
with it. You were much mistaken, Sir John, concerning

Conclusion. 393

the character of that first wife of his. I never saw her,
of course, but know her to have been as pure and inno-
cent as my own sweet Lettice. An unhappy confusion
of names led you to believe that he had married very
differently. He, in his foolishness, was too proud to cor-
rect your mistake ; but I trust, for Grade's sake, you
will forgive him now."

"He is about to bring his bride to Aldringham,'' re-
plied the Baronet drily. "Let him come here afterwards
and tell me his own story. I don't think he will find me
hard to satisfy. Your own case, Master Regi, is more
difficult. What do you mean to say to your father, sir,
about your own contumacious behaviour ? "

" Nothing," replied the young man quietly. " I shall
leave you and Sylla to say what sort of a bride it is that
I have won. Let Gracie, if she can, convince him of
Marion's real character, but I doubt her suceeding. As
for me, I shall manage to take care of my little wife in
some way, as soon as she is well enough to be made
such."

"Then Lettice is my sister, after all!" exclaimed
Sylla.

" Yes, in some measure, if you choose to acknowledge
her as such," replied Reginald, laughing.

" If I choose ! " exclaimed Miss Collingham. "Why,
you know I think her the dearest girl that ever lived."

" An opinion in which I thoroughly coincide," said
Holbourne : " and I don't even except Gracie, though
you ought."

"Well, yes, I can't give up Gracie," returned Sylla,
smiling. "But I think I can do with two such sisters."

" What do you say, Sir John ? " inquired Reginald,
somewhat nervously.

The Baronet's fa.cc grew dark.

"Charlie has not treated me w 11," he said at length.
" It was not lightly th it I quan 1 lied with him. I [e had
no right to leave me all these years under such a miscon-
ception. I can't say I should have approved or liked his
1 marriage, even ;is it was. Bui it was very different
from what I 1 it. Had he told me his story, an 1

brought home such a daughter-induw as Lettice Melton.

394 False Cards.

there would have been no feud between us. I am quite
willing, Reginald, to acknowledge the connection ; and
though in a worldly point of view it's a bad match
for you, I think you a deuced lucky fellow, all the
same."

Reginald Holbourne's face flushed with mingled pride
and pleasure at the Baronet's speech. " Thank you, Sir
John," he said, earnestly. " I can't say more, but I mean
a good deal when I say thank you for your kindness to
Lettice."

Very lonely felt the banker in his now solitary home.
When you have been habituated for years to the soften-
ing presence of woman in your wigwam, her absence
presses hardly upon your material comforts, to say noth-
ing of the sense of desolation that also attends such a
gap in your household. The loss of that imperceptible
influence which an educated woman throws around her
hearth is a sore blow to the man left to bear it single-
handed. The closed piano, the disappearance of the
tumbled music, of the work-boxes, of the endless em-
broidery, lace-work, and other womanly litter, at all of
which you have inveighed in your day, come home to
you now. How you wish they were but back again !
Little complaint would you make if the Grand Duchess
valses were rehearsed for the fifth time ; if your india-
rubber had been misappropriated, your pencils confis-
cated, and you found the Times cut up into patterns
before you had looked at it. Yet how angry these things
made you once ! But that time has passed away, and as
you sip your wine alone, you look back regretfully, and
wish those days could come again.

No man was more calculated to feel all this than Mr.
Holbourne, and the advent of Grace and her husband
really came like a flood of sunlight upon his existence.
Relieved from Marion's malign influence, Grace speedily
won her way back to her father's heart. The old house
seemed alive again as she tripped about it ; while her
husband showed a deference to his father-in-law, and
oblivion of his gout, which speedily reinstated him in the
latter's good opinion.

" Father," said Grace one morning, as they two sat

Conclusion. 395

over the drawing-room fire, " I want to talk to you about
Reginald."

The banker gave a slight start.

"Better not, child — he has behaved infamously to poor
Marion, and is going to many "

" My husband's sister-in-law," interrupted Mrs.
Collingham. " I don't know much about her, but believe
her to be as sweet a girl as a man is likely to meet with.
Charlie has gone over to Churton to see her now. She
has been dreadfully ill, you must know. She came down
as companion to Sylla, and has been near dying, but she
is coming round now. Reginald is staying at Sir John's
to nurse her through her convalescence. Fancy Regi as
a nurse ! I am longing to see him in that capacity ! "

" Reginald at Churton ! " exclaimed the banker.
" Do you mean to tell me that Collingham is backing up
that boy in his mad fancy ? "

" Listen, father," replied Grace, " for this is my mis-
sion. Reginald will marry no one else but Lettice Melton.
She is a sister of Charlie's first wife, and they have grown
so fond of her at Churton, that Sir John is quite willing
to recognise the connection. Don't believe in Marion's
tribulations. If Robert had asked her, instead of me, she
would have been Mrs. Collingham this minute. Reginald
was engaged to her as a boy, and she kept him on as a
pis-allcr, with no intention of holding to her troth, if she
could do better."

But Mr. Holbourne was hardly prepared to throw aside
his faith in his niece so soon. True it was that Marion's
last escapade in the matter of the arrest had somewhat
shaken his belief in that young lady, but lie had so ac-
customed himself to rest upon her judgment that he
could not as yet admit that he had been deceived in her.
Grace showed rare tact in the management of her i
She alleged nothing against her cousin, beyond that she
had ceased to care about Reginald for sonic tirn
and that therefore she was by no means so badly treated
as the banker deemed her.

"At all events, father," she urged, at last, "do not
discard him until you have seen this daughter he would
give you. Sir John would be the last man to approve of

^5g6 False Cards.

her, unless she was really a girl that you might welcome
as such. Will you be guided by him in this matter ? He
won my pardon, let him also plead for Reginald. You
have forgiven me — don't be hard upon Regi."

It was not to be supposed that Mr. Holbourne would
yield all at once, and Grace, quite satisfied with the im-
pression she had made, very prudently refrained from
pushing the question further. She was quite content
when her father replied, " He could say nothing at
present — he must think it over, talk to Sir John about
it, and see this Miss Melton for himself." Mrs. Collingham
felt that her brother's case was gained, and that Reginald's
reconciliation with his father was a mere question of time.

The banker began to expand again under the sun-
shine of his daughter's presence, and Miss Langworthy
day by day became less of a necessity in the routine of
his life. He went over to Churton, and had a long inter-
view with Sir John, which resulted in his introduction to
Lettice, and his sanction to Reginald's marriage. Finally,
it was arranged that the latter thould take his place
in the bank, and Mr. Holbourne strongly urged that the
young couple should come and keep house with him,
but to this Reginald put forth strong objections. He
said nothing about the treatment that Lettice had ex-
perienced at Marion's hands, but confined himself to
pointing out that his own previous relations with his
cousin would make residence under the same roof ex-
tremely awkward for both of them at present, and his
father could but acquiesce in that view of the subject.

This difficulty was, however, solved by Miss Lang-
worthy herself. That young lady, upon hearing of the
banker's reconciliation with his children, and that
Reginald and Lettice were both staying at Churton, was
of course aware her nefarious manoeuvres must now
be thoroughly exposed to her cousins. Whether they
chose to make use of such knowledge or not, it was quite
clear to Marion that she could never face them again.
She knew that they must be aware of most of her men-
dacious statements, that the meeting of Reginald and
Lettice must have resulted in a full explanation concern-
ing her visit to Baker Street, and that she felt neither of

Conclusion. 397

them could forgive. She retired gracefully and
dexterously from the scene. She wrote to her uncle to
say that she forgave Reginald, and wished him and his
bride health and happiness ; that for herself she could
not think of returning to Aldringham, at all events for a
long time, after the humiliation to which she had been
lately subjected, and ask his permission to make her
home with the relatives with whom she was now staying.

When more business heads than Lettice's came to
tumble over the late Mr. Cheslett's papers, it turned out
that he had left some five or six thousand pounds behind
him, all of which devolved upon his granddaughter, so
that Reginald's bride came to him not altogether
empty-handed after all.

Miss Meggott, when she was informed by Donaldson
of Charlie's intended marriage, was thrown into a mixed
state of gratification and despondency. She felt all the
interest that is natural to woman at the idea of a genuine
love affair being brought to a satisfactory conclusion ;
but mingled with it was the feeling that a favourite
lodger would from that time be lost to her.

I wish him well, Mr. Donaldson," she said. " Nobody's
congratulations will be more sincere than mine, but I
can't help feeling sad about it too. The complaint is
dreadfully catching, and you will be following his ex-
ample shortly, and then what's to become of Polly
Meggott ? When I haven't you two to blow me up or to
laugh with, I shall get moped. Of course we shall get
other lodgers, but none that will suit me as well, I know.
I only hope, Mr. Donaldson, that you ami Mr. Colling-
ham have been as well satisfied with Polly Meggott as
she has been with you. I'm sure," continued Polly
gravely, "that if I chaff too much, it's been your fault.
The pair of you taught me, and led me into it."

"Nevermind," replied Donaldson, laughing, "I give you
absolution for all ymi'r impertinences — past, present, and
to come. You will have only me to take care ol in future,
Polly, so I shall expect to be kept quite in silver paper."

"Gracious! yes," replied Mi Meggott, with a quiver
of her left eye, "I shall have to be careful of yju. I
shan't let you go out except with goloshes and a

2 c

39*

False Cards.

comforter. When one comes to one's last adorer, one
must watch over him in earnest. You had better be on
your guard, Mr. Donaldson," continued Polly, raising her
forefinger impressively ; "if I catch you sneezing, I shall
order you to bed ; " and with the tremor of her left eye
resolving into a palpable wink, Miss Meggott slipped out
of the room.

Mr. Lightfoot's last venture was the opening of what
he called the Alliance Ginger Beer Emporium, which
distributed that wholesome drink in gaudily labelled
bottles, with teetotal ballads on the reverse side.
Despite the exorbitant price charged— and Mr. Light-
foot's nectar was a penny dearer than any other vendor s
—yet there was no denying that the Emporium was
doing a wonderful business. Mr. Bullock could not com-
prehend it ; he went the length of procuring a bottle, and
bore witness to the fact that it was better than any ginger
beer he had ever tasted. " What is it he puts in it ? '
mused Mr. Bullock ; " it's something more than ginger-beer.
It picks one up more than any ginger-beer I ever drank.'
Your great inventors are ever beset by envious rivals.
It was one of these latter whose trade had suffered in
consequence of the great success of the Alliance article,
that at last conceived the malignant idea of analysing the
sparkling wine of the Emporium. It was becoming
more popular day by day, and the ordinary vendors of
the drink found their stock left upon their hands. This
man consulted Mr. Bullock ; they procured a bottle, and
submitted it to a chemist of repute; and when Mr.
Bullock received that gentleman's report, he smote his
thigh, gave vent to a prolonged whistle, and exclaimed
"I think, my friend Lightfoot, I've got you at last ! "

The Emporium, I regret to say, was almost immedi-
ately broken up. The Excise prosecuted Mr. Lightfoot
for selling spirits without a license, and proved incontest-
ably that the popularity of the Alliance Ginger Beer was
due to its being cleverly dashed with gin.

THE END.

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