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The Way We Live Now Frau Frohmann. Marion Fay. Kept in the Dark. Mr Scarborough's Family. The Land-Leaguers. By FRANCES E. TROLLOPE. Anne Fumess. | Mabel's Progress Like Ships upon the Sea. By IVAN TURGENIEFF, and Others. Stories from Foreign Novelists. By SARAH TYTLER. Citoyenne Jacque- line. Noblesse Oblige. The Huguenot Family. I.ady Bell. Came What She Through. The Bride's Pass. Saint Mungo's City. Beauty and the Beast. Burled Diamonds. By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER. Mistress Judith. Bv ]. S. WTV'IER. Regimental Legends. 2] LONDON: CHATTO AND W INDUS, PICCADILLY, W. THE CAPTAINS' ROOM ETC. PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON THE CAPTAINS' ROOM ETC. BY WALTER BESANT AUTHOR OF 'all SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN ' ETC A NEW EDITION WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY E. J. WHEELER CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1887 CONTENTS. TEE CAPTAINS' BOOM. CHAPTEK "AGE I. THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE ....... 1 II. THE PRIDE OF KOTHERHITHE . . . 20 HI. THE SAILOR LAD FROM OVER THE SEA . . ' . .29 IV. OVEKDUE AND POSTED . . . . . 48 Y. THE PATIENCE OF PENELOPE ....... 54 VI. THE MESSAGE FROM THE SEA . . . . . . 62 VII. CAPTAIN BORLINDEB AMONG THE CANNIBALS . .74 Till. THE QUEST OF CAPTAIN -WATTLES . . . . . 87 IX. THE GREAT GOOD LUCK OF CAPTAIN HOLSTIUS . .99 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: I. ALL THE PEOPLE STANI>ING . . . . .117 II. THE ASTONISHMENT OF MATHEW HUBIBIE . . 129 III. HOV7 RALPH SOUGHT FORTUNE . . . .138 IV. DPUSILLA's STORY . . . . ..151 V. A SECOND ■WHITTINGTON . . . .161 VI. THE LETTER AT LAST ........ 171 VII. MATHEW'S FRIENDLY OFFER ... ... 183 Till. IS IT TRUE ? . . . 191 rX. THE "WISDOM OF THE STRONG MAN 200 X. SAILOR nan's ride ......... 20£ XI. THE SALE OF THE COTTAGE . . . . . . .217 XII. ' GOD REST YOU MERRY OBNTIEMEN.' . . 227 vi CONTENTS. THEY WERE MABBIER PAKT I.— MON DESIR. CHAPTER PAGE I. A new-tear's dawn 233 II. THE SQUIRE .......... 244 III. IN THE bachelors' PAVII-ION ...... 250 IV. THE HUNTING OF THE GOURAMI ,,.... 257 V. HOW THE MAIL CAME IN ...... . 262 VI. HOW THE MAIL WENT OUT 273 PAET II.— IN THE SEASON. I. A ROSE OF JUNE 278 II. ELSIk's FRIEND .......... 289 III. AN ACTRESS AT H<1ME ........ 296 IV. THE 0\LY WAT OUT OF IT . . . . . . . 302 V. THE ENGAGEMENT ......... 308 TI, HUSBAND AND WIFE ......... 313 VII. love's TOUNG DREAM 320 VIII. HER SIMPLE DUTY ......... 325 IX. SHALL I TELL HER? ........ 331 X. WIFE AND FIANCEE 336 XI. BUOK.EN OFF .......... 342 XII. POOR TOM 346 XIII. FAREWELL .......... 351 XIV. AN AUSPICIOUS DAT 357 THE HUMBLING OF THE MEMBLING8 . . 362 THE MUBBEB OF NICE VEDDEB . . , . 387 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. CHAPTER I. THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE. Perhaps the most eventful clay in the story of which I have to tell, was that on which the veil of doubt and misery which had hung before the eyes of Lai Eydquist for three long years was partly lifted. It was so eventful, that I venture to relate what happened on that day first of all, even though it tells haK the story at the very beginning. That we need not care much to consider, because, although it is the story of a great calaruity long dreaded and happUy averted, it is a story of sorrow borne bravely, of faith, loyalty, and courage. A story such as one loves to tell, because, in the world of fiction, at least, virtue should always triumph, and true hearts be rewarded. "N^Hierefore, if there be any who love to read of the mockeries of fate, the wasting of good women's love, the success of craft and treacheiy, instances of which are not wanting in the world, let them go elsewhere, or make a Christmas tale for themselves : and their joy bells, if they like it, shall be the funeral knell, and their noels a dirge beside the grave of ruined and despaii'ing innocence, and for their feast they may have the bread and water of affliction. The name of the girl of whom we are to speak was Alicia Eyd- quist, called by all her friends Lai ; the place of her birth and home was a certain little-known suburb of London, called Rotlier- hithe. She was not at all an aristocratic person, being nothing but the daughter of a Swedish sea-cajitain and an English wife. Her father was dead, and, after his death, the widow kept a captains' boarding-house, which of late, for reasons wliich will presently appear, had greatly risen in repute. The day which opens my story, the day big with fate, the day from which everything that follows in Lai's life, whether that be short or long, will be dated, was the fourteenth of October, in the B 2 THIS CAPTAINS' ROOM. grievous year of rain and ruin, one thousand eight hundred and eeventy-nine. And though the summer was that year clean for- gotten, so that there was no summer at all, but only the rain and cold of a continual and ungracious April, yet there were vouchsafed a few gracious days of consolation in the autumn, whereof this waa one, in which the sun was as bright and warm as if he had been doing his duty like a British sailor all the summer long, and was proud of it, and meant to go on giving joy to mankind until fog and gloom time, cloud and snow time, black frost and wliite frost time, short days and long nights time, should put a stop to his benevolent intentions. At eleven o'clock in the forenoon, both the door and the window belonging to the kitchen of the last house of the row called ' Seven Houses ' were standing open for the air and the sunshine. As to the window, which had a warm south aspect, it looked upon a chvrchyard. A grape vine grew upon the side of the house, and some of its branches trailed across the upper panes, making a green drapery which was pleasant to look upon, thovigh none of its leaves this year were able to grow to their usual generous ampli- tude, by reason of the ungenerous season. The churchyard itself was planted with planes, lime-trees, and elms, whose foliage, for the like reason, was not yellow, as is generally the case with such trees in mid-October, but was still green and sweet to look upon. The burying-ground was not venerable for antiquity, because it was less than a hundred years old, church and all ; but yet it was pleas- ing ajid grateful — a churchyard which filled the mind with thoughts of rest and sleep, with pleasant dreams. Now, the new cemeteries must mostly be avoided, because one who considers them falls pre- sently into grievous melancholy, which, unless diverted, produces insanity, suicide, or emigration. They lend a new and a horrid pang to death. It is difficult to explain why this churchyard, more than others, is a pleasant spot : partly, perhaps, on account of the bright and cheerful look of the place in which it stands ; then, there are not many graves in it, and these are mostly covered or honoured by grey toinbst(mes, partly moss-grown. On this day the sunshine fell upon them gently, with intervals of shifting shade, through the branches ; and though the pilace around was beset with noises, yet, as these were always the same, and never ceased except at night, they were not regarded by those who lived there, and so the churchyard seemed full of peace and quiet. The dead men who lie there are of that blameless race who venture themselves upon the unquiet ocean. The dead women ai'e the wives of the men, their anxieties now over and done. When such men are gone, they are, for the most part, spoken of with good will, because they have never harmed any others but themselves, and have been kind- hearted to the weak. And so, from all these causes together, from the trees and tlie sunshine, and the memory of the dead sailors, it ia a churchyard which suggested peaceful thoughts. THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE. 8 At all events it did not sadden the children when they came out from the school, built in one corner of it, nor did its presence ever disturb or sadden the mind of the girl who was making a pudding in the kitclien. There were sparrows in the branches, and in one tree sat a blackbird, now and then, late as it was, delivering himself of one note, just to remind himself of the past, and to keep hia voice in practice against next spring. The girl was fair to look upon, and, while she made her pud- ding, with sleeves turned back and flecks of white flour upon her white arms, and a white apron tied round her Avaist, stretching from chin to feet like a child's pinafore or a long bib, she sang snatches of songs, yet iinislied none of them ; and when you come to look, closer into her face you saw that her cheeks were thin and her eyes sorrowful, and that her lips trembled from time to time. Yet she was not thinking out her sad thoughts to their full capabilities of bitterness, as some women are wont to do — as, in fact, her own mother had dont; for close upon twenty years, and was still doing, having a like cause for plaint and lamentation ; only the sad thoughts came and went across her mind, as birds fly across a garden, while she continued deftly and swiftly to carry on her work. At this house, which was none other than the weil-known Cap- tains' boarding-house, sometimes called ' Rydquist's, of Rother- hithe,' the puddings and pastry were her special and daily charge. The making of puddings is the poetry of simple cookery. One ia born, not made, for puddings. To make a pudding worthy of the name requires not only that special gift of nature, a light and cool hand, but also a clear intelligence and the power of concentrated attention, a gift in itself, as many lament wlien the sermon is over and they remember none of it. If the thoughts wander, even for a minute, the work is ruined. The instinctive feeling of right pro- portion in the matter of flour, lemon-peel, currants, sugar, allspice, eggs, butter, breadcrumbs : the natural eye for colour, form, and symmetry, which are required before one can ever begin even to think of becoming a maker of puddings, are all lost and thrown away, unless the attention is fixed resolutely upon the progress of the work. Now, there was one pudding, a certain kind of plum- dufl", made by these hands, the recollection of which was wont to fill the hearts of those Captains who were privileged to eat of it v/ith tender yearnings whenever they thought upon it, whether far away on southern seas, or on the broad Pacific, or in the shallow Baltic ; and it nerved their hearts when battling with the gales, while yet a thousand knots at least lay between their plunging bows and the Commercial Docks, to think that they were home- ward bound, and that Lai would greet them with that pudding. As the girl rolled her dough upon the white board and looked thoughtfully upon the little heaps of ingredients, she sang, as T have said, scra])S of songs ; but this was just as a man at work, as a carpenter at his bench or a cobbler over his boot, will whistle b2 4 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. scraps of tunes, not because his mind is touched with the beauty of the melody, but because this little action relieves the tension of the brain for a moment, without diverting the attention or disturbing the current of thought. She was dressed — behind the big apron — in a cotton print, made up by her own hands, which were as clever with the needle as with the rolling-pin. It was a dress made of a sympathetic stuff — there are many such tissues in every draper's shop — which, on being cut out, sewn up, and converted into a feminine garment, immediately proceeds, of its own accord, to interpret and illustrate the character of its owner ; so that for a shrew it becomes draggle-tailed, and for a lady careless of her figure, or conscious that it is no longer any use pretending to have a figure, it rolls itself up in unlovely folds, or becomes a miracle of flatness ; and for a lady of prim temperament it arranges itself into stiff vertical lines ; and for an old lady, if she is a nice old lady, it ■wrinkles itself into ten thousand lines, which cross and recross each other like the lines upon her dear old face, and all to bring her more respect and greater consideration ; but for a gu'l whose figm'e is tall and well-formed, this accommodating material becomes aa clinging as the ivy, and its lines are every one of them an exact copy of Hogarth's line of beauty, due allowance being made for the radius of curvature. I do not think I can give a better or clearer account of this maiden's dress, even if I were to say how-much-and-eleven-pence- three-farthings it was a yard and where it was bought. As for that, however, I am certain it came from Bjornsen's shop, where English is spoken, and where they have got in the window, not to be sold at any price, the greatest curiosity in the whole world (except the Golden Butterfly from Sacramento), namely, a beautiful model of a steamer, with everything complete — rigging, ropes, sails, funnel, and gear — the whole in a glass bottle. And if a man can tell how that steamer got into that bottle, which is a common glass bottle with a narrow neck, he is wiser than any of the scientific gentlemen who have tackled the problems of Stonehenge, the Pyramids, the Yucatan inscriptions, or the Etruscan language. That is what she had on. As for herself, she was a tall girl ; her figm-e was slight and graceful, yet she was strong ; her waist measured just exactly the same number of inches as that of her grandmother Eve, whom she greatly resembled in beauty. Eve, aa we cannot but believe, was the most lovely of women ever known, even including Rachel, Esther, Helen of Troy, Ayesha, and fair Bertha-with-the-big-feet. The colour of her hair depended a good deal upon the weather : when it was cloudy it was dark bro^-n ; when the sunlight fell upon it her hair was golden. There waa quite enough of it to tie about her waist for a girdle, if she was so minded ; and she was so little of a fine lady, that she would rather have had it brown in all weathers, and was half ashamed of its golden tint. It soothes the heart to speak of a beautiful woman ; the cou- THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE. 6 kemplation of one respectfully is, in itself, to all rightly constituted ir.asculine minds, a splendid moral lesson. 'Here,' says the moralist to himself, 'is the greatest prize that the earth has to ofler to the sons of Adam. One must make oneself worthy of such a prize ; no one should possess a goddess who is not himself godlike.' Having drawn his moral, the philosopher leaves off gazing, and returns, with a sigh, to his work. If you look too long, the moral is apt to evaporate and vanish away. The door of the kitchen opened upon the garden, which was not broad, being only a few feet broader than the width of the house, but was long. It was planted with all manner of herbs, such as thyme, which is good for stuffing of veal ; mint, for seasoning of that delicious compound, and as sauce for the roasted lamb ; borage, which profligates and topers employ for claret-cup, though what it was here used for I know not ; parsley, good for garnish, which may also be chopped up small and fried ; cucumber, chiefly known at the West End in connection with salmon, but not disdained in the latitude of Rotherhithe for breakfast, dinner, tea, or supper, in combination with vinegar or anything else, for cucumber readily adapts itseK to all palates save those set on edge with picksomeness. Then there were vegetables, such as onions, which make a noble return for the small space they occupy, and are universally admitted to be the most delightful of all roots that grow ; lettuces, crisp and green : the long lettuce and the round lettuce all the summer ; the scarlet-runner, which runneth in brave apparel, and eats short in the autumn, going well with leg of nuitton ; and, at the end of the strip of ground, a small forest of Jerusalem artichoke, fit for the garden of the Queen. As for flowers, they were nearly over for the year, but there were trailing nasturtiums, long sprigs of faint mignonette, and one great bully hollyhock ; there were also, in boxes, painted green, creeping-jenny, bachelors'-button, thrift, ragged-robin, stocks, and candy-tuft, but all over for the season. There was a cherry-tree trained against the wall, and beside it a peach ; there were also a Siberian crab, a medlar, and a mulberry- tree. A few raspberry-canes were standing for show, because among them all there had not been that year enough fruit to fill a plate. The garden was separated from the churchyard by wooden palings, painted green ; this made it look larger than if there had been a wall. It was, in fact, a garden in which not one inch of ground was wasted ; the paths were only six inches wide, and wherever a plant could be coaxed to grow, there it stood in its allotted space. The wall fruit was so carefully trained that there was not a stalk or shoot out of place ; the flower borders were so carefully trimmed that there was not a weed or a dead flower ; while as for grass, snails, slugs, bindweed, dandelion, broken flower-pot, brickbat, and other such tilings, which do too frequently disfigure the gardens of the more careless, it is delightful to record that there was not in tliis little slice of Eden so much as the appearance or 8 TBE CAPTAINS' ROOM. suspicion of such a thing. The reason why it was so neat and so well watched was tliat it was the delight and paradise of the captains, who, by their united efforts, made it as neat, snug, and orderly as one of their own cabins. There were live creatures in the garden, too. On half a dozen crossbars, painted green, were just so many parrots. They were all trained parrots, who could talk and did talk, not altogether as is the use of parrots, who too often give way to the selfishness of the old Adam, but one at a time, and deliberately, as if tliey were instructing mankind in some new and great truth, or delighting them with some fresh and striking poetical ejaculation. One would cough slowly, and then dash his buttons. If ladies were not in hearing he would remember other expressions savoiu'ing of fo'k'sle rather than of quarter-deck. Another would box the compass as if for an exercise in the art of navigation. Another seldom spoke except when his mistress came and stroked his feathers with her soft and dainty finger. The bird was growing old now, and his feathers were dropping out, and what this bird said you sliall presently hear. Next there was a great kangaroo hound, something under six feet high when he walked. Now he was lying asleep. Beside him was a little Maltese dog, white and curly ; and in a corner — the warmest corner — there was an old and toothless bulldog. Other things there were — some in boxes, some in partial confinement, or by a string tied to one leg, some running about — such as tortoises, hedgehogs, Persian cats, Angola cats, lemurs, ferrets, Madagascar cats. But they were not all in the garden, some of tliem, including a mongoose and a flying-fox, having their abode on the roof, where they were tended faithfully by Captain Zacliariasen. In the kitchen, also, wliich was warm, there resided a chameleon. Now, all these tilings — the parrots, the dogs, the cats, the lemurs, and the rest of them — were gifts and presents brought across the seas by amorous captains to be laid at the shrine of one Venus — of comse I know that there never can be more than one Venus at a time to any well-regulated male mind— whom all wooed and none could win. Tliere were many other gifts, but these were within doors, safely bestowed. It may also be remarked that Venus never refuses to accept offerings which are laid upon her altar with becomino; reverence. Thus there were the fragile coral fingers, named after the goddess, from the Philippine Islands ; there were chests of the rich and fragrant tea which China grows for Russia. You cannot buy it at all here, and in Hong-Kong only as a favour, and at unheard-of prices. There were cups and saucers from Japan ; fans of the coco de mer from the Seychelles ; carved ivory boxes and sandal- wood boxes from China and India ; weapons of strange aspect from Malay islands ; idols from Ceylon ; praying tackle brought down to Calcutta by some wandering Thibetan ; with fans, glasses, mats, carpets, pictures, chairs, desks, tables, and ftven beds, from lands d'otUre mer, insomuch that the house looked like a great museum or curiosity-shop. And everything, if you THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE. 7 please, brought across the sea and presented by the original im- porters to the beautiful Alicia Rydquist, commonly called Lai by those who were her friends, and Miss Lai by those who wished to bu, but were not, and had to remain outside, so to speak, and all going, in consequence, green with en^'y. On this morning there were also in the garden two men. One of them was a very old man — so old that there was nothing left of him but was puckered and creased, and his face was like one of those too faithful maps which want to give every detail of the country, even the smallest. This was Captain Zachariasen, a Dane by birth, but since the age of eight on an English ship, so that lie had clean forgotten his native language. He had been for veiy many years in the timber trade between the ports of Bergen and London. He was now, in the protracted evening of his daj's, enjoying an annuity purchased out of his savings. He resided constantly in the house, and was the dean, or oldest member among the boarders. He said himself sometimes that he was eighty-five, and sometimes he said he was ninety, but old age is apt to boast. One would not baulk liim of a single year, and certainly he was very, very old. This morning, he sat on a green box half-way down the garden — all the boxes, cages, railings, shutters, and doors of the house were painted a bright navy-green — with a hammer and nails in liia hand, and sometimes he drove in a nail, but slowly and with con- sideration, as if noise and haste would confuse that nail's head, and make it go loose, like a screw. Between each tap he gazed around and smiled with pleased benevolence. The younger man, who was about thirty years of age, was weeding. That is, he said so. He had a spud with which to conduct that operation, but there were no weeds. He also had a pair of scissors, with which he cut dff dead leaves. This was Captain Holstius, also of the mercantile marine, and a Norwegian. He was a smartly-dressed sailor — wore a blue cloth jacket, with trousers of the same ; a red silk handker- chief was round his waist ; his cap had a gold band round it, and a hea\'y steel chain guarded his watch. His face was kind to look upon. One noticed, especially, a greyish bloom upon a ruddy cheek. It was an oval face, such as you may see in far-oflf Bam- borough, or on Holy Island, with blue eyes ; and he had a gentle voice. One wonders whether the Normans, who so astonished the world a thousand years ago, were soft of speech, mild of eye, kind of heart, like their descendants. Were Bohemond, Robert the Dovil, great Canute, like unto this gentle Captain Holstius ? And if so, why were they so greatly feared ? And if not, how is it that their sons have so greatly changed ? They were sailors — the men of old. But sailors acquire an expression of unworklliness not found among us who have to battle with Avorldly and crafty men. They are not tempted to meet craft with craft, and treachery with deceit. They do not cheat ; they are not tempted to clieat. Therefore, although the Vikings were ferocious and bloodthirsty pirates, 8 THE CAPTATJVS' ROOM. thinking it but a small thing to land and spit a dozen Saxons or so, burn their homesteads, and carry away their pigs, yet, no doubt, in the domestic circle, they were mild and gentle, easily ruled by their wives, and obedient even to taking charge of the baby, which was the reason why they were called, in the pronunciation of the day, the hardy Nursemen. A remarkable thing about that garden was that if you looked to the north, over the garden walls of the Seven Houses, you ob- tained, through a kind of narrow lane, a glimpse of a narrow breadth of water, with houses on either side to make a frame. It was like a little strip of some panorama which never stops, because up and down the water there moved perjietually steamers, sailing- ships, barges, boats, and craft of all kinds. Then, if you turned completely round, and looked south, you saw, beyond the trees in the churchyard, a great assemblage of yard-arms, masts, ropes, hanging sails, and rigging. And from this quarter there was heard continually the noise of labour that ceaseth not — the labour of hammers, saws, and hatchets ; the labour of lifting heavy burdens, with the encouraging ' Yo-ho ' ; the labour of men who load ships and unload tJiem ; the labour of those who repair ships ; the ring- ing of bells which call to labour ; the agitation which is caused in the air when men are gathered together to work. Yet the place, as has been already stated, was peaceful. The calm of the garden was equalled by the repose of the open place on which the windows of the house looked, and by the peace of the churchyard. The noise was without ; it affected no one's nerves ; it was continuous, and, therefore, was not felt any more than the ticking of a watch or the beating of the pulse. The old man presently laid down his hammer, and spoke, say- ing, softly : ' Nor — wee — gee.' 'Ay, ay, Captain Zachariasen,' replied the other, pronouncing the name with a foreign accent, and speaking a pure English, something like a Welshman's English. They both whispered, because the kitchen door was open, and Lai might hear. But they were too far down the garden for her to overhear their talk. ' Any luck this spell, lad ? ' The old man spoke in a meaning way, with a piping voice, and he winked both his eyes hard, as ii he was trying to stretch the wrinkles out of his face. Captain Holstius replied, evasively, that he had not sought for luck, and, therefore, had no reason to complain of unsuccess. 'I mean, lad,' whisjiered the old man, 'have you spoke the barque which once we called the Saucy Lai ] And if not ' — be- cause here the young man shook his head, while liis rosy cheek showed a deeper red — •' if not, why not ? ' 'Because,' said Captain Holstius, speaking slowly — 'because I Bpoke her six months ago, and she told me ' Here he sighed heavily. THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE. 9 •What did she tell you, my lad ? Did she say that she wanted to be carried ofi' and married, whether she liked it or not ? ' 'No, she did not.' ' That was my way, when I was young. I always carried 'em off. I married 'em first and axed 'em afterwards. ISixty year ago, that was. Ay, nigh upon seventy, which makes it the more com- fortable a thing for a man in his old age to remember.' ' Lai tells me that she will wait five years more before she gives him up, and even then she will marry no one, but put on mourning, and go in widow's weeds — being not even a wife.' ' Five years ! ' said Captain Zachariasen. ' 'Tis a long time for a woman to wait for a man. Five yeai'S will take the bloom off of her pretty cheeks, and the plumpness off of her lines, which is now in the height of their curliness. Five years to Avait ! Why, there won't be a smile left on her rosy lips. Whereas, if you'd tlie heart of a loblolly boy, Cap'en Holstius, you'd ha' run her round to the church long ago, spoke to the clerk, whistled for the parson, while she was still occupied with the pudding and had her thoughts far away, and — well, there, in five years' time she'd be playin' with a four-year-old, or, may be, twins, as hapj)y as if there hadn't never been no Cap'en Armiger at all.' ' Five years,' Captain Holstius echoed, ' is a long time to wait. But any man would wait longer than that for Lai, even if he did not get her, after all.' ' Five years ! It will be eight, counting the tlu-ee she has already waited for her dead sweetheart. No woman, in the old days, was ever expected to cry more than one. Not in my day. No woman ever waited for me, nor dropped one tear, for more than one twelvemonth, sixty years ago, when I was dr .' Here he recollected that he could never have been drowned, so far back as his memory served. That experience had been denied him. He stopped short. 'She thinks of him,' Captain Holstius went on, seating himself on another box, face to face with the old man, ' all day ; she dreams of him all night ; there is no moment that he is not in her thought— I know because I have watched her ; she does not speak of him ; even if she sings at her work, her heart is always sad.' ' Poor Rex Armiger ! Poor Rex Armiger ! ' This was the voice of the old parrot, who lifted his beak, repeated liis cry, and then subsided. Captain Holstius's eyes grew soft and humid, for he was a tender-hearted Norwegian, and he pitied as well as loved the girl. ' Poor Rex Armiger ! ' he echoed : ' his parrot remembers him.' ' She is wrong,' said the old man, ' very wrong. I always tell her so. Fretting has been known to make the pastiy heavy : tears spoil gravy.' He stated this great truth as if it was a well- known maxim, taken from the Book of Proverbs. 10 THE CAPTAINS' BOOM. ' That was the tliird time that I spoke to her ; the third time that she gave me the same reply. Shall I teaze her more ? No, Captain Zachariasen, I have had my answer, and I know my duty.' ' It's hard, my lad, for a sailor to bear. Why, you may be dead in two years, let alone five. Most likely you will. You look as if you will. What with rocks at sea and sharks on land, most sailors, even skippers, by thirty years of age, is nummore. And though some ' — here he tried to recollect the words of Scripture, and only succeeded in part — ' by good seamanship escape, and livo to seventy and eighty, or even, as in my case, by a judgmatic course and fair winds, come to eighty-five and three months last Sunday, yet in tlieir latter days there is but little headway, the craft lying ahvays in the doldrums, and the rations, too, often short. Five years is long for Lai to wait in suspense, poor girl ! Take and go and find another girl, therefore,' the old man advised. 'No' — the Norwegian shook his head sadly — 'there is only one woman in all the world for me.' 'Why, there, there,' the old Captain cried, 'what are young fellows coming to ? To cry after one woman ! I've given you my advice, my lad, which is good advice ; likely to be beneficial to the boarders, especially theur which are permanent, because the sooner the trouble is over, the better it'll be for meals. I did hear there was a bad egg, yesterday. To think of Rydquist's coming to bad eggs ! But if a gal will go on fretting after young fellows that is long since food for crabs, what are we to expect but bad eggs ? Marry her, my lad, or sheer off, and marry some one else. P'raps, when you are out of the way, never to come back again, she will take on with some other chap.' Captain Holstius shook his head again. ' If Lai, after three years of waiting, says she cannot get him out of her heart — why, why there will be nothing to do, no help, because she knows best what is in her heart, and I would not that she married me out of pity.' ' Come to pity ! ' said Captain Zachariasen, ' she can't marry you all out of pity. There's Cap'en Borlinder and Cap'en Wattles, good mariners both, also after her. Should you like her to marry them out of pity ? ' ' I need not think of marriage at all,' said the Norwegian. ' I think of Lai's happiness. If it will be happier for her to marry me, or Captain Borlinder, or Captain Wattles, or any other man, I hope that she will marry that man ; and if she will be happier in remembering her dead lover, I hope that she will remain without a husband. All should be as she may most desire.' Then the girl herself suddenly appeared in the doorway, shad- ing her eyes from the sunshine, a pretty picture, with the flour still upon her arms, and her white bib still tied round her. 'It is time for your morning beer, Captain Zachariasen,' she THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE. \\ 3aid. ' "Will you have it in the kitchen, or shall I bring it to you in the garden % ' ' I will take my beer, Lai,' replied the old man, getting up from the box, 'by the kitchen fire.' He slowly rose and walked, being much bent and bowed by the weight of his years, to the kitchen door. Captain Holstius followed him. There was a wooden armchair beside the fire, which was bright and large, for the accommodation of a great piece of veal already hung before it. The old man sat down in it, and took the glass of ale, cool, sparkling, and foaming, from Lai's hand. ' Thoughtful child,' he said, hokling it up to the light, ' she for- gets nothing — except what she ought most to forget.' 'You are pale to-day, Lai,' said the Norwegian, gently. ' Will you come with me upon the river this afternoon ? ' She shook her head sadly. ' Have you forgotten what day this is, of all days in the year % ' she asked. Captain Holstius made no reply. ' This day, three years ago, I got his last letter. It was four months since he sailed away. Ah me ! I stood upon the steps of Lavender Dock and saw his ship slowly coming down the river. Can I ever forget it % Then I jmnped into the boat and pulled ovit mid-stream, and he saw me and waved his handkerchief. And that was the last I saw of Rex. This day, three years and four months ago, and at this very time, in the forenoon.' The old man, who had drained his glass and was feeling just a little evanescent headiness, began to prattle in his armchair, not having listened to their talk. ' I am eighty-five and three months, last Sunday ; and this is beautiful beer, Lai, my dear. 'Twill be ha-rd upon a man to leave such a tap. With the Cap'ens' room ; and you, my Lai.' ' Don't think of such things. Captain Zachariasen,' cried Lai, wiping away the tear which had risen in sympathy for her own Borrows, not for his. ' 'Tis best not,' he replied, cheerfully. 'Yeal, I see. Roast veal ! Be large-handed with the seasonin', Lai. And beans ? Ah ! and apple-dumplings. The credit of Rydquist's must be kept up. Remember that, Lai. Wherefore, awake, my soul, and with the sun. Things there are that should be forgotten. I am eighty-five and a quarter last Sunday, like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob — even Methusalem was eighty-five once, when he was little more tlian a boy, and never a grey hair — and, like the patriarchs at tlieir best and oldest, I have gotten wisdom. Then, listen. Do I, being of this great age, remember the gals that I have loved, and the gals who have loved me ? No. Yet are they all gone like that yo-ung man of yomn, gone away and past like gales across the sea. They are gone, and I am hearty. I shall never see them nummore ; yet I sit down regular to meals, and still play a steady knife and fork. 12 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. And what I say is this : " Lai, my dear, wipe them pretty eyeawith your best silk pockethandkercher, put on your best frock, and go to church in it for to be married." ' ' Thank you. Captain Zachariasen,' said the girl, not pertly, but with a (^uiet dignity. 'Do not,' the old man went on — his eyes kept dropping, and his words rambled a little — ' do not listen to Nick Borlinder. Ho sings a good song, and he shakes a good leg. Yet he is a rover. I was once myself a rover.' She made no reply. He yawned slowly and went on : ' He thinks, he does, as no woman can resist him. I used to have the same persuasion, and I found it sustaining in a friendly port.' ' I do not suppose,' said Lai, softly, ' that I shall listen to Captain Borlinder.' 'Next,' the old man continued, 'there is Cap'en Wattles. Don't listen to Wattles, my dear. It is not that he is a Yankee, because a Cap'en is a Cap'en, no matter what his country, and I was, myself, once a Dane, when a boy, nigh upon eighty years ago, and drank corn brandy, very likely, tliough I have forgotten that time, and cannot now away with it. Wattles is a smart seaman ; but Wattles, my dear, wouldn't make you happy. You want a cheerful lad, but no drinker and toper like Borlinder ; nor so quiet and grave as Wattles, which isn't natural, afloat nor ashore, and means the devil.' Here he yawned again and his eyes closed. ' Very good, sir,' said Lai. ' Yes, my dear — yes — and this is a very — comfortable — chair.' His head fell back. The old man was asleep. Then Captain Holstius drew a chair to the kitchen door, and sat down, saying nothing, not looking at Lai, yet with the air of one who was watching over and protecting her. And Lai sat beside the row of freshly-made dumplings, and rested her head upon her hands, and gained out into the churchyard. Presently her eyes filled with tears, and one of them in each eye overflowed and rolled down her cheeks. And the same pheno- menon might have been witnessed du'ectly afterwards in the eyes of the sympathetic Norweegee. It was very quiet, except, of course, for the screaming of the steam-engines on the river, and the hammering, yo-ho-ing, and bell-ringing of the Commercial Docks ; and these, which never ceased, were never regarded. Therefore, the calm was as the calm of a Sabbath in some Galilean village, and broken only in the kitchen by the ticking of the roasting-jack, and an occasional remark made, in a low tone, by a parrot. Cajitain Holstius said nothing. He stayed there because he felt, in his considerate way, that his presence soothed and, in some sort, comforted the girl. It cost him little to sit there doing nothing at all. THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE. 13 Of all men that get their bread by labour it is the sailor alone who can be perfectly happy doing nothing for long hours together. He does not even want to whittle a stick. As for us restless landsmen, we must be continually talking, reading, walking, iishing, shooting, rowing, smoking tobacco, or in some other way wearing out brain and muscle. The sailor, for liis jmrt, sits down and lets time run on, unaided. He is accustomed to the roll of his ship and the gentle swish of the waves tlu'ough which she sails. At sea he sits so for hours, while the breeze blows steady and the sails want no alteration. So passed half an hour. While they were thus sitting in silence, Lai suddenly lifted her head, and held up her finger, saying, softly, ' Hush ! I hear a step.' The duller ears of her companion heard nothing but the usual sounds, which included tlie trampling of many feet afar off. ' What step ? ' he asked. Her cheeks were gone suddenly quite white and a strange look was in her eyes. ' Not his,' she said. ' Oh, not the step of my Rex ; but I know it well for all that. The step of one who Ah ! listen ! ' Then, indeed. Captain Holstius became aware of a light hesitat- ing step. It halted at the open door (which always stood open for the convenience of the Captains), and entered the narrow hall. It was a light step, for it was the step of a barefooted man. Then the kitchen door was opened softly, and Lai sprang for- ward, crying madly : * Where is he 1 Where is he ? Oh, he is not dead ! ' At the sound of the girl's cry the whole sleepy place sprang into life ; the dogs woke up and ran about, barking with an immense show of alertness, exactly as if the enemy was in force without the walls ; the Persian cat, which ought to have known better, made one leap to the palings, on which she stood with arched back and upright tail, looking unutterable rage ; and the parrots all screamed together. When the noise subsided, the new comer stood in the doorway. Lai was holding both his hands, crying and sobbing. Outside, the old parrot repeated : ' Poor Pex Armiger ! Poor Rex Armiger ! ' Captain Zachariasen, roused from his morning nap, was looking about him, wondering what had happened. Captain Holstius stood waiting to see what was going to happen. The man, who was short in stature, not more than five feet three, wore a rough cloth sailor's cap, and was barefoot. He was dressed in a jacket, below which he wore a kind of petticoat, called, I believe, by his countrymen, who ought to know their own language, a 'sarong.' His skin was a copper colour ; his eyes dark brown ; his face was square, with high cheek-bones ; his eyes were soft, full, and black ; his mouth was large with thick lips ; his noae 14 THE CAPTAIiXS' ROOM. was short and small, with flat nostrils ; his hair was black and coarse — all these characteristics stamped him as a Malay. Cai)tain Zachariasen rubhed his eyes. ' Ghosts ashore ! ' he murmured. ' Ghost of Deaf-and-Dumb Dick ! ' ' Who is Dick 1 ' answered Captain Holstius. ' Captain Armiger's steward — same as was drowned aboard the ' Philippine ' three years ago along with his master and all hands. Never, nevermore heard of, and he's come back.' The Malay man shook his head slowly. He kept on shaking it, to show them that he quite understood what was meant, although he heard no word. ' Where is he ? Oh, where is he ! ' cried the girl again. Then the dumb man looked in her face and smiled. He smiled and nodded, and smiled again. ' Like a Chinaman in an image,' said Captain Zachariasen. ' He can't be a ghost at the stroke of noon. That's not Christian ways nor Malay manners.' But the smile, to Lai, was like the first cool draught of water to the thirsty tongue of a wanderer in the desert. Could he have smiled were Rex lying in his grave 1 A Malay who is deaf and dumb is, I suppose, as ignorant of his native language as of English ; but there is an atmosphere of Malayan abroad in his native village out of which this poor fellow picked a language of his own. That is to say, he was such a master of gesture as in this cold land of self-restraint would be impossible. He nodded and smiled again. Then he laughed aloud, meaning his most cheerful note ; but the laughter of those who can neither hear nor speak is a gruesome thing. Then Lai, with shaking fingers, took from her bosom a locket, which she opened and showed the man. It contained, of course, the portrait of her lover. He took it, recognised it, caught her by one hand, and then, smiling still, pointed with eyes that looked afar towards the east. ' Lies buried in the Indian Ocean,' murmured the old man ; ' I always said it.' Lai heard him not. She fell upon the man's neck and embraced and kissed him. 'He is not dead,' she cried. 'You hear. Captain Holstius? Oh, my friend, Rex is not dead. I knew he could not be dead— I have felt that he was alive all this weary time. Oh, faithful Dick ! ' She patted the man's cheek and head as if he was a child. ' Oh, good and faithful Dick ! what shall we give him as the reward for the glad tidings ! We can give him nothing— nothing— only our grati- tude and our love.' ' And dinner, may be,' said Captain Zachariasen. ' No, not the veal, my dear ; ' for the girl, in her hurry to do something for this messenger of good tidings, made as if she would sacrifice the joint. ' First, because underdone veal is unwholesome, even for THE MESSAGE OF THE MUTE. 15 deaf and dumb Malays ; second, roast veal is not for the likes of liim, but for Cap'ens. That knuckle of cold pork now -' Lai brought him food quickly, and he ate, being clearly Hungry. ' Does he understand English ? ' asked Captain Holstius. ' He is deaf and dumb ; he understands nothing.' When he had broken bread, Dick stood again, and touched the girl's arm, which was equivalent to saying, ' Listen, all of you!' The man stood before them in the middle of the room with the open kitchen door behind him, and the sunlight shining upon him through the kitchen window. And then he began to act, after the fashion of that Koman mime, who was able to convey a whole story with by-play, under-jjlot, comic talk, epigrams, tears, and joyful surprises, without one word of speech. The gestures of this Malay were, as I have said, a language by themselves. Some of them, however, like hieroglyphics before the Rosetta Stone, wanted a key. The man's face was exceedingly mobile and full of quickness. He kept his eyes iipon the girl, regarding the two men not at all. And this, in substance, was what he did. It was not all, be- cause there were hundreds of little things, every one of which had its meaning in his own mind, but which were unintelligible, save by Lai, who followed him with feverish eagerness and attention. Words are feeble things at their best, and cannot describe these swift changes of face and attitude. First, he retreated to the door, then leaped with a bound into the room. Arrived there he looked about him a little, folded his arms, and began to walk backwards and forwards, over a length of six feet. ' Come aboard, sir,' said Captain Zachariasen, greatly interested and interpreting for the benefit of all. ' This is good munanicking, this is.' Then he began to jerk his hand over his shoulder each time he stopped. And he stood half-way between the extremities of hia six-foot walk and lifted his head as one who watches the sky. At the same time Lai remai'ked how by some trick of the facial muscles, he had changed his own face. His features became regular, his eyes intent and thoughtful, and in his attitude he was no longer himself, but — in appearance — Rex Armiger. 'They're clever at mummicking and conjuring,' said Captain Zachariasen ; ' I've seen them long ago, in Calcutta, when I was in ' 'Hush!' cried Lai imperatively. 'Do not speak! Do not interrupt.' The Malay changed his face and attitude, and was no more Rex Armiger, but himself ; then he held out his two hands, side by side, horizontally, and moved them gently from left to right, and right to left, with an easy wave-like motion, and at the same time 16 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. he swung himself slowly backwards and forwards. It seemed to the girl to imitate the motion of a ship with a steady breeze iu Biiiooth water. ' Go on,' she cried ; ' I understand what you mean.' The man heard nothing, but he saw that she followed him, and he smiled and nodded his head. He became once more Rex Armiger. He Avalked with folded arms, he looked about him as one who commands and who has the responsibility of tlie sliip upon his mind. Presently he lay down upon the floor, stretched out his legs straight, and with his head upon his hands went to sleep. ' Even the skipper's bunk is but a narrow one,' observed Captain Zachariasen, to show that he was following the story, and proposed to be the principal interpreter. The dumb actor's slumber lasted but a few moments. Then he sprang to his feet and began to stagger about. He stamped, he groaned, he put his hand to his head, he ran backwards and for- wards ; he presented the appearance of a man startled by some accident ; he waved his arms, gesticulated wildly, put his hands to his mouth as one who shouts. Then he became a man who fought, who was dragged, who threat- ened, who was struck, tramping all the while with his feet so as to produce the impression of a crowd. Then he sat d road to the Church is grievously beset by wearisome boulders, pits, ditches, briars, and it may be fallen trunks, which some get over without the least difficulty, whereas to others they are grievous hindrances. These things are an allegory, and I mean books. Now unlucky Rex, a masterly youtli in all games, schoolboy feats, fights, freaks, and fanteegs, regarded a book, from his earliest infancy, uidess it was a romance of the sea or story of adventure, witli a dislike and suspicion amounting almost to mania. In h.3 recital to Lai, he avoided mention ol the many floggings he re- ceived, the battles he fought, and the insubordination of which he was guilty, and the countless lessons which he had not learned. He simply said that he ran away from school and got to Liverpoc^l, wliere, after swopping clothes with a real sailor boy, he got on board a Canadian brig as loblolly boy, and was kicked and cuffe;! all the way to Quebec and all the way back again. The skipper cuffed him ; the mate cuffed him ; the cook cuffed him ; the crew cuffed him ; he got rough treatment and bad grub. His faculties were stimulated, no doubt, and a good foundation laid for smart- ness in after life as a sailor. Also, his frame was hardened by the fresh breeze of the Windy Fifties. On his return, he wrote to his father, to say that he was about to return to school. He did return ; was the hero of the school for two months, and then again ran away and tried the sea once more, from Glasgow to New York, in a cargo steamer. Finally, his father had to renounce his ambitious schemes, in spite of the early consecration and setting apart, and got him entered as a middy in the service of a great line of steamers. Now, at the age of twenty-two, he was second officer. Such was the modesty of the young man that he omitted to state many remarkable facts in his own life, though these redounded greatly to his credit ; nor was it till afterwards that Lai discovered how good a character he bore for steady seamanship and pluck, how well he stood for promotion. Also, he did not tell her that he was the softest-hearted fellow in the world, though his knuckles were so hard ; that he was the easiest man in the world to lead, although the hardest to drive ; that on board he was always ready, when off duty, to act as nursemaid, protector, and playfellow for 40 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. any number of children ; that he was also at such times as good as a son or a brother to all ladies on board ; that on shore he was ever ready to give away all his money to the first who asked for it ; that he thought no evil of his neighbour ; that he considered all women as angels, but Lai as an archangel ; and that he was modest, thinking himself a person of the very smallest importance on account of these diificulties over books, and a shameful apostate in the matter of the falling off from the early dedication. When a young woman begins to take a real interest in the ad- ventures of a young man, and, like Desdemona, to ask questions, she generally lays a solid foundation for much more than mere interest. Dido, though she was no longer in her premiere jeunesse, is a case in point, as well as Desdemona. And every married per- son recollects the flattering interest taken in each other by fianci SiXid. fiancee during the early days, the sweet sunshiny days of their engagement. That Sunday night, after the talk in the churchyard, they went back to the house, and Rex had supper with the captains, winning golden opinions by his great and well-sustained powers over cold beef and pickles. After this they smoked pipes and told yarns, and Lai sat among them by the side of Rex, which was a joy to him, though she was sitting on the arm of Captain Zachariasen'a wooden chair, and not his own. On another occasion during that happy and never-to-be-for- gotten three weeks. Rex carried the girl across the river and showed her his own ship lying in the East India Docks, which, she was fain to confess, are finer than the Commercial Docks. He took her all over the great and splendid vessel, showed her the saloon with its velvet couches, hanging lamps, gilt ornaments, and long tables in the officers' quarters ; and midships, and the sailors' for'ard ; took her down to the engine-room by a steep ladder of polished iron bars, sliowed her the bridge, the steering tackle, and the captain's cabin, in which he lowered his voice from reverence as one does in a church. When she had seen everything, he invited her to return to the saloon, where she found a noble repast spread, and the chief officer, the third mate, the purser, and the doctor waiting to be introduced to her. They paid her so much attention and deference ; they said so many kind things about her courage and presence of mind ; they waited on her so jealously ; they were so kind to her, that the gu-1 was ashamed. She was so very ignorant, you see, of the power of beauty. Then a bottle of champagne, a drink which Lai had heard of but never seen, was produced, and they all drank to her health, bowing and smiling, first to her and then to Rex, who blushed and hung his head. Then it appeared that every man had something which he ardently desired her to accept, and when Lai came away Rex had his arms full of pretty Indian things, smelling of sandal-wood, presents to her from his brother-officers. This, she thought, was very kind of them, especially as they had never seen her "before. And then Dick, the officers' steward, the THE SAIL on LAB FROM OVER THE SEA. 41 deaf and dumb Malay whom she had helped to pull out of the water, came and kissed her hand humbly, in token of gratitude. A beautiful and wonderful day. Yet what did the doctor mean when they came away ? For while the purser stood at one end of the gangway, and the chief officer at the other, and the third mate in the middle, all to see her safe across, the doctor, left behind on board, slapped Rex loudly upon the shoulder and laughed, saying : — ' Gad ! Rex, you're a lucky fellow ! ' How was he lucky ? she asked him in the boat, and said sho should be glad to hear of good luck for him. But he only blushed and made no reply. One of the things which she brought home after this visit was a certain grey parrot. He had no particular value as a parrot. There were many more valuable parrots already about the house, alive or stuffed. But this bird had accomplishments, and among other things, he knew his master's name, and would cry, to every- body's admiration : ' Poor Rex Armiger ! Poor Rex Armiger ! ' When Lai graciously accepted this gift, the young man took it as a favourable sign. She had already, he knew, sent away a dozen captains at least, and he was only second mate. Yet still, when a girl takes such a present she means — she surely means to make some diiference. Then there was one day more — the last day but one before the ship sailed — the last opportunity that Rex could find before they sailed. He had leave for a whole day : the lading was completed, the passengers were sending on their boxes and trunks ; the purser and the stewards were taking in provisions — mountains of pro- visions, with bleating sheep, milch cows, cocks and hens — for the voyage. All was bustle and stir at the Docks, but there was no work for the second oflicer. He presented himself at Seven Houses at ten o'clock in the morning, without any previous notice, and proposed, if you please, nothing short of a whole day out. A whole day, mind you, from that moment until ten o'clock at night. Never was proposal more revolutionary. ' All day long ? ' she cried, her great eyes full of surprise and joy- ' All day,' he said, ' if you will trust yourself with me. Where shall we go ? ' ' Where ? ' she repeated. I suppose that now and then some echoes reach Rotherhithe of the outer world and its amusements. Presumably there are natives who have seen the Crystal Palace and other places ; here and there might be found one or two who have seen a theatre. Most of tliem, however, know nothing of any place of amusement what- ever. It is a city without any shows. Punch and Judy go not near it ; Cheap Jack passes it by ; the wandering feet of circus horses never pass that way ; gix^sies' tents have never been seen 42 THE CAPIAINS' BOOM. there ; the boys of Hotherhithe do not know even the travelling caravan with the fire-eater. To conjurers, men with entertain- ments, and lecturers it is an untrodden field. When Lai came, in a ijajaer, upon the account of festive doings she passed them over, and turned to the condition of the markets in South Africa or Quebec as being a subject more likely to interest the captains. Out of England there were plenty of things to interest her. She knew something about the whole round world, or, at least, its harbours ; but of London she was ignorant. ' Where 1 ' she asked, gasping. ' There's the Crystal Palace and Epping Forest ; there's the National Gallery and High gate Hill ; there's the top of St. Paul's and the A(|uarium ; there's Kew Gardens and the Tower ; there's South Kensington and Windsor Castle ' — Rex bracketed the places accordina: to some obscure arrangement in his own mind — ' lots of places. The only thing is where '] ' ' I have seen none of them,' she replied. 'Will you choose for me ? ' ' Oh ! ' he groaned. ' Here is a house full of great hulking skippers, and she works herself to death for them, and not one among them all has ever had the grace to take her to go and see something ! ' 'Don't call them names,' she replied, gently; 'our people never go anywhere, except to Poplar and Limehouse. One of them went one evening to Woolwich Gardens, but he did not like it. He said the manners of the people were forward, and he was cheated out of half a crown.' ' Then, Lai,' he jumped up and made a great show of preparing for immediate departure with his cap ; ' then, Lai, let ua waste no more time in talking, but be off at once.' ' Oh, I can't ! ' Her face fell, and the tears came into her eyes as she suddenly recollected a reason why she could not go. 'Why can't you?' ' Because — oh, because of the pudding. I can trust her with the potatoes, and she will boil the greens to a turn. But the pud- ding I always make, and no one else can make it but me.' The lady referred to was not her mother, but the assistant — the ' service.' ' Can't they go without pudding for once ? ' Lai shook her head. 'They always expect pudding, and they are very particular about the currants. You can't think what a quantity of currants they want in their pudding.' ' Do you always give them plum-duff, then ? ' ' Except when they have roly-poly or apple dumplings. Some times it is baked plum-dufl", sometimes it is boiled, sometimes w'th sauce, and sometimes with brandy. But I think they would never forgive me if there was no pudding.' THE SAILOR LAB FROM OVER THE SEA. 4S Rex nodded his head, put on his cap — this conversation took place in the kitchen — and marched resohitely straight into the Captains' room, wliere three of them were at that moment sitting in conversation. One was Captain Zachariasen. ' Gentlemen,' he said, politely saluting ; ' Lai wants a whole holiday. But she says she can't take it unless you will kindly go without your pudding to-day.' They looked at each other. No one for a time spoke. The gravity of the proposal was such that no one liked to take the responsibility of accepting it. A dinner at Rydquist's without pudding was a thing hitherto unheard of. 'Why,' asked Captain Zachariasen, severely — 'why, if you please, Mr. Armiger, does Lai want a holiday to-day ? And why cannot Bhe be content with a half-holiday ? Do I ever take a whole day ? ' 'Because she wants to go somewhere with me,' replied Rex, gtoutly ; 'and if she doesn't go tj-day she won't go at all, because we sail the day after to-morrow.' ' Under these circumstances, gentlemen,' said Captain Zacharia- sen, softening, and feeling that he had said enough for the asser- tion of private rights, ' seeing that Lai is, for the most part, an obliging gu'l, and does her duty with a willing spirit, I think — you are agreed with me, gentlemen ? ' The other two nodded their heads, but with some sadness. ' Then, sir,' said Captain Zachariasen, as if he were addressing his chief officer at high noon, ' make it so.' ' Now,' said Rex, as they passed Rotherhithe parish church and drew near unto Thames Tunnel Station, ' I've made up my mind where to take you to. As for the British Museum, it's sticks and stones, and South Kensington is painted pots ; the National Gallery is saints and sign-boards ; the Crystal Palace is buns and boards and ginger-beer, with an organ ; the Monument of London is no better than the crosstrees. Where we will go, Lai — where we will go for our day out — is to Hampton Court, and we will have such a day as you shall remember.' There had been, as yet, no word of love ; but he called her Lai, and she called him Rex, which is an excellent beginning. They did have that day ; they did go to Hampton Court. First they drove in a hansom — Lai thought nothing could be more delightful than this method of conveyance — to Waterloo Station, where they were so lucky as to catch a train going to start in three- quarters of an hour, and by that they went to Hampton Court. It was in the early days of the month of June, which in England has two moods. One is the dejected, make-yourself-as- niiserable-as-you-can mood, when the rain falls dripping all the day, and the leaves, which have hardly yet fully formed on the trees, begin to get rotten before their time, and think of falling ofi". That mood of June is not delightful. The other, which is far preferable, is that in which the month comes with a gracious smile, bearing in her hands lilac, roses, laburnum, her face all glorious 44 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. with sunshine, soft airs, and warmth. Then the young year springs swiftly into vigorous manhood, with fragrance and sweet perfumes, and tlie country hedges are splendid with their wealth of a thousand wild flowers, and the birds sing above their nests. Men grow young men again, lapped and wrapped in early summer ; the blood of the oldest is warmed ; their fancies run riot ; they begin to babble of holidays, to talk of walks in country places, of rest on hill-sides, of wanderings, rod in hand, beside the streams, of shady woods, and the wavelets of a tranquil sea ; they feel once more — one must feel it every year again or die — the old simple love for earth, fair mother-earth, generous earth, mother, nurse, and fosterer — as well as grave ; they enjoy the sunshine. Sad autumn is as yet far off, and seems much farther ; they are not yet near unto the days when they shall say, one to the other : ' Lo ! the evil days are come when we may say, "I have no pleasure in them." ' The train sped forth from the crowded houses, and presently passed into the fields and woods of Surrey. E-ex and Lai were alone in a second-class carriage, and she looked out of the window while he looked at her. And so to Hampton, where the Mole joins the silver Thames, and the palace stands beside the river bank. I have always thought that to possess Hampton Court is a rare and precious privilege which Londoners cannot regard with suffi- cient gratitude, for, with the exception of Fontainebleau, which is too big, there is nothing like it — except, perhaps, in Holland — anywhere. It is delightful to wander in the cool cloisters, about the bare chambers hung with pictures, and in the great empty hall, where the Queen might dine every day if she chose, her crown upon her head, with braying of trumpets, scraping of fiddles, and pomp of scarlet retainers. But she does not please. Then one may walk over elastic turf, rovind beds of flowers, or down long avenues of shady trees, which make one think of William the Third ; or one may look over a wooden garden gate into what was the garden in the times before Cardinal Wolsey found out this old country grange and made it into a palace. Young people — espe- cially young people in love — may also seek the windings of the maze. This boy Rex, with the girl who seemed to him the most delightful creature ever formed by a benevolent Providence, en- joyed all these delights, the girl lost in what seemed to her a dream of wonder. Wliy had she never seen any of these beautiful places ? For the first time in her life, Rotherhithe, and the docks and ships became small to her. She had never before known the splendour of stately halls, pictures, or great gardens. She felt humiliated by her strangeness, and to this day, though now she has seen a great many splendid places, she regards Hampton Court as the most wonderful and the most romantic of all buildings ever erected, and I do not think she is far wrong. THE SAILOR LAD FROM OVER THE SEA. 45 One tiling only puzzled her. She had read, somewhere, of the elevating influences of art. This is a great gallery of art. Yet Bomehow she did not feel elevated at all. Especially did a collec- tion of portraits of women — all with drooping eyes and false smiles and strange looks, the meaning of which she knew not — make her long to hurry out of the room and into the fair gardens, on whose lawns she could forget these pictures. How could they elevate or improve the people I Art, you see, only elevates those who under- stand a little of the technique, and ordinary people go to the picture-galleries for the story told by each picture. This is the reason why the contemplation of a vast number of pictures has hitherto failed to improve our culture or to elevate our standards. But these two, like most visitors, took all for granted, and it must be owned that there are many excellent stories, especially those of the old sea-fight pictures, in the Hampton Court galleries. Then they had dinner together in a room whose windows looked right down the long avenue of Bushey, where the chestnuts were in all their glory ; and after dinner Rex took her on the river. It was the same river as that of Rotherhithe. But who would have thought that twenty miles would make so great a change ? No ships, no steamers, no docks, no noise, no shouting, no hammering. And wliat a ditierence in the boats ! They drifted slowly down with the silent current. The warm sun of the summer afternoon lay lovingly on the meadows. It was not a Saturday. No one was on the river but themselves. The very swans sat sleej^ily on the water ; there was a gentle swish and slow murmur of the current along the reeds and grasses of the bank ; crimson and golden leaves hung over the river ; the flowers of the lilies were lying open on the water. Lai held the ropes and Rex the sculls ; but he let them lie idle and looked at the fair face before him, while she gazed dreamily about, thinking how she should remember, and by what things, this wonderful day, this beautiful river, this palace, and this gentle rowing in the light skilf. As she looked, the smile faded out of her face and her eyes filled with tears. ' Why, Lai ? ' he asked. She made no reply for a minute or two, thinking what reason she might truthfully allege for her tears, which had risen unbidden at the touch of some secret chord. ' I do not know,' she said. ' Except that everything is so new and strange, and I am quite happy, and it is all so beautiful.' Rex reflected on the superior nature of women who can shed tears as a sign of happiness. ' I am so happy,' he said, ' that I should like to dance and sing, except that I am afraid of capsizing the craft, when to Davy'a locker we should go for want of your dingy, Lai.' But they could not stay on the river all the evening. The sun began to descend ; clouds came up from the south-west ; the wind freshened ; a mist arose, and the river became sad and mysterious. 46 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. Then Rex turned the bows and rowed back. The girl shuddered as she stepped upon the shore. ' I shall never forget it,' she said ; ' never. And now it is all over.' ' Will you remember, with this day, your companion of the day ? ' asked Res. ' Yes, ' she replied, with the frank and truthful gaze which went straight to the young man's heart ; ' I shall never forget the day or my companion.' They went back to the palace, and while the shadows grew deeper, walked in the old-fashioned garden of King William, be- neath its arch of branches, old now and knotty and gnarled. Rex was to sail in two days' time. He would have no other chance. Yet he feared to break the cliarm. 'We must go,' he said. 'Yes, it is all over.' He heaved a mighty sigh. ' What a day we have had. And now it is gone, it is growing dark, and we must go. And tliis is the last time I shall see you, Lai.' ' Yes,' she murmured ; ' the last time.' Years afterwards she remembered those words and the thought of ill omens and what they may mean. ' Tlie last time,' she repeated. ' I suppose you know, Lai, that I love you ? ' said Rex, quite simply. ' You must know that. But, of course, everybody loves you.' ' Oh ! ' she laid her hand upon his arm. ' Are you sure, quite sure, that you love me 1 You might be mistaken, Rex.' ' Sure, Lai ? ' ' Can you really love me 1 ' My darling, have not other men told you the same thing ? Have you not listened and sent them away ? Do not send me away, too, Lai.' ' They said they Oh, it Avas nonsense. They could not really have loved me, because I did not love them at all.' ' And — and — me 1 ' asked Rex, with fine disregard of grammar. ' Oh, no, Rex. I do not want to send you away — not if you really love me ; and. Rex, Rex, you have kissed me enough.' They could not go away quite then ; they stayed there till they were found by the custodian of the vine, who ignominiously led them to the palace-gates and dismissed them with severity. Then Rex must needs have supper, in order to keep his sweetheart with him a little longer. And it was not till the ten o'clock train that they returned to town : Lai quiet and a little tearful, her hand in her lover's ; Rex full of hope and faith and charity, and as happy as if he were, indeed, ' rex orbis to tins,' the king of the whole world. At half-past eleven he brought her home. It was very late for Rotherhithe ; the captains were mostly in bed by ten, and all the lights out, but to-night Mrs. Rydquist sat waiting for her daughter. THE SAILOR LAD FROM OVER TEE SEA. 47 * Mrs. Rydquist,' said the young man, beaming like a sun-god between the pair of candles over which the good lady sat reading, ' she has promised to be my wife — Lai is going to marry me. Tlie day after to-morrow we drop down the river, but I shall be home again soon — home again. Come Lai, my darling, my sweet, my queen,' he took her in his arms and kissed her again — this shame- less young sailor — ' and as soon as I get my ship — why — why — why ' he kissed her once more, and yet once more. ' I wish you, young man,' said Lai's mother, in funereal tones, * a better fate than has befallen all the men who fell in love with us. I have already given you my most solemn warning. You rush upon your fate, but I wash my hands of it. My mother's lost husband, and my husband, lie dead at the bottom of the sea. Also two of my first cousins' husbands, and a second cousin's once- removed husband. We are an unlucky family ; but, perhaps, my daughter's husband may be more fortunate.' ' Oh, mother,' cried poor Lai, ' don't make us do\vn-hearted ! ' ' I said, my dear,' she replied, folding her hands with a kind of resignation to the inevitable, ' I said that I hope he may be more fortunate. I cannot say more ; if I could say more I would say it. If I think he may not be more fortunate, I will not say it ; nor will I give you pain, Mr. Armiger, by prophesying that you will add to our list.' ' Never mind,' said Rex ; ' we sailors are mostly as safe at sea as the landlubbers on shore, only people won't think so. Heart up, Lai ! Heart up, my sweet ! Come outside and say good-bye.' ' Look ! ' said Mrs. Rydquist, pointing cheerfully to the candle- stick, when her daughter returned with tears in her eyes and Rex's last kiss burning on her lips ; ' there is a winding-sheet, my dear, in the candle. To-night a coffin popped out of the kitchen-fire. I took it up in hopes it might have been a purse. No, my dear, a coffin. Captain Zachariasen crossed knives at dinner to-day. I have had shudders all the evening, which is as sure a sign of graves as any I know. Before you came home the furniture cracked thi-ee times. No doubt, my dear, these warnings are for me, who am a poor, weak creature, and ready and willing and hopeful, I am sure, to be called away ; or for Captain Zachariasen, who is, to be sure, a great age, and should expect his call eveiy day instead of going on with his talk and his rum and his pipe as if he was forgotten ; or for any one of the captains, afloat or ashore ; these signs, my dear, may be meant for anybody, and I would not be so pre- sumptuous in a house full of sailors as to name tlie man for whom they have come ; but, if I read signs right, then they mean that young man. And oh ! my poor girl ' she clasped her hands as if now, indeed, there could be no hope. ' What is it, mother ? ' ' My dear, it is a Friday, of all the days in the week ! ' She rose, took a candle, and went to bed, with her handkerchief to her eyes. 48 TEE CAPTAINS' ROOM. CHAPTER rV. OVERDUE AND POSTED. This day of days, this queen of all days, too swiftly sped over the first and last of the young sailor's wooing. Lai's sweetheart was lost to her almost as soon as he was found. But he left her so happy in spite of her mother's gloomy forebodings, that she Wondered — not knowing that all the past years had been nothing but a long preparation for the time of love — how could she ever have been happy before? And she was only eighteen, and her lover as handsome as Apollo, and as well-mannered. Next morning at about twelve o'clock she jumped into her boat and rowed out upon the river to see the ' Aryan ' start upon her voyage. The tide was on the turn and the river full when the great steamer came out of dock and slowly made her way upon the crowded water a mii'acle of human skill, a great and wonderful living thing, which, though even a clumsy lighter might sink and destroy it, yet could live through the wildest storm ever known in the Sea of Cyclones, through which she was to sail. As the ' Aryan ' passed the little boat Lai saw her lover. He had sprung upon the bulwark and was waving his hat in farewell. Oh, gallant Rex, so brave and so loving ! To think that this glorious creature, this god-like man, this young prince among sailors, should fall in love with her ! And then the doctor, and the purser, and the chief ofHcers, and even the captain, came to the side and took off their caps to her, and some of the passengers, informed by the doctor who she was, and how brave she was, waved their hands and cheered. Then the sliip forged ahead, and in a few minutes Rex jumped down with a final kiss of his fingers. The screw turned more quickly ; the ship forged ahead. Lai lay to in mid-stream, careless what might run into her, gazing after her with straining eyes. "When she had rounded the point and was lost to view, the girl, for the first time in her life since she was a child, burst into tears and sobbing. It was but a shower. Lai belonged to a sailor family. Was she to weep and go in sadness because her lover was away doing his duty upon the blue water? Not so. She shook her head, dried her eyes, and rowed homewards, grave yet cheerful. ' Is his ship gone ? ' asked her mother. ' Well, he is a fine lad to look at, Lai, and if he is as true as he is strong and well-favoured, I could wish you nothing better. Let us forget the signs and warnings, my dear '—this was kindly meant, but had an unpleasant and gruesome sound — ' and let us hope that he will come back again. Indeed, I do not see any reason why he should not come back more than once.' OVETiTiUE AND PORTED. "' 49 Everything went on, then, as if nothing had happened. What a strange thing it is that people can go on as if nothing had happened, after the most tremendous events ! Life so changed for her, yet Captain Zachariasen taking up the thread of her dis- course just as before, and the same interest expected to be sliown in the timber trade ! Yet what a very different thing is interest in timber trade compared with interest in a man ! Then she discovered with some surprise that her old admiration of captains as a class had been a good deal modified during the last three weeks. There were persons in the world, it was now quite certain, of culture superior even to that of a skipper in the Canadian trade. And she clearly discovered, for the first time, that a whole life devoted to making captains comfortable, providing them witli pudding, looking after their linen, and hearing their confidences, might, without the gracious influences of love, become a very arid and barren kind of life. Perhaps, also, the recollection of that holiday at Hampton Court helped to modify her views on the sub- ject of Rotherhithe and its people. The place was only, after all, a small part of a great city ; the people were humble. One may discover as much certainly about one's own people without becoming ashamed of them. It is only when one reaches a grade higher in the social scale that folk become ashamed of themselves. An assured position in the world, as the chimney-sweep remarked, gives one confidence. Lai plainly saw that her sweetheart was of gentler birth and better breeding than she had been accustomed to. She therefore resolved to do her best never to make him on that account repent his choice, and there was an abundance of fine sympathy — - the assumption or pretence of which is the foundation of good manners — in this girl's character. It was an intelligent parrot which Rex had given her, and at this juncture proved a remarkably sympathetic creature, for at th3 sight of his mistress he would shake his head, plume his wings, and presently, as if necessary to console her, would cry : ' Poor Rex Armiger ! Poor Rex Armiger ! ' But she was never dull, nor did she betray to anyone, least of all to her old friend Captain Zachariasen, that her manner of regarding things had in the least degree changed, while the secret joy that was in her heart showed itself in a thousand merry ways : with songs and laughter, and little jokes with her captains, so that they marvelled that the existence of a sweetheart at sea should produce so beneficial an eftect upon maidens. Perhaps, too, in some mysterious way, her happiness affected the puddings. I say not this at random, because certainly the fame of Rydquist's as a house where comforts, elsewhere unknown, and at Limehouse and Poplar quite unsuspected, could be found, spread far and wide, even to Deptford on the east, and Stepney on the north, and the house might have been full over and over again, but they would take in no strangers, being in this respect as exclusive as Boodle's. This attitude of cheerfulness was greatly commended by Captain 50 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. Zachariasen. *Some girls,' he said, 'would have let their thoughts run upon their lover instead of their duty, whereby houses are brought to ruin and captains seek comfort elsewhere. Once the sweetheart is gone, he ought never more to be thought upon till he comes home again, save in bed or in church, while there is an egg to be boiled or an onion to be peeled.' The first letter which Rex sent her was the first that Lai had ever received in all her life. And such a letter ! It came from the Suez Canal ; the next came from Aden ; the next from Point de Galle ; the next from Calcutta. So far all was well. Be sure that Lai read them over and over again, every one, and carried them about in her bosom, and knew them all word for w©rd, and was, after the way of a good and honest girl, touched to the very heart that a man should love her so very, very much, and should think so highly of her, and should talk as if she was all goodness — a thing which no woman can understand. It makes silly girls despise men, and good girls respect and fear them. The next letter was much more important than the first four, which were, in truth, mere rhapsodies of passion, although on that very account more interesting than letters which combine matter- of-fact business with love, for, on arriving at Calcutta, Rex found a projiosal waiting for his acceptance. This offer came from the Directors of the Company, and showed in what good esteem he was held, being nothing less than the command of one of their smaller steamers, engaged in what is called the country trade. 'It will separate us for three years at least,' he wrote, 'and perhaps for five, but I cannot aflbrd to refuse the chance. Perhaps, if I did, I might never get another offer, and everybody is congratu- lating me, and thinking me extremely fortunate to get a ship so early. So, though it keeps me from the girl of my heart, I have accepted, and T sail at once. My ship is named the " Philippine." She is a thousand-ton boat, and classed 100 Al, newly built. She is not like the "Aryan," fitted with splendid mirrors and gold and paint and a great saloon, being built chiefly for cargo. The crew are all Lascars, and I am the only Englishman aboard except the mate and the chief engineer. We are under orders to take in rice from Hong-Kong ; bound for Brisbane, first of all ; if that answers we shall continue in the country grain trade ; if not, we shall, I suppose, go seeking, when I shall have a commission on the cargo. As for pay, I am to have twenty pounds a month, with rations and allowances, and liberty to trade — so many tons every voyage — if I like. These are good terms, and at the end of every year there should be something put by in the locker. Poor Lai ! Oh, my dear sweet eyes ! Oh, my dear brown hair ! Oh, my dear sweet lips ! I shall not kiss them for three years more. What are three years ? Soon gone, my pretty. Think of that, and heart up ! As soon as I can I will try for a Port-of-London ship. Then we will be married and have a house at Gravesend, where you shall see me come up stream, homeward bound.' With much more to the same effect. OVERDUE AND POSTED. 61 Three years — or it might be five ! Lai p\K down the letter, and tried to make out what it would mean to her. She would be in three years, when Rex came home, one and twenty, and he would be five and twenty. Five and twenty seems to eighteen what forty seems to thirtj^, fifty to forty, and sixty to fifty. One has a feeling that the ascent of life must then be quite accomplished, and the descent fairly begun ; the leaves on the trees by the wayside must be ever so little browned and dusty, if not yellow ; the heart must be full of experience, the head must be full of wisdom, the crown of glory, if any is to be worn at all, already on the brows. The ascent of life is like the climbing of some steep hill, because the summit seems continually to recede, and so long as one is young in heart it is never reached. Rex five and twenty ! Thret years to wait ! It is, indeed, a long time for the young to look forward to. Such a quantity of things get accomplished in three years ! Why, in tlrree years a lad gets through his whole undergraduate course, and makes a spoon or spoils a horn. Tlu-ee years make up one hundred and fifty-six weeks, with the same number of Sundays, in eveiy one of which a girl may sit in the quiet church and wonder on what wild seas or in what peaceful haven her lover may be floating. Three years are four summers in the course of tlu-ee years, with as many other seasons ; in three years there is time for many a hope to spring up, flourish for a while, and die ; for friend- ship to turn into hate ; for strength to decay ; and for youth to grow old. The experience of the long succession of human genera- tions has developed this sad thing among mankind that we cannot look forward with joy to the coming years, and in everything unknown which will happen to us we expect a thing of evil. Three years ! Yet it must be borne, as the lady said to the school-boy concerning the fat beef, 'It is helped, and must be finished.' When Mrs. Rydquist heard the news she fii-st held up her hands, and spread them slowly outwards, shaking and wagging her head — a most dreadful sign, worse than any of those with which Panuj'ge discomfited Thaumast. Then she sighed heavily. Then she said aloud : ' Oh, dear, dear, dear ! So soon ! I had begun to hope that the bad luck would not show yet ! Dear, dear ! Yet what could be expected after such certain signs ? ' ' Why,' said Captain Zachariasen, ' as for signs, they may mean anything or anybody, and as for fixing them on Cap' en Armiger, no reason that I can see. Don't be downed, Lai. The narrow seas are as safe as the JNIediterranean. In my time there were tlie pirates, who are now shot, hanged, and drowned, every man Jack. No more stinkpots in crawling boats, pretending to be friendly traders. You might row your dingy about the islands as safe as Lime'us Reach. Lord ! I'd rather go cruising with your sweet- heart in them waters than take a twopenny omnibus along the Old Kent Road. Your signs, ma'am,' he said to Mrs. Rydquist, £2 62 TEE CAPTAINS' ROOM. politely, ' must be read other ways. There's Cap'en Biddiman ; perhaps they're meant for him.' Then came another letter from Singapore. Rex was pleased with the ship and his crew. All was going well. After six weeks there came another letter. It was from Hong- Kong. The ' Philippine ' had taken on board her cargo of rice and Was to sail next day. Rex wrote in his usual confident, happy vein — full of love, of hope, and happiness. After that — no more letters at all. Silence. Lai went on in cheerfulness for a long time. Rex could not write from Brisbane. He would write when the ship got back to Hong-Kong. The weeks went on, but still there was silence. It was whis- pered in the Captains' room that the ' Pliilippine ' was long over- due at Moreton Bay. Then the whisjjers became questions whether there was any news of her : then one went across to the otKce of the company, and brought back the di'eadful news that the owners liad given her up ; and they began to hide away the ' Shipping and Mercantile Gazette.' Then everybody became extremely kind to Lai, studying little surprises for her, and assuming an ajipearance of light-heartedness so as to deceive the poor girl. She went about with cheerful face, albeit with sinking heart. Ships are often over- due ; letters get lost on the way. For a while she still carolled and sang about her work, though at times her song would suddenly stop like the song of a bullfinch, who remembers something, and must needs stay his singing while he thinks about it. Then there came a time when the poor child stopped singing altogether, and would look with anxious eyes from one captain to the other, seeking comfort. But no one had any comfort to give her. Captain Zachariasen told her at last. He was an old man ; he had seen so many shij^wrecks that they thought he would tell her best ; also it was considered his duty, as the father or the oldest inhabitant of Rydquist's, to undertake this task ; and as a wise and discreet person he would tell the story, as it should be told, in few words, and ao get it over without beatings on and off. He ac- cepted the duty, and discharged himself of it as soon as he could. He told her the story, in fact, the next morning in the kitchen. He said, quietly : ' Lai, my dear, the " Philippine" has gone to the bottom, and — and don't take on, my pretty. But Cap'en Armiger he is gone, too ; with all hands he went down.' ' How do you know 1 ' she asked. The news was sudden, but Bhe felt it coming ; that is, she had felt some of it — not all. ' The insurances have been all paid up : the ship is posted at Lloyd's. My dear, I went to the underwriter's a month ago and more, and axed abouc her. Axed what they would underwrite her for, and they said a hundred per cent. ; and then they wouldn't do OVERDUE AND POSTED. 63 It. Not an atom of hope — gone she is, and that young fellow alj( lard her. Well, my dear, tliat's done with. Shall I leave you here alone to get tlirough a spell o' crying ? ' ' The ship,' said Lai, with dry eyes, ' may be at the bottom of the sea, and the insurances may be paid for her. But Rex is not drowned.' That was what she said : ' Rex is not drowned.' Her nKjther brought out her cherished crape — -she was a woman whom this nasty, crinkling, black stuff comforted in a way — and offered to divide it with her daughter. Lai refused ; she bought herself gay ribbons and she decked herself with them. She tried, in order to show the strength of her faith, to sing about the house. ' Rex,' she said, stoutly, ' is not drowned.' This was the most unexpected way of receiving the news. The captains looked for a burst of tears and lamentation, after wliich thhigs would brighten up, and some other fellow might have a chance. No tears at all ! No chance for anybody else ! ' Ribbons ! ' moaned Mrs. Rydquist. ' Oh, Captain Zachariasen, my daughter wears ribbons — blue ribbons and red ribbons — while her sweetheart, lying at the bottom of the sea, cries aloud, poor lad, for a single yard of crape ! ' ' 'Twoukl be more natural,' said Captain Zachariasen, ' to cry and adone with it. But gals, ma'am, are not what gals was in my young days, when so many were there as was taken off by wars, privateers, storms, and the hand of the Lord, that there was no time to cry over them, not for more than a month or so. And as for flying in the face of Providence, and saying that a drowned man is not drowned — a man whose ship's insurances have been paid, and his ship actually posted at Lloyd's — why it's beyond anything.* ' Rex is not dead,' said the girl, to herself, again and again. ' He is not dead. I should know if he were dead. He would, gomehow or other, come and tell me. He is sitting somewhere — I know not where it is — waiting for deliverance, and thinking— oh, my Rex ! my R.ex ! — thinking about the girl he loves.' This was what she said. Her words were brave, yet it is hard to keep one's faith up to so high a level as these words demanded. For no one else thought there was, or could be, any chance. For nearly three years she struggled to keep alive this poor ray of hope,' based upon nothing at all : and for all that time no news came from the far East about her lover's ship, nor did anyone know where she was cast away or how. Sometimes this faith would break down, and she would ask in tears and with sobbings what so many women bereft of their lovers aave asked in vain — an answer to her prayers. Ah ! helpless ones, if her prayers were mockeries and her lover were dead in very truth ! 54: TEE CAPIAINS' ROOM^ CHAPTER V. THE PATIENCE OF PENELOPE. The longer Ulysses stayed away from the rocky Ithaca the more numerous became the suitors for the hand of the lovely Penelope, who possessed the art, revived much later by Ninon de I'Enclos, of remaining beautiful although she grew old. That was because Penelope wickedly encouraged her lovers — to their destruction — and held out false hopes connected wich a simple bit of embroidery. Why the foolish fellows, whose wits should have been shai-pened by tlie vehemence of their passion, did not discover the trick, is not aj)parent. Perhaps, however, the climate of Ithaca was bracing and the wine good, so that they winked one upon the other, and I)retended not to see, or whispered : ' He will never come, let us wait.' The contrary proved the case with the lass of Rotherhithe. When, after two years or so, some of her old suitors ventured with as much delicacy as in them lay to reopen the subject of courtship, tliey were met with a reception so unmistakable, that they imme- diately retired, baffled and in confusion ; some among them — those of coarser mind — to scoff and sneer at a constancy so unusual. Others, those of greater sympathies — to reflect with all humility on the great superiority of the feminine nature over their own, since it permitted a fidelity which they could not contemplate as possible for themselves, and were fain to admire, while they regretted it. Gradually it became evident to most of them that the case waa hopeless, and those cajjtains who had once looked confidently to make Lai their own, returned to their former habits of friendly communications, and asked her advice and opinion in the matter of honourable proposals for the hands of other young ladies. Three suitors still remained, and, each in his own way, refused to be sent sway. The first of these was Captain Holstius, whose acquaintance we have already made. He was, of course, in the Norway trade. Perhaps it is not altogether fair to call Captain Holstius a Buitor. He was a lover, but he had ceased to hope for anything except permission to go on in a friendly way, doing such offices a3 lay in his power to please and help the girl whom he regarded — being a simple sort of fellow of a religious turn — as Dante regarded Beatrice. She was to him a mere angel of beauty and goodness ; in happier times she had been that rare and wonderful creature, a merry, laughing, happy angel, always occupied in good works, such as making plum-dufl' for poor humanity ; now, unhap2:)ily, an angel ■who endured suspense and the agony of long wailing for new« which would never come. THE PATIENCE OF PENELOPE. 55 For the good Norwegian, like all the rest, believed that Rex was dead long ago. Captain Holstius was not a man accustomed to put his thoughts into words ; nor did he, like a good many people, feel for thoughts through a multitude of phrases and thousands of words. But had he been able to set forth in plain language the things he intended and meant, he would certainly have said some- thing to this effect. I think he would have said it more simply, and therefore with the greater force. ' If I could make her forget him ; if I could substitute my own image entirely for the image of that dead man, so that she should be happy, just as she used to be when I first saw her, and if all could be as if he had never known her. I should think myself in heaven itself ; or, if by taking another man to husband, and not me at all, she would recover her happiness, I should be contented, for I love her so much that all I ask is for her to be happy.' It is a form of disinterested love which is so rare that at this moment I cannot remember any other single instance of it. Most people, when they love a girl, vehemently desire to keep her for themselves. Yet in the case of Captain Holstius, as for mari-ying her, that seemed a thing so remote from the region of probability, that he never now, whatever he had done formerly, allowed his thoughts to rest upon it, and contented himself with thinking wliat he could do for the girl ; how he could soften the bitterness of her misfortune ; how he could in small ways relieve the burden of her life, and make her a little happier. Lai accepted all he gave : all his devotion and care. Little by little, because she saw Captain Holstius often, it became a pleasure to her to have him in the house. He became a sort of brother to her, who had never had that often unsatisfactory relative a brother, or, at all events, a true and unselfish friend, much better than the majority of brothers, who gave her everything and asked nothing for himself. She liked to be with him. They walked together about the wharves of the Commercial Docks in the quiet evenings ; they rowed out together on the river in the little dingy, she sitting in the stern gazing upon the waters in silent thought, while the Norwegian dipped the sculls gently, looking with an ever in- creasing sorrow in the face which had once been so full of sunshine, and now grew daily more overcast with cloud. They spoke little at such times to each other, or at any time ; but it seemed to her that she thought best, most hopefully, about Rex when she was with Captain Holstius. He was always a silent man, thinking that when he had a thing to say there would be no difficulty in saying it, and that if anyone had a thing to say unto him they could say it with- out any stimulus of talk from himself. Fiu-ther, in the case of this poor Lai, what earthly good would it do to interrupt the girl in her meditations over a dead lover by his idle chatter. When they got home again she would thank him gently and return to her household duties, refreshed in spirit by this com- panionship in silence. 56 THE CAPTAINS' BOOM. It is a maxim not sufficiently understood that the most re- freshing thing in the world, when one is tired and sorry, disap- pointed or vexed, is to sit, walk, or remain for awhile silent with a silent friend whom you can trust not to chatter, or ask questions, or tease with idle observations. Pythagoras taught the same great truth, but obscurely and by an allegory. He enjoined silence among all his disciples for a term of years. This meant a com- panionship of silence, so as to forget the old friction and worry of the world. The Norway ships come and go at quickly-recurring periods. Therefore Captain Holstius was much at the Commercial Docks, and had greater chances, if he had been the ma:i to take advantage of them, than any of the other men. He was also favoured with the good opinion and the advocacy of Captain Zachariasen, who lost no opportunity of recommending Lai to consider her ways and ftt the same time the ways of the Norweegee. His admonition, we have seen, produced no effect. Nor did Holstius ask for his media- tion any longer, being satisfied that he had got from the girl all the friendship which she had to offer. The other two suitors, who would not be denied, but returned continually, were of coarser mould. They belonged to the very extensive class of men who, because they desire a thing vehe- mently, think themselves ill-used if they do not get it, fly into rages, accuse Providence, curse the hour of their birth, and go dis- trauj^ht. Sometimes, as in the case of the young Frenchman whose story is treated by Robert Browning, they throw themselves into the Seine, and so an end, because the joys of this world are denied to the poor. At other times they go about glaring with envious and malignant eyes. At all times they are the enemies of honest Christian folk. One of these men was Captain Nicolas Borlinder, whose ship Bailed to and fro from Calais to the Port of London, carrying casks of sherry for the thirsty British aristocracy. It is not a highly- paid service, and culture of the best kind is not often found among the captains in that trade. Yet Nick Borlinder was a happy man, because his standard was of a kind easily attainable. Like his friends of the same service, he loved beer, rum, and tobacco ; like them he loved these things in large quantities ; like them he de- lighted to sit and tell yarns. He could also sing a good song in a coarse baritone ; he could dance a hornpipe — only among brother captains, of course — as well as any fo'k'sle hand ; and he had the reputatiim of being a smart sailor. This reputation, however, belonged to all. It was an unlucky day for Lai when this man was allowed a right of entry to Rydquist's. For he immediately fell in love with her and resolved to make her his own — Mrs. Borlinder — which would have been fine promotion for her. He was a red-faced, joUy-looking man of five and thirty, or thereabouts. He had a bluff and hearty way ashore ; aboard ship THE PATIENCE OF PENELOPE. 57 he was handy with a marlingspike, a rope's-end, a fist, a kick, or a round, stimulating oath, or anything else strong and lough and good for knocking down the mutinous or quickening the indolent. Behind his hearty manner there lay — one can hardly say con- cealed — a nature of the most profound selfishness ; and it might have been remarked, had any of the captains been students of human nature — which is not a possible study, save on a very limited scale, for sailors — that among them all Nick Borlinder was about the only one who had no friends. He came and went. When he appeared no one rejoiced ; while he stayed he sang and laughed and told yarns ; when he went away nobody cared. Now, a skipper can go on very well as a bachelor up to the age of thirty-five or even forty. He is supported by the dignity and authority of his position ; he is sustained by a sense of his responsibilities ; perhaps, also, he still looks forward to another fling in port, for youthful follies are cherished and linger long in the breasts of sailors, and are sometimes dear even to the gravity of the captain. When a man i-eaches som£,where about thirty-five years of age, however, there generally comes to him a sense of loneliness. It seems hard that there should be no one glad to see him when he puts into port ; visions arise of a cottage with green palings and scarlet-runners, and, in most cases, that man is doomed when those visions arise. Captain Borlinder was thirty- one or so when he first saw Lai. She was in her housekeeper's room making w\) accounts, and he brought her a letter from a ' Rydquist's man,' introducing him and requesting for him admission. She read the letter, asked him what his ship was, and where she traded, and showed him a room in her girlish, business-like manner. This was in the year eighteen hundred and seventy-six, shortly before she met Rex Armiger. Captain Borlinder instantly, in her own room, at the veiy first interview, fell in love with her, and, like many men of his class, concluded that she was equally ready to fall in love with him. All the next voyage out he thought about her. His experience of women was small, and of such a woman as Lai Rydquist, such a dainty maiden, he had no experience at all, because he had never known any such, or even distantly resembling her. The talk of Buch a girl, who could be friendly and laugh with a roomful of captains, and yet not one of them would dare so much as to chuck her under the chin — a delicate attention he had always heretofore allowed himself to consider proper — was a thing he had never before experienced. Then her figure, her face, her quickness, her cleverness — all these things excited his admiration and his envy. Should he allow such a treasure to be won by another man ? Then he thought of her business capacity and that snug and comfortable business at Rydquist's. What a retreat, what a charming retreat for himself, after his twenty years of bucketing about the sea ! He pictured himself a partner in that business — 68 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. sleeping partner, smoking partner, drinking partner, the partner told off U narrate the yarns and shove the bottle round. What a place for a bluff, hearty, genuine old salt ! How richly had he deserved it ! He resolved, during that voyage, upon making Lai Rydquist his own as soon as he returned. They met with nasty weather in the Bay, and a night or two on deck, which he had alway previously regarded as part of his profession and all in the day's work, became a peg for discontent as he thought of the snug lying he might have beside — not in — the churchyard in the Seven Houses. The more he thought of the thing the more clearly he saw, in his own mind, its manifest advantages. And then, because the seclusion of the cabin and the solitude of the ca2:)tain's position afford unrivalled opportunities for reflection, he began to build up a castle of Spain, and pictured to himself how he would reign as king-consort of Rydquist's. ' The old woman,' he said, ' shall be the first to go. No useless hands allowed aboard that craft. Her room shall be mine, where I will receive my own friends and count the money. As for old Zachariasen, he may go too, if he likes. We shall get more by a succession of captains than by feeding him all the year round. And as for the feeding, it's too good for the money ; they don't want such good grub. And the charges are too low ; and the drinks ridiculous for cheapness. And as for Lai, she'd make any house go, with her pretty ways.' About this point a certain anxiety crossed his mind, because the girl herself rather frightened him. In what terms should he convey his intentions ? And how would she receive them ? When lie got back to London he hastened to propose to Lai. He adopted the plain and hearty manner, with a gallant nautical attitude, indicating candour and loyalty. This manner he had studied and made his own. It was not unlike the British tar of the stage, except that the good old ' Shiver my timbers ! ' with the hitch-up of the trousers, went out before Nick Borlinder's time. Now it must be remembered that this was very shortly after young Armiger's departure. ' What you want, my hearty,' said Captain Borlinder, ' is a jolly husband, that's what you want ; and the best husband you can have is a sailor.' Lai was accustomed to propositions of this kind, though not always conveyed in language so downright, having already refused four and twenty captains, and laughed at half a dozen more, who lamented their previous marriages for her sake, and would have even seen themselves widowers with resignation. ' Wliy a sailor, Captain Borlinder 1 ' ' Because a sailor is not always running after your heels like a tame cat and a puppy-dog. He goes to sea, and is out of sight ; he leaves you the house to yourself ; and when he comes home again he is always in a good temper. A sailor ashore is easy, con- tented, and happy-go-lucky,' THE PATIENCE OF PENELOPE. 59 *It certainly would be something,' said Lai, ' always to liave a good-tempered husband.' ' A sailor for me, says you,' continued the Captain, warming to his work. ' That's right ; and if a sailor, quartermaster is better than able seaman ; mate is better than tjuartermaster. Wlierefore, skipper is better than mate ; and if skipper, why not Nick Bor- Ihider ? Eh ! Why not Nick Borlinder ? ' And he stuck his thumbs m his waistcoat-pockets, and looked irresistible tenderness, so that he was greatly shocked when Lai laughed in his face, and informed him that she could not possibly become Mrs. Borlinder. He went away in great indignation, and presently hearing about Rex Armiger and his successful courtship, first declared that he would break the neck of that young man as soon as he could get a chance, and then found fault with his own eyes because he had not struck at once and proposed when tlie idea first came into his head. Lost ! and all for want of a little pluck. Lost ! because the moment his back Avas turned, this young jackanapes, no better than a second mate in a steamer, cut in, saw his chance, and snapped her up. For two voyages he reflected on the nature of women. He said to himself that out of sight, out of mind, and she would very likely forget all about the boy. He therefore resolved on trying the eftect of bribery, and came ofiering rare gifts, consisting principally of an octave of sherry. Lai accepted it graciously, and set it up in the Captains' room, where everybody fell to lapping it up until it was all gone. Then Lai refused the donor a second time. So the sherry was clean thrown away and wasted. Much better had made it rum for his OAvn consumption. We know what happened next, and none rejoiced more cor- dially than Captain Borlinder over his rival's death. When a reasonable time, as he thought, had elapsed, he renewed his ofler with effusion, and was indignantly, even scorn- fully, refused. He concluded that he had another rival, probably some fellow with more money, and he looked about him and made more guarded inqviiries. He could find no one likely to be a rival except Captain Holstius, who appeared to be a poor religious crea- ture, not worth the jealousy of a lusty English sailor ; and later on, he discovered that a certain American captain called Barnabas B. Wattles, who came and went, having no ship of his own, and yet always full of business, was certainly a rival. Captain Wattles puzzled him, because, so far as he could see, Lai was no kinder to him than to himself. Always there waa present to his mind that vision of himself the landlord or pro- prietor of Rydquist's, counting out the money in the front parlour over a pipe and a cool glass of rum and water, while Lai looked after the dinners and made out the bills. ' Bills ! ' he thought. ' Yes ; they should be bills with a profit in them, too, when he was proprietor ! ' 60 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. Rage possessed his soul as the time went on and he got no nearer the attainment of his object. He could not converse with the girl, partly because she avoided him, and partly because he had nothing to say. Worst of all, she told him when he ventured once more to remark that a jolly sailor— namely, Nick Borlinder — would restore her to happiness, that if he ever dare to propose such a thing again he would no longer be admitted to Rydquist's, but might stay aboard his own ship in the London Docks, or find a house at Poplar. Fear of being sent to Poj^lar kept him quiet. There remained the third suitor, Captain Barnabas B. Wattles. When he made the acquaintance of Lai, a skipper without a fihip, it was in the year eighteen hundred and seventy-seven. He was an American by birth, hailing, in fact, from the town of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and he was always full of business, the nature of which no man knew. He was quite unlike the jovial Nick Bor- linder, and indeed, resembled the typical British tar in no respect whatever. For he was a slight, spare man, with sharp featui-es and hairless cheek. He was not, certainly, admitted to the privileges of Rydquist's, but he visited when his business brought him to London, and sat of an evening in the Captains' room drinking with anyone who would offer gratuitous grog ; at other times he was fond of saying that he was a temperance man, and went away without grog rather than pay for it himself. He first came when Lai was waiting for that letter from Rex which never came. He learned the whole story ; and either did not immediately fall in love, like the more inflammable Borlinder, being a man of prudence and forethought, else he refrained from speech, even from the good words of courtship. But he came often ; by speaking gently, and without mention of love and mar- riage, he established friendly relations with Lai ; he even ventured to speak of her loss, and, with honeyed sympathy, told the tales of like disasters, which always ended fatally, to American sailors. When she declared that Rex could not be drowned, he only shook his head with pity. And, in speaking of those early deaths at sea which had come under his own observation, he assumed as a matter of course, that the bereaved woman mourned for no more than a certain term, after which time she took unto herself anotlier sweet- heart, and enjoyed perfect happiness ever afterwards. He thought that in this way he would familiarise her mind with the idea of giving up her grief. ' When she reflected,' he would conclude his narrative, 'that cryin' would not bring back any man to life again, she gave over cryin' and looked about for consolation. She found it. Miss Lai, in the usual quarter. As for myself, my own name is Barnabas, which means, as perhaps you have never heard, the Son of Consolation.' With such words did he essay to sap the fidelity of the mourner, but in vain, for though there were times when poor Lai would doubt, despite the fervent ardour of her faith, whether Rex might TBE PATIENCE OF PENELOPE. Bl not be really dead and gone, there was no time at all when she cvxr wavered for a moment in constancy to his memory. Though neither Borlinder or Barnabas Wattles could understand the thing, it was impossible for Lai ever to think of a second lover. He would talk of other things, but always came back to the subject of consolation. Thus one evening be began to look about him, being then in her own room. ' This,' he said, ' is a prosperous concern which you axe run- ning, Miss Lai. I guess it pays ? ' Yes ; Lai said that it paid its expenses, and more. ' And you've made your little pile already out of it ? ' Yes, said Lai, carelessly, there was money saved. His eyes twinkled at the thought of handling her savings, for Captain Wattles was by no means rich. He forgot, however, that the money belonged to her mother. ' Now,' he went on, with an insinuating smile, ' do you never think the time will come when you will tii-e of running this ho— tel 1 ' Lai said she was too busy to think of what might happen, and that, as regards the future, she said, sadly, she would rather not think about it at all, the past was already too much for her to think about. 'Yes,' he said, 'that time will come. It has not come yet. Miss Lai, and, therefore, I do not say, as T am ready to say. Take me and let me console you. My name is Barnabas, which means, as perhaps you do not know, the Son of Consolation.' ' It would be no use at all,' said Lai ; ' and if we are to remain friends. Captain Wattles, you will never speak of this again.' ' I will not,' he replied, ' until the right moment. Then, with your little savings and mine, we will go back to the States. I know what we will do when we get there. There's an old shij)- building yard at Portsmouth which only wants a few thousand dollars put into it. We will put our dollars into that yard, and we will build ships.' ' You had better give up thinking of such nonsense,' said Lai. 'Thought is free, ]\Iiss Lai. The time will come. Is it in nature to go on crying all your life for a man as dead as Abraham Lincoln ? The time will come.' ' Enough said, Captain Wattles,' Lai said. It was in her own room, and she was busy with her accounts. ' You can go now, and you need not come back any more unless you have something else to say. I thought you were a sensible man. Most American captains I know are as sensible as Englishmen and Norwegians.' Captain Wattles rose slowly. ' Wal,' he said, ' you say so now. I expected you would. But the time will come. I'm not afraid of the other men. As for Cap'en Borhnder, lie is not fit company for a sweet young tiling like you. He would beat his wife, after a while, that man would. He diinka 62 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. nobblers all day, and swaps lies with any riff-raff who will stand In a bar and listen to him. You will not lower yourself to Cap'en Borlmder. As for the Norweegee, he is but a poor soft shell ; you might as well marry a gell. I shan't ask you yet, so don't be afraid. When your old friends drop away one by one, and you feel a bit lonesome with no one to talk to, and these bills always on your mmd, and the house over your head like a cage and a prison, I shall look in again, and you will hold out your pretty hand, and you will sweetly say: "Cap'en Wattles, you air a sailor and a temperance man ; you subscribe to a missionary society and have once been teacher in a Sunday-school ; you have traded Bibles with natives for coral and ivory and gold-dust ; you air smart ; you air likewise a kind-hearted man, who will give his wife her head in everything, with Paris bonnets and New York frocks ; your name is Barnabas, the Son of Consolation." . . . Don't run away, Miss Lai. I've said all I wanted to say, and now I am going. Business takes me to Liverpool to-night, and on Thursday J sail again for Baltimore.' CHAPTER VI. THE MESSAGE FROM THE SEA. It was, then, in October, eighteen hundred and seventy-nine, that Dick, the Malay, made his appearance and told his tale. Having told it he remained in the house, attaching himself as by right to Lai, whose steward he became as he had been steward to Rex. The thing produced, naturally, a profound sensation in the Captains' room, whither Dick was invited to repeat his performance, not once, but several times. It was observed that, though substantially the same, the action always differed in the addition or the withdrawal of certain small details, the interpretation of which was obscure. One or two facts remained certain, and were agreed upon by all : an open boat, a long waiting, a rescue, either by being picked up or by finding land, and then one or two fights, but why, and with whom, was a matter of speculation. Captain Zachariasen remained obstinate to his theory. There was a widow, there was a marriage, there was a baby, there were conjugal rows, and finally a prison in which Rex Armiger still remained. How to fit the pantomime into these wonderful details was a matter of difiiculty which he was always endeavouring to overcome by the help of the more obscure gestures in the mum- micking. The general cheerfulness of the house was naturally much elevated by this event. It was, indeed, felt not only that hope had returned, but also tliat honour was conferred upon Rydquiat's by so mysterious and exciting a revelation. THE MESSAGE FROM THE SEA. 63 This distinction became more generally recognised when the Secretary and one of the Directors of the Indian Peninsula-r Line came over to see tlie Malay, hoping to get some light tlirown upon the loss of their ship. Captain Zachariasen took the chair for the performance, so to speak, and expounded the princijial parts, taking credit for such mummicking as no other house could otfer. The Director learned nothing definite from the pantomime, but came away profoundly impressed with the belief that their officer, Captain Armiger, was living. The Malay, now domesticated at Seven Houses, was frequently invited of an evening to the Captains' room, where he went through his performance — Captain Zachariasen always in the chair — for every new comer, and was a continual subject of discussion. Also there were great studyings of charts, and mappings out of routes, with calculations as to days and proba!)le number of knots. And those who had been in Cliinese and Polynesian waters were called upon to narrate their experiences. The route of a steamer from Hong-Kong to Moreton Bay is well known, and easily followed. Unfortunately, the Malay's pantomime left it doubtful of what nature was the disaster. It might have been a piratical attack, though that was very unUkely, or a iii-e on board, or the striking on a reef. ' Her course,' said Captain Holstius, laying it down with Lai for the fiftieth time, 'would be — so — E.S.E. from Hong-Kong, north of Lu^on here ; then due S.E. between the Pelews and Carolines, through Dampier Straits, having New Guinea to the starboard. Look at these seas, Lai. Who knows what may have ha^jpened ? And how can we search for him over thi-ee thousand miles of sea, among so many islands 1 ' How, indeed ! And yet the idea was growing up strong in both their minds that a search of some kind must be made. And then came help, that sort of help which our pious ancestors called Providential. What can we call it ■? Blind chance ? That seems rather a long drop from benevolent Providence, but it seems to suit a good many people nowadays almost as well — more's the pity. Two months after the Malay's appearance, while winter waa upon us and Christmas not far off, when the churchyard trees were stripped of leaf, and the vine about the window was trimmed, the garden swept up for the season, and the parrots brought indoors, and Rydquist's made snug for bad weather, another person called at the house, bringing with him a message of another kind. It was no other than the Doctor of the 'Aryan,' Rex's old ship. He bore something round, wrapped in tissue paper. He carried it with great care, as if it was something very precious. The time was evening, and Lai was in her room making up accounts. In the Cajitains' room was a full assemblage, numbering Captain Zaohariasen, Captain Borlinder, who purposed to spend hia 64 THE CAPTAINS' BOOM. Christmas at Rydquist's and to consume much grog, Captain Holstius, Captain Barnabas B. Wattles, whose business had again brought him to London, and two or three captains who have no- thing to do with this history except to fill up the group in the room where presently an important Function was to be held. At present they were unsuspicious of what was coming, and they Bat in solemn circle, the Patriarch at the head of the table, getting through the evening, all too quickly, in the usual way. 'This was picked up,' the Doctor said, still holding his treasur*. in his hands as if it was a baby, ' in the Bay of Bengal, by a countiy ship sailing from Calcutta to Moulmein ; it must have drifted with the currents and the wind, two thousand miles and more. How it contrived never to get driven ashore or broken against some boat, or wreck, or rock, or washed up some creek among the thousands of islands by which it floated, is a truly wonderful thing.' ' Oh, what is it ? ' she cried. He took off the handkerchief and showed a common wide- mouthed bottle, such as chemists use for eflervoscing things. ' It contains,' he said, solemnly, ' poor Rex Armiger's last letter to you. The skipper who picked it up pulled out the cork and read it. He brought it to our ofBce at Calcutta, where, though it was w^ritten to you, we were obliged to read it, because it told how the ' ' Philippine " was cast away ; for the same reason our officers read it.' ' His last letter ? ' ' Yes ; his last letter. It is dated three years ago. We cannot hope — no, it is impossible to hope — that he is still alive. Wa should have heard long ago if he had been picked up.' 'We have heard,' said Lai. She went in search of the Malay, with whom she presently returned. ' We have heard. Doctor. Here is Rex's steward, who came to us two months ago.' ' Good heavens ! it is the dumb Malay steward, who was with him in the boat.' ' Yes. Now look, and tell me what you read.' She made a sign to Dick, who went tlirough, for the Doctor's instruction, the now familiar pantomime. ' What do you think, Doctor ? ' ' Think % There is only one thing to think. Miss Rydquist. He has escaped. He is alive, somewhere, or was when Dick last saw him, though how this fellow got away from liim, and where he is ' ' Now give me his letter.' It was tied round with a green ribbon — a slender roll of paper, looking as if sea-water had discoloured it. The Doctor took it out of the bottle and gave it her. 'I will read Rex's letter,' she said, quietly, 'alone. Will you wait a little for me. Doctor ? ' She came back in a quarter of an hour. Her eyes were heavy tfith tears, but she was calm and assured. THE .MESSAGE FBOM THE SEA. 65 *T thank God, Doctor,' she said ; ' I tliank God most humbly for preserving this precious bottle and this letter of my dear Rex — my poor Rex — and I thank you, too, and your brother-officers, whom he loved, and who were always good to liim, for bringing it home to me. For now I know where he is, and where to look for him, and now I understand it all.' ' If he is living we will find liim,' said the Doctor. ' Be sm-e that we will find him.' ' We will find him,' she echoed. ' Yes, we will find him. Now, Doctor, consider. You remember how they got into the boat % ' ' Yes — off the wreck. The letter tells us that.' ' Dick told us that two months ago, but we could not altogether understand it. How long were they in the boat \ ' ' Why, no one knows.' ' Yes, Dick knows, and he has told us. Consider. They were left, when this bottle was sent forth like the raven out of the ark, with no food. They sat in the boat, waiting for death. But they did not die. They drifted — you saw that they made no attempt to row — for awhile ; they grew hungry and thirsty ; they passed two or three days with nothing to eat. It could not have been more, because they were not so far exhausted but that, when land appeared in sight, they still had strength to row.' ' Go on,' cried the Doctor. 'You are cleverer than all of us.' 'It is because I love him,' she replied, 'and because I have thought day and night where he can be. You know the latitude and longitude of the wreck ; you must allow for currents and wind ; you know how many days elapsed between the wreck and the writing of the letter. Now let us look at the chart and work it all out.' She brought the chart to the table, and pointed with her finger. 'They were wrecked,' she said, 'there. Now allow five days for drifting. WHiere would they land ? Remember he says that the wind was S.W.' ' Why,' said the Doctor, ' they may have landed on one of the most westerly of the Caroline Islands, unless the current carried them to the Pelews. There are islands enough in those seas.' ' Yes,' she replied ; ' it is here that we shall look for him. Now come with me to the Captains' room.' She walked in, head erect and paper in hand, followed by the Doctor, and stood at Captain Zachariasen's right — her usual pLice when she visited the captains in the evening. ' You, who are my friends,' said Lai, bearing in one hand the chart and in the other the precious letter, ' will rejoice with me, for I have had a letter from Rex.' ' When was it wrote and where from ? ' asked Captain Zachariasen. ' It is nearly three years old. It has been tossing on the sea, driven liither and thither, and preserved by kuad Heaven to show that Rex is living still, and where he is.' Captain Wattles whistled gently. It sounded like an involun- tary note of incredulity. 66 THE CAPTAINS' BOOM. Lai spread the chart before Captain Zachariasen. ' You can follow the voyage,' she said, ' while I read you this letter. It is on the back of one from me. It is written with a lead pencil, very small, because he had a great deal to say and not much space to say it in — my Rex ! ' Her voice broke down for a moment, but she steadied herself and went on reading the message from the sea. ' "Anyone who picks this up," it begins, "will oblige me by sending it to Miss Rydquist, Seven Houses, R-otherhithe, because it tells her of the shipwreck and perhaps the death " — But you know, all of you,' Lai interposed, 'that he survived and got to land, else how was Dick able to get to England? — "of her sweetheart, the undersigned Rex Armiger, Captain of the steamer 'Philippine,' now lying a wreck on a reef in latitude 5'30 N. and longitude 133 '25, as near as I could calculate." ' "My dearest Lal, — I write this in the captain's gig, where I am floating about in or about the above-named latitude and longi- tude, after the most unfortunate voyage that ever started with good promise. First, I send you my last words, dear love, solenmly, because a man in a boat on the open seas, with no provisions and no sail, cannot look for anything but death from starvation, if not by drowning. God help you, my dear, and bless you, and make you forget me soon, and find a better husband than I should ever have made. You will take another man " ' ' Hear, hear ! ' said Captain Borlinder, softly. ' Hush ! ' said Captain Wattles, reproachfully. ' Captain Armiger was a good man and a prophet.' ' "You will take another man,"' Lal repeated. 'Never !' she cried, after the repetition, looking from one to the other, ' Never ! Not if he were dead, instead of being alive, as he is, and wondering why we do not come to rescue him.' ' The boy had his points,' said Captain Zachariasen, 'and a good husband he would have made. Just such as I was sixty years ago, or thereabouts. Get on to the shipwreck, Lal, my dear.' ' " It was on December the First that we set sail from Calcutta. The crew were all Lascars, except Dick my Malay steward, the chief othcer, who was an Englishman, and the engineer. We made a good passage under CHUvas, with auxiliary screw, to Singapore, and from thence, in ballast, except for a few bales of goods, to Hong-Kong. Here we took in our cargo of rice, and started, all well, on January the Fourteenth, eighteen hundred and seventy- seven. The mate was a good sailor as ever stepped on a bridge, and the ship well found, new, and good in all respects. ' ' ' We had fair weather across the China Sea and in the straits north of Lucjon until we came to the open seas. Here a gale, which blew us off our course to N.E., but not far, and still in clear and open sailing, with never a reef or an island on the chart. We kept steam up, running in the teeth of the wind, all sails furled. When the wind moderated, veering from S.E. to S.W. (withm a THE MESSAGE FROM THE SEA. 67 point or two), we made the Pelew Islands to the starboard bow, and came well in the track of the Sydney steamers. If you look at the chart you wall find that here the sea is open and clear ; not a shoal nor an island laid down for a good thousand miles. Where- fore, I make no doubt that after inquiry I should have my certifi- cate returned to me, in spite of having lost so good a shijj. ' " On Sunday, at noon, the wind having moderated, we found we had made two hundred and twenty-seven knots in four and twenty hours. ' " We were, as I made it, in latitude 5*30 N. and longitude 133 '25, as near as I could calculate. At sunset, which was at six twenty- five, we must have made some sixty miles more to the S.W., so that you can lay df leaping in. Li a moment more they would have been in deep water. The black fellows, seeing that they were too late, stayed their feet, and poised their spears, aiming them, in the blind rage of the moment, at the man they had received amongst themselves and treated hospitably — at Rex. But as the weapons left their hands, Captain Holstius sprang into the boat, and standing upright, with outstretched arms, received in his own breast the two spears Avhich would have pierced the heart of Rex. The action, though so swift I 114 T3E CAPTAINS' ROOM. as to take but a moment, was as deliberate as if it had been deter- mined upon all along. Then all was over. Rex was safely seated in the stem beside his sweetheart ; Dick was crouching at his feet ; the boat was in deep water ; the men were rowing their hardest ; the savages were yelling on the beach ; and at Lai's feet lay, pale and bleed- ing, the man who had saved the life of her lover at the price of his own. She laid his pale face in her lap ; she took his cold hands in her own ; she kissed his cold forehead, while from his breast there flowed the red blood of his life, given, like his labour and his substance, to her. He was not yet quite dead, and presently he opened his eyes— those soft blue eyes which had so often rested upon her as if they were guarding and sheltering her in tenderness and pity. They were full of love now, and even of joy, for Lai had got back her lover. ' We have found him, Lai,' he murmured — ' we have found him. You will be happy again— now— you have got your heart's desire.' What could she say 1 How could she reply ? ' Do not cry, Lai dear. What matters for me — if — only — you — are happy 1 ' They were his last words. Presently he pressed her fingers ; his head, upon her lap, fell over on one side ; his breath ceased. So Captain Holstius, alone among the three, redeemed hia pledge. If Lai was happy, what more had he to pray for upon tliis earth. What mattered, as he said, for him 1 At sundown that evening, when the ship was imder way again and the reef of the lonely unknown atoll low on the horizon, they buried the Captain in the deep, while Rex read the Service of the Dead. The blood of Captain Holstius must be laid to the charge of his rival ; the blood of all tlie white men murdered on Polynesian shores must be laid to the charge of those who have visited the island in order to Kidnap the people, and those who have gone among them only to teach them some of the civilisation out of which they have extracted notliing but its vices. As regards this little islet, the people know, in some vague way, that they have had living among them a man who was superior to themselves, who taught them things, and showed them certain small arts, by which he improved their mode of life ; if ever, which we hope may not be tlieir fate, they fall in with the beach-combers of Fiji, Samoa, or Hawaii, they will easily perceive that Rex Armiger was not one of them. They will remember that he was a person of such great importance that two chiefs came to see him ; one of them carried off two of their people, the other, with whom was a great princess, carried off their prisoner himself. THE GREAT GOOD LUCK OF CAPTAIN HOLSTIl'S. 115 In a few years' time the story ■will become a myth. Some uf >he missionaries are great hands at collecting folk-lore. They will land here and will presently enquire among the people for legends and traditions of the past. They will hear how, long, long ago (many years ago), they had living among them a white person, whose proper sphere — by birth — was the broad heaven ; how he stayed with them a long time (many moons) ; how one after the other white persons came to see liim, both bad and good ; for some kidnapped their people and took them away to be eaten alive ; how at last a goddess, all in crimson, blue, and gold, came with a male deity and took away their guest, who had, meantime, taught them how to make clothes, roofs, and bread, out of the beneficent pan- dang ; how the companion was killed in an unlucky scrimmage ; and how they look forward for their return — some day. The missionaries will write down this story and send it home ; wise men will get hold of it, and discuss its meaning. They will be divided into two classes ; those who see in it a legend of the Bun-god, the princess being nothing but the moon, and her com- panion the morning star ; the other class will see in the story a corruption of the history of Moses. Others, more learned, will compare this legend with others exactly like it in almost all lands. It is, for instance, the same as the tale of Guinevere returning for Arthur, and will quote examples from Afghanistan, Alaska, Tierra del Fuego, Borneo, the valleys of the Lebanon, Socotra, Central America, and the Faroe Isles. Five weeks later Lai was married at San Francisco. The mer- chant who lent her the schooner gave her a country house for her honeymoon. 'She ought,' said Rex, 'to have married the man who gave her himself, all his fortune, and his very life. I am ashamed that so good a man has been sacrificed for my sake.' 'No, sir,' said the Calif ornian ; ' not for your sake at all, but for hers. We may remember some words about laying down your life for your friends. Perhaps it is worth the sacrifice of a life to have (lone so good and great a thing. If there were many more such men in the world, we might shortly expect to see the gates of Eden open again.' ' Unfortunately,' said Rex, ' there are more like Captain Wattles.' ' Yes, sir ; I am sorry he is an American. But you can boast your Borlinder, who is, I believe, an Englishman.' The account of Lai's return and the death of Captain Holstius duly appeared in the San Francisco papers. It was accompanied by strictures of some severity upon the conduct of Captain Barnabas B. Wattles, who was compared to the skunk of his native counti-y. It was this account, with these strictures, which the Son of Consolation found in the paper after posting his packet of lies. Further, a Sydney paper asked if the Captain Barnabas ±J. i2 116 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. Wattles, of the ' Fair Maria,' was the same Captain Wattles who behaved in the wonderful manner described in the Californian paj)ers. He wrote to say he was not. From further information received, it presently appeared to everybody that he was that person. He has now lost his ship, and I know not where he is nor what occupation he is at present following. It remains only to suggest, rather than to describe, the joyful return to Seven Houses. We may not linger to relate how Mrs. Eydquist, who stni found comfort in wearing additional crape to her widow's weeds for Res, now kept it on for Captain Holstius, calling everybody's attention to the wonderfxil accuracy of her pre- dictions : how Captain Zachariasen first sang a Nunc dimittis, loudly proclaiming his willingness to go since Lai was happy again ; and then explained, lest he might be taken at his word, that per- haps it would be well to remain in order to experience the fulness of wisdom wliich comes with ninety years. He also takes great credit to himself for the able reading he had given of the mum- micking. The morning after their arrival. Rex, looking for his wife, found her in the kitchen, making the pudding with her old bib on, and her white arms flecked with flour, just as he remem- bered her three years before. Beside her, the Patriarch slept in the wooden chair. ' It is all exactly the same,' he said ; ' yet with what a difference ? And I have had tliree years of the kabobo. Lai, you are going to begin again the old housekeeping ? ' She shook her head and laughed. Then the tears came into her eyes. ' The Captains like this pudding,' she said. ' Let me please them once more, Rex, while I stand here looking through the window, at the trees in the churchyard and tlirough the open door into the garden, and when I listen to the noise of the docks and the river, and for the white sails beyond the church, and watch the dear old man asleep there beside the fire, I cannot believe but that I shall hear another step, and turn round and see beside me, with his grave smile and tender eyes. Captain Holstius, standing as he used to stand in the doorway, watching me without a word.' Rex kissed her. He could hear this talk without jealousy or pain. Yet it will always seem to him somehow, as if his wife has missed a better husband than himself, a feeling which may be useful in keeping down pride, vain conceit, and over masterfulness ; vices wliich mar the conjugal happiness of many. ' He could never have been my husband,' the young wife went on in her happiness, thinking she spoke the whole truth; 'not even if I had never known you. But I loved liim, Rex.' •LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY.' CHAPTER I. ALL THE PEOPLE STANDINa. When the sun rose over northern England on a certain Sunday early in May — year of grace 1764 — it was exactly four o'clock in the morning. As regards the coast of Northumberland, he sprang Avith a leap out of a perfectly smooth sea into a perfectly cloudless sky, and if there were, as generally happens, certain fogs, mists, clouds, and vapours lying about the moors and fells among the Cheviots, they were too far from the town of Warkworth for its people to see them. The long cold spring was over at last ; the wallflower on the castle wall was in blossom ; the pale primroses had not yet all gone ; the lilac was preparing to throw out its blossoms ; the cuckoo was abroad ; the swallows were returning with tumultuous rush, as if they had had quite enough of the sunny south, and longed again for the battlements of tlie castle and the banks of Coquet ; the woods were full of song ; the nests were full of young birds, chirping together, partly because they were always hungry, partly because they were rejoicing in the sunshine, and all the living creatures in wood and field and river were huriying, flying, creeping, crawling, swimming, running, with intent to eat each other out of house and home. The eye of the sun fell upon empty streets and closed houses — not even a poacher, much less a thief or burglar, visible in the whole of Northumberland ; and if there might be here and there a gipsies' tent, the virtuous toes of the occupants peeped out from beneath the canvas, with never a thought of snaring hares or stealing poultry. Even in Newcastle, which, if you come to think of it, is pretty well for wickedness, the night-watchmen slept in their boxes, lanterns long since extinguished, and the wretches who had no beds, no money, and slender hopes for the next day's food, slej^t on the bunks and stalls about the market. Nothing stirred except the hands of the church clocks ; and these moved steadily ; the quarters and the hour were struck. But for the clocks, the towns might have been so many cities 118 LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: of the dead, each house a tomb, each bed a silent grave. The Northumbrian folk began to get up — a little later than usual because it was Sunday — first in the villages and farmhouses, next in the small towns ; last and latest, in Newcastle, which was ever a lie-abed city. Warkworth is quite a small town, and a great way from New- castle. Therefore the people began to get up and dress about live. There were several reasons which justified them in bemg so early. Even on Sunday morning pigs and poultry have to be fed, cows to be milked, and horses to be groomed. Then there is the delightful feeling, peculiar to Sunday morning, that the earlier you ^et up, the longer you may lean with your shoulder against the door-post. Some men, on Sundays and holy-days, like to lie at full-length upon the grass, and gaze into the depths of the sky, till thirst impels them to rise and seek solace of beer. Some love to turn them in their beds as a door turneth upon its hinges ; some delight to sit upon a rail ; but the true Northumbrian loveth to stand with his shoulder hitched against a door-post. The attitude is one which brings repose to brain and body. There is only one street in Warkworth. At one end of it is the church, and at the otlier end is the castle. The street runs uphill from church to castle. In the year 1764, the castle was more ruinous than it showed in later years, because the keep itself stood roofless, its stairs broken, and its floors fallen in— a great shell, echoing thunderously with all the winds. As for the walls, the ruined gateways, the foundations of the chapel, the yawning vaults, and the gutted towers, they have always been the same since the destruction of the place. The wallflowers and long grasses grew upon the broken battlements ; blackberries and elder-bushes occupied the moat ; the boys climbed up to perilous places by fragments of broken steps ; the swallows flew about the lofty keep ; *he green woods hung upon the slopes above the river, and the winding Coquet rolled around the hill on which the castle stood — a solitary and deserted place. Yet in the evening there was one corner in which the light of a fire could always be seen. It came from a chamber beside the great gateway— that which looks upon the meadows to the south. Here lived the Fugleman. He had fitted a small window in the wall, constructed a door, built up the broken stones, and constituted himself, without asking leave of my Lord of Northumberland, sole tenant of Warkworth Castle. I think there has always been about the same number of people and houses in Warkworth. If you reflect for a moment you will perceive that this must be so, partly because there is no room for any more on the river-washed peninsula upon which the town is built, and partly because while the same trades are practised for the same portion of country there must be the same number of craftsmen, and no more. You may expect, for instance, in every town, a shop where you can buy all the things which you must have yet cannot make for yourself, such as sugar, treacle, tape, cotton stufls, flannel, needles, and thread. In country towns the ALL THE PEOPLE STANDJ^^0. 119 number of things which can be made at home — and well made too — is more than dwellers where there are shops for everything would understand. In Warkworth, for example, there is a blacksmith — • a man of substance, because everybody wants him and would pay him well ; there is a carpenter and wheelwright, also a man to be respected, not only for his honourable craft, but also for the fields and meadows which he has bought ; a tailor — but he is a starveling, because most people in Northumberland repair, if they do not make, at home ; a cobbler, who has two apprentices and keeps both at work, because nobody but a cobbler can get inside a boot, to make or mend it ; and a barber, who also has two apprentices. There is no baker, because all the bread is baked at home, which is one, among many reasons, why country life in this eighteenth century is so delightful ; there is no brewer, because everybody, down to the cottager, brews his own beer — the old stingo, the humming October, and the small beer for the maids and children. Yet, for the sake of companionship, conversation, song, and the arrangement of matches, there must be an ale-house, with a settle round three sides of the room and another outside ; and for the quality there must be an inn. There need be no place for the buying and selling of butter, eggs, milk, or cream, because people who have no cows are fain to go without these luxuries, or else to beg and borrow. There need be no butcher, because the farmers kill and send word to the gentry when beef or mutton may be had. There is no apothecary, because every woman in the parish knows what are the best simples for any complaint and where to find them. There is no bookseller, because nobody at Warkworth ever wanted to read at all, and very few know how ; one excepts the Vicar — who may read the Fathers in Greek and Latin — and his Worship Mr. Cuthbert Carnaby, Justice of the Peace, who reads ' The Gentleman's Magazine,' to which he once contributed a description of Warkworth. There is, in fact, a singular contempt for literature in the town, and it is, I believe, a remarkable Northumbrian characteristic. There are no undertakers, because in this county people have grown out of the habit of dying, so that except in Newcastle, where people fight and kill each other, the trade can only be carried on at a loss ; and there are no lawyers, because the townsfolk of Warkworth desire to have nothing to do with law, and are only concerned with one of the many laws by which good order is maintained in this realm of England — that, namely, which forbids the landing of Geneva and brandy on the banks of the Coqviet without vexatious and tedious ceremonies, including payment of hard money. If you, who live in great towns, consider the trades, crafts, and mysteries by which men get a living in these latter days, you will presently understand that most of them are unnecessary for the simple life. When the first comers had looked up the street and down the street, straight through and across each other, and examined the sky and inspected the horizon, and obtained all possible informa- 120 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: tion about the weather, they gave each other the good-morning, and asked for opmioiis on the subject of hay. Then one by one they went back to their houses — which are of stone, having very small windows with bull's-eye glass in leaden casements, and red- tiled roofs — and presently came out bearing with them their break- fast, such as two or three kned-cakes, or a chunk of three weeks' old bread, or a slice of bread-and-dripping, or bread and fat pork, or a pewter platter of bread and beef even, with a great pewter mug of small ale. They consumed their breakfast side by side in good fellowship, standing on the cobble-stones or leaning against the door-posts, taking time over it : first a mouthful and then a di'ink, then a period of reflection, then a remark, and then another mouthful. They mostly had the Northumbrian face, which I am told is the Norwegian face — an oval shape, with soft blue eyes ; with the face goeth a gentle voice and a slow manner of speech. They are a folk born by nature with so deep a love of life that they desire nothing better than to stretch out and prolong the present. Time, who is an inexorable tyrant, will not allow so much as a single moment to be stretched. Yet, by dint of slow motion, slow speech, a steady clinging to old customs, never doing to-day anything dilierent from what you did yesterday and the day before, always talking the same talk at the same times, so that every duty of each reason has its formula, wearing the same clothes, eating the same food, sitting in the s.ame place, and avoid- ing all temptation to change, it is quite astonishing how the sem- blance of sameness may be given to time so that the whole of life shall seem, at the end of it, nothing but one delightful moment stretched out and prolonged for three-score years and ten. After breakfast, for two hours by the clock they fell to stroking of stubbly chins and to wondering when the barber would be ready. This could not be until stroke of nine at least, because he had to comb, dress, and powder first the Vicar's wig for Sunday. Heaven forbid that the Church should be put oS with anything short of a wig newly combed and newly curled ! And next the wig of his Worship Cuthbert Carnaby, Esquire, Justice of the Peace and second cousin to his lordship the Earl of Northumberland, newly succeeded to the title. "When this was done the barber addressed liimself to the chins and cheeks of the townsfolk, and this with such dexterity and despatch that before the church-bell began he had them all despatched and turned off. And then their counte- nances were glorious, and shone in the sun like unto the face of a mirror, aiid felt as smooth to the enamoured finger as the chin and cheek of a maid. Thus does Art improve and correct Nature. The savage who weareth beard knows not this delight. It was a day on which something out of the common was to happen ; a day on which expectation was on tiptoe ; and when at ten o'clock the first stroke of the church-bell began, all the boys with one and the same design turned their steps— slowly at first, and as if the business did not greatly matter, yet should be seen ALL THE PEOPLE STANDING. 121 Into — towards the church- j^ard. Tliey were all in Sunday best ; their hair smooth, their hands white, their shoes brushed and tlieir stockings clean ; they moved as if drawn by invisible ropes ; as if they could not choose but go ; and whereas on ordinaiy Sundays not a lad among them all entered the church till the very last toll of the bell, on this day they made straight for the porch at the first, and this, although they knew that if they once set foot within it, they must pass straight on without lingering, into the church, and so take their seats, and have half an hour longer to wait in silence and good-behaviour, with liability to discipline. For a rod is ever ready in church as well as at home, for the back of him who shows himself void of understanding. The Fugleman, who wielded that rod, was strong of arm ; and no boy could call himself fortunate, or boast that he had escaped the scourge of folly till the service was fairly done. As regards the girls, who were still in the houses, at the first stroke of tlie bell they, too, hastened to put the finishing touch, with a ribbon and a white handkerchief, to the Sunday frock. And then, a good half an hour before the time, which was truly wonderful, they, like the boys, hastened to the church. At the first stroke of the bell the men, too, proceeded to equip them with the Sunday church-going clothes, which were very nearly the same in all weathers, to wit, every man wore his wide horseman's coat, his long waistcoat with sleeves, his thick woollen stockings, and his shoes, with steel buckles or without, according to their station. Thus attired they turned their faces all to the same point of the compass, and heavily, yet with resolution and set purjiose, rolled down the hill into the church-yard. Out in the fields, and in the fair meadows, and down the river- side, and along the quiet country paths, and among the woods which hang above the winding of the Coquet, the sound of the bell quickened the steps of those who were leisurely making their way to church, so that every man put best foot for'ard, with a ' Hurry up, lad ! Lose not this morning's sight ! Be in time ! Quick, laggard ! ' and so forth, each to the other ; those who were on horseback broke into a trot, and laughed at those who were afoot ; the old women cried, alas ! for their age, by reason of which limbs are stiff and folks can go no faster than they may, and so they might be too late for the best part of the show ; the old men cursed the rheumatism which stiffened their knees, and bent their hips, and took the spring out of feet which would fain be elastic still, wherefore they must perhaps lose the first or opening scene. And the boys and girls who were with them took hands, and in- stead of walking with the respectful slow step which should mark the Sabbath, broke away from the elders, and raced, with a whoop and a holla, across the grass, a scandal to the mild-eyed kine, who love the day to be hallowed and kept holy. At Movwick Mill, Mistress Barbara Humble would not go to church, though her brother did. Nor would she let any other of 122 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: the household go, neither her man nor her maid, nor the stranger, if any, that was within her gates ; but at half-past ten of the clock she called them together, and read aloud the Penitential Psalms and the Commination Service. The show, meantime, had begun. At the first stroke of the bell there walked forth from the vestry-room a little procession of two. First came a tall spare man of sixty or so, bearing before him a pike. He was himself as straight and erect as the pike he carried ; he wore his best suit, very magnificent, for it was his old uniform kept for Sundays and holidays : that of a sergeant in the Fourteenth, or Berkshire, Regiment of Foot, namely, a black three-cornered hat, a scarlet coat, faced with yellow and with yellow cuffs, scarlet waistcoat and breeches, white gaiters and white cravat. On the hat was in silver the White Horse of hia regiment, and the motto 'Nee aspera terrent.' He walked slowly down the aisle with the precision of a machine, and his face was remarkable, because he was on duty, for having no expression whatever. You cannot draw a face or in any way present the effigy of a human face which shall say nothing ; that is beyond the power of the rudest or the most skilled artist ; but some men have acquired this power over their own faces — diplomatists or soldiers they are by trade. This man was a soldier. He was so good a soldier that he had been promoted, first to be corporal, then to be sergeant, and lastly to be Fugleman, whose place was in the front before the whole regiment, and whose duty it was to lead the exer- cises at the word of command with his pike. In his age and re- tirement he acted as the executive officer in all matters connected with the ecclesiastical and civic functions of the town, whether to lead the responses, to conduct a baptism, a funeral, or a wedding, to set a man in the stocks and to stand over him, to cane a boy for laughing in church, to put a vagrant in pillory and stand beside him ; to tie up an ofiender to the cart-tail and give him five dozen ; or, as in the present case, to wrap a lad in a white sheet, and re- main with him while he did public penance for his fault. He was constable, clerk, and guardian of the peace. The boy who followed him was a tall and lusty youth, past sixteen, who might very well have passed for eighteen : a boy with rosy cheeks, blue eyes, and brown hair ; but his eyes were down- cast, his cheek was flushed with shame because he was clad from head to foot in a long white sheet, and he was placed so clothed, for the space of half an hour, wliile the bells rang for service in the church porch, and then to stand up before all the congregation to ask pardon of the people, and to repeat the Lord's Prayer aloud in token of repentance. The porch of Warkworth Church is large and square, fifteen feet across, with a stone bench on either side. The boy was stationed within the porch on the eastern side, and close to the church door, so that all those who passed in must needs behold him. At his left hand stood the Fugleman, pike grounded and ALL THE PEOPLE STANBLNO. 123 head erect, looking straight before him, and saying nothing except at the beginning, -when discipHne for a moment gave way to friend- ship, and he murmured : ' Heart up, Master Ralph ! What odds is a white sheet ? ' Then he became rigid, and neither spake nor moved. As for the penitent, he tried to imitate the rigidity of his companion, but with poor success, for his mouth trembled, and his eyes sank, and his colour came and went as the people, all of whom he knew, l^assed him with reproachful or pitying gaze. The church and the jiorch and the churchyard were all eyes ; he was himself a gigantic monument of shame. When the boys walked — as slowly as they possibly could — through the porch, they grinned and nudged each other. But for the stern aspect of the Fugleman they would have laughed aloud and danced with joy. They had, however, to move on and take their places in the church, and those were few indeed who were so privileged as to command a view through the open doors of the porch and its occupants. When the men of the village ranged themselves as in a small amphitheatre round the porch, the younger ones, in a hoarse whisper said each to his neighbour : ' Oho ! ha ! yah ! ' After which they remained gazing with mouth agape. The tliree inteijections are capable of many meanings, and may indicate a great variety of feeling. Here was a lad found out and convicted on the clearest evidence and confession : he had made fools of the whole town ; here he was before all, undergoing the sentence pronounced upon him by his Worship, Mr. Carnaby ; and a sentence so seldom pronounced as to make it an occasion for wonder ; and the offender was not a gipsy or a vagrom man, or one of themselves, but young Ralph Embleton of Morwick Mill ; and the offence was not robbing, or pilfering, or cheating, or smuggling, or beating and striking, but quite an unusual and even It romantic kind of offence, for which there was no , name even ; and an offence not falling within any law. Therefore their faces were fixed in an immovable gaze, and their mouths remained wide- open — some twenty or thirty mouths in all — like unto fly-traps. Wlien the girls, for their part, walked through the porch they looked at the ofi'ender with eyes of pity, and one or two shed tears, because it seemed dreadful that this tall and handsome lad should be compelled to stand up before all in guise so shameful. Yet he had caused many to tremble in their beds. But the elder women stopped as they passed and wagged their heads with frowns, and said ; ' Oh, dear, dear ! . . . . Alack and alas !..,.. Tut, tut ! . . . . Fye for shame ! . . . . This is the end of wickedness. . . . Ah, hinneys ! .... Oh ! oh ! . . . . Look you now. . . . Heigh, laddie ! -did a body ever hear the like 1 ' and so forth, with grateful rustle of skirts, and so virtuously into the church. A noble example, indeed, for their own boys. Better one such illusti-ation of the punishment wliich overtakes offenders than fifty patterns of 124 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY.' the peace and tranquillity in which the good man begins and enda his days. Yet we humans are so foolish and perverse that we sometimes find vice attractive and the ways of virtue monotonous, and give no heed even to the most dreadful examples. Towards the close of the ringing there entered the church, M^alking majestically through the lane formed by the rustics, Mr. Cuthbert Carnaby, Justice of the Peace, with Madam his good lady. He was attired in a full wig and a purple coat with laced ruffles, laced cravat, a flowered silk waistcoat, and gold buckles in his shoes; in his hand he carried a heavy gold-headed stick, and under his arm he bore his laced hat ; his ample cheeks were red, and red was his double chin. Though his bearing was full of authority, his eyes were kind, and when he saw the boy sta^nding in the porch, he felt inclined to remit the remainder of the punish- ment. 'So, Ralph,' he said, stopping to admonish him, 'thy father was a worthy man ; he hath not lived to see this. But courage, boy, and do the like no moro. Shame attends folly. Thou art young ; let this be a lesson. After punishment and repentance cometh forgiveness ; so cheer up, my lad.' ' Ralph,' said his wife, v>uth a smile in her eyes and a frown on her brow, ' I could find it in my heart to flog thee soundly, but thou art pvmished enough. Ghosts indeed ! and not a maid would go past the castle after dark for fear of this boy ! Let us hear no more about ghosts.' She shook her finger — they both shook their fingers — she adjusted her hoop, and entered the church. The boy's heart felt lighter ; Mr. Carnaby and Madam would forgive him. His Wor- shiji went on, bearing before him his gold-headed stick, and walked up the aisle to his pew, a large room within the chancel, provided with chairs and cushions, curtains to keep oS the draught, and a fireplace for winter. After Mr. Carnaby there walked into the porch a man dressed in good broadcloth with white stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. And his coat had silver buttons, which marked him for a man of substance. His cheeks "were full and his face fiery, as if he was one who, although young, lived well, and his eyes were small and too close together, which made him look like a pig. It was Mathew Humble, Ralph's cousin and guardian. At sight of him the boy's face flushed and his lips parted ; but he restrained himself and said nothing, while the Fugleman gave him an admonitory nudge with his elbow. The man looked at Ralph from top to toe, as if examining into the arrangements, and anxious to see that all was properly and Bcientifically carried out. ' Ta-ta-ta ! ' he said with an air of dissatisfaction. ' What is this 1 Call you this penance ? Wliere is the candle ? Did liis Worship say nothing about the candle ? ' ' Nothing,' replied tha Fugleman with shortness. ALL THE PEOPLE STANDING. 125 ' He ought to have carried a candle. Dear me ! this is irregular. This spoils all. But Ah! — bareheaded' — he stood as far back as the breadth of the porch would allow, so as to get the full oti'ect and to observe the picture from the best point of view — ' in a long white sheet ! All ! bareheaded and in a long white sheet ! Oh, what a disgraceful day ! These are things, Fugleman, which end in the gallows. For gai Embleton, too ! If the old man can see it what will he think of the boy to whom he left the mill ? And to beg pardon ' — he smacked his lips with satisfaction — ' to beg pardon of the people ! Ah, and to repeat the Lord's Prayer in the church — the Lord's Prayer — m the church aloud ! the Lord's Prayer — in the church — aloud — before all the people ! Ah ! Dear me — dear me !' He wagged his head, as if he could not tear himself away from the spectacle of so much degradation. Then he added with a smile of perfect satisfaction a detail which he had forgotten : ' Standing, too ! The Lord's Prayer— in the church— aloud — before all the people— standing ! This is a pretty beginning, Fugleman, for sixteen years.' If the Lord's Prayer in itself were something to be ashamed of he could not have spoken with greater contempt. The boy, how- ever, looking straight up into the roof of the porch, made no answer nor seemed to hear. The speaker held up both hands, shook his head, sighed, and slowly withdrew into the church. Then there came down the street an old lady in a white cap, a white apron, a shawl, and black mittens, an old lady with a face lined all over, with kind soft eyes and wliite hair, but her face was troubled. Beside her walked a girl of twelve or thereabouts, dressed in white frock and straw hat trimmed with white ribbon, and white cotton mittens, and she was crying and sobbing. ' Thou mayest stand up in the church,' said the old lady, ' when he repeats the Lord's Prayer, but not beside him in the porch.' 'But I helped him,' she cried. 'Oh, I am as bad as he! I am worse, because I laughed at him and encouraged him.' ' But thou hast not been sentenced,' said the old lady. ' It is thy punishment, child — and a heavy one — to feel that Ralph bears thy shame and his own too.' ' I was on one side of the hedge when Dame Ridley dropped her basket,' the cliild went on, crying more bitterly. 'I was on one side and he was on the other. Oh ! oh ! oh ! She said there were two ghosts — I was one.' Wlien they reached the porch the girl, at sight of the boy in the sheet, ran and threw her arms about his neck and kissed him, and pried loud enough for all witliin to hear : ' Oh, Ralph, Ralph, it is wicked of them ! ' These words were heard all over the churcli, and Mathew Humble sprang to his feet, as if demanding that the speaker should be carried off to instant execution for contempt of court. All eyes 126 *LET NOTHING TOTT DISMAY: were turned upon his Worship's pew, and I know not what would have happened, because his periwig was seen to be agitated and the gold head of his stick appeared above the pew ; but luckily just then the bells clashed all together, frightening the swallows about the tower so that they flew straight to the castle and stayed there, and the Vicar came out of the vestry and sat down in the reading-desk, and, as was his custom, surveyed his church and congregation for a few minutes before the service began. It is an old church of Norman work, in parts patched up and rebuilt from time to time by the Percies, but there are no monu- ments of them. The Vicar's eyes fell upon a plain whitewashed building, provided with rows of ancient and worm-eaten benches, worn black by many generations of worshippers. The choir and the music sat at the west end. In front of the chancel was a square space in which was set a long stool. While the Vicar waited the Fugleman marched up the aisle, followed by the boy in the sheet, and both sat on this stool of repentance. Then the Vicar rose — he was a benignant old man, with white hair- — and began to read in a full and musical voice how sinners may repent and find forgiveness. But the people thought he meant his words to apply this morning especially and only to the boy in the sheet. This made them feel surprisingly virtuous and inclined to sing praises with a glad heart. So, too, with the lessons, one of which dealt with the fate of a wicked king. All the people looked at the boy in the sheet, and felt that under another name, it was his own story told before- hand, prophetically ; and when they stood up to sing in thanks- giving, their gratitude took the form of being glad that they were not upon the stool. When the Psalms were read the people paid unusual attention, letting the boy have the benefit of all the peni- tential utterances, but taking the joyous verses to themselves. And the Litany they regarded as composed, as well as read, exclusively for this convicted sinner. Among the elder ladies there was hope that the offended ghosts might — some at least — be present in the church and see this humiliation, which would not fail to dispose their ghostlinesses to a benevolent attitude, and even influence the weather. It seemed to the boy as if that service never would end. To the congregation it seemed, on account of this unusual episode, as if there never had been a service so short and so exciting. When the Commandments had been recited, Ralph almost expected to hear an additional one, ' Thou shalt not pretend to be a ghost,' and be called on to pray, all by himself, for an inclination of the heart to keep that injunction. But the Vicar threw away the opportunity and ended as usual with the tenth command- ment. He gave out the psalm, and retired to put on his black gown. The music — consisting of a violin, a violoncello, and a clarionet — struck up the tune, and the choir, among whom Ralph ought to have been, hemmed and cleared their voices. The Northumbrians, ALL THE PEOPLE STANDING. 127 as is well known, have good voices and good ears. The tune waa ' Warwick,' and the psalm was that which began : Lord, in the morninjj thou shalt hear My voice ascend to thee. The boy trembled because the words seemed to refer to the part he was about to play. His own voice would, immediately, be asceaa- ing high, but all by itself. He saw the face of his cousin, Mathew Humble, fixed upon him with ill-concealed and malignant joy. Why did Mathew hate liim with such a bitter hatred 1 Also he saw the face of the girl who had been his partner ; her eyes were full of tears ; and at sight of her grief his own eyes became humid. He did not take any part at all in the hymn. When it was finished the Vicar stood in his pulpit waiting ; his Worship stood up in his pew, his face turned towards the culprit ; in his hand his great gold-headed cane. All the people stared at the culprit with curious eyes, as boys stare at one of their com- panions when he is about to be flogged. Just then the girl left her seat and stepped deliberately up the aisle, and stood beside the boy in the sheet. And the congregation murmured wonder. The Fugleman touched the boy's shoulder and brought liis pike to 'tention. ' Say after me,' he said aloud. Then to the congregation he added : ' And all the people standing.' *I confess my fault,' he began. ' I confess my fault,' repeated boy and girl together. ' And am heartily sorry, and do beg forgiveness.' And then the Lord's Prayer. The boy spoke out the words clearly and boldly, and with his was heard the girl's voice as well, but both were nearly drowned by the loud voice of the Fugleman. It was over then. All sat down ; the girl beside Ralph on the stool of repentance, and the sermon began. The sermon which the Vicar read had nothing to do with the penance just performed ; it was a learned discourse, which would be afterwards published, showing the Divine origin of the Hier- archy ; it was stufl'ed full of references to the Fathers, and convic- tion was conveyed to hearers' hearts (in case the arguments were diflicult to follow) by quotations of Greek in the original. His Worship fell fast asleep ; all the men in the church followed his example ; the boys pinched and kicked each other, safe from the Fugleman for once : the women and the girls alone kept their eyes open, because they had on their best things, and with fine clothes go good manners, and the feminine sex loveth above all things to feel well dressed and therefore compelled to be well behaved. Even the Fugleman allowed his eyelids to drop, but never relinquished his pike ; and the girl, holding Ralph fast by the hand, wondered if they would ever, as long as they lived, these two, recover from the dreadful disgrace of that morning. 128 *LET NOTHING YOU BIS^ilAY: Wlien the Vicar had drubbed the pulpit to the very end of his manuscript, and the service was over, the three stood up again and remained standing till the people were all gone. 'Come, lass,' said the Fugleman when the church was empty, 'we can all go now. Ofl'with that rag, Master Ralph.' He unbent ; liis face assumed a human expression ; he laid down the pike. ' What odds, I say, is a white sheet ? Why, think 'twas a show for the lads which they haven't had for many a year. And May nigh gone already, and never a man in the stocks yet, and the I)illory rotting for want of custom, and never a thief flogged nor a bear-baiting. If it 'twasnt for the cocks of a Sunday afternoon and the wrestling, there would have been nothing for the poor fellows but your ghosts to keep 'em out of mischief. And, lad,' he pointed in the direction of the mill, ' your cousin means more miscliief. It was him that laid the information before his Worship.' ' Oh ! ' said Ralph, clenching his fists. ' Aye, him it was, and his Worship thought it mean, but he was bound to take notice, for why, says his Worship, ' ' he can't let this boy frighten all the maids out of their silly senses. Yet, for his own cousin and his guardian " that's what his Worship said.' ' Oh ! ' Again Ralph clenched his fists. ' Should I, an old soldier, j^reach mutiny 1 Never. But seeing that your cousin is no rightful oflicer of yourn, nor yet commissioned to carry pike in your company, why I, for one ' 'What, Fugleman?' 'I, for one, if I was a well-grown boy, nigh upon seventeen, the next time he gave orders for another six dozen, or even three dozen, I would ask him if he was strong enough to tie up a mutineer.' The boy nodded his head. ' Cousin thof he be,' continued the Fugleman, 'captain or lieu- tenant is he not.' The boy had by this time divested himself of his sheet, and stood dressed in a long brown coat and plainly-cut waistcoat ; he, too, wore silver buckles to his shoes, like his cousin, but not silver buttons ; Ids hair was tied with a black ribbon, and Ms hat was plain, without lace or ornament. Wlien his adviser had finished, he walked slowly down the empty church, hand-in-hand with the girl. In the porch he sto^Dped, threw his arm round her neck, and kissed her twice. ' No one but you, Drusy,' he said, ' would have done it. I'll never forget it, never, as long as I live. Go home to Granny, my dear, and have your dinner.' ' And will you go home, too, Ralph ? ' ' Yes, I am going home. I've got to have a talk with Mathew Humble.' Left alone in the church, the Fugleman sat down irreverently on the steps of the pulpit, and laughed aloud. ' Mathew Humble,' he said, ' is going to be astonished.' IRE ASTO:^ISHMENT OF UATHEW HUMBLE. 129 CHAPTER II. THE ASTONISHMENT OF MATHEW HTTMBLE. By this time the people had dispersed quadrivious — that is to say, north, south, east, and west ; and were making their way home- wards, their appetites for dinner keener than usual. Penance, considered as a Sunday show, hath no fellow ; it is even superior to the stocks, which is a week-day show. You may not pelt a man in a white sheet with rotten eggs, it is true ; but the same objection applies to the stocks. Of course, it cannot compare with a good pillory, which is rare, especially when eggs are plentiful and rotten apples lying under every tree ; or with a really heartfelt whipping of a vagabond or gipsy at the cart-tail, which is, unfortunately, rarer still. Among simple people there is a feeling that the greater the pain endured by the subject, the greater is the pleasure of the onlooker. Just in the same way did the Roman ladies discuss among themselves before the play whether it was more desirable to Bee Hercules — represented by the young Herr Hermann newly arrived from the Rhine — burning to death in a shirt of pitch ; or Scsevola — done to the life by that gallant captive, Owen ap Rice, from Britain — thrusting his bare arm into a clear tire and keeping it there till the hand was burnt off j or Actfeon — played with sj^irit by Joseph Ben Eleazar, the swift-footed Syrian — pursued and torn to pieces by the hounds of Dian. Ralph walked quickly past some of these groups, who fell back to right and left, and looked at him curiously. On ordinary Sundays he would have a pleasant word with all, a kiss for the children, and a challenge for the boys. To-day he passed them without a word, with head erect, eyes flashing, and clenched list. He was not thinking of salutations ; he was thinking what he should do : how he should begin his mutiny : what would be the issue of the fight. Whatever the result, there would be joy in bringing, if only for once, hand, fist, or stick into contact with the face or figure of his cousin. It was he, was it, who informed against him to his Worship ? It was no other than his cousin wlio had compassed this most disagreeable of mornings. And now, doubtless, he waited, with a great cane, his arrival at home, in order to administer another of those ' corrections ' of which he was so fond. Hitherto, Ralph had submitted quietly ; but he had been growing ; he was within a month of seventeen ; was it to be endured that he should be beaten and flogged like a child of ten, because his cousin hated him % The girls, as he strode past them regardless, looked at him with great pity, because they knew — everybody knew — what awaited him. And Mathew Humble such a hard man ! Poor lad ! Yet K ISO *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: those who mock spirits and fairies never fail to have cause for repentance in the long run ; and punishment had fallen swiftly upon Ralph. Perhaps, after this, he would respect the things which belong to the other world. Heavens ! one might as well sit among the ruins of Dunstan- burgh after dark and pretend to be the Seeker ; or within the chapel of Dilston at midnight and pretend to be Lady Derwentwater'u troubled spirit ; and then hope to escape scot-free. Yet, poor lad ! and Mathew so hard a man ! What Ralph said to himself— justifying rebellion, because he was a conscientious lad — was this : ' His Worship said that the penance would be enough ; who was Mathew, then, to override the decision of the court 1 Also, he was past the age of flogging, being now able to hold his own against most — whether at quarterstaff, singlestick, or wrestling — young men older than himself ; lastly, since Mathew had played this trick, he wanted revenge. But Mathew was his guardian ; very well, then let him learn But here he broke down, because he could not, for the moment, think of any lesson which his own rebellion would be likely to teach his cousin. When Ralph left the fields and turned into the lane leading down to the river, he began to look about among the trees and underwood as if searching for something. Presently he espied a long pliant alder-branch in its second year of growth which seemed promising. He cut it to a length of about three feet, trimmed off leaves and twigs, and balanced it critically with a tentative flourish or two in the air. 'As thick as my thumb,' he said, 'and as heavy as his cane. Blow for blow, Cousin Mathew. This will curl round his shoulders and leave its marks upon his legs.' Morwick Mill stands upon the River Coquet, about two miles from Warkworth. You can easily get to it by following the banks of the river, which is perhaps the best way, though sometimes you must off" shoes and stockings, and wade across knee-deep to the other side. The mill consists of a square house upon the edge of the river, with a great wheel on one side ; and almost ail the water of the river is here diverted so as to form a sufficient power for the mill-wheel. At the back of the mill, which is also a substantial dwelling-house, is a great careless garden, with pigsties and linneys for cattle, and vegetables, and fruit-trees ; and at the side are two or three cottages, where live the j^eople employed at the mill. All the fields which lie sloping up from the river-side belong, as well, to the owner of the mill. The owner at this moment was no other than the scajjegrace Ralph ; and his cousin, Mathew Humble, was his guardian, who had nothing at all in the world of his own but a little farm of thirty acres. The thought of this great inheritance, compared with his own meagre holding, filled the good guardian's heart with bittei'ness, and Ixis arm, when it came to correction, THE ASTOyiSHMENT OF MATHEW HUMBLE. 131 with a superhuman strength. He would be guardian for four years more ; then he would have to give a strict account of his guardian- sliip ; and the burden of this obligation, though he had only held the post for tw(j years, filled him with such wrath and anxiety that he was fain, when he did think upon it, which was often, to pull the cork out of a certain stone jar and allay his anxieties with a dram of strong waters. He was very anxious, because already the accounts were confused ; the stone jar was always handy ; therefore, he had become swollen about the neck and coarse of nose, which was a full and prominent feature, and flabby, as well as fiery, about the cheeks. In these times of much drinking many men become pendulous of cheek and ruddy of nose at forty or so, but few at six-and-twenty. Mathew was not, at this time, much more than six-aud-twenty ; say ten years older than Ealph. The kitchen, dining-room, and sitting-room of Morwick Mill was a large low room, with one long window. At the sides of the rocm, and between the great joists, were hanging sides of bacon and hams, besides pewter-pots and pewter-dishes, brightly polished wooden platters, china cups, brass vessels, whips, bridles, a loaded blunderbuss, cudgels, strnigs of onions, dried herbs of every kind, and all the thousand things wanted for the conduct of a household. At one end was a noble fire of logs burning in an ample chimney, and before the fire a great piece of beef roasting, and now, to outward scrutiny and the sense of smell, ready to be dished. A middle-aged woman, full, comely, and good-natured of aspect, was engaged in preparation for that critical operation. This was Prudence, who had lived at the mill all her life. She looked up as Ralph appeared in the doorway, and shook her head, but more in pity than in reproach. And she looked sideways, by way of friendly warning, in the direction of the table, at which sat another woman of ditlerent appearance. She was, perhaps, five or six and thirty, with thin features and sour expression, not improved by a cast in her eye. This was Barbara, sister of Mathew Humble, and now acting in the capacity of mistress of Morwick Mill, for her brother was not married. Slie had open before her the Bible, and she had found a most beautiful collection of texts appropriate to the case of Fools in the Bo(jk of Proverbs. The table was laid for dinner, with pewter plates and black-handled knives and steel forks. The beer had been drawn, and stood in a great browai jug, foaming with a venerably silver head. Ralph observed without astonishment that the plate set for him contained a piece of dry bread, ostentatiously displayed. It was to be his dinner. This pleasing maiden, Barbara, who regarded the boy with an affection almost as great as her brother's, that is to say, with a malignity quite uncommon, first pohited with her lean and skinny forefinger to the page before her, and read aloud, shaking her head reproachfully : '"Asajnan who casteth firebrands, arrows, and death, so la K 2 132 'LET NOTHING YOU DIS3IAT: the man that deceiveth liis neighbour, and saith, Am I not in Bport ? " ' Solomon must surely have had Ralph in his mind. Then she pointed with the same finger to a door opposite, and said, a smile of satisfaction stealing over her countenance : ' Go to your guardian. Go to receive the wages of sin.' ' Those,' said Ralph, with a little laugh, feeling confidence in his alder-branch, 'are not a flogging, on tliis occasion, but a fight.' Before she heard his words, or had begun to ask herself what they might mean, because she was so full of satisfaction with her texts, he had flung his hat upon a chair, and gone to the next room. If Barbara had been observant, she might have remarked, besides these extraordinary words, a certain brightness of the eyes and setting of the mouth which betokened the spirit of resistance. Tlie inner room was one occuj^ied and used by Matliew alone. It contained all the papers, account-books, and documents con- nected with the property and business of the mill. Here, too, was the stone jar already referred to. The decks had been, so to speak, cleared for action, that is to say, the table was thrust into the corner, and upon it lay the sacred instrument with which Mathew loved to correct his ward. This promoter of virtue, or dispenser of consequences, was a strong and supple cane, than which few instru- ments are more highly gifted with the power of inflicting tortm-e. Ralph knew it well, and had experienced on many occasions the full force of this wholesome quality. He saw it lying ready for use, and he reflected cheerfully that the alder-branch, partly up his left sleeve and partly in his coat-pocket, would be more supple, equally heavy, and perhaps more eflicacious regarded simply as a pain producer. When the boy appeared, Mathew rose and removed his wig and coat, because the work before him was likely to make him warm. He then assumed the rod, and ordered Ralph to take ofi' his coat and waistcoat. ' This day,' he said, * you have disgraced your family. I design that you shall have such a flogging as you will not readily forget.' He then remembered that he would be more free for action without his waistcoat. A man can throw more heart into his work. ' Such a flogging,' he repeated as he removed it, 'as you will remember all your life.' ' Well, cousin,' said Ralph, ' Mr. Carnaby said that the penance was the punishment. I have done the penance.' ' Silence, sir ! Do you dare to argue with your guardian ? ' He now began to roll up his shirt-sleeves so as to have his arms quite bare, which is an additional advantage when one wants to put out ail one's strength. ' I shall flog the flesh off your bones, you young villain ! ' But he paused, and for a moment his jaws stuck, and he was speechless, for his cousin, instead of meekly placing himself in po- THE AST0NISH3IENT OF MATHEW BUMBLE. 133 sition to receive the stupendous flogging intended for him, was facing him, resolution in his eyes, and a weapon in his hands. ' Flogging for flogging. Cousin Mathew,' said Ralph ; ' flesh for flesh. Strip my bones, I strip yours.' Mathew now observed for the first time — it was a most unfor- tunate moment for making the discovery — that Ralph was a good two inches taller than himself, that his arm was as stout, and thai his weapon was of a thickness, length, and pliability which might make the stoutest quail ; also he remarked that his shoulders were surprisingly broad, and his legs of length and size quite out of the common. And it even occurred to him that he might have to endure hardness. ' Flesh for flesh,' said Ralph, poising the alder-branch. ' Villain ! Would you break the Fifth Commandment? ' Ralph shook his weapon, making it sing merrily and even thirstily through the air, but made no reply. ' Lay down the switch.' Ralph raised it above his head as one who is preparing to strike. ' Down on your knees, viper, and beg for pardon.' ♦Flesh for flesh, Mathew,' said Ralph. ' You will have it then, young devil. I will kill you ! ' Mathew rushed upon his cousin, raining blows as thick as hail upon him. For the moment his weight told and the boy was beaten back. Swish. ' Viper ! ' Swish — swish — 'twas a terrible cane. ' I will teach you to rebel.' Swish — swish — 'twas a cane of a suppleness beyond nature. ' I will give you a lesson.' Swish- swish. ' I will break every bone in your body.' Swish — the end of the cane found out every soft place — there were not many — upon Ralph's body. But then the tables were turned, for the boy, recovering from the first confusion, leaped suddenly aside, and with a dexterous movement of the left foot caused his cousin to stumble and fall heavily. He struggled, struck, kicked, and lashed out — but he did not get up again. A very important element in the fight was strangely overlooked by Mathew before he began to attack. It was this, that whereas he was himself out of condition, the boy was in splendid fettle, sound of wind as well as limb. So furious was Mathew's first assault that, brief as was its duration, no sooner was he tripped up than he perceived that his wind was gone, and though he could kick and struggle, yet if he half got up he was quickly knocked down again. Ajid while he kicked and struggled, this young viper, this monster of ingratitude, was administering such a punislunent as even he, Mathew, had never contemplated for Ralph. ' Have you had enough ? ' cried the boy at last, out of breath. ' I will murder you, I will Oh, Lord ! ' For the punish- ment began again. 'Stripping of flesh,' said Ralph. 'This you will remember, cousin, all your life.' 134 *LET NOTHING YOU BISlfAY.' The alder-branch was like a flail in the lad's strong arm. The rapidity, the precision, the delicate perception of tender places, took away the sufferer's breath. There was no sound place left in the whole of Mathew's body. ' Have you had enough 1 ' cried Ralph. ' I will flay you alive for this — I will. Oh, oh ! I have had enough.' * Then,' said Ralph, with one final eflbrt, the efi"ect of which would be, by itself, felt for a week and more, 'get up.' Mathew rose, groaning. ' AVe have had the last of punishments,' said the boy. * I will fight you any day you please, but I will take no more punishments from you.' He threw down his stick, and put on his coat and waistcoat, with some tenderness, however, for the first part of the battle had left its marks. Now outside, the two women were listening, one with com- placency, and the other with pity. And the first was ready with the Bible still open at the Book of Proverbs, wliich contains quite an armoury of texts good to hurl at a young transgressor. The second, with one ear turned to the door of Mathew's room, went on dishing the beef, which she presently placed upon the table. There was unusual delay in the sound which generally followed Ralph's visits to that room. No doubt Mathew was commencing with a short Commination Service. Presently, however, there was a great trampling of feet, with the swish, swish of the cane — Mathew's first charge. ' Lord ha' mercy ! ' cried Prudence. ' "The rod and reproof give wisdom," ' read her mistress from the Book. Then they heard a heavy fall, followed by a heavier, faster, more determined swishing, hissing, and whistling of the instrument, till the air was resonant with its music, and it was as if all the boys in Northumberland were being caned at once. ' Lord ha' mercy ! ' repeated Prudence. ' He'll murder the boy.' '"A reproof,"' read the other from her place, '"entereth more into a wise man than a hundred stripes into a fool." ' There was a pause, and then a sound of voices, and then another terrific hailstorm of blows. Both women looked aghast. Was the punishment never to end? Then Prudence rushed to the door. ' Mistress,' she cried, ' you may look on while the boy is cut to pieces — I can't and won't.' She opened the door. Heavens ! what a sight was that which met her astonished eyes. The boy, cut and bruised about the face, was standing in the middle of the room, smiling. The man was on his hands and knees, slowly rising ; his shirt was torn off his back : his shoulders were cut to pieces ; he was covered with weala THE ASTONISHMENT OF MATHEW HUMBLE. 135 and bruises ; his face, scarred and seamed with Ralph's cruel alder- branch, was dreadful to look upon. He seemed to see nothing ; he groaned as he lifted himself up ; he staggered where he stood. Presently he put on his coat with many groans and muttered curses, and Prudence observed that all the wliile he regarded the lad with looks of the most extreme terror and rage. Presently she began to understand the situation. ' Are you hurt, Master Ralph ? ' she asked. 'No ; but Mathew is,' said Ralph. ' Mathew,' cried his sister, as the victim of the rebellion staggered into the room, ' what is this ? ' He sank into his armchair with a long deep groan, and made no reply. ' Why, what in the world. Master Ralph ? ' asked the servant. But the lad had gone. He went upstairs to his own room ; made up a little bundle of things which he wrapped in a hand- kerchief, picked out the thickest and heaviest of his cudgels, and then returned to the kitchen. ' Give me my dinner,' he said. Barbara had brought out her brother's wig and put it on now, but he still sat silent and motionless. He was in such an agony of pain all over, and his nervous system had sustained so terrible a shock that he could not speak. ' Give me my dinner,' Ralph repeated. Barbara pointed to the crust of bread. She was appalled by this mutiny, but she preserved some presence of mind, and she remembered the bread. Then she sat down again before the Bible and began to read, like a clergyman while the plate goes round. '" It is as sport to the Fool to do miscliief." ' Prudence, the beef being already served, laid a knife and fork for each. '"A Fool's mouth,"' Barbara said, as if she was quoting Solomon, ' " calleth for roasted beef and a stalled ox. Bread and water until submission and repentance." ' The young mutmeer made no verbal reply. But he dragged the dish before his own plate, and began to carve for himself, largely and generously. ' Mathew ! ' cried Barbara, springing to her feet. ' Let be— let be,' said Mathew ; ' let the young devil alone. I will be even with him somehow. Let be.' ' Not the old way, cousin,' replied Ralph with a nod. He then helped himself to about a pint or so of the good old October, and began, his appetite sharpened by exercise, to make the beef dis- appear in large quantities. Mathew looked on, saying nothing. The silence terrified his sister. What did it mean? And she perceived, for the first time, that their ward had ceased to be a boy and must henceforth be treated as a man. It was a fearful thought. She shut her Bible and sat back with folded hauda, waiting the issue. 136 ' LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: In course of time even a hungry boy of seventeen has had enough. Ralph lifted his head at last, took another prolonged pull at the beer, and told Barbara, politely, that he had enjoyed a good dinner. Then he turned to his cousin and addressed him with a certain solemnity. ' Cousin,' he said, 'you have always hated me, because my •uncle left the mill to me instead of to yourself. Yet you knew from the beginning that his design was for me to have it. I have done you no wrong. You have never lost any opportunity of abusing me before my face and behind my back. You became, unhappily for me, my guardian. You have never neglected any chance of flogging and beating me, if you could find a cause. As regards the ghost business, I was wrong. I deserved punishment, but was it the province of a cousin and a guardian to go and lay information before the Justice of the Peace % I shall be seventeen come next month. In four years this mill and the farm will be my own. But if I remain with you here I can expect nothing bat hatred and ill-treatment as far as you dare. You have given me plougliboy's work without a ploughboy's wage, and often without a ploughboy's food. As for flogging, that is finished, because I think you have no more stomach for another fight.' Mathew made no reply whatever, but sat with his head upon his hands, breatliing heavily. ' I am tired of ill-treatment,' Ralph went on, ' and I shall go away. ' ' Whither, boy % ' asked Barbara. ' I know not yet. I go to seek my fortune .' ' Go, if you will,' said Mathew ; ' go, in the devil's name ; go, whither you are bound to go : long before four years are over vou will be hanging in chains.' Ralph laughed and took up his bundle. ' Farewell, Prudence,' he said ; ' thou wast ever kind to me.' The woman threw her arms about his neck and kissed him with tears, and prayed that the Lord might bless him. And, as he walked forth from the house, the voice of Barbara followed him, saying : ' " A wliip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the Fool's back."' The Fugleman was sitting in the sun before his door in tlie castle, smoking a pipe and inclined to be drowsy, when Ralph appeared with his startling news. As regards the flogging, the old soldier made light of it. Nothing can be done in the army without the cat. Had not he himself once received three hundred all by a mistake, because they were meant for another man, who escaped. Did he, therefore, bear malice against his commanding officer ? No. But the villainy of Mathew, first to lay information and then to make an excuse for a flogging just for pleasure, and to gratify his own selfish desire to TEE ASTONISHMENT OF 3TATHEW HUMBLE. 137 be continually flogging, why, that justified the mutiny. As for the details of the fight, he blamed severely the inexperience in strategy shown by first knocking down the enemy. He should have expected better things of Ralph , whose true policy would have been to harass an annoy liis adversary by feints, dodges, and unexpected skirmishes. This would not only have fatigued him, but, considering liis short- ness of breath, would have worn him out so that he would in the end have fallen an easy prey, and been cudgelled without resistance till there was not a sound place left. Besides, it would have made the tight more interesting, considered as a work of art. However, doubtless the next time — but then he remembered that the boy was going away. ' To seek my fortune. Fugleman,' Ralph said gaily. 'Look after Drusy for me, wliile I am away.' ' Aye — aye,' the Fugleman replied ; ' she shall come to no harm. And as for money, Master Ralph 1 ' ' I've got a guinea,' he replied, ' wliich my uncle gave me three years ago.' ' A guinea won't go far. Stay, Master Ralph.' He went into his room and came back with a stocking in his hand. ' Here's all I've got, boy. It is twenty guineas. Take it all. I shall do very well. Lord ! what with the rabbits and the pheasants ' ' Nay,' said Ralph, ' I will not take your savings neither.' But, presently, being pressed, he consented to take ten guineas on the understanding that when he came back (his fortune made) the Fugleman was to receive twenty. And then they parted with a mighty hand- shake. Half-way down the street Ralph passed Sailor Nan, who was sitting on a great stone beside her door, smoking her short black pipe. ' Wliither bound, my lad ?' she asked. 'lam bound to London,' he replied. 'lam off to seek my fortune.' ' Come here, I will read thy fortune.' Like most old women. Nan could read a lad's fortune in the lines of his hand, or by the cards, or by the peeling of an apple. ' A good cruise,' she said, ' with fair wind aft and good weather for the most part. But storms belike on leaving port. There's a villain, and fighting and foreign parts, and gold, and a good wife. Go thy ways, lad. Art no poor puss-faced swab to fear fair fighting. Go thy ways. Take and give. Trust not too many. And stand by all old shipmets. Go thy ways.' He laughed and left her. Yet he was cheered by her kindly prophecy. He crossed the old bridge and presently found himself outside the green palings of Dame Hetherington's house. The girl who had joined liim in church was in the garden. He whistled, and she came running. ' I am come to say good-bye, Drusy,' he said j ' I am running away.' 138 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: ' Oh, Ralph, whither ? And you have a cruel blow upon youf face.' 'I have fought Matliew,' he said, 'and I have beaten him. This scar upon my face is nothing compared with the scars over his. I believe he is one large bruise. But I can no longer endure his ill- treatment and Barbara's continual reproaches. Therefore I am resolved to remain no longer, but shall go to London, there to seek my fortune as thy father did, Drusy.' They talked for half an hour, she trying to persuade him to stay, and he resolved to go. Then he went with her into the house, where he must needs tell all the story to Dame Hetherington, who scolded him, and bade liim get home again and make submis- sion, but he would not. Then Drusilla remembered that her father would gladly aid any lad from Northumberland, and sat down and wrote a letter very quickly, being dexterous with her pen, and gave it to Ralph to carry. ' You will find him,' she said, 'at the sign of the Leg and Star in Cheapside. Forget not that address. Stay, I will write it outside the letter. Give it him with my respect and obedience. Oh, Ralph, shall you be long before you have found your fortune and are back to us ? ' ' Nay,' said Ralph, ' I know not what may be my fortune. I go to find it, like many a lad of old.' Then, after many fond farewells, Ralph kissed her and trudged away manfully, while Drusy leaned her head over the garden-gate and wept and sobbed, and could not be consoled. CHAPTER in. HOW RAXPH SOUGHT FOKTTJ]!^. • A YOTTNG man's walk from Warkworth all the way to London cannot fail to be full of interest and adventm-e. There is, however, no space here to tell of the many adventures which befell this lad upon his journey. As for bad roads, he might have expected them, except that he was young and ignorant and expected nothing, so that each moment brought him some surprise, and each day taught him some new experience. As for the people to be met upon the roads, probably, had he known what to expect, he would have stopped short and sought fortune at Newcastle, Durham, or York, rather than have pressed on to London. But he was brave and full of hope. As to the roadside inns and the bedroom companions, he was astonished afterwards that he managed to get through all without having his weasand cut for the sake of his scanty stock of guineas, so desperate were some of the villains whom he encountered. Nevertheless, even among the most desperate of rogues, there is HOW RAZrn SOUGHT FOIITUKE. 139 hesitation about murder, and even about robbing lads and persona of tender years. He stowed away his money within his waistcoat, keepin.f? in his pocket notliing but two or three shiUings for the daily wants ; yet it seemed as if every man that he met had sinister designs upon him. If it was a solitary gipsy lying on tlie grass by the wayside, he rose to meet the boy as he went by, and looked highway robbery with resolution, yet refrained when he met equal resolution in the eyes of the wayfarer, and a stout stick in strong hands, and broad shoulders. If it was a pair of soldiers on the way to join their regiment, thej^ stojiped him, being two brave and gallant dare-devil heroes, and recommended the turning out of pockets, or else . They swore terribly, these brave fellows, but a back-hander right and left with the cudgel, and then a light pair of heels, relieved the wayfarer of this danger, and left the heroes swearing more terribly than before, and lamenting the waste of good front teeth. When he got near Durham he fell upon a party of pitmen out of work, and therefore parading the road, which is the manner of pitmen, one knows not what for except for mischief. These gentle- men of the underground, who have neither religion nor education, and are, in fact, more savage and heartless than North-American savages, began to set upon the boy out of pure sport, as if they felt that somebody must be damaged in older to keep up their own spirits. They handled him roughly, not for the sake of robbing him, but because he was young and unprotected, just as on Sundays they throw at cocks ; and it would have gone badly with him but for one among them who seemed to be a leader, and with many frightful imprecations bade his fellows let the boy alone. So they went on their godless way, and he went his, not much the worse for a roll in the dust. As for the mounted highwaymen, they passed him or met him, riding in splendour, and scorned to fly at such small game as a country boy walking along the road. Substantial farmers riding home from market and tradesmen with money in their pockets were their prey. But Ralph met them in the evenings at the country inns, where they hardly pretended to disguise their pro- fession, and bragged and swaggered among the admiring rustics over their punch, as if there were no such things as gallows and rope. Worse than the highwayman was the common foot-pad, the cowardly and sneaking villain who would rob a little child of a six- pence — aye, and murder it afterwards to prevent discoveiy, and feel no remorse. When these road vagabonds accosted the boy it was with intent to rob him, even of the coat upon his back ; whereupon he either fought or else ran away. He fought so bravely with so stout a heart and so handy a cudgel, and he ran BO fast, that he came to no harm ; more than that, he left behind him on the road half-a-score desperadoes at least, who bore upon their gloomy countenances for life the marks of liis 140 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: cudgel, and swore to have his blood whenever they might meet with him again. The road was not, however, a long field of battle for the lad, like his Progress to Christian the Pilgrim, nor did he meet with Apollyon anywhere. There were waggoners to talk with, friendly hawkers, whom the people call muggers, and faws, or tinkers, who are too often robbers and pilferers ; also farmers, their wives and daughters, cattle-drovers, carriers, honest sailors, who would scorn to rob upon the highway, on their way to join ship, and pleasant little country towns every eight or ten miles, where one could rest and talk, and drink a tankard of cool small beer. Then, as it was early summer, when there are fairs going on in many places, tha roads in some parts were full of the caravans and the show people, whom Ralph found not only a curious and interesting folk, but also friendly, and inclined to conversation with a stranger who was not a rival ; who was ready to offer a tankard ; who admired without Btint or envy the precious things they had to show, and who watched with delight unbounded and belief profound, the curious tricks, arts, artifices, and accomplishments by which they secured a precarious livelihood. In this way Ralph was so fortunate as to make personal acquaintance with the Pig-faced Lady, the Two- headed Calf, the Bous Potamos of Amphibious Beef (stuffed, but a most prodigious monster), and the Italian who played the pipe with his hands, the cymbals with his elbow, the triangle with his knees, and the bells with his head, while he made a most ingenious set of fantoccini dance with his right foot. All this the wonderful Italian would do, and he was not proud. Then there was the accomplished Posture Master, who had no joints at all in any of his limbs, but only flexible hinges turning every way, and could put arms, legs, head, fingers, and toes in any position he pleased. He liad a monkey who had been taught to imitate him, but with stiffness. Ralph also was presented to an Albino or Nyctalope, a most illus- trious lady, wilh hair a silvery white, and skin of incomparable clearness, but uncertain of temper ; there were the wrestlers, boxers, and quarterstafF players, honest fellows and staunch drinkers, who went round from fair to fair to display their skill, fight with each other Uke Roman gladiators, and pick up the prizes ; there were the conjurers and magicians, who palmed things wherever they pleased as if they were helped by a devil or two ; the seventh son, who read the future for all comers, and whose boast was that he was never wrong ; the bear-leaders and badger-baiters ; the flyer through the air, who made nothing of descending from a steeple-top on a rope with fireworks on his hands and feet ; the dancers on the tight or slack rope ; the thrower of somersaults ; the itinerant cock-fighter, who would fight his cock against all comers for a guinea a side ; the horse-dealer ; the quack doctor, and his Merry- Andrew ; the pedlar with his pack ; the cheap book-seller, and the ballad-crier, with many more of the great tribe of wanderers. Ralph walked with them along HOW RALPH SOUGHT FORTUNE. 141 the road, and heard their stories. He also learned some of the Btrange language in which they talked to each other when minded not to be understood by the bystanders. When they came to their destination, and set up their canvas booths, he stayed too, and enjoyed the fun of the fair. At seven- teen there is plenty of time to make your fortune, and why grudge a few days spent in watching the humours of a country fair % To be sure it cost some money, but he had still a good many of his guineas left, and no one coidd think a shilling or two ill-spent if one could see Pizarro acted in the most enthralling manner, or hear the most charming singer in the whole world, dainty with ribbons, and a saucy straw hat, sing, "Twas a Pretty Little Heart,' or ' Ben Bowsprit,' or ' Ned, You've no Call to Me.' Besides, there were the sports. Ralph played the cudgels one day and got a broken head, and won a ' plain hat, worth sixteen shillings,' but no one would give him more than four shillings and twopence for it ; also he tried a fall, but was thrown by one mightier than himself in the Cumberland back-stroke ; and he bowled for a cheese but did not win ; and he longed to run in a sack but thought it beneath the dignity of a full-grown man. Also, there were lotteries ; you could put in and di-aw everywhere all day long ; there were prizes of six- Eence, and prizes of ten pounds : he put in : sometimes he won, ut oftener he lost, which is generally the way with sportsmen and those who wait upon the Goddess of Chance. At this Capua, or Paradise of Pleasures, which was then, and is still, called Grantham, Ralph had well-nigh taken a step which would have made his story much less interesting to us, though i^erhaps fuller of incident. For he made acquaintance — being a youth of innocent heart, and apt to believe in the fionesty and virtue of everybody — with the company of yjlayers. Now it happened, first, that the troop were sadly in want of a young actor, if only to play up to the manager's daughter ; and secondly, that this young lady, who was as beautiful as the day and as vivacious as Mrs. Brace- girdle (she afterwards became a most famous London actress, and married an aged earl), cast eyes of favour on the handsome lad, longed very much for him to play Romeo to her Juliet, or Othello to her Desdemona, or any other part in which the beauty of a handsome woman is set off by the beauty of a handsome fellow, a thing which very few actresses can understand : they tliink, which is a great mistake, that it is better for them to be the only well- favoured creature on the stage. Wherefore the manager took Ralph aside privately, and offered him refreshment, either ale, or rumbo, or Barbadoes water, with tobacco if he chose, and had serious conversation with him, providing all his victuals and those as abundant as the treasury would allow, and a salary — say five shillings a week, to begin in a few months, as soon as he had learned to act, and to teach him the rudiments ; and the honour and glory of jjlaying principal parts ; and his own daughter to play up to ; and a possible prospect of appearing at Driuy Lane. 142 *LET NOTHING TOU BTSMAY.' It was a tempting offer ; the stage — even the stage in a bam — seemed splendid to the lad ; the voice and manner of the manager were seductive ; more seductive still was the voice of his daughter. When she lifted her great eyes and met his he trembled and could not say her nay ; when she laid her pretty hand upon his, and begged him to stay with them and be her Romeo, what could he reply ? Yet he remembered in time that he was on his way to seek his fortune ; that the troop were obviously out at elbows, all horribly poor, and apparently badly fed ; that to fall in love with an actress was not the beginning he had contemplated ; and that Drusy, for her part, would certainly not consider a strolling actor'a life as the most honourable in the world. He took a resolution : he would think no more upon those limpid eyes ; he hardened his heart ; he would fly. He did fly ; but not before the young actress, who was already beyond his own age, and ought to have known better, had laid her arms round his neck, and kissed fare- well, with many tears, to her first love who would not love her in return. But her father was not displeased, and said, speaking more from a business point of view than out of paternal tenderness, that she would act the better for the little disappointment, and that it does them good, when they are young, to feel something of what they are always pretending. Said it put backbone into their attitudes, and real tears in their eyes. Nothing on the stage so difficult as real tears, except a blush, which cannot be had for love or money. Tims it happened that it was four or five weeks before Ralph got to London. He arrived by way of Highgate. He reached the top of Highgate Hill at four in the afternoon. Here he sat down to rest, and to look ujjon the city he had come so far to see. There had been rain, but the clouds had blown over, leaving a blue sky, and a bright sun, and a clear air. He saw in the distance the towers and steei^les of London ; his long journey was done ; the fortune lie came to seek was — where was it i All the long way from Warkworth it seemed to him that when he reached London he would immedi- ately find that thing known as fortune in some visible and tangible form, waiting to be seized )jy his strong young hands. Yet now that he saw before him the City of the Golden Pavement it seemed as if, perhaps — it was a chilling thought — he might not know or recognise, or be able to seize this fortune when he actually saw it. What is it like — Good Foiiune ? Li other words, he began for the first time to experience the coldness of doubt which sometimes falls upon the stoutest of us. His cheek was by this time burned a deeper brown ; his hands were dyed and tanned by the June sun ; his coat and waistcoat were stained with travel and with rain ; his shoes were worn tlu'ough the soles ; in his pocket jingled the last two of his eleven guineas. When they were gone , he reflected with dismay, what would have to be done I But it was not a time to sit and tliink. Every fortune must have its beginning ; every young ROW RALPH SOUGHT FORTUNE, 143 adventurer must make a start ; every Dick Whittington must enter the City of London. He rose, seized his bundle, and set off down the hill, singing to keep up his spirits, with as much alacrity as if he were only just starting on his way from Warkworth, and as if his heart was still warmed by the recollection of his cousin's bruises. The way from Higligate to London lies along a pleasant road between tall hedges. On either side are fields and woods, and here and there a gentleman's seat or the country box of a successful citizen. Presently the boy reached Highbury, where the road bends south, and he passed Islington, with its old church and its narrow shady lanes thick with trees. On his right he saw a great crowd in a garden, and there was music. This was Sadler's Wells. Soon after tlois he arrived at Clerkenwell Green, and so by a maze of streets, not knowing whither he went, to Smithfield, where he found himseK in the midst of the crowd which fills all the streets of the city from dawn till night. Such a crowd, men so rough, he had never seen before. They seemed to take pleasure in jostling and hustling each other as they went along. It gave occasion for profane oaths, strange threats, the exhibition of courage, and the provocation of fear. If they carried loads they went straight ahead, caring nothing who was in the way. Some were fighting, some were swearing, some were walking leisurely, some were hastening along as if there was not a moment to be lost. There were open shops along one side ; on another side was a great building, but what it was Ralph knew not. The broad open space was covered with pens and hurdles for cattle, and at the corners were booths and carts from which all kinds of things were sold. A man in a long black gown, with a tall hat and a venerable white beard, stood upon a platform in one place, a clown beside him, holding some- tliing in his hand and bawling lustily. When he was silent the clown turned somersaults. Ralph drew nearer and listened. He was selling a magic balsam which cured wounds as well as diseases. 'Only yesterday, gentlemen,' the quack was saying, 'at four in the afternoon, a young nobleman was brought to me run through the body. He bought the balsam, gentlemen, and is already recovered, though weak from loss of blood.' ' Buy ! buy ! buy ! ' shouted the clown. The people looked on, laughed, and went their way. Yet some stayed and bought a box of the precious ointment. Then there was a woman selling gin from a firkin or small cask on a cart. Her customers sat upon a stool and drank this dreadful stufT, which, as tiie ingenious Hogarth has shown, makes their cheeks pale and their eyes dull. And there was a stall in which well- dressed city ladies sat eating sweetmeats, march pane, and China oranges, while outside stood a cow, and a woman beside her crying, ' A can of milk, ladies ! A can of red cow's milk ! ' The boy looked about nere a while, and passed on, wondering what great holiday was going. He knew not where he was, but that he was in London town. He was to find the sign of the ' Leg and Star ' in Cheapside. Perhaps he would see it as he walked along. If not, 144 *LET NOTHING YOU DIS3IAY.' he would ask. Meantime the novelty of the crowd and the noise of the streets pleased him, and he walked slowly with the rest. He would wait until there passed some gentleman of gravo appearance of whom he could ask the way. But he was in no hurry. He went on, and although he knew not where he was, he walked through Giltspur Street, past Cock Lane (where afterwards appeared the ghost). On his left he saw Newgate, and so tlu'ough Great Old Bailey to Ludgate Hill, where, indeed, for the magnifi- cence of the people and the splendour of the shops he was indeed astonished. There were few of the rude jostling people here. Most were gentlemen in powdered wigs, ruffles, and gold-headed canes, being the better . class of citizens taking the air in the evening before supper, or ladies in hoops and silks, with gold chains, fans, and gloves, walking with their liusbands or their lovers, very beautiful to behold. The shops, not yet shut for the day, had all sorts of signs swinging from the wall. There were the ' Frying Pan and Drum,' the 'Hog in Armour,' the 'Bible and Swan,' the ' Whale and Crow,' the ' Shovel and Boot,' the ' Razor and Strop,' the ' Axe and Bottle,' the ' Spanish Galleon,' the ' Catherine Wheel,' and a hundred others. But he saw not the sign of the ' Leg and Star.' It was growing late. The boy was hungry and tired. He looked in at a coffee-house, but the company within, the crowds of fine gentlemen — some drinking coffee, wine, and brandy, and some smoking pipes — and the gaily-dressed young women who stood behind the counter, frightened him. He did not dare go in and call for a cup of coffee ; besides, he had never tasted coffee. Then he passed a barber's shop, and thought he might ask of the barber, because at Warkworth the barber was everybody's friend, and perhaps this city barber might take after so good an example. He looked in at the open door, but quickly retreated. For witliin the shop were two or three gentlemen in the hands of the apprentices ; and one, whose bald head was wrapped in a handkerchief, was singing some song which began, ' Happy is the child whose father has gone to the devil,' while the barber himself, with an apron on and a white nightcap, sat in a chair playing an accompaniment on a kind of guitar. So Ralph went on his way, wondering what next he should see in London, and where this fortune of his might be found. Presently there came slowly along the street a venerable gentleman in an ample wig and a full black gown. He seemed to have a benevolent countenance. Ralph stopped him, and, pulling off his hat, ventured to ask this reverend divine if he would con- descend to tell him the shortest way to the sign of the ' Leg and Star ' in Cheapside. ' Stay, young man,' said the clergyman ; ' I am somewhat hard of hearing. ' He pulled out and adjusted very slowly an ear-trumpet, into which Ralph bellowed his question. His reverence then removed the instrument, replaced it in his pocket, and shook liis finger at the boy. BOW RALPH SOUGHT FOBTUNE. 145 'So young,' he said, 'yet already corrupted! Boy, bethink thee that Newgate is but in the next street.' With these words he Avent on his way, and left the lad greatly perplexed and humbled, and wondering what it was that he was aupijosed to have said. It was, in short, seven of the clock when he found himself at the place whither he was bound. He had been wandering for an hour and a half, looking about him, and at last ventured to ask the way of a servant-gu'l, who seemed astonished that he should not know so simple a tiling as the most expeditious road to Cheap- «ide, seeing that it was only the other side of Paul's. But she told him, and he presently found liimseH in the broad and wealthy street called Clieapside. The ' Leg and Star ' was on the south side, between Bread Street and Bow Church. It was a glover's shop, and because it was grow- ing late, the boxes of gloves were now taken from the window, and the apprentices were putting all away. Ralph stopped and looked at the sign, then at the fetter — which was not a little crumpled and travel-stained — and again at the sign. Yes, it must be the house, the sign of the 'Leg and Star,' in Cheapside. At the door of the shop stood a tall and portly man, between fifty and sixty years of age, with large red cheeks and double chin. He was dressed in plain broadcloth and tye-wig, but he wore ruffles and neckcloth of fine white linen laced, as became a substantial citizen. Ralph knew it could be none other than Mr. Hetherington, wherefore he took off liis hat and bowed low. ' What is thy business, young man ? ' asked the master glover. ' Sir, I bear a letter from your honour's daughter, now stayuig at Warkworth, in Northumberland.' ' My daughter ! Then, prithee, boy, who are you 1 ' ' My name is Ralph Embleton, and ' ' Thou art the son, then, of my old friend, Jack Embleton ? Come in, lad, come in.' He seized the boy by the arm and dragged him into the house and across the shop to the sitting-room at the back. ' Wife ! wife ! ' he cried. ' Here is a messenger from Drusy with a letter. Give me the letter, boy. And tliis is young Ralph Embleton, son of my old friend and gossip. Jack Embleton, with whom I have had many a fight in the old days. Poor Jack ! poor Jack ! Well, we live. Let us be thankful. Make the boy welcome ; give him supper. Make him a bed somewhere. What art thou doing in tliis great place, lad % So the letter — aye ! the letter.' He read the superscription, and slowly opened it and began to read : ' Dear and Hon'd Parents — The bairer of this is Rafe, who has run away from cruell treetment, and wants to make his fortune in London. He will tell you that I am well, and that I pray for your helthe, and that you will be kind to Rafe. — Your loving and dutiful d'ter, ' Dkusilla.' Ii UP, *ZET NOTHING YOV DISMAY: 'So,' went on the merchant, 'cruel treatment. Who hath cruelly ill-treated thee, boy ? ' ' I have run away, sir,' he said, ' from my cousin Mathew Humble, because he seeks every opportunity to do me a mischief. And, since he is my guardian, there is no remedy but to endure or to run away.' ' Ah, Mathew Humble, who bought my farm. Sam Embleton married his father's sister. Did your Uncle Sam leave Morwick Mill to Mathew ? ' ' No, sir ; he left it to me.' ' And Mathew is your guardian ? Yet the mill is your own, and you have run away from your own property 1 Morwick Mill is a pretty estate. It likes me not. Yet you would fain seek your fortune in London. That is well. Fortune, my lad, is only to be made by men of resolute hearts, like me.' He expanded as he spoke, and seemed to grow two feet higher and broad in proportion. ' And strong arms, like mine ' — he hammered his chest as if it had been an anvil, — ' and keen eyes, like mine. Weak men fail and get trampled on in London. Cowardly men get set on one side, while the strong and the brave march on. I shall be, without doubt, nest year, a Common Councilman. Strong men, clever men, brave men, boy, march, I say, from honour to greater honour. I shall become Alderman in two or three years, if Providence so disposes. There is no limit to the exalted ambitions of the London citizen. You would climb like me. You would be, some day, my Lord Mayor. It is well. It does you credit. It is a noble ambition.' Meantime a maid had been spreading the table with supper, and, to say the truth, the eyes of the boy were turned upon the cold meats with so visible a longing, that the merchant could not choose but observe his hunger. So he bade him sit and eat. Now, while Ralph devoured his supper, being at the moment one of the hungriest lads in all England, the honest glover went on talking in grand, if not boastful language, about himself and his great doings. Yet, inexperienced as he was, Ralph could not but wonder, because, although the merchant was certainly past fifty years of age,the great things were all in the future. He would become one of the richest merchants in London ; he would be Lord Mayor; he would make his daughter a great heiress ; he designed that she should marry a lord at least. At this announcement Ralph blushed and his heart sank. One of the reasons, said the merchant, why he kept her still in Northumberland was that he did not wish her to return home until they were removed to a certain great house which he had in his mind, but had not yet purchased. _ She should go in silk and satin ; he would give such great entertainments that even the king should hear of them ; London was ever the city for noble feasting. And so he talked, until the lad's brain reeled for thinking of all these splendours, and he grew sad in thinking how- far off Drusilla would be as, one by one, all these grandeura became achieved. EOW RALPH SOUGHT FORTUNE. 147 Another thing he observed : that while the husband talked in his confident and braggart way, tlie wife, who was a thin woman, Bat silent and sometimes sighed. Why did she sigh ? Did she want to live on in obscurity ? Had she no ambition ? Then the merchant filled and lit a pipe of tobacco, and pro- ceeded to tell Ralph how he would have to begin upon this ambitious career in search of fortune. First, he would have to be an appren- tice. 'I was myself,' said Mr. Hetherington, 'an apprentice, though who would think it now % ' As an apprentice, he would sweep and clean out the shop, open it in the morning, and shut it at night, wait upon the customers all day, run errands, obey duti- fully his master, learn the business, watch his master's interests, behave with respect to his betters, show zeal in the despatch of work, get no holidays or playtime, never see the green fields except on Good Fridays, take for meals what might be given him, which would certainly not be slices off the sirloin, and sleep under the counter at night. In short, the shop would be his work-room, his parlour, his eating-room, and his bed-room. The boy listened to his instructions with dismay. Was this the road to fortune % Was he to become a slave for some years % But — after ? His apprenticeship finished, it appeared that he might, if he could find money, open a shop, and become a master. But most young men, he learned, found it necessary to remain in the emploj^ment of their masters for some years, and in some cases for the whole term of their natural lives. He did not consider that he had already such a fortune as would, if laid out with judgment, enable him to open a shop or to buy a partnership. He forgot at the time that he was the owner of Mor- wick Mill. It seemed to him, being so young and inexperienced, that he had run away from his inheritance, and abandoned it to Mathew. He, too, might therefore have to remain in a master's emplojanent. This was fine fortune, truly, to be a servant all your days. And the boy began already even to regret his Cousin Mathew's blows and Barbara's cruel tongue. His pipe finished, the merchant remembered that at eight his club would meet, and therefore left the lad with his wife. ' Boy,' she leaned over the table and whispered eagerly as soon as her husband was gone, ' have you come up to London without money to become a merchant % ' 'Indeed, madam,' he replied, ' I know not what I may become.' 'Then fly,' she said; 'go home again. Follow the j^lough, become a tinker, a tailor, a cobbler — anything that is honest. Trade is uncertain. For one who succeeds a dozen are broke ; you know not, any moment, but that you also may break. Your for- tune hangs upon a hundred chances. Alas ! if one of these fail, there is the Fleet, or may be Newgate, or Marshalsea, or ^Miite- cross Street, or the King's Bench, or the Clink — there ai-e plenty of places for the bestowal of poor debtors — for yourself, and for your wife and innocent children ruin and starvation.' l2 148 * LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY* * Yet,' said Ralph, ' IMr. Hetherington is not anxious.* ' He leaves anxiety,' she replied bitterly, ' to his wife.' Then she became silent, and spoke no more to the boy, but sat wdth her lips working as one who conversed with herself. And from time to time she sighed as if her heart was breaking. In the morning the merchant was up betimes, and began again upon the glories of the city. ' Art still of the same mind ? ' he asked. ' Wilt thou be like Wliittington and Gresham, and me, also one of those who climb the tree?' Then Ralph confessed with a blush — which mattered nothing, so deep was the ruddy brown upon his cheek — that he found city honours dearly bought at the price of so much labour and confine- ment. 'Then,' said his adviser in less friendly tones, 'what will you do 1 ' Ralph asked if there was nothing that a young man may do besides work at a trade or sit in a shop. ' Why, truly, yes,' Mr. Hetherington replied with severity ; ' he may become a highwayman, and rob upon the road, taking their money from honest tradesmen and poor farmers — a gallant life indeed, and so he will presently hang in chains, or be anatomised and set up in Surgeons' Hall. There is the end of your fresh air for you.' ' But, with respect, sir,' Ralph persisted, ' I mean in an honest way.' 'If he is rich enough he may be a scholar of Cambridge, and so take orders, or he may become a physician, or a la-\vyer, or a schoolmaster, or a surgeon, and go to sea in His Majesty's ships and lead a dog's life, or a soldier and go a fighting ' ' Let me be a soldier,' cried the boy. ' Why, why 1 But you must first get His Majesty's commission, and to get this you must beg for letters to my Lord This and my Lord That, and dangle about great houses, praying for then* influence, and bribe the lacqueys, and then perhaps never get your commis- sion after all.' This was discouraging. 'Rolling stones, lad,' said the great merchant, 'gather no moss. Better stand quiet behind the counter, sweep out the shop, serve customers, and keep accounts, and perhaps some day be partner and grow rich.' But Ralph hung his head. ' Then how can I help thee, foolish boy 1 Yet, because I knew thy father, and for Drusy's sake Stay, would you go to India?' To India ! Little, indeed, of the great doings in India reached the town of Warkworth. Yet Ralph had heard the Vicar talking w^ith Mr. Camaby of Colonel Clive and the famous battle of Plassy. To India ! His eye flashed. HOW RALPH SOUGHT FORTUNE. 149 *Yes, sir ; I would willingly go to India.' ' My worthy friend, Mr. Nathaniel Silvertop, is in the service of the Company. Come, let us seek his counsel.' They walked, the boy being much astonished at the crowd, the noise, and the never-ceasing business of the streets, down Cheap- side, through the Poultry, past the new Mansion House and the Royal Exchange, into Cornliill, where stands the Honourable East India Company's House, a plain solid building, adorned with pillars of the Doric order. Mr. Hetherington led the way into a great hall, where was already assembled a crowd of men who had favours to ask of the directors, and finding a servant he sent his name to Mr. Silvertop. Presently, for nothing was done in undignified haste in this house, Mr. Silvertop himself — a gentleman of three score, and of grave appearance — descended the stairs. To him Mr. Hetherington unfolded liis business. Here, he said, was a young fellow from Northumberland, heir to a small and j^retty estate, but encumbered for three or four years to come with a guardian, whose affection he appeared to have un- fortunately lost, so that it would be well for both to remain apart; but he was a young gentleman of roving tastes, who would fain see a little of the world, and — -but this he whispered — a brave and bold fellow. Mr. Silvertop regarded the lad attentively. ' Our writers,' he said solemnly, ' go out on small salaries. They seldom rise above four hundred or five hundred pounds a year at the most. Yet — mark this, young gentleman — so great are their chances in India that they sometimes come home at forty, or even less, with a hundred — aye, two hundred thousand pounds. Think upon that, boy ! So great a tiling it is to serve this Honourable Company.' The boy's eyes showed no emotion. A dull dog, indeed, he seemed to Mr. Silvertop, not to tremble at the mere mention of so vast a sum. ' Leave him here, my good friend,' said Mr. Silvertop. ' I have business, but I will return and speak with him again. He can walk in the hall and wait.' ]Mr. Hetherington went his way, and Ralph waited. After an hour or so, he saw Mr. Silvertop coming down the stairs again. He was escorting, or leading to the door, or in some way beliaving in respectful and deferential fashion to a tall and splendid gentleman, brave in scarlet, wearing a sash and a sword and a gold-laced hat. At the foot of the stairs, Mr. Silvertop bowed low to this gentleman, who joined a little group of gentle- men, some of them also in scarlet. He seemed to be the chief among them, for they all behaved to him with the greatest respect. Then Mr. Silvertop looked about in the crowd, and spying Ralph, beckoned him to draw near and speak with him. 'So,' said Mr. Silvertop, 'you are the lad. Yes, I remember. ' J 50 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: Ralph thought it strange that he should not remember, seeing that it was but an hour or so since Mr. Silvertop had spoken last with him. ' You are recommended hy my friend Mr. Hetherington. Well, I know not — we are pestered with applications for our writer- ships. Every runaway' — Ralph blushed — 'every out-at-elbows younger son ' — the great gentleman in scarlet, who was close at hand, here turned his head and looked at the lad with a little in- terest — ' every poor curate's brat who can read and cypher wants to be sent to India.' ' You cannot, sir,' said the gentleman in scarlet, ' send too many Englishmen to India. I would that the whole country was ruled by Englishmen — yet not by quill-drivers.' He added the last words in a lower voice, yet Ralph heard them. Mr. Silvertop bowed low, and turned again to the boy. ' A writership,' he continued, ' is the greatest gift that can be bestowed upon a deserving lad. Remember that, and if — but I cannot promise. I would oblige my friend if I could — but I will not undertake anything. With my influence— yet I do not say for certain ; a writership is a greater matter than you seem to think — I might bring thy case before the directors. Is thy handwriting fair, and thy knowledge of figures absolute ? ' Ralph blushed, because liis handwriting was short of the clerkly standard. ' I thank you, sir,' he said, 'but I love not writing. I would rather carry a sword than a pen.' ' Ta-ta-ta,' replied Mr. Silvertop, whose influence lay wholly in the mercantile department of the company. ' We waste our time. A sword ! I know naught of swords. Go thy ways, boy — go thy ways. Is London City, think you, a place for the carriage of swords ! Go, take the king's shilling, and join a marching regi- ment. I warrant you enough of swords and bayonets.' Ralph bowed and turned away sadly. The gentleman in scarlet, who had apparently been listening to the conversation, followed him to the doors with thoughtful eyes. ' A lad who would rather handle a sword than a pen,' he said. * Are there many such lads left in this city of trade and greed ? ' They looked, at the ' Leg and Star,' that day, for the return of the young Northumbrian in time for dinner. But he came not ; nor did he come at night ; nor did he ever come. No one knew whither he had gone or what had become of him, and much Mr. Hetherington feared that in this wicked town he had been enticed by some designing wretch to his destruction. DEL' SILL A' S SIOBT. 161 CHAPTER IV. drusiila's story. I WAS bom in Cheapside, almost beneath the bells of Bow, on October 5, in the year of grace 1753, being the fifth and youngest child of Solomon Hetherington and Prudence liis wife. My father was a citizen and glover, a Member of the Honourable Company of Glovers, his ambition being always to be elected, before becoming Lord Mayor, Master of his Company. These ambitions are laud- able in a city merchant, yet, alas ! they are not always attained, and in my unhappy father's case they were very far from being reached, as you shall presently hear. There is, I am told, some quality in the London air which causeth the city, in spite of much that is foolish as regards cleanli- ness, to be a healthy place, and favom-able to children. So that, for my own part, though I was brought up in the very centre and heart of the city, with no green fields to run in, nor any gardens save those belonging to tine Drapers' Company, I, as well as my brothers and sisters, was a healthy and well-faring child up to the age of eight, when I, with all my brothers and sisters, was afflicted with that scourge of mankind, small-pox. Tliis dreadful disease, to the unspeakable grief of my parents, killed their fom* eldest children, and spared none but myself, the youngest, and a girl. To lose tlu'ee strong and promising boys, the hope of the house, aa well as a girl of fourteen, already beginning to be useful, was a most dreadful thing, and I wonder that my mother, who passionately loved her boys, ever recovered cheerfulness. Lideed, until her dying day she kept the annual recurrence of this day, which robbed her of her children — for they all died on the same day — in prayer and fasting and tears. Yet I was left, and, by further blessing of Heaven, I recovered so far that, although I was weakly and ailing for a long time, I was not marked by a single spot or any of those ugly pits, which sometimes ruin many a woman's beauty and thereby rob her of that choicest blessing, the love of a husband. So dif- ferent, however, was I from the stout and hearty girl before the small-pox, that my parents were advised that the best chance to save my life — this being for the time their chief and even tlieir only hope — was to send me into the country, there to live in fresh pure air, running in the sun, and fed on oatmeal porridge, good milk, fat bacon, and new-laid eggs. Then my father bethought him of his own mother who lived far away indeed from London, namely at Warkworth, in Northumber- land. And he proposed to my mother that they should take this long journey, carrying me with them, and leave me for a while in charge of my grandmother ; which being done, and my health show- 153 * LET NOTHING TOU DISMAY: ing signs of amendment, they were constrained to go back to their i»wn business, leaving me in good hands, yet with sorrowful hearts, because they were going home without me. And for six or seven years I saw them no more. No girl, to be sure, had kinder treatment or more indulgent governess than myself. My grandmother, Dame Hetherington — though not a lady by birth, but only a farmer's daughter — lived in the house which stands outside the town, beyond the bridge, among the trees. You may know it by its garden and green railings. It is a small house, yet large enough for the uses and wants of an old lady and a single serving-maid. She was then about seventy years of age, but this is considered young in Northumberland, and I have seen many ladies from London and the south country, or even out of Scotland, who at fifty were not so active. She lived upon an annuity, forty pounds a year, which her son bought for her when he sold liis father's farm of thirty acres ; it was bought by Mathew Humble. As for the cottage, it was also my father's, and the Dame lived in it, rent free. It was the Dame, my grandmother, who taught me all household things, such as to spin, to sew, to darn, to hem, to knit, to em- broider, to bake and brew, to make puddings, cakes, jellies, and conserves, to compound skilfully cowslip, ginger, and gooseberry wine ; to clean, sweep, dust, and keep in order my own and all the other rooms in the house. It was the Vicar's wife who undertook — there being no school in the town, save a humble Dame's school — to teach me reading, writing, cyphering, together with my Catechism and the Great Scheme of Cluistian Redemption, of which, being the daughter of pious parents, I already possessed the rudiments. There were not many books to read in the house, because my grand- mother did not read ; but there were the Bible, the Apocrypha, the Pilgrim's Progress, a book of Hymns and Pious Songs, and a bundle of the cheap books which tell of Valentine and Orson, Dick Whittington, the last Appearance of the Devil, and the latest Examples of Divine Wrath against fools and profligates. But because the Dame, my grandmother, was a wise woman, and reflected that I was sent away from London in order to recover my health and grow strong, I was allowed and encouraged to run about in the open air as much as possible, so that, as this part of England is quite safe, and there are here few gipsies (who mostly stay on the other side of Cheviot) nor any robbers on the road — nor, indeed, any road at all to signify — I very soon grew to know the whole country within the reach of a hearty girl's feet. There is plenty to see, though this part of Northumberland is flat, while the rest is wild and mountainous. Firstly, there are the ruins of the old castle, about which it is always pleasant for a child to run and climb, or for a grown person to meditate on the vanity of earthly things, seeing that this pile of ruins was once a great and stately castle, and this green sward was once hidden beneath the feet of fierce soldiers, who now are dust and ashes in the grave-yard. LRUSILLA'S STORY. 163 From the castle one looks down upon the Coquet, which would ever continue in my eyes the sweetest of rivers, even were I to see the far-famed Tiber, or the silver Thames, or the great Ganges, or the mysterious Nile, or even the sacred Jordan. It winds round the foot of the hill on which the castle is built. There is one spot upon its banks where I have often stood to watch the castle risinaj proudly — albeit, in ruins — above the hill, and wholly reflected in the tranquil waters below. It was my delight to scramble down the banks and to wander fearless along the windings of the tortuous stream, watching the brightness of its waters, now deep, now broad, now silent, now bubbling with the fish leaping up and disappearing, and the woods hanging on the rising bank. If you sat quite quiet, moving not so much as a finger, you might, if you were lucky, presently see a great otter swimming along in the shadow of the bank, and you would certainly see a water-rat sitting in the sun. But if you move so much as an eyelid the rat drops into the water like a stone. Or if you crossed the river, which you can very easily do in some parts by taking off your shoes and stockings and wading, you could go visit the Hermitage. There is the little chapel in which the hapless solitary prayed, and the figure wliich he rudely sculptured, and even the stone bed on which he lay and the steps of the altar worn by his knees. But childi-en think little of these things, and to me it was only a place where one could rest in cool shade when the sun was hot, or seek shelter from the cold blast of the winter wind. Higher up the river was Morwick Mill, where Ralph Embleton lived with his uncle. Or, again, if instead of crossing the bridge and going up to the castle, you walked across the fields which lay at the back of the garden — wild and barren fields covered with tufts of coarse grass — you came, after half a mile or so of rough walking, to the sea-shore, fringed with low sand-hills. It was an endless joy to run over these hills and explore their tiny valleys and peaks of twenty feet high at least. Or one could wander on the sands, looking at the waves, an occupation which never tires, or watching sea-gulls sailing with long white wings in the breeze, or the little oxbirds on the sands. If you walked down instead of up the river, you came, after three miles, to its mouth and the little town of Amble, where every man is a fisherman. Beyond the town, half a mile out to sea, lies the little island of Coquet. Ralph once rowed me across the narrow channel, and we explored the desert island and thought of Robinson Crusoe, which he had read and told me. But this was before the time when we took to pretending at ghosts. In those days, which seem to have been so happy, and I dare say were, Ralph was free, and could come and go as pleased him best, save that he went every morning to the Vicar, who taught him Latin and Greek, and sometimes remembered — but in kindly moderation — the advice of Solomon. The reason of this 154 LET NOTRIT^'-G YOU DISMAY: freedom was that his uncle, with whom he lived, loved the lad greatly, and intended great things for him, even designing that he should become a great scholar and go to Cambridge. For once there was a member of his family who took to learning and rose from being a poor scholar in that university, which has ever been a kindly nurse or foster-mother of poor scholars, to be a Doctor of Divinity and a Bishop. But my Ralph was never to be a Bishop, nor even a Doctor of Divinity. Aiid a sad change was to happen at the mill. Everybody was our friend in those days, from Mr. Cuthbert Carnaby, Justice of the Peace, and the Vicar, down to Sailor Nan and her lodger, Dan Gedge, the Strong Man. Everybody had a kind word for Ralph, and nobody told me then how wicked it was to run about with a boy of such unnatural depravity. This, as you will see, was to come. He was a tall boy for his years, and he was six years older than myself, which proves how good-natured he must have been, for few boys of fifteen or sixteen care for the com- panionship of a girl of nine or ten. As for his face, it has always been the dearest face in the world to me, and always will be, so that I know not whether other people would call it a handsome face. His eyes were eager, as if — which was the case — he always wanted to be up and doing. They were blue eyes, because he was a Northumberland lad, yet not soft and dreamy eyes, as is too often the case with the people of the north. His face was oval and his features regular. He carried his head thrown back, and walked erect with both hands ready, as if there was generally a fight to be expected, and it was well to be prepared. To be sure, Ralph was one of those who love a fight and do not sulk if they are beaten, but bide a bit and then on again. On Sunday afternoons, who so ready as he at quarterstafF or wrestling, or any of the manly sports 1 As regards the cock-fighting, bull-baiting, and dog-fighting, with which our common people so love to inflame their passions and to destroy their sensibility, Ralph would none of it, because he loved dogs, and, indeed, all animals. But at an otter-hunt he was always to the front. He was not fond of books and school-learning, yet he loved to read of foreign lands and of adventures. The Vicar lent him such books, and he told me, long before I thought that he too would become such an one himself, of Pizarro, Cortes, Raleigh, and Francis Drake (not to speak of Robinson Crusoe and Captain Gulliver), and of what great things they did and what fine places they visited. A brave boy always, whose heart leaped up when he heard of brave things. AU the town, I have said, were our friends. But of course we had some who were more with us than others. For instance, what should we have been without the Fugleman ■? To those who do not know him he was the chief terror of the town, being so stern and lean in appearance, so stift' and upright, and, besides, oflicially connected with such things as stocks, whipping-post, pound, and pilh/i-y : names of rebuke. To Ralph and to lue he was a trusted and DRUSILLA'S STORY. 155 thoughtful friend, almost a playfellow. His room at the gateway of the castle, to which he had fitted a door and a window of glass in a wooden frame, was full of things curious and delightful. He had eggs strung in long festoons round the walls, and could tell us where to look for the nests in spring ; he had a ferret in a box ; he had fishing-rods and nets ; he had traps for wild fowl, and for rabbits ; he had a fowlmg-piece, and he could tell us stories without end of his campaigns. Why, this brave fellow, who was for thirty years and more in the Fourteenth Berkshire Regiment, could tell us of the great review held on Salisbury Plain liy his Majesty King George the First, of pious memory. He could tell us of the famous Siege of Gibraltar, when the regiment was commanded by Colonel Clayton, and of the battle of Dettingen, where that gallant officer was killed ; of CuUoden and the Young Pretender. A brave regiment always and strong in Protestant faith, though much given to drink, and only kept in paths of virtue by strict discipline and daily floggings. Had it not been for the Fugleman — and Sailor Nan, of whom more anon — I for one should never have learned about foreign places at all, any more than the rest of us in Warkworth. Now, indeed, having heard him talk about them so often, I seem to know the phlegmatic Dutch and the slow German, and the Frenchmen with their love of glory, and the Spaniards with their Papistical superstitions, and the cruel ways of the Moors, because the Four- teenth were once at Tansfiers. Ralph, of course, knew much more than I, because he was more curious, being a boy, and asked many more questions, being always, as I have said already, thirsty for information concerning other people. No one else in Warkworth had been abroad, not even Mr. Carnaby, though gentlemen of good birth, like himself, some- times made tlie grand tour in their j^outh, accompanied by tutors. Yet Mr. Carnaby said that they often learned more wickedness than good, and would have been better at home. No one else talked about foreigners or knew anything of them, finding sufficient subject for conversation in the weather and the events of the day in to^vn and counti-y side. I do not except Sailor Nan, although she had sailed over many seas, because a person who only goes to sea remains always, it seems to me, in one spot. Northumberland is enough, indeed, for the Northumbrians. To begin with, there is no part of England where there is so much left to be told by the old women, who are ever the collectors and treasurers of things gone by and old stories. ^Vhy, men are as wasteful of their recollections as of their money, and were it not for the women, the past would perish. It seems to me as if the Dame could never come to an end with the tales she told me, the songs she sang me (in a pretty voice still, though a little cracked with age), the proverbs she had for every occasion, and the adventures of many peojile with ghosts and fairies. There was the story of the Loathly Worm of Bamborough, to begin with, and the terrible tale of Sir Guy the Seeker. I have stood amid the ruins of Dunstanburgh and 156 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: wondered where might be the door through which he entered when he found the beautiful lady. Then there was the story of the farmer who found Bling Arthur and all his knights in an en • chanted sleep, under Sewing Shields Castle. He saw waiting for tlie first comer a sword and a horn. He drew the sword, indeed, but was too terrified to blow the horn. Oh, woe betide that evil day On ;\hich the witless wight was bom, Who drew the sword, the garter cut, But never blew the bugle-horn. There was the story of the simple man of Ravensworth who died, and was dead for twenty-four hours, during which he was permitted to see both Heaven and Hell, and was sent back to earth to tell the Bishop that he must prepare for death. There was the story of the other simple countryman who had a dream of treasure. In his dream he saw the place where the treasure lay. It was in a triangular space made by three great stones beneath the ground. That simple man was so foolish as to tell his dream. Again the dream came to him. This time he got up early in the morning and went out, spade in hand, to dig. Alas ! he was too late. Someone else had been there before him, guided by the first dream, and all that was left was the triangular space made by the three great stones. There was the other treasure-story con- nected with the name of Nelly the Knocker. Nelly the Knocker was the ghost of an old woman. She came every evening at dusk, and she stationed herself before a great stone standing by the road-side near a farm. Here she knocked with a hammer. Every- body had seen her — no one was afraid of her ; the rustics were so used to her that they passed her without a shudder, though, of course, no one ventured quite close to her ; her tapping was heard a long way off. One day two men thought they would dig under the stune, to see if anything was there. They dug, and they found a great pot full of gold coins. So that Nelly the Knocker was justified of her knocking. But she came no more. There was still another story of treasure : how it lay buried under a great stone, and how those who would dig for it were frightened away by a figure in white which seemed to fly from under it, no one having courage to remain after the appearance of that figure. There were, lastly, the stories of the fairies who were brought into the country by the Crusaders, never having been heard of before. I have since •wondered how they were brought : whether in boxes, or in cages, or in what other way. Those of Northumberland have yellow hair ; they live in chambers under green hills; they have a great day of meeting every year — namely, on the eve of Roodsmass, called by some Hallowe'en. The chief mischief they do— it is, to be sure, a very great mischief — is to steal the babies (wherefore at reaping- time it is most dangerous to leave their little children under the hedges) and to substitute changelings. DRUSILLA'S STORY. 157 * My dear,' said the Dame, gravely, ' I have known such a changeling. His name was Little Hobbie o' the Castleton ; he was a dwarf, and wratliful by disposition, insomuch that he would draw his gully upon any of the boys who ofiended him. But his legs were short, whereby he was prevented from the wickedness of murder, or at least striking and wounding.' There was also the Brown Man of the Moors, but one feared him not at Warkworth, where there are no moors. And there was the fearful Ghost of Black Heddon, known as Silky, because she always appeared dressed in silk ; a stately dame, the sight of whom terrified the stoutest. These are only a few of the tales with which my childish head was filled, and though I know that scofiers may laugh, in an age which aflects with incredible boldness to disbelieve even the most sacred things, we of the country know very well that these things are too well authenticated not to be true. As regards Silky, for instance, the man was still living and could be spoken with when I was a girl, who, being then a youth of tender years, projjosed to personate the figure in white which sometimes stood or sat by the bridge on the road to Edlingham from Alnwick. He put on a /sheet and sat upon the bridge, expecting to frighten passengers. Lo ! beside him he saw, suddenly, the real ghost, saying never a word. And at sight of her he fell backwards over the bridge into the water and broke his leg, so that he went halt to his dying day. This ought to have been a warning both to Ralph and myself : but, alas ! it was not. Sailor Nan, who lived in a cottage up the street between the church and the castle, had seen many ghosts, but hers were sea- ghosts, because, though she had sailed in a great many seas, she had never been ashore — I do not count an hour's run among grog-shops going ashoi^e — in foreign parts, except at Portobello, when that jilace was taken in the year 1739, when she was with Admiral Burford, being also captain of the foretop, and at the time about thirty-six years of age ; here, by reason of a wound, her sex was discovered, so that they disrated her and sent her home. Her memory being good and her recollections being copious, her house was much frequented by young people who loved to hear how she boarded the ' Santa Isabella' when aboard the ' Dorsetshire,' under Admiral Delaval, or how she was present at the famous cutting out of the pirate, with the hangings at the yard-arm of the pirate captain and all his crew, and how the ghost of the caip enter (unjustly hanged) haunted the main deck. She was at tliis time — I mean at the time when Ealjih did penance^about sixty years of age. She wore a sailor's tliree-cornered hat, cocked, a thick woollen wrapper round her neck, and petticoats almost as short as a sailor's. She wore also thick worsted stockings and men's shoes, so that it was difficult to understand that she was a woman and not a man. Her voice could be either rough and coarse like a sailor's, or thin like a woman's, as she pleased ; round her waist she tied a 158 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY.' cord, which had a knife at the end of it. She smoked tobacco continually, and drank as much rum as ever she could get. She lived chiefly by selling tansy cakes. After she was dismissed from the navy she married twice. Her first husband was hanged for selling a stolen pig at Morpeth Fair, and her second hanged himself — some said on account of his wife's cudgel. ' Hinneys,' she would Bay, ' it's a fine thing to dee your own fair death.' Her conver- Bation was full of strange sea oaths, and she was still as strong as most men are at thirty, with thick brawny arms and sturdy feet, a woman who feared no man. Besides her tansy cakes she told fortunes to those who would give her silver, and she grew in her garden, and sold, marsh and marigold. A tough, hardened old woman, her face beaten and battered by all kinds of weather, who sat outside her door on a big stone all day long, winter and summer, rain, snow, frost, hail, east wind, south wind, sunshine, cloud, or clear, smoking a black pipe of tobacco, and carrying in her hand a stick with which she threatened the children when they ran after her, crying, ' Sailor Nan, Sailor Nan ; half a woman, half a man ! ' But I do not think that she ever harmed any of them. People came to see her from all the country-side, partly to talk with her, because she was so full of stories, and partly to look at a woman who had actually carried a cutlass, handled pike and marlinspike, been captain of the foretop, brandished a petty officer's rope's-end, manned a boat, fought ashoi-e side by side with the redcoats, and valiantly boarded an enemy. In the end she lived to be a hundred and eight, but she never altered or looked any older, or lost her faculties, or drank less rum, or smoked less tobacco. When Ralph was nearly fifteen a great and terrible misfortune befell him. His uncle, Mr. Samuel Embleton, though not an old man, died suddenly. After he was buried it was found that he had left by will Morwick Mill and the farm, his household furniture, his books, which were not many, and all the money he had in the world, to Ralph as his sole heir. This inheritance proved at first the cause of great unhappiness to the boy. For, unfortunately, the will named Mathew Humble as the guardian and executor, to whom the testator devised his best wig and his best coat with his second- best bed and a gold-headed stick. Now it angered Mathew to think that he, being also nephew and sister's son of Samuel Embleton, of Morwick Mill, was left no part or portion of this goodly heritage. It would seem that knowing his uncle's design to send Ralph to Cambridge, and his hope that he would become a credit to the family and a pillar of the Church, he had hoped and even grown to believe firmly and to expect it as a right, that the mill at least, if not the farm, or a portion of it, would be left to him. It was, therefore, a bitter blow for him to iind that he was left nothing at all except what he could make or save as guardian of the heir and administrator of the estate, with free quarters at the mill, for six years. Surely for a man of probity and common sense that would have been considered a great deal. BRUSILLA'S STORY. 159 He came, with his sister, who was as much disappointed as himself, in a spirit of rancour, malice, and envy. He regarded the innocent boy as a supplanter. The first thing he did was to inform him that he should have no skulking or idleness. He therefore put a stop to the Latin and Greek lessons from the Yicar, and employed the boy about the work of the place, giving him the hardest and the most disagreeable tasks on the farm. For freedom was substituted servitude ; for liberty, restraint ; for affection and kindness, harsh language and continual floggings ; while Barbara with her tongue, that ill-governed weapon of women, made him feel, for the first time in his life, how idle, how useless, how greedy a creature he was. The boy bore with all, as meekly as was his duty, for quite two years. But he often came to me, or to the Fugleman, with fists clenched, declaring that he would endure this ill-usage no longer, and asking in wonder what he had done to deserve it. And at such times he would swear to leave the mill and run away and seek his fortune anywhere — somewhere in the world. It was always in his mind, from the first, when Mathew began his ill-treatment, that he would run away and seek his fortune. In this design he was strengthened by the example of my father, who left the village when a boy of fourteen to seek his fortune, and found — you shall hear presently what he found. I dissuaded Mm, as much as I could, because it was dreadful for me to think of being left without him, or of his running about the country helpless and friendless. The Fugleman, who knew the world and had travelled far, pointed out to him very sensibly that he would have to endure this hardness for a very short time longer, that he was already sixteen and as tall as most men, and could not for very shame be flogged much more ; while, as for Barbara's tongue, he declared that a brave man ought not to value what a woman said — let her tongue run as free as the Serjeant at drill of recruits— no more than the price of a rope's end : and, again, that in five years' time, as soon as Ralph was twenty-one, he would have the right to turn his cousin out of the mill, which would then become his own property, and a very pretty property too, where an old friend would expect to find a pipe and a glass of Hollands or rum. And he promised himself to assist at the ducking in the river which he supposed that Ralph would give his cousin when that happy day should arrive, as well as at the great feast and rejoicing which he supposed would follow. The result of these exhortations, to which were added those of my grandmother, was that he remained at home, and when Mathew Humble cruelly belaboured him, he showed no anger or desire for revenge, and when Barbara smote him with harsh words and found texts out of the Bible to taunt him with, he made no reply. Nor did he rebel even though they treated him as if he were a common plough-boy and farm drudge, instead of the heir to all. I confess, and have long felt sincerely, the wickedness of the thing which at length brought open disgrace upon poor Ralph and 160 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: drove him away from us. Yet, deserving of blame and punish- ments as ovir actions were, I cannot but think that the conduct A Mathew in bringing tlie chief culprit— he knew nothing of my share or of the Fugleman's — before his Worship, Mr. Justice Carnaby, was actuated more by malice than by an honest desire to bring criminals to punishment. Besides, he had for some months before this been spreading abroad wicked rumours about Ralpli, saying, among other false and malicious things, that the boy was idle, gluttonous, lying, and even thieving, insomuch that the Vicar, who knew the contrary, and that the boy was as good a lad as ever walked, though fond of merriment and a little headstrong, openly rebuked him for malice and evil-thinking, saying plainly that these things were not so, and that, if they were so, Mathew was much to blame in blabbing them about the country, rather than trying to correct the lad's faults, and doing his best to hide them from the general knowledge. Yet there are some who always believe what is spoken to one's dispraise, and sour looks and un- friendly faces were bestowed upon the boy, while my grandmother was warned not to allow me to run wild with a lad of so notorious a bad character. This is all that I meant when I said just now that at first all were our friends. When Ralph was gone I took little joy in anything until I got my first letter from him, which was not for a very long time afterwards. Now, one day, as I was walking sorrowfully home, having sat all the afternoon with the Fugleman, I saw Sailor Nan beckoning to me from her stone outside the door. ' Child,' she said, ' where's your sweetheart % ' ' Alack,' I replied, ' I know not, Sailor Nan.' 'Young maids,' she went on, 'must not puke and pine because they hear nothing for awhile of the lads they love. Be of good cheer. Wliy, I read him his fortune myself in his own left hand. Did my fortunes ever turn out wrong ? As good a tale of luck and fair weather as I ever read. Come, child, give me thy hand ; let me read your lines too.' It is strange how in the lines of one's hand are depicted before- hand all the circumstances of life, easy to be read by those who are wise. Yet have I been told that it is not enough to learn the rules unless you have the gift. 'He will come back,' she repeated, after long looking into the hand. ' Now, your own hand. Here is a long line of life — yet not as long as my own. Here is the line of marriage — a good line ; a happy marriage ; a fortunate girl — yet there will be trouble. Is it an old man ? I cannot rightly read. Something is in the way. Trouble, and even grievous trouble. But all to come right in the end.' ' Is my fortune,' I asked, ' connected with the fortune of Ralph ? ' She laughed her rough, hoarse sea-laugh. DRCSILLA'S STORY. 161 ' If it is an old man, or if it is a young man, say him nay. Bide your old love. If he press or if he threaten, say him nay. Bide your old sweetheart. • There was an old man came over the lea, Heigho ! but I won't have 'xxn ; Came over the lea, A courtin' to me, Wi' his old gray beard just newly shaven.' She crooned out the words in a cracked and rusty voice, and pushed my hand away rouglily. Then she replaced her pipe in her mouth and went on smoking the tobacco which was her chief food and her chief solace, and took no further heed of me. CHAPTER V. A SECOND WHITTINGTON. It becomes not a young girl to pronounce judgment openly (what- ever she may think) upon the conduct of her elders, or to show resentment, whatever they may think fit to do ; so that when Mathew Humble came to see my grandmother on certain small affairs wiuch passed between them — concerning the sale of a pig, or I know not what — it was my duty, though my heart was aflame, to sit, hands in lap, quiet and mum, when I would rather. Heaven knows, have been boxing liis ears and railing him in such language as I could command, for I certainly could never forget, while this man, with the fat red cheeks and pig's eyes, was drinking my grandmother's best cowslip wine, as if he had been the most virtu- ous of men, that it was through him — though this my grandmother knew not, for I never told her— that Rali)h had been betrayed to his Worship, and so been brought to public shame ; that it was this man who had beaten the boy without a cause, and that it was his sister who daily sought out hard words and cruel texts, as well as coarse crusts, with which to torture my Ralph. I remembered, as well, that it was this man who had been soundly cudgelled and flogged by the boy he had abused so shamefully. 'You have heard notliing, I dare say, IVIr. iMathew,' asked the Dame, for it was now two months after the poor lad's flight, ' of our young runaway, whom we in this house greatly lament and wish him well ? ' ' Nothing as yet,' replied Mathew. Then he drank oflF the rest of his glass, and went on with much satisfaction : ' I fear ' — yet he looked as if he hoped — ' that we shall hear nothing until we hear the worst, as provided by the righteous laws of this country. What, madam, can be expected of one so dead and hardened unto M 162 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: conscience as to offer violence and to turn upon his guardian, and take him while ojff his guard and unawares with bludgeons and cudgels ? ' The whole town had heard by this time and knew very well how Ralph, before his flight, refused to be flogged, and fought his guardian and vanquished him, insomuch that grievous weals were raised and bruises sad to tell of. It was Mathew's version that he was taken by surprise. Otherwise, he said, it was nothing but Heaven's mercy prevented him from grievously wounding and hurting the boy, who ran away for fear and dared not come back. Opinion was divided : for some called shame on Matliew for flog- ging so tall and strong a lad — almost a man — and others declared that stripes, and those abundant and well laid on, alone could meet the deserts of one guilty of bringing ghostly visitors into discredit, because, should such practices continue, no ghost, even one who came to tell of buried treasure, would be sure of his — or her — reception, and might be scoffed at as an impostor, instead of being received with terror and the fearful knocking together of knees. But mostly the general opinion was in favour of the boy and his flight ; the folk rejoiced that Mathew had met his match ; and our ignorance of Ralph's fate made the people remember once more his many good qualities, his meiTy friendliness, his honest face, and his blithe brown eyes, in spite of the ghost pretences and the stories spread abroad by his cousins. 'That,' said my grandmother, in answer to Mathew, ' waa wrong, indeed. I had hoped that the lad would have returned, made submission, received punishment, and been pardoned. He w^as ever a boy of good disposition, and his uncle loved him, Mathew — a thing which did, without doubt, prepossess you in his favour.' ]\Iathew slowly put down his empty glass, and held up both hands to show astonishment. ' Good disposition ? This, madam, springs from your own goodness of heart. Who in Warkworth doth not know that the boy was already, so to speak, a man grown, so far as wickedness is concerned ? He of a good disposition ? Alas, madam, your heart is truly too full of kindness ! For the sake of Missy here — who grows a tall lass — I am glad that he is gone, because he would have taught her some of his own wickedness. Alas ! ' here he spread his hands, ' the tilings that I could tell you if I would. But one must spare one's cousin. Greediness, laziness, profligacy, luxury. Ha ! but I speak not of these matters, because he was my cousin. For his own sake, and because at his age an evil-disposed boy cannot but feel the want of those paternal corrections which I never spared, I grieve that he is no longer with us.' ' Nevertheless, Mr. Mathew,' said my gi-and mother, smiling, ' I cannot believe, even though you assure us, that Ralph was so kicked as all this, and I hope, for the credit of your family, that A SECOXD WniTTTXGTO\. 163 you will diligently spread abroad a better opinion. No one is hardened at sixteen.' 'Except Ralph,' said Mathew, shaking his head. ' And I for one shall continue to hope the best. He will re- turn to us, Mr. Mathew, before long, penitent, and desirous of pleasing his guardian, and you will then be able to correct your judgment.' ' I do not think he will ever return,' said his cousin. ' As for being penitent, he must first take the punishment which aAvaits him. As for desiring to please ' He stopped short, doubtless remembering that alder-branch. ' If he does not return,' my grandmother continued, ' till after he becomes of age, it will be your great happiness to hand over his property, well husbanded and with careful stewardship.' Here ^lathew shut both his eyes and shook his head, but I know not why. ' You will feel the pleasure of doing good to one who un- dutifuUy offered you violence. He will be the opposite to the man in the parable, for he will have left his talent tied up in a najikin, and he will return and find it multiplied.' ' Such as Ralph,' said Mathew, grimly, ' do not repent, nor desire to please, nor retm^n. He began with penance — public penance — think upon that — and saying tlie Lord's Prayer aloud. He will be advanced next — which is the regular course of such as him — to pillory. After penance, pillory. It is the regular thing. After pillory, stocks ; after stocks, whipping-post or cart-tail ; after cart- tail, iourning in the hand. Lastly, he will be promoted to the gallows.' He positively rubbed his hands together, and laughed at this delightful prospect. Why did he wish his cousin hanged, I wonder, unless that he would then get the mill ] ' I trust not,' said the Dame. ' Meantime, you will guard his property.' ' His property ! ' his face grew quite black. ' His property ! Why, if he comes back there will be sometliing said about that as well. Ha ! His property ! Ha ! ' ' But, surely, Mi". IMathew, his uncle bequeathed Morwick Mill to Ralph 1 J ' That, 'madam, has been the belief of the world. Neverthe- less But I say notliing This is not the time for serious talk.' When he was gone, my grandmother, who seldom discussed such high matters with me, said : ' Drusilla, I like it not. Doth IMathew Humble desire the death of his cousin ? It would seem so. Pillory, stocks, whipping- post, gallows ? All for our Ralph 1 Why this passeth under- standing ! And wherefore this talk of the world's belief ? I like it not, child.' ' But you do not think, grandmother, that Ralph will ' * I think, child, that Ralph is a good lad, but headstrong, per- haps, and impatient of control. Wherever he is I will warrant him honest. Such boys get on, as your father got on. Some day, I m2 164 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: make no doubt that he will return. But as for Mathew Humble, 1 like not his manner of speech.' The same day she put on her bonnet and best shawl and went to the house of Mr. Cuthbert Carnaby, from which I gathered — my little wits jumping as fast as bigger ones — that she went to lay the case before his Worship, which perhaps was the reason why, when Mr. Carnaby next met Mathew (it was after church on Sunday), he informed him that it should be his own business to watch that the mill and farm were properly managed in the interests of the heir, and that a strict account would be required when Ralph retui-ned and came of age. Whereat Mathew became confused, and stammered words incoherent about proving who was the rightful lieir. Yet, for the moment, notliing more was said upon that subject. The summer and the autumn passed, but no sign or letter came from Ralph. The people in the town ceased, after the manner of mankind, to think of the boy. He was gone and forgotten, yet there were two or three of us who spoke and thought of him con- tinually. First there was the Fugleman, who found his life dull without the boy to talk with. He promised to make a collection of birds' eggs in the spring as a present for him when he should retui^n. Then there was the old woman. Sailor Nan, who kept his memory green. Lastly, there were my grandmother and myself. We knew not, however, where he was, or anything about him, nor could we guess what he was doing, or whither he had gone. Twice in the year — namely, at Christmas or the New Year, and at [Midsummer — I had letters from my parents, to which I duly replied. It was in May when Ralph ran away, so that they had three letters from me that year. When my Christmas letters arrived there was mention of our boy, but so strange a tale that we could not understand what to believe or what the thing might mean. The letter told us that Ralph reached London safely in four or five weeks after leaving us, having walked all the way, save for such trifling lifts and helps as might be had for notliing on the road ; he found out my father's shop ; he gave him the letter ; he slept in the house, and was hospitably entertained. In the morning he was taken by my father to the East India Company's great house in Cornhill, and left there by him to talk with a gentleman about the obtaining of a post in their service ; that, the conversation finished, being dismissed by the gentleman with whom he had taken counsel, Ralph left theoflice. Then he disappeared, and was seen no more. Nor to the inquiries made was there any answer given or any news of him ascertained. ' So wicked is this unhappy town,' wrote my mother, ' that men are capable of murdering even an innocent lad from the countiy for the sake of the silver buckles, or the very coat upon his back. Yet there are other ways in which he may have been drawn away. He loved not the thought of city life J he may have taken the recruiting sergeant's shilling, or he A SECOND WHITTINGTON. 165 may have been pressed for a sailor and sent to sea ; or, which Heaven forbid, he may have been decoyed into bad company, and now be in the company of rogues. Whatever the cause, he hath disappeared and made no sign. Yet he seemed a good and honest lad. ' So perplexed were we with the strange and unintelligible intel- ligence that, after turning it about in talk for a week, it was resolved that we would consult Mr. Carnaby in the matter. It would perhaps have been better if we had kept the thing to our- selves. For this gentleman, though he kindly considered the case, could do nothing to remove the dreadful doubt under which we lay, except that he recommended us to patience and resignation, virtues which, Heaven knows ! we women who stay at home must needs continually practise. We should, I say, have done better had we held om* tongues, because Mr. Carnaby told the barber, who told the townsfolk one by one, and then it was whispered about that Ralph had joined the gipsies, according to some ; or been pressed and sent to sea, according to others ; or had enlisted, aecording to otliers ; with wild stories told in addition, born of imagination, idle or malignant, as that he had joined a company of common rogues and robbers ; or — but I scorn to repeat these things. Everybody, however, at this juncture, remembered the wicked things said of the boy by his cousin. As for Mathew himself, overjoyed at the welcome news, which he received open-mouthed, so to speak, he went about calling all his acquaintance to witness that he had long since prophesied ruin and disaster to the boy, which, indeed, to the fullest extent, a lad so depraved as to horsewhip his own guardian richly deserved. As for coming back, he said, that was not likely, and indeed impossible, because he was already knocked on the head — Mathew was quite convinced of this — in some midnight brawl, or at least fallen so low that he would never dare to return among respectable people. These things we could not believe, yet they sank into our hearts and made us uneasy. For where could the boy be, and why did he not send us one letter, at least, to tell us what he had done, and how he had fared \ ' Child,' said my grandmother, ' it is certain that Mathew does not wish his cousin to return. He bears malice in his heart against the boy, and he remembers that should he never come back the mill will be his own.' Already he began to give himself the airs of the master, and to talk of selling a field here and a field there, and of improving the property, as if all was his. ' He will come back,' said the Fugleman. ' Brave hearts and lusty legs do not get killed. Maybe, he hath enlisted. Then he may have gone a soldiering to America, or somewhere in the world, and no doubt will get promotion — aye, corporal first, sergeant next, and perhaps be made Fugleman. Or, maybe, as your lady mother says, he hath been pressed, and is now at sea, so that he cannot write. But, wherever he is, be sure he is doing well. Wherefore, heart up ! ' Well, to shorten the story, we got no news at all, and could IC6 ^LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: never discover for many years what had become of the boy. When four years had passed by without a word or line from him, Mathew grew horribly afraid because Ralph's one-and-twentieth birthday drew near, and he thought the time was come when the heir would appear and claim his own. What preparations he made to receive him I know not. Perhaps a blunderbuss and a cup of poison. But the day passed, and there was no sign of Ralph. Then, indeed, Mathew became quite certain that he would no more be distiu"bed and that the mill was his own. As for myself, I sat at home chiefly with my grandmother, who was now beginning to grow old, yet brisk and notable still. There was a great deal to be done, and the days passed swiftly to indus- trious hands ; yet not one so busy and not one so swift but I could find time to think and to pray for Ralph. As for diversions, for those who want them, there are plenty. Do nut think that in our little north-counti7 town we have any cause to envy the pleasures of town. Why, to begin with, there are the mummers at Christmas ; all tlirough the dark evenings the lads gamble at candle creel for the stable-lanterns ; on New Year's Eve we sit up all night long and keep the fire burning — it is dreadful bad luck to borrow fire on a New Year's morning ; in the summer there comes the fair ; on Sunday afternoons, for the young men there is wrestling, with quarter-staflf and cock-fighting. At harvest-time there is the March of the Kirn baby — The master's corn is ripe and shorn, We bless the day that he was born ; Shouting a kirn — a kirn — ahoa ! with the feast afterwards and the cushion-dance, at which the old song of ' Prinkham Prankham ' is always sung, and the girls are kissed, a proceeding which seems never to fail in causing the live- liest satisfaction to the men, though why they should wish to kiss young persons for whom they do not feel any affection, and perhaps, even any respect, passes my poor comprehension. I have seen, on these occasions, a gentleman kiss a dairymaid, and dissemble so well that one might say he liked it. Besides these amusements, the men had the excitement of the smuggling, whereof you will hear more presently. To look back upon, in spite of these amusements, it was a long and dreary time of waiting. Yet still the Fugleman kept up my heart, and Sailor Nan swore, as if she was still captain of the foretop, that he would come home safe. I was young, happily, and youth is the time for hope. And about the end of the sixth year I had cause to think about other tilings, because my own misfortunes began. I had long observed in the letters of my dear parents a certain difi'erence, which constantly caused doubt and questioning ; for my mother exhorted me continually in every letter to the practice of frugality, thrift, simple living, and the acquisition of housewifely A SECOND WniTTINGTON. 167 knowledge, and, in short, all those virtues which especially adorn the condition of poverty. She also never failed to bid me reflect upon the uncertainty of human affairs and the instability of for- tune ; and every letter furnished examples of rich men becoming poor, and great ladies reduced to beg their bread. My grandmother bade me lay these things to heart, and I perceived that she was disturbed, and she would have written to my father to ask if things were going ill, but for two reasons. The first was that she could neither read nor write, those arts not having been taught her in her childhood ; and I testify that she was none the worse for want of them, but her natural shrewdness even increased, because she had to depend upon herself, and could not still be running to a book for guidance. The second reason was that the letters of my father, both to her and to myself, were full of glorious anticipation and confidence. Yes ; while my mother wrote in sadness, he wrotp in triumph ; when she bade me learn to scour pots, he commanded me to study the fashions ; when she prophesied disaster, he pro- claimed good fortune. Thus, he ordered that I was to be taught whatever could be learned in so remote a town as Warkworth, and that especial care was to be taken in my carriage and demeanour, begging my grandmother to observe the deportment of Mistress Carnaby, and to bid me copy her as an example ; for, he said, a city heiress not uncommonly married with a gentleman of good family, though impoverished fortunes ; that some city heiresses had of late married noblemen ; that as he had no son, nor any other child but myself, I would inherit the whole of his vast fortune (I thought how I could give it all to Ralph), and, therefore, I must study how to maintain myself in the position which I should shortly occupy ; that he was already of the Common Council, and looked before long to be made Aldei'man, after which it was but a step to Sheriff iii'st and Lord Mayor afterwards ; that he intended to build or buy a great house worthy of his wealth ; and that he did not wish me to return home until such time as this house was in readiness, because, as one might truly say, his present dwelling in Cheapside, though convenient for his business and the place where his fortune was made, was but a poor jslace, quite unworthy of an heiress, and he wished that I should be seen nowhere until he had prepared a fitting place for my reception ; that, in point of beauty, he hoped and doubted not that I should be able to set off and adorn the jewels and fine dresses which he designed presently to give me ; and that he desired me especially to pay very par- ticular attention not to seem quite rustical and country-bred, and to remember that the common speech of Northumberland would raise a laugh in London. With much more to the same effect. I say not that my father wrote all this in a single letter, but in several, so that all these things became implanted in my mind, and both my grandmother and myself were, in spite of my mother's letters, firmly persuaded that we were already very rich and con- Biderable people, and that my father was a merchant of the greatest 168 'ZfiT NOTHING TUU JJlSJIAY.' renown — already a Common Councilman, and shortly to be Alder- man, Sheriff, and Lord Mayor— in the City of London. This belief was also held by our neiglibours and friends, and it gave my grandmother, who was, besides, a lady of dignified manners, more consideration than she would otherwise have obtained, with the title of Madam, which was surely due to the mother of so great and successful a man. Now the trutli was this : my father was the most sanguine of men, and the most ready to deceive himself. He lived continually (if I may presume to say so without breaking the fifth command- ment) in a fool's paradise. When he was a boy nothing would do for him but he must go to London, refusing to till the acres which would afterwards be his own, because he was ambitious, and ardently desired to be another Whittington. See the dangers of the common chap books, in which he had read the story of this great Lord Mayor ! He so far resembled Whittington that he went up to London (by waggon from Newcastle) with little in his jiocket, except a letter of recommendation from the then Vicar of Warkworth to his brother, at the time a glover in Cheapside. How he became apprentice — like Whittington — to this glover, how he fell in love — like Whittington — with his master's daughter, how he married her — like Whittington — and inherited the business, stock, capital, goodwill, and all, may here only be thus briefly told ; but by the death of his master he became actual and sole owner of a London shop, whereupon my poor father's brain being always full of visions, he was inflamed with the confidence that now, indeed, he had nothing to look for but the making of an immense fortune. Worse than this, he thought that the fortune would come of its own accord. How a man living in the city of London could make so prodigious a mistake I know not. Therefore he left the w^hole care of the business to his wdfe and his apprentices, and for his own part spent the day in coflfee-huuses or on 'Change, or wherever mercliants and traders meet together. This made him full of great talk, and he presently proceeded to imagine that he liimself was concerned in the great ventures and enterprises of which he heard so much ; or, perhaps, because he could not actually have thought himself a merchant adventurer, he believed that before long he also should be embarking cargoes to the East and West Indies, running under convoy of frigates safe through the enemy's priva- teers. It was out of the profits of these imaginary cargoes that he was to obtain that vast wealth of which he continually thought and talked until, in the end, he believed that he possessed it. Mean- time his poor wife, my mother, left in charge of the shop, and with her household cares as well, found, to her dismay, that the re- spectable business which her father had made was quickly falling from them, as their old friends died, one by one, or retired from trade, and no new ones coming in their places ; for, as I have been credibly informed, the business of a tradesman or merchant in London is so precarious and uncertain, that, unless it be constantly A SECOND WHITTINGTON. 169 watched, pushed, nursed, encouraged, coaxed, fed and flattered, it presently withers away and perishes. For want of the master's presence, for lack of pushing and encouragement, the yearly returns of the shop grew less and less. No one knew this except my mother. It was useless to tell my father. If she begged his attention to the fact, he only said that business was, in the nature of tilings, fluctuating ; that a bad year would be succeeded by a good year ; that large profits had recently been made by traders to Calicut and Surinam, where he had designs of employing his own capital, and that ventures to Canton had of late proved extremely successful. Alas, poor man ! he had no capital left, for now all was gone- -capital, credit, and custom. Yet he still continued to believe that his shop, the shop which came to him with his wife, was bringing him, every year, a great and steady return, and that he was amassing a fortune. One day — it was a Saturday evening in May — in the year seventeen hundred and seventy, six yeai's after the flight of Raljih Embleton, when I was in my seventeenth year, and almost grown to my full height, I saw coming slowly along the narrow road which leads from the highway to Wark worth a country cart, and in it two persons, the driver walking at the horse's head. I stood at the garden-gate watching this cart idly, and the setting sun behind it, without so much as wondering who these persons might be, until presently it came slowly down the road, which here slopes gently to the river and the bridge, and jJuUed up m front of our gate. When the cart stopped a lady got quickly doAvn and seized my hands. ' You are my Drusilla ? ' she asked, and without waiting for a reply, because she was my mother and knew I could be no other than her own daughter, she fell upon my neck in a passion of weeping and sobbing, saying that she knew I was her daughter dear, and that slie was my most unhappy ruined mother. It was my fatlier who descended after her. He advanced with dignified step and the carriage of one in authority. I observed that his linen and the lace of his ruffles were of the very finest, and his coat, though dusty, of the finest broadcloth. He seemed not to perceive my mother's tears ; he kissed me and gave me his blessing. He bade the carter, with majestic air, lead the 'coach' — he called the country cart a coach — and take great care of the horse, which he said was worth forty guineas if a penny ; but the horse was a ten-year-old cart-horse, worth at most four guineas, as I knew very •well, because I knew the carrier. Amazed at this extraordinary behaviour, I led my parents to my grandmother, and then we presently learned the truth. My father, if you please, was ruined ; he was a bankrupt ; his schemes of greatness had come to nothing ; his vast fortune lay in his imagination only ; he had lost his wife's money and his own. He had returned to his native county, his old friends having clubbed together and made a Little purse for him, and his creditors having 170 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: consented to accept what they could get and to give him a quittance in full, because he was known to be a man of integrity ; otherwise he might have been lodged in gaol, where many an unfortunate, yet honest, man lieth in misery. The disaster was more than my father's brain could bear. Nothing more dreadful can happen to a merchant and one in trade than to become a bankrupt. To lose his money is bad, but many a man loses his all, yet does not become bankrupt, and so saves his credit. A merchant's credit is for him what his honour is to a soldier, his piety to a divine, her virtue to a woman, his skill to & craftsman. My father, I say, could not bear it. First, as soon aa he fairly understood what had happened, he fell into a lethargy, sitting in a chair all day in silence, and desiring nothing but to be left alone. After a while the lethargy changed into a restlessness, and he must needs be up and doing something — it mattered not what. Then the restlessness disappeared and he became again hia old self, as cheerful, as sanguine, as confident, with no other change than a more settled dignity of bearing, caused by the belief, the complete delusion, that now his fortune was indeed made ; that he possessed boundless wealth, and that he was going to leave London and to retire into the country, as many great merchants used to do, in order to enjoy it. He was perfectly reasonable on all other points ; he could talk on politics or on religion, on London matters, on the affairs of Wark worth, or on the interests of the farmers ; but always on the assumption of his own wealth. The broad fields everywhere he believed to be his own. If he came with me, as he often did, when I milked the cow, fed the pigs and the chickens, made the bread, brewed the beer, or turned the churn, he laughed at what he was pleased to call the condescension of his heiress in doing this menial work, and called me his pretty shepherdess. And sometimes he entertained me with stories of how his fortune was made. Chiefly I found his imagination ran upon Canton, with trade in tea and silk. ' It is very well known,' he would say, ' that those who venture in the Greek seas and the Levant run very heavy risks ; they are more dangerous, my dear child, than many places much farther away. I considered the Levant trade carefully, before embarking my money in foreign ventures. I was always prudent, perhaps too prudent. Yet the end hath justified me. Eh, Drusilla, hath not the end justified me 1 Why, I have known a man on 'Change worth this day a plum — a round plum, child — and to-morrow not half that sum, by reason of losses in the treacherous Levant. But, alas ! there are perils in every sea. Tempests and hurricanes arise ; there are hidden rocks ; there are fires at sea ; ships are becalmed — all these things we call the Hand of God ; there are also pirates everywhere ; they lurk in the Mahometan ports of Morocco, Algiers, Tripoli, and Tunis ; they hide in the fever- emitten harbours of Madagascar — but men born to be hanged laugh at fever ; they abound in the West Indies and in the Narrow A 8EC0XD WniTTlNGTOK 171 Seas. We are always at war with some great power, and therefore we have privateers to dread ; these, my dear, are more desperate and blood-thirsty villains even than your murderous pirates. And there is danger from mutiny aboard, whereby friends of my own — substantial men, mark you, on 'Change — have lost many a noble ship and precious cargo. We on 'Change tliink nothing of these chances ; we are on the mountains one day and in the depths the next. Yet, like the good old country to which we belong, we weather the storm, and in the end grow rich. Rich ? Drusilla, my child, we grow enormously rich. The Earl of Northumberland himself, with all his acres, is not so rich as your father.' My mother spoke of him, when he was not present, with a bitterness which grieved me sore. But I knew not the trouble she had had, and the long anticipation of this trouble. It appeared, indeed, as if a sound, though modest, business, with the certainty of a competence, had been thrown away and wasted for want of a little — only a little forethought and care. My father, at the best, was only a simple glover with a small shop and two apprentices. What could a poor lad from Northumberland expect more ? All that a woman can do my mother had done. But in trade a woman can do but little. She can serve, but she cannot go about and make trade — she cannot persuade Merchant Adventurers to load their ships with her wares. Yet, even with the memory of her wrongs, and her ruined hopes, she was always gentle and forbearing in the presence of her afflicted husband, careful to keep him happy in his delusion, and tender with him, so that he should never feel the miscliief he had done. As for our means, I dared not ask. But presently I learned that all we had was the annuity of forty pounds a year, which would terminate with my grandmother's death, the cottage in which we lived, and a slender stock of money, I knew not how much, in my mother's hands. Alas ! this was the end of my splendid hopes— of my father's triumphant letters ! I was indeed an heiress ! CHAPTER VI. THE LETTER AT LAST. One must accept without murmuring the ordinances of Providence. Murmuring avails nothing, and cannot restore things lost. The hand which gives also takes away. The loss of that fortune, which I knew only by hearsay, and expected without eagerness, affected me but little in comparison with the burden of two more to keep upon our forty pounds a year. I saw clearly that I must hence- forth rise early and work late, and no more eat any bread of idleness. We had a servant, but we now sent her away, my mother and I 172 'LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: doing all the house-work. In addition, I fed the poultry and milked the cow. The good old Fugleman came every day as soon as he heard of our misfortunes and understood that I could no more go to the castle of an afternoon, and became of very great service indeed, for ho kept the garden for us, and talked with my father, who, to be sure, was best out of the house, where he was only in our way. He also — which was kind of him — took the management of the pigs. And I must also confess my great obligations to Mrs. Carnaby, who, understanding the straits into which we were fallen, was so good as to send me and persuade other ladies of this part of the county to send me fine work to do, by means of which I earned a little money, which went into the common purse and was useful. My mother wept to think that I must rise at five, and, after doing the house-work and the out-door work, making butter and sending it away to be sold with eggs and cream-cheese and other little things — it was not much we got, but something — to be compelled to sit down in the afternoon to my needle, and work till nine at night. But I was a tall strong girl ; work did me no harm. I should have been happy but that I saw my grandmother grow daily weaker. She sickened and began to fail when she saw her son, of whom she was so proud, return a beggar to his native county, and when she heard his poor deluded talk. A grievous sight it was to see the "poor old lady, once so strong and active, sit feeble in her chair by the fireside, while her sad eyes followed her son as he proudly walked to and fro in the room and told the tale of his investments and his wealth. Sometimes I noted how my mother looked wist- fully upon this spectacle of age and decay, and saw how her mouth worked and her lips moved, and knew well that she was saying to herself, ' When she dies, what next 1 ' And then I was fain to go away into the garden, where they could not hear me, and cry over troubles of the present and fears of the future which seemed hard to be borne. ' Don't cry. Miss Drusy ' — yet the good old Fugleman, looked as if he, too, would willingly shed a tear — ' don't cry ; tliink to yourself that when the boy comes home all will go well again. Merry as a wedding-bell shall we be then.' ' Ah, when — when ? ' We had two visitors who came often. One of them was hia AVorship Mr. Cuthbert Carnaby. He came, he said, in order to profit by the experience and conversation of my father. ' I know, child,' he said, 'and greatly commiserate, the dis- order of his brain, yet I cannot but marvel at the extent of his knowledge, the justice of his remarks, and the weight of his opinion. It is indeed a marvel to me that one so richly endowed by Providence with understanding should have so conspicuously failed in the business of his life, which was to grow rich.' I take pleasure in quoting the testimony of so eminent an authority to the great qualities possessed by my unfortunate father, TEE LETTER AT LAST. 173 and it did one good to see them walking in the garden, my father bearing himself with the deference due to a gentleman of good old familj', yet expecting equal deference to himself as a man uf great success and wealth, and both argunig on the politics and the conduct of affairs with as much gravity as two plenipotentiaries or ambassadors extraordinary. Strange it was, indeed, to think that one was mad who could converse so rationally, with such just estimate of things, with so true a knowledge of their proportion, so vast a fund of information as to the state of trade all over the world, the value of gold, the balance of profit, the growth of industries ; yea, and even the power and prospects of foreign states, with their wants and their dangers. Or that one could be mad who could set forth with such lucidity the foundation of our Christian faith, and the arguments for the doctrines taught in our churches. He was not only sane, but he was a man worth listening to on all subjects — save one. For he was fully possessed with the idea that he was as wealthy a3 he had ever desired to be. His poor brain was turned, indeed, on this point, and after a while I thought little of it, because we became accustomed to it, and because it seemed a harmless craze. Yet it was not harmless, as you will hear. Indeed, even an innocent babe in arms may be made the instrument of mischief in the hands of a wicked man. Our second visitor was Mathew Humble. He came first, he said, to pay his respects to my father. Then he began to come with gi'eat regularity. But I perceived soon, for I was no longer a child, but already a woman, that he had quite another object in view, for he cast his eyes upon me in such a way as no woman can mistake. Even to look upon those eyes of his made me turn sick with loathing. Why, if this man had been another Apollo for beauty I would not have regarded him ; and so far was he from an Apollo that a fat and loathsome Satyr more nearly resembled him. He was ali-eady three or four and thirty, which I, being seven- teen, regarded as a very great age indeed ; and most Northumbrian folk are certainly married and the fathers of children already tall before that time. He was a man who made no friends, and lived alone with his sister Barbara. No girl at all, so far as I know, could boast of having received any attention from him ; he was supposed to care for nothing except money and strong drink. Every evening he sat by himself in the room which overlooks the river, with account-books before him, and drank usquebaugh. But he loved brandy as well, or Hollands, or rum, or indeed anything which was strong. And being naturally short of stature he was grown fat and gross, with red hanging cheeks, which made his small eyes look smaller and more pig-like, a double chin, and a nose which already told a tale of deep potations, so red and swollen was it. Wliat girl of seventeen could regard with favour — even if there were no image of a brave and comely boy already impressed upon her heart — such 174 'LET NOTHIXG YOU DISMAY: a man as this, a mere tosspot and a drinker ? And, worst of all, a secret and solitary drinker — a gloomy drinker. It was strange that, about the time when Ralph's disappearance was tirst heard of, rumours ran about the town that perhaps the mill would turn out, after all, to be the property of Mathew Humble ; that these rumours were revived at the approach of Ealph's twenty-first birthday ; and that again, when Mathew first began his approaches to me, the rumour was again circulated. By the help of the Fugleman I traced these rumours to the barber ; and, still with his help — because every man must be shaved, and, while being shaved, must talk — I traced these to none otlier than Mathew himself. He had, then, some object to gain ; I knew not what at the time. Later on I discovered that his design was to make it appear— should Ralph ever return — that I had taken him for a husband when I thought he was the actual master and owner of all ; for I believe he allowed himself no doubt as to the result of his offers. Doth it not seem as if the uglier, the older, the less attractive a man is, whether in person or in mind, the more certain he becomes of conquering a woman's heart 1 The rumour on this occasion was more certain and distinct than before. It was now stated that Mr. Embleton was discovered to have made a later will, which had been proved, and was re;idy to be produced, if necessary ; that in this will the testator, after deploring the badness of heart manifested by his nephew Ralph, devised the whole of his property to his nephew Mathew. The barber, for his part, had no doubt of the truth of this report ; but those who asked Mathew whether it was true, received mysterious answers, as that time would show ; that in this world no one should be certain of anything ; that many is the slip between cup and lip ; that should an occasion arise the truth of the story would be tested ; such oracles as incline the hearers to believe all that has been said — and more. Barbara, his sister, for her own part, showed great willingness to answer any questions which might be put to her. But she knew little ; her brother, she said, v/as a close man, who sat much alone and spoke little. And then the Fugleman told me a very strange story indeed, and one which seemed to bode no good to any of us. By this time I so regarded Mathew that I could not believe he could do or design aught but evil. Tliis was wrong, but he was most certainly a man of very evil disposition. His own private business, the Fugleman told me — this was nothing in the world, as I very well knew, but the snaring of rabbits, hares, partridges, and other game on the banks of the river — led him sometimes past Morwick Mill, in the evening or late at night. There was a room in the mill — the same room in which Mathew was vanquished and beaten — the window of which looked out ujion the river, which is here a broad and shallow brook. The bank rises steep on the other side, and is clotlied with thick hanging woods in which no one ever walked except the Fugleman, and he, TEE LETTER AT LAST. 175 for those purposes I have just mentioned, always alone and after sundown. Now his eyes were like unto the eyes of a hawk ; they knew not distance ; they could see, quite far off, little things as well as great things ; and the Fugleman saw, night after niglit, that Mathew Humble was sitting locked up in his room, engaged in writing or copying something. I believe that if the Fugleman had known how to read, he would have read the writing even across the river. Unhappily, he had never learned that art. Mathew was making a copy, the Fugleman said, of some other document. But what that document was he could not tell. It was something on large sheets of paper, and in big handwriting. He wrote very slowly, comparing word for word with the papers which he seemed copying. Once when there was a noise as of someone at the door, he huddled all the papers together, and bundled them away in a corner quickly and with an aifrighted air. He was therefore doing something secret, which means something wicked. What could it be? 'Little he thinks,' said the Fugleman, 'that Master Ralph is sure to come home and confound his knavish tricks, and trip up his heels for him. Ah, I think I see him now, in lace ruffles and good broadcloth, walking up the street with a fine City Madam on his arm.' I should have been very well contented with the lace ruffles and good broadcloth — indeed, I asked for nothing better — but I wanted no fine City Madam at the mill. Later on I learned what this thing was which he took so long to copy, and which gave him so much anxiety. But it was like a fire- ship driven back by the wind among the vessels of those who sent it forth. One morning when I was busy in the kitchen with household work, and my mother was engaged upon tlie family sewing, Mathew came and begged to have some conversation with her. He said that, first of all, he was fully acquainted with her circumstances, and the unhapi^y outlook before her, when my grandmother should die and leave us all without any income at all ; that, being of a compassionate heart, he was strongly minded to helj^ them ; and that the best way, as well as he could judge, would be to make her daughter Drusilla his wife. This done, he would then see that their later years would be attended with comfort and the relief of all anxiety. At first my mother did not reply. She had no reason to love Mathew, whose unkindness to his ward was well known to her. Again, she had still some remains of family pride left — you do not destroy a woman's pride by taking away her money. She thought, being the daughter of a well-to-do London citizen, that her child should look higher than a man who had nothing in the world of his own but thirty acres of land, although he lived at the mill and pretended to be its owner. And she very truly thought that the man was not in person likely to attract so young a girl as myself. 176 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAYS But slie spoke liim fair. She told him that I was young as yet, too young to know my own mind, and that perhaps he had better wait. He replied that he was not young, for his own part, and that he would not wait. Then she told him that she should not, certainly, force the inclinations of her daughter, but that she would Bjaeak to me about him. She opened the subject to me in the evening. No sooner did I understand that Mathew had spoken for me than I threw myself upon my knees to my mother, and implored her with many tears and protestations not to urge me to accept his suit. I declared with vehemence, that if tliere were no other man in the world, I could not accept Mathew Humble. I reminded her of his behaviour towards Ralph. I assured her that I believed him to be one who sat drinking by himself, and a plotter of evil, a man with a hard- ened heart and a dead conscience. Well, my mother shed tears with me, and said that I should not be married against my will ; that Mathew was not a good man, and that she would bid him, not uncourteously, go look elsewhere. This she did, thanking him for the honour he had proposed. For some reason, perhaps because he did not really wish to marry me, perhaps because he had not thoroughly laid out the scheme of marrying me to revenge himself upon Ralph, Mathew gave me a respite for the time, though I went in great terror lest he might pester my mother or myself. Perhaps, which I think more likely, he trusted to the influence of poverty and privation, and was contented to wait till these should make me submissive to his will. However that may be, he said nothing more concerning love, and continued his visits to my father, in whose conversation he took so great a pleasure. Oh, villain ! Things were in this posture, I being in the greatest anxiety and fear that something terrible was going before long to happen to us, when a most joyful and unexpected event happened. It was in the month of May, seven years since Ralph's flight — like the followers of Mohammed, I reckoned the years from the Flight — that this event happened. The event was this, that the Fugleman had a letter sent to him — the first letter he ever received in his life. I saw the post-boy riding down the road early in the afternoon ; he passed by the house of Mr. Carnaby, where he sometimes stopped, past our cottage, where he never stopped because there was nobody who wrote letters to us, and over the bridge, his horse's hoofs clattering under the old gateway. I thought he was going to the vicarage, but he left that on his right and rode straight up the street, blowing his horn as he went. I wondered, but had no time to waste in wonder, who was going to get a letter in that part of the town. The letter, in fact, was for no other than the Fugleman. Half an hour later the Fugleman, ffho had been at work in the THE LETTER AT LAST. 177 garden all the morning, came down the town again, and asked me — with respect to her ladyship, my mother — if I would give him live minutes' talk. With liim was Sailor Nan, because the tiling was altogether so strange that he could not avoid telling her about it, and she came with liim, curious as a woman, though bold and brave as becomes an old salt. "Tis a strange thing,' said the Fugleman, turning the unopened letter over and over in his hand ; ' 'tis a strange thing ; here is a letter which tells me I know not what — comes from I know not where. I have paid 3s. 8tZ. for it. A great sum. I doubt I was a fool. It may mean money, and it may mean loss.' ' Burn it, and ha' done,' said Sailor Nan. ' 'Tis from some land shark. Burn the letter.' ' I am sixty, or mayhap seventy years of age. Sixty, 1 must a- be. Yes ; sure and certain, sixty. Yet never a letter in all my days before.' Now, which is very singular, not the least suspicion in our minds as to the writer of the letter. ' Is it,' I asked, ' from a cousin or a brother 1 ' * Cousin 1 ' he repeated, with the shadow of a smile across his stiff lips. ' Why, I never had a father or a mother, to say nothing of a brother or a cousin. When I first remember anything, I was running in the streets with other boys. We stole our breakfast, we stole our dinner, and we stole our supper. Where are they all now, those little rogues and pickpockets, my companions ? Hanged, I doubt not. What but hanging can have come to them 1 But as for me, by the blessing of the Lord, I was enlisted in the 14th Line, and after a few hundreds taken mostly by three dozen doses, which now are neither here nor there, and are the making of a lad, I was flogged into a good soldier, and so rose as was due to merit. A hearty three dozen, now and then, laid on with a will in the cool of the morning, works miracles. Not such a regiment in the ser- vice as the 14th. And why ? Because the colonel knew his dutj' and did it without fear or favour, and the men were properly trounced. Good comrades all, and brave boys. And where are they '\ Dead, I take it ; beggars, some ; fallen in action, some ; broke, some ; in comfortable berths, like me, some. If all were living, who would there be to send me a letter, seeing there wasn't a man in all the regiment who could write 1 ' Strange that not one of us even then guessed the truth. It was a great letter, thick and carefully sealed, addressed to ' Fugleman Furlong, At his room in the Castle of Warkworth, Northumberland, England.' It came from foreign parts, and the paper was not only stained, but had a curious fragrance. I broke the seal and tore open the covering of the letter. With- in was another packet. Oh, Heavens ! It was addressed to ' Drusilla Hetherington, care of the Fugleman, to be forwarded without delay. Haste — post haste ! ' And then I knew without waiting to open the letter that it would w 178 *LET NOTHING YOTJ DISMAY: be from none other than Ralph. It must be from Ralph. After all these years, we were to hear once more from Ralph. I stood pale and trembling, nor could I for some moments even speak. At last I said : ' Fugleman — Nan — this letter is addressed to me. It is, I verily believe, from Ralph Embleton. Wait a little, while I read it.' ' Read it — read it ! ' cried the old man. Could I — ah ! merciful Ileaven — could I ever forget the rapture, the satisfied yearning, the blissful content, the gratitude, with which I read that sweet and precious letter 1 They waited patiently ; even the rude and coarse old woman refrained from speech while I read ])age after page. They said nothing though they saw the tears falling down my face, because they knew that they were tears of happiness. After seven long years, my Ralph was talking to me as he used to talk. I knew his voice, I recognised his old imperious way, I saw that he had not changed. As if he would ever cliange ! When I had finished and dried my tears they begged me to read his letter to them. ' My dear, dear Girl ' — I told them that I could not indeed, read all, but that I would read them what I could ; and this was the beautiful beginning, in order that I should know at the outset, so thoughtful he was, and for fear of my being anxious on the point, that he loved me still, and had never forgotten me. ' My dear, dear Girl, — It is now six years since I bade you farewell at your garden-giite and started upon my journey to London. Your father has doubtless told you how I presented myself and with what kindness he received me. I am very sure that you have not for- gotten me, and I hope that you will rejoice to hear of my good foi-tune' — Hope, indeed! Could he not be surel — 'I have no doubt also th,u he hath informed you of the strange good fortune which befell me after he left me at the East India Company's House, of which I told him by letter and special messenger, to whom I gave, to ensure speed and safe delivery, one shilling.' (But it would appear that this wicked messenger broke his word, and took the shilling, but did nothing for it — a common thief, who deserved to be hanged, like many an(jtlier no more wicked than himself. Oh ! what punisJiment too great for this breach of trust, small as it seemed ! See, now, what a world of trouble was caused by that little theft.) ' It was truly by special Providence that, while Mr. Silvertop talked with me, the great Cajitain who won the battle of Plassy should have been standing near and should have overheard what passed. When 1 was bidden go my ways for a foolish boy (because I did not wish to be a writer) and waste his time no longer, I was mucli cast down, tor now I began to fear that I must, like the most of mankind, take what was assigned to me by Providence rather than what I would like. And I could jilainly see that there remained only one choice tor me ; namely, 1 must return to the THE LETTER AT LAST. 179 hated rule of my cousin who would keep me as a plough-boy as long as he could, or I must betake me to the task of sweeping cmt and serving a shop. And yet, what shop ? But who would employ me ? Therefore, I hung my head and stood irresolute without the Company's house. Now, presently, the gentleman whom I had seen within came forth with another officer, brave in scarlet. He saw me standing sadly beside the posts, and inspired by that noble generosity which has always distinguished this great man, he clapped his hand upon my shoulder. ' " So," he said, "you are the lad who loves a sword better than a pen ? " ' " If it please your honour," I replied. ' " A sword means peril to life and limb," he said sternly ; " he who goes a fighting in India must expect hard fare, rough sleeping, rude knocks. He must ever be on the watch against treachery. He must meet duplicity with equal cunning. He must obey blindly; he must never ask why ; if he is sent to die like a rat in a hole, he must go without murmur or question. What ! you think — do you ?— that to carry a sword is to flaunt a scarlet coat before the ladies of St. James's ? " ' " Nay, sir, with respect. I have read the lives of soldiers. I would willingly take the danger for the sake of the honour. But alas ! I must stay at home and sweep a shop." ' "What is thy birth, boy 1 " ' I told him that, and satisfied him on other points, including the reason of my flight, in which I trust that I was no more than trutliful. Then he said : ' " I am Lord Clive," and paused as if to know whether I had heard of him. ' You may be sure I was astonished, but I quickly dofted my hat and made him my best country -bred bow. ' " My lord," I said, "we have heard, even in Northumberland, of Plassy." ' " Good ! I went to India as a writer — a miserable quill-driving writer. Think of that. What one man has done another may do. Now, boy, I sail this day for India. There will be more fighting, a gi'eat deal more fighting. If you please you shall go as a cadet with me. But there is no time to hesitate : I sail this day. Clioose between the shop-sweeping and the musket. You will fight in the ranks at first, but if you behave well the sword will come after. Choose — peace and money-scraping at home like these smug-faced fat citizens," he swept his hand with lordly contempt, "or fighting and poverty, and perhaps death abroad. Choose." ' "I humbly thank your lordship," I said, "I will follow you if you will condescend to take me." ' Then he bade me go straight to Limehouse Pool, where I should find the ship at anch()r. I was to take a note to the purser who would give me an outfit. ' Thus, my dear Drusilla, did I find my fortune and sail to 180 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: foreign parts under as brave and great a captain as this country ■will ever see. ' Our voyage lasted eleven months. There were three hundred raw recruits on board, mostly kidnapped or inveigled under false pretences by crimjjs and the scoundrels of Wappmg. When they were first paraded, they were as beggarly-looking a lot as you would wish to see, ragged, dirty, mutinous, and foul-mouthed. Yet in a couple of months, by daily drill, by good food and sea air, by moderate rations of rum, by sound flogging, by the continual dis- cipline of the boatswain's rope's end and the sergeant's rattan, the regimental supple-jack, and the ship's cat-o'-nine tails, they became as promising soldiers as one would wish. As for me, I stood with them in the drill and did my best. Of course I could not expect his lordship to notice so humble a cadet as myself, but one evening, when we were near the end of our voyage, he sent for me and gave me a glass of wine, and kindly bade me be patient and of good cheer, because, he said, young gentlemen of meiit and courage would be sure to find opportunities for distinction.' Ralph then went on to describe the life of a soldier in India, and to tell me — but this I leave out for fear of being tedious — how he received his commission and how he got promotion. It is sufficient to say that at the time he wrote, after six years of service, he held the commission of a captain. Nor was that all. He had been able to render such signal service to a certain Rajah, that this prince, who was not ungrateful, and hoped, besides, for more such services, took him one day into his treasure-house and bade him help himself to all if ke pleased. ' My dear, ' he continued, ' I knew not that the world contained so much treasure. Yet this Rajah is but a petty prince, and his wealth is as nothing compared with that of many others. There were diamonds in bags, uncut, whose worth I know not, and diamonds in rings, sword-handles, and women's gauds ; there were rubies, emeralds, sapphires, turquoises, opals, and all kinds of precious stones strung rudely on common string as if they were but pebbles. There were also gold and silver vessels of all kinds, and there were casks full of gold coins. As I took out a handful I saw that many of them were ancient, with Greek characters, perhaps left in this country by that great soldier Alexander. When I had surveyed these wonders I thanked him, and said that I should not presume to take so much as a single gold coin from his treasure, but that if it should please his Highness to ofi'er me a present, I should accept it with gratitude, provided it was not too costly. He laughed at these words, and when we came away I was so loaded with gold that I fancied myself already a rich man. ' Since this event it hath pleased Lord Olive to issue an order which prohibits officers from accepting henceforth any presents at all from the native princes. I cannot but feel grateful that the order was not issued before my own good fortune. Doubtless his Jdicellency hath sood reasons for this order, which places the THE LETTER AT LAST. 181 military service at a disadvantage compared with the writers, who have great opportunities of making fortunes ; and I cannot but think that it is a more noble thing to win a fortune at the point of the sword, than by such arts as are daily practised by the writers and civil servants of the Company. There are many Englishmen, and many Frenchmen as well— but we are driving them out of the country — who have become rich in the military service of the Indian princes ; yet I shall not excliange my present masters so long as the merchants — who think nothing of glory or of this country, yet a great deal of their dividends — perceive that it is for their safety, as well as for their credit, to extend their power ; and I have a reasonable hope that the good fortune which hath hitherto at- tended me may continue, so that I may return to my native country, if only in my old age, amply provided. As regards the climate, I have as yet experienced no great inconvenience from the heat. The natives have learned to fear an Englishman rather than to love him, which is, metliinks, the thing we should most desire when we have to rule over people as ignorant of the Christian virtues, although not barbarous, like the naked blacks, but a rmist ingenious, dexterous, and skilful people, and of subtle intellect, yet slothful of body, lovers of rest, deceivers, regardless of truth, for ever scheming j^lots and contriving subtleties, and more cruel to prisoners than the Spanish Inquisition. The best amongst them are followers of Mahomet, who make faithful servants and good soldiers. It is a country where the ambition and jealousy of princes are continually causing fresh wars to be undertaken, and where a European may lead a life of adventure to his heart's content.' I was reading, as I have said, this letter aloud in presence of my two faithful friends. Now when I spoke of the drill on board, and the sergeant's rattan and the regimental supple-jack, the Fugleman drew himself upright and shouldered the garden-spade, because there was no pike at hand ; and wlien I read of the bos'n's rope's end and the ship's cat-o'-nine tails. Sailor Nan cocked her hat and stood with feet apart and hands upon her hips, and began, but in a whisper, to murmur strange sea-oaths ; and when I read the account of the fight in which Ralph's courage saved this grateful Rajah — it was a most dreadful battle, in which hundreds of brave fellows and treacherous Hindoos were killed, so that to read it made one's heart cease to beat — the Fugleman, carried beyond himself, executed capers with the spade which signified little to my ignorant eyes, but which were, I believe, the movements with which the trained soldier attacks with the bayonet, and the old sailor with a mop-stick cut down her thousands, mighty curses rolling softly from her lips like distant thunder. If the beginning of the letter was delightful, judge how beautiful was the end : ' I have now, my dear, told you all that concerns myself. I suppose you have long since left Warkworth and gone to live with !S2 *LET NOTHING TOU DISMAY: your parents, to whom I beg to convey my respects and best wishes. If, among your rich friends and the gaieties of the fashion ' — the ' gaieties ! ' — ' you have found hjvers (as, to be sure, you must) and a husband, or one whom you have distinguished with your favour and regard, you will remember that I shall ever be to you aa a brother ; for, lover or brother, I can never cease to love ' ' A good lad ! ' said the Fugleman. ' As ever trod the deck ! ' said the sailor. ' Go on, Miss Drusy.' ' And I am sure that you have grown up as tall and as beautiful as an angel.' ' She has,' said the Fugleman. ' Taller, ye lubber,' said the sailor, ' and more beautiful an angel than ever I clapped eyes on, nor never a Peg nor a Poll at Sheerness or Deptford or the Common Hard to show a candle alongside her. What's even a frigate in full sail compared with a lovely woman 1 ' This enthusiasm for the loveliness of her own sex (unusual among old women), I put down to her naval experiences and familiarity with sailor talk, and went on quickly ; because, if Ralph loved to flatter me, I ought not to let these poor people follow his example. An angel ! But men are so. They cannot give enough ; they lavish their praises, as they lavish the very fruits of their labours, upon the women they love. We women measure our gifts — except to our boys. I pass over, therefore, the fond words of a lover about blue eyes and curling hair, and Nymphs in cool grots, and soft smiles and other imaginary gifts and graces, all of which my listeners applauded, nodding their heads. Oh ! he could say what he pleased, he could imagine all the perfections, so that he continued to tell me, as he did in this letter, how he thought upon me daily, and loved me always more and more. ' As for the address of this letter,' he said, 'I know not where in London or elsewhere your father may now reside ; therefore I forward it to the care of the Fugleman, with request that he will send it to you at the earliest opportunity, and by a safe hand. Will you, in return, inform him of my continued esteem and friend- ship ] ' ' "Esteem and friendship !"' repeated the Fugleman. 'This from a Captain ! Was ever such a boy ? ' ' And if you find an opportunity, tell Sailor Nan that half her fortune has come true.' She replied that at her time of life it was odd if she couldn't teU the fortune of a boy, and as for the present cruise,it was bound to be a fairweather voyage. Finally, my brave lover begged me to write to him and tell him all that had happened since his departure, and subscribed himself, with much love, Ralph Embleton. When we had read the letter twice, which took us all the after- noon, and cost me three hours' sewing, we took counsel together. IHE LETTER AT LAST. 183 First they were both for telling it about the town, and having a bonlire, with the ringing of the church bells in a triple bob major, but I was of opinion that it would be best to keep our own counsel for awhile. Therefore I bound them both to secresy and silence. I would let Mathew alone, and watch him. He should not know anything, not even that Ralph was alive and prosperous ; and had I kept this resolution, because my two friends were loyal and secret as the grave, it would have been better in the end for all of us, and much better for Mathew. But, as the wise man said, ' Death and life are in the power of the tongue.* CHAPTER YU. MATHEW'S FRIEXDLY OFFER This letter made me, from one of the most unhappy of girls, the most joyous. The immediate prospect of poverty — for tlie Dame declined daily — the hard work which began at daylight and ended at bed-time, the certain knowledge that Mathew was not satisfied with a simple refusal — these things, which had before filled my mind with terror, now appeared like the imaginary spectres of the night, which cease to alarm when the day bas dawned. To me it was more than the dawn of day ; it was the uprising of a glorious sun of love and hope. Rers within it. ' I have come, madam,' he said, addressing my mother, but looking at me, ' to inform you or your husband — it matters not which — that I can no longer wait for the interest or the principal of my money, and that you must be prepared to pay, or take the consequences.' ' What interest ? What money 1 ' asked my mother. 'Why,' he atFected great surprise, 'is it possible that you are going to deny the debt 1 ' ' What means the man ? ' my mother said impatiently. 'Nay,' said Mathew, smiling, but looking like a hangdog villain the while, ' this passes patience. I mean, madam, my loan to your husband.' ' What loan *? ' she repeated ; ' and when 1 ' 'Why,' said Mathew, 'if you pretend not to know, I am not IS IT TRVE? 196 obliged to tell you ; but since Well, I will tell you. I mean this, madam : the sum of two hundred pounds advanced by me to your husband, for which, and for secuiity, he hath assigned me a mortgage on tliis house.' My mother was quite wise enough to know what was meant by a mortgage. She asked, but with pale face, where was his mortgage. Mathew unrolled a paper and laid it on the table. My mother read it through hurriedly. Then she sank back in her chair and covered her face with her hands, saying : ' It is true, my child. Here is thy father's signature. This is the last blow.' Mathew rolled up the paper again and put it in his pocket. ' Can you, madam,' he asked, ' pay me my money % ' ' Go ask of the poor demented creature to whom you lent it,' she replied. ' Then,' said Mathew, ' if the money be not forthcoming, I must sell the house. Yet there is a way ' ' What way ? ' I asked. ' You know the way. You have only to tell me where ths boy is, and to marry me.' I shook my head. 'And you, sir,' cried my mother, 'you who lend money to poor madmen for the ruin of their house, you — a villain if ever there was one — you think that I would give ray daughter to such as you % ' ' Very well, madam, very well,' said JMathew, unmoved. ' Very likely the cottage will sell for as much as the mortgage. Perhaps, if not, your husband may carry Ms extravagances to a gaol, as provided by a righteous law.' Here he lied, because, I believe, my father could be called upon for nothing more than the house which was his security. My mother pointed to the door, and Mathew went away, leaving us bewildered indeed. Two hundred pounds ! Now, indeed, we were ruined. But what had he done with the money ? 'Mother,' I cried, ' it is a black and base conspiracy. My father has never, since he came from London, possessed a single sixpence. Think of it. If he had a penny we should have known it. Try to remember if ever you saw the least sign of his having money.' No, there was none. He wrote no letters and received none ; he bought nothing. His clothes, which were now old and worn, were the same as those he wore when he returned home. On the other hand, because he was of a generous heart, he was for ever giving away what he called money in large sums by means of drafts upon London bankers, which he would sign and press upon the recipient with kind words. For instance, on my birthday he always gave me an order for a hundred pounds on a piece of paper, signed by his own hand, ' Sol. Hetherington,' bidding me, because I was a good gui, go buy myself some tinery and fallals. At Cimstmad, -l 196 *LET NOTHING YOU DTSMAT.' the New Year, Easter, Roodsmass, fair-time, and other times of rejoicing, he would fill his pockets with these valuable gifts, and sally forth — first to the Vicar, with an offering for the poor, saying that it was little merit to give out of abundance, that the Lord loveth a cheerful giver, that the poor we have always with us, that a rich man must remember the fate of Dives, and that, for his part, he would that the Church had all charities in her own hand, so that schismatics, profligates, and persons without religion should starve, with other pithy and seasonable remarks. Having received the Vicar's thanks, and a glass of usquebaugh to keep out the raw air of the morning, he would proceed up the village street, the boys and girls touching their caps and making curtsies to him, while the barber and blacksmith would offer the compliments of the season, with a hope that her ladyship was well. Then he would pass the cottage of Sailor Nan, and would call her out and press into her hand a folded paper, saying it was for Christmas cheer ; that she must rejoice, with a dish of good roast beef and plum-porridge, and a great coal fire, and bidding her God speed, would go on his charitable way, while some laughed and some looked grave, and tears would fall from the eyes of the women to think that one so good and generous should also be so poor. Alas ! my father was one of those Avho could never become rich. Even while we spoKe of this, we heard outside the voice of my father, as if to confirm our words : ' It ill becomes men of substance, ]Mr. Carnaby, to allow poorer parishioners to bear the burden of such things. I will myself repair the roof of the church at my own charges. Nay, sir, permit me to take no refusal ni this matter. If it stand me in a thousand pounds I will do it. Why, it is a lending unto the Lord ; it is a good work.' It happened that in some way I had more influence over my father than anyone. That is to say, he would unfold his mind — such as it was, poor man ! — to me with gi-eater freedom than to my mother, who could never make any show of interest or belief in his magnificent designs and charitable schemes. I therefore tried to learn from him, if I could, the truth of this business. After listen- ing to a long stoiy of his intentions as regards the church and the endowment of the living of Warkworth, I turned the conversation upon Mathew Humble, and asked my father if he had of late seen and spoken with liim. He said that Mathew now avoided rather than sought his company, for which he knew no reason, except that when you have obliged a man, it frequently happens that he keeps out of your way — a thing, he said, of common experience in the City, where young men, incautious men, and unlucky men often obtain assistance in the prolongation of bills and in loans. ' Since I have been of such great service,' he said, 'to Mathew Humble, he seems to think that he must not come so often as he did. A worthy man, however, and, perhaps, he is moved by the sLame of taking assistance.* IS IT TRUE? 197 'Very likely, sir,' I said, wondering what thing, short of the pillory, with the Fugleman and his pike beside it, would move Mathew to shame. ' It is strange that men should thus court the a]>pearance of ingratitude. Did you ever, sir, borrow money, sums of money, of Mathew Humble ? ' ' Lend, you mean, Drusilla,' he replied, turning red with sudden anger. 'No, sir, I said borrow. Pray pardon me, sir, I had no intention to offend.' 'But you have offended, child.' He puffed his cheeks, and became scarlet with sudden passion. ' You have offended, I say. Not offended ? Do you know what you have said ? Have words meaning for you ? Should I, Solomon Hetherington, Knight, known and venerated for my wealth, from Tower Hill to Temple Bar, and from London Bridge to Westminster, stoop to borrow — to borrow, I say, paltry sums — for he could lend none but paltry sums — of a petty farmer ? Not mean to offend ! Zounds ! the girl is mad.' ' Pray, sir, forgive me. I am so ignorant that I knew not ' 'To be sure, my dear, to be sure.' He became as quickly appeased as he had been easily offended. ' She does not know the difference between lending and borrowing. How should she 1 ' ' And have you lent Mathew much, sir ? ' 'As for lending, I have, it is true, placed in his hands, from time to time, sums of money for which I have no security and have demanded no interest. But let that pass. I am so rich that I can afford to lose. Let it pass. And whether he pays them back or not, I do not greatly care.' 'You gave this money to him,' I said, 'by drafts upon your bankers, I suppose 1 ' ' Why, certainly. You do not suppose that we London mer- chants, however rich we are, carry our money about with us. That would indeed be a return to barbarous times.' ' Then there was the paper that you signed in the presence of an attesting attorney and of Barbara. What was that, father ? ' He laughed and made as if he were annoyed, though he appeared pleased. 'Tut, tut,' he said. 'A trifle — a mere trifle ; let an old man have his little wliims sometimes, Drusilla.' ' But what was it, sir ? ' I persisted. 'Mathew would have me call it a mortgage,' my father went on. ' A mortgage, indeed ! Because he wished his sister not to know. It was — ho, ho ! — a deed of gift, child. That is all. It was when I assigned certain lands to him. A deed of gift. We called it a mortgage, but I could not prevent showing Barbara by laughing — ha, ha ! — that it was something very difl'erent. In addition to the money, I have bestowed upon him a field or so for the improve- ment of his farm. The gain to him is great ; the loss is small to me. A mortgage, we agreed to call it. Ha ! ha ! Duly signed 198 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY.' and witnessed. Your father, Drusilla, is not one to do things irregulai'ly. Duly signed and witnessed.' This conversation made it quite clear to me that Mathew had contrived an abominable plot for our ruin. For the supposed deed of gift which my father wished to sign, he substituted a real deed of mortgage, in which my father was to acknowledge that he had received two hundred pounds, for which he assigned his house for security, and without, as afterwards appeared, any clause as to time allowed after notice should be given of foreclosing. How far the lawyer was concerned in this conspiracy I know not. Perhaps he was innocent. Indeed, I am now inclined to believe that he was innocent of any complicity. How far Barbara — perhaps she, too, was ignorant of this wickedness. All that night I lay awake turning the thing over in my mind. I planned a thousand mad schemes : I would break into Mathew's room and steal the papers. I would go round the town and pro- claim his wickedness ; I would inveigle him into surrendering the papers by a false promise of marriage ; I would seek the protection of Mr. Oarnaby. All these things I considered, but none of them approved themselves on consideration, because a forger and a cheat will always be ready, if he escapes punishment for the first offence, to repeat his wickedness. Lastly, I resolved upon seeking Matthew at the mill, where I could talk to him at greater freedom. I went there in the afternoon about two of the clock. When I lifted the latch I saAv Barbara sitting on the settle near the window working. Before her, as usual, lay an open Bible. Strange ! that one who was so hard and severe could draw no comfortable things from a book which should be full of comfort. She shook her long lean forefinger at me. ' I have known,' she said, ' for a long time the ruin that hangs over your house. I saw your father sign the mortgage. He laughed and called it a deed of gift, I remember. Ah ! good money after bad. But my brother, who was foolish enougli to lend the money, was not so foolish as to let it go without security. A deed of gift ! He is cunning, your father, and would deceive me if he could, I doubt not.' She turned over the leaves and found something that seemed to suit the occasion and my demerits. ' " He hath made thy vine bare." My brother is full of compas- sion. "He hath made it clean bare." Thy punishment hath begun.' ' I wish to see your brother alone.' ' Do you come in peace or in enmity ? If in peace, you must first make submission, and confess your deceits as regards the boy, who is surely dead. Nothing else will satisfy him. You can begin with me. Where is the boy 1 ' ' What I have to say is with your brother, not with you.' ' Go, then ; but remember, when you are married, look not to be mistress here. I shall continue to be the mistress as I have always IS IT TRUE? 199 been. If you come in enmity, then you have me to battle with and not my brother alone. Two hundred pounds is not a sum to be given away for nought. Men are soft where a woman is con- cerned ; Mathew may be a fool for your sake ; you may look to wheedle him out of his papers. Ah, but you shall not. He may be a fool, but I am behind. I am not soft ; your eyes will not make a fool of me, Mistress Drusilla.' Slie then bade me go within, where I should find her brother. It was a cloudy afternoon, and, so early in the season, already growing dusk : Matliew was seated before the fire, and on the table a stone jar containing Hollands which he had already begun to drink. ' Pretty Drusilla ! ' he cried, astonished. ' Have you brought the money ? ' ' No,' I said. ' I come to learn if you are in earnest or in jest.' ' In jest ? ' Then he swore a loud oath. ' See you, my lass ; if that money is not paid next week, your house will be sold. Make your account of that. But if you comply with my condi- tions, the papers shall be torn up.' ' Then I am come to tell you, Mathew, that although I shall not comply with your conditions, the cottage will not be sold.' ' Why not ? ' ' Because, first of all, that mortgage is false. I know now what you did. You caused my fatlier to sign one paper believing it to be another. That is a fraud, and a hanging matter. Master Mathew.' He laughed, but uneasily, and he turned pale. Also, which is hardly worth the noting, he swore a great oath. ' It's a lie ! ' he cried. ' Prove it ! ' ' I can prove it, when the time oomes. Meantime, reflect on what I have said. It is a wicked and detestable plot. Heflect upon this and tremble.' He laughed again, but uneasily. 'There is another reason,' I said, 'why you will not sell the cottage. It is this. You are afraid that Ralph may come home and demand an account. Well, I can tell you this : that he will not come home just yet. But, if you do this thing, as sure as I am alive, Matliew, I will write to him and tell him all. I shall tell him how you have persecuted me to marry you, not because you want me for your wife, and though you have had your answer a dozen times over, but because you want to plague and spite your cousin. I will tell him, next, how you have spread false reports about another will, and how you have whispered that he is turned highwayman. And lastly, I will tell him how you have practised upon the kind heart of a poor demented man, and made him sign his name in testimony of your own foul plot and falsehood. I will not spare you. I will tell him all. I will beg him to return post liaste, and to bring with him officers of justice. Then, indeed, 200 *LET NOTHINO TOU DISMAY.' you may look for no mercy, nor for anything short of the assizes and Newcastle Gaol.' I spoke so resolutely, though, perhaps, through ignorance, I epoke foolishly, that I moved him and he trembled. Yet he blustered. He said that all women are liars, as is very well known ; that the boy was long since dead and buried ; else why did he not return to claim the property ? That, as for my story, he did not value it one farthing ; wiiile, as regards my accusation, he would laugh. In fact, he did laugh, but not mirth- fully. ' Come, Drusilla,' he said ; ' your father is welcome to the money, for auglit I care. I do not desire to sell the cottage. Sit down and be friendly. Tell me all about the boy ; and look, my lass' — his eyes were cunning indeed — 'look you. Write to the boy ; tell him, if you will, about the money. Tell him that I am willing not to press it if he will give reasonable assurance or security of his own in exchange. Let him, for instance, give me a mort- gage on the mill, and let him, since he is so prosperous, pay the interest himself.' This was a trap into which I nearly fell. But I saw in time that he designed to find out in this way what he had to fear. ' I have told you,' I said, ' what I shall do.' ' Ah ! your story, I doubt, is but made up by woman's wit. Drusilla, you are a cunning baggage. Come, now, give over ; stay here and be my wife ; thou shalt be mistress in everything. As for Barbara, I am tired of her sour looks. She scolds all day. She may pack ; she makes the meals uncomfortable ; she may vanish ; she stints the beer. We will keep house without her. She finds fault from morning to night. She is a ' ' You calk d me, Mathew ? ' Barbara suddenly opened the door and stood before us. Her eyes followed me as I went away with malignity difficult to describe, and Mathew, sinking back into Ma chair, feebly reached out his hand for the jar of Hollands. CHAPTER IX. THE WISDOM OF THE STRONG MAS'. When I went home I told my mother that for the present, at least, we need not fear anything from Matthew. Of this I was quite certain. My assiurance that I would appeal to his cousin, the doubt where ' the boy ' might be — there was no reason, for instance, •why he should not be at Newcastle, or at Rotlibury, or at Hexham, or at Carlisle — to say nothing of my charge of fraud, went home to his guilty conscience. These things were sure, 1 thought, to deter a man not naturally courageous, although his conscience might be hardened, from tempting the vengeance of liis injured cousin. THE WISDOM OF THE STRONG MAN. 201 So far was I right, that for the whole of the spring and summer we had no further molestation from him, but continued in our quiet course, spending as little money as we could, yet looking forward to the time, now growing very near, when there would be no more left to spend. As for myself, I may truly declare that my faith was strong — I mean not the faith of a Cliristian, such as 1 ought to have held — but faith in my lover, so far away. He would send me an answer. The answer, whatever it might be, would Burely set all right. Mathew not only ceased to persecute us, but he ceased to desire the conversation and company of my father. He came no more even to church, as if conscious of his wickedness, and ashamed to face honest people. He was rarely seen even in the town, and he left me quite alone ; so that I began to think that repentance had perhaps seized upon his soul. Alas ! Repentance knocks in vain at the heart of such as Mathew. Though, however, we saw him not, I heard, through my faithful Fugleman, certain intelligence about him. Thus, he drank harder; he neglected his business ; he quarrelled daily with his sister, who reproached him for his drunken ways, and the neglect of his worldly aft'airs ; also, she continually urged him to recover the two hundred pounds owed to him, as she thought, by my father. She hungered and thirsted after this money, which, it seemed, she did not know that her brother possessed. Why had he concealed from her, she asked him with anger, that he had so much as two hundred pounds, when he would not give her even money to buy things for the house ? Let him get the money back. Was he mad to let interest and all go 1 She let him have no peace ; she longed to have this money ; perhaps she longed for our ruin as well. Then she con- stantly threw in her brother's teeth the fact that if the boy was not dead and should return, if, in fact, my story was true, he would find the books and accounts in such confusion as might lead to their ruin. She wanted to know what truth there was in the reports, once so industriously spread, about a second will. In fact, she led the wretched man a dog's life, having a tongue sharper than a sword and more dreadful than a fiery serpent. But, as concerning the things she said of Ralph, I could have desired nothing better, because it kept alive in Mathew's breast the wholesome fear of his cousin's return. So long as that lasted, we were safe. We should have continued in safety, because that fear did not die away, but rather increased day by day, save for the instigation, as I cannot but believft. of the Evil One, and the concoction of a design even more wicked ^nan that of the mortgage. I suppose the plot was conceived in the spring or summer, but it was not until the late autumn that it was attempted. The way of it was as follows (I do no harm, I trust, by speaking openly of a traffic which, as every- body knows, is conducted almost openly all over the northern Bounties of England and the southern counties of Scotland). I have mentioned one Daniel, or Dan, Gedge, always called the 202 *LET liOTHING YOU DISMAY' Strong Man, because he was like Hercules, the fabled Greek, for bodily strength, who lodged with Sailor Nan. He professed to make a living out of his strong arms and legs. He went to fairs, and was seen on market-days in all the towns of Northumberland, Durham, and Carlisle performing great feats for wagers, or for money laid down. He would tie heavy weights to his nose and bear them so suspended round the market ; he would lift and carry a pony or a cow ; he would crush — but this was nothing to him — pewter pots with his hands, break iron bars and great pokers over his left arm — as many as they might bring to him ; he would twist gold and silver pieces of money, if gentlemen gave them to him, with his fingers ; carry a dozen men upon his shoulders and in his arms ; run round a table on his thumbs ; pull a cart against a yoke of oxen, and perform many other surprising feats, the memory of which still sui'vives though the poor man is dead, having been surprised by a snow-storm when in liquor, so that he sat down and fell asleep in the drift, his mighty thews availing him naught, never to wake again. By these performances he made great gain, which he spent, for the most part, on the spot where he was paid, and in drink, having a thirstj^ spirit, and, besides, being rearly when he had the means to oblige other thirsty souls who had not. He was a man standing over six feet, with legs and arms of sur- prising stoutness, a square red face, and a kindly eye. Despite his strength he was peaceful, and the softest-hearted of mankind. Now, though he pretended to live by the exhibition of his strength, which I believe was the reason whj^ the Vicar called him M lo, it was very well known everywhere that he had anotlier and a more important source of profit. This was in the running of ' stuif ' across the Border, a business which demands, as everybody knows, much caution, with knowledge of the country and powers of en- durance. The ' stuiT' consists generally of brandy, lace, silk, and Geneva. Salt is also smuggled across, but a lietter profit is made out of the former articles, which are less in bulk and more easily concealed. There are many reasons why Wark worth should be a convenient spot for the illicit trade. First, it lies two miles up the river, and has many safe hiding-places, so that a cargo once landed at the mouth of the Coquet may be safely and speedily carried up the river, and bestowed where it is judged safe ; for all along the steep banks there are spots clearly designed by Nature for the con- venient storage of valuable packages. Not to speak of the thick hanging woods beside the baaks, where enough Geneva and Hol- lands may be stored to supply London for a year, there is the Hermitage, whose double chamber I have myself seen packed full of silk in bales waiting for an opportunity, while in the Castle itself there are vaults, dungeons, passages, and secret chambers, known only to the Fugleman. Here, little suspected by my Lord of Northumberland, enough brandy might be stored to supply the county (which is a thirsty one) for a dozen years. The Border is not, to be sure, so near as it is higher up the coast, but on the other TSE WISDOM OP THE STBONG 37.4 iV. 203 hand, the look-out and watch kept Ity the gangers cannot he by nny means so vigilant and close as where the county narrows to the north ; while more than half the run takes jjlaee over the wild moors and pathless slopes of tlie Cheviots, a place in which the Excise people find it difficult indeed to discover or to stop a run made by men who know the country. They have a service of ponies for the work, little, hardy, sure-footed creatures, who carry the ankers, kegs, and bales slung across their backs, and can be trusted to make the whole thirty-five miles from Wai'lc worth to the Border in a single night ; that is, in seven or eight hours, the drivers walking or riding beside them. Most of the farmers and craftsmen of Warkworth take a share in these risks and profits ; one or two of them — of whom Mathew was one — often accompany and lead the expedition. Everybody knows beforehand when a run is arranged ; many in the town know the very night when it will take place, the road chosen, and the value of the stuff. There is so much sympathy with this work, on both sides of the Border, and so many partners in the venture, that information is never given to the Excise, and hiding-places are found everywhere, with the help and connivance of the most innocent-looking plough-boy and the most demure country lass. Now one morniug— it was in November, when the days have already become short, and the nights are long and dark — Dan Gedge got up from his sleeping-bench or cupboard in the wall, about eight or a little after, calling lustily for small beer, of which he drank a quart or so as a stay to his stomach before breakfast. Then he dressed and came forth to the door with the mug in his hand. Sailor Nan was already seated on her stone, pipe in mouth, and three-cornered hat on her head. She had taken her breakfast, and now sat, regardless of the raw cold air — for all the winds that blow ■were the same to her — looking up and down the street, in which nothing as yet was moving, tliough the blacksmith's apprentice across the road had lit the fii-e, and the cheerful breath of the bellows made one feel warm. 'Fugleman and me,' said Dan, yawning, 'Fugleman and me, we was rowing up and down from Amble most all night.' ' What is the run ? ' asked Nan, who needed no other explana- tion ; ' and who's in it % ' 'Mathew Humble is in it for one,' said Dan. 'Going with it himself, he is, this journey. Ho ! ho ! Folks will talk of this run when they come to hear of it. The Fugleman thinks he knows. But he don't ; no, he don't know. He's not to be trusted. I'm the only one who knows. Aye, a rare run it will be, too — out of the common this run will be. Folks will lift up their heads when they hear of this night's work.' ' What is it, Dan ? Lace belike ? ' He shook his stupid head and laughed. How could Mathew have been such a fool as to trust him ? 204 *LET NOTHING TOU DISMAY: 'Belike there's lace in it, and silk in it, and brandy in it. There's always them things. But there's more, Nan — there's more.' ' What more, Dan ? ' ' Fugleman, he'll laugh when he hears the news. He's helping in the job, and he don't know nothing about it ; only Mathew and me knows what that job is. Mathew and me — and one other.' ' Who is the other, Dan ? And what is the job ? ' He shook his head and buried it for safety in the pewter-pot. 'Mathew Humble,' he said, ' is a masterful man.' ' What is the job ? ' asked Nan, feeling curiosity slowly awaken. * It is a job,' replied Dan, ' which can't be told unto women.' ' Why, ye lubber,' she sprang to her feet and shook her fist in the Strong Man's face, so that he started back ; ' lubber and land- lubber, you dare to call me a woman — Captain of the Foretop, Now, let me hear what this job is that I am not to be told. Out with it, or ' I omit the garnish of her discourse, which con- sisted of sea-oaths. ' Mathew Humble did say ' the Strong Man began. But strong men are always like babies in the hands of a woman. ' 'Vast there, Dan,' said Nan ; ' d'ye think I value your job nor want to know what it is — a rope's end ] But that you should refuse to tell it to me, your shipmet — that's what galls. And after yester'- forenoon's salmagundi ! ' This accusation of ingratitude cut poor Dan to the quick. In the matter of sea-pie, lobscouse, and salmagundi (which is a mess of salt beef, onions, potatoes, pepper, oil, and vinegar, the whole fried to make a toothsome compound) Sailor Nan was more than a mother to him. 'Twenty years afloat,' continued Nan, in deep disgust; 'from boy to Captain of the Foretop, and from Cape Horn to the Narrow Seas and Copenhagen, and to be told by a land-swab, who never so much as smelt blue water, that I'm a woman ! ' ' O' course,' said Dan feebly, ' I didn't really mean it.' ' Didn't mean it ! Why — tliere ! Wliat is it, then ! Is it piracy, or murder ? ' He shook his head. ' Look ye. Nan. It won't signify, not a button, telling you. I said to myself at the beginning, ' ' Nan won't spoil sport ; " and it's only a girl.' Only a girl ! Nan pricked up her ears. ' As if I cared about girls,' she said carelessly. ' Only a girl. It's Miss Drusy — that's all. You see she's been longing to run away with Mathew, and marry him, for months. Longing she has, having took a fancy for Mathew, which is a strange thing, come to think of it, and she so young. But women are . Ay, ay. Nan, I know. You see I always thought she was saving up for Ralph Embleton. But Mathew, he says that's nonsense. Well— she all this time longing to marry him, and her THE WISDOM OF THE STROXG MAN. 205 mother won't hear it — no chance till now. So it's fixed for to- night. What a run ! Lace, and brandy, and Geneva, and a girl,' ' Oh — well ; I don't care. Go on, Dan, if you like.' He then proceeded to explain that Mathew had arranged for a pony to be saddled in readiness ; tliat tlie signal agreed upon between the girl and Mathew was a message from the castle carried by a certain boy named Cuddy, pretending to come from the Fugleman, who was to be kept out of the way, employed at the Her- mitage, where the stufi" was bestowed ; the boy was to say that the Fugleman was ill. On receiving this message the girl would make an excuse to run up to the castle, where she would mount the pony, and so ride off with Mathew and be married over the Border, To keep up appearances, he went on — this soft-headed giant — it had been arranged that the young woman was to scream and struggle at the first, and that Dan should lift her into the saddle, and, if necessary, hold her on. Once across the Border they would be married without so much as a jump over the broomstick, Kan slowly rose. ' I'll get you some more beer, Dan,' she said. She went indoors, and poured about three-fourths of a pint of gin into a tankard which she filled up with strong ale, and brought it out to her lodger with tender care. ' Drink that, Dan,' she said ; ' it's good old stingo — none of your Email beer. Drink it up ; then you can put on your coat and go about your work.' He drank it off at a gulp, with every outward sign of satisfac- tion. Then he suddenly reeled, and caught at the doorpost. ' Go and put on your coat, Dan,' she said, looking at liim with a little anxiety. He disappeared. Nan heard one — two — heavy falls, and nodded her head. Then she followed into the room and found the Strong IRIan lying upon the floor, on his back with his mouth open and his eyes shut. She dragged a blanket over him, and went out again to sit on her stone with as much patience as a spider in October. She sat there all the morning as quiet as if she was on watch. About half-past two in the afternoon there came slowly down the street no other than Mathew Humble himself. ' Wliere is Daniel ? ' he asked. Nan pointed to the door. ' He's within, fast asleep. He came home late last night. I dare say he'U sleep on now, if you let him alone, till evening.' ' Have you — has he — talked with you this morning ? ' Mathew's eyes were restless, and liis cheek twitched, a sign of prolonged anxiety or much drink. ' Nay ; what should he say to me, seeing that he came home in the middle of the night as drunk as a pig ? Let him bide, Master Mathew. What do you want him for ? Is there a run 1 ' He nodded. She held out her hand. * I'll drink luck to the venture,' she 206 ^LET NOTHING YOO DISMAY: said, taking the shilling which he gave her for luck. * Thank you ; this is sure to bring you luck. You'll say so to-morrow morninw. Remember that you crossed old Nan's palm with a shilling. \. lucky run ! Such a run as you never had before. A run that will Burj^rise the people.' ' Ha ! ha ! ' said Mathew, pleased with the prophecy. ' It shall surprise them.' ' And how do you get on with Miss Drusy, now ? So she said nay. She will and she won't— ay, ay— I know their tricks. Yes, a fine girl, and spoiling, as one may say, for a husband. Take care, Master Mathew. Better men than you have lost by shilly- Bhally.' ' Why, what would you have me do. Nan ? ' ' Do '^ A man o' mettle shouldn't ask. Capture the prize ; pipe all hands and alongside ; then off with her ; show a clean pair of heels ; clap all sails.' 'I believe. Nan,' Mathew said, 'that you are a witch.' 1 1 believe,' she replied, ' that after your run you'll be sure I am. Go in and wake Dan.' The fellow, roused rudely, sat up and rubbed his heavy eyes. ' You can't be drunk still, man,' said Mathew, ' seeing it's half- past two in the afternoon.' ' My head,' said Dan, banging it with his great fist, ' is like the church bell before the service — goeth ding-dong. And my tongue, it is as dry as a bone. Last night — last night Where the tfevil was I last night I ' ' Get up, fool, and put on your coat and come out. We have work to do.' The felli)w made no reply. He was stupidly wondering why his head was so heavy and his legs like lead. 'Come,' Mathew repeated, 'there is no time to lose. Up, man.' They left the house and walked up the street. When they were gone, Nan took the pipe out of her mouth, and considered the position of things with a cheerful smile. 'As for Mathew,' she said with a grin, ' he will get salt eel for his supper. Salt eel — nothing short.' She doubted for awhile whether to impart the plot to the Fugle- man. But she remembered that though he was no older than her- self he would take tlie tiling differently, and a iight between him and Dan, not t(» sjieak of Mathew as well, could have only one termination. Had she been twenty years younger, she would not have hesitated to engage the man herself, as she had led many a gallant boarding-party against any odds. But her fighting days were over. What she at last resolved upon marked her as at once the bravest and the most sensible of women. But her resolution took time for the working out. She sat on her stone seat and sni'iked her pipe as usual. When any boys passed her door she shook her THE WISDOM OF THE STRONG MAN. 207 stick at them, and used her strange sea phrases, just as if nothing was on her mind. It grows dark in the short November days soon after four, which is the hour when folks who can afford the luxury of candles light them, sweep the hearth, and prepare the dish of cheerful tea. There was no tea for us that year, but small ale of our own brew- ing or butter-milk. And my mother sat in great sadness for the most part, not knowing what would be the end, yet fearful of the worst, and being of feeble faith. Certainly, there was little to give her cause for hope. It was at half-past six or seven that I heard footsteps outside, and presently a knock at the door. I saw, to my amazement, no other than old Nan. It was a cold and rainy evening, but she had on nothing more than her usual jacket and hat. A hard and tough old woman. ' Child,' she said earnestly, ' do you think that I would lead thee wrong, or tell thee a lie \ ' ' Why, no, Nan.' ' Then, mark me, go not forth to-night.' ' Why should I go forth ? It is past six o'clock, and already dark.' ' If messengers should come Look ! who is that ? ' She slipped behind the door as a boy came running to the door, I recognised him for a lad, half-gipsy, who was well known to all runners, and often took part in driving the ponies. A bare-headed boy with thick coarse hair and bright black eyes, who was after- wards sentenced to be hanged, but reprieved, I know not for what reason, and I forget now what he had done to bring upon him this sentence. ' The Fugleman says,' he began at once, seemingly in breathless haste, 'that he has fallen down and is like to have broken his back. He wants to see you at once.' ' Oh,' I cried, ' what dreadful thing is this 1 Tell him I'll come at once. Run, boy, run. I will jjut on a hat and ' The boy turned and ran clattering up the road and across the bridge. Then Nan came out from behind the door. ' It's true, then. The kidnapping villains ! It's true. But I never had a doubt. Go indoors, hinney. Stay at home. As for the Fugleman, I'll warrant his back to be as sound as my own. Wait, wait, I say, till you see Mathew's face to-morrow 1 A villain, indeed ! ' ' But, Nan, what do you mean ? My dear old Fugleman a villain ! What has he to do with Mathew ? ' ' No, child, not he. There's only one villain in Warkworth, though many fools. The villain is Mathew Humble. The biggest fool is Dan Gedge. He is such a fool that he ought to be keel- hauled or flogged through the Fleet, at least. Stay at home. This is a plot. The Fugleman is in the Hermitage at Avork am f nig the stuff. There's to be a run to-night. And they think ■ 208 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: Avast a bit, brother. Aye, aye, they shall have what they want. There's a hock of salt pork and a pease-pudding for supper. I looked forward to that hock. Never mind it. The villain— he to run this rig upon a girl ! But old Nan knows a mast from a manger yet, and values not his anger a rope's end.' Here she became incoherent, and one heard only an occasional phrase, such as — ' from the sprit-sail yard to the mizen top-sail halyards ' ; ' a mealy- mouthed swab ' ; a ' fresh- water wishy-washy fair-weather sailor ' ; ' thinks to get athwart my hawse,' and so forth. To all of which I listened in blank wonder. Thus having in this nautical manner collected her thoughts — strange it is that a sailor can never mature his plans or resolve upon a plan of action without the use of strong •^vords — she begged me to lend her my cardinal, which was provided with a thick and warm hood, of which we women of Northumber- land stand in need for winter days and cold spring winds. She said that she should keep her own cloth jacket, because the work Bhe should do that night was cold work, but she borrowed a woollen wrapper which she tied over her head and round her neck, leaving her three-cornered sailor's hat in my keeping. Lastly, she borrowed and put on a pair of warm leather gloves, remarking that all would be found out if once they saw or felt her hand. This, to be sure, was a great deal larger than is commonly found among women. When all these arrangements were complete, she put on the cardinal and pulled the hood o^'er her head. ' Now,' she asked, ' who am 1 1 ' Of course, having my clothes upon her, and being about the same height, with her face hidden beneath the hood, she seemed to be no other than myself. Then with a last reference to swabs, lubbers, and land pirates, she once more bade me keep within doors all night if I valued my life and my honour, and trudged away, telling me nothing but that a piratical craft should that night be laid on beam ends, that her own decks were cleared, her guns double-shotted, the surgeon in the cock-pit, and the chaplain with him, and, in short, that she was ready for action. I saw no more of her that night, which I spent in great anxiety, wondering what this thing might mean. But in the morning, fear- ing some mischief, I walked up the street to the castle. The Fugle- man was in his room ; he had sent me, he said, no message at all ; nor had he fallen ; nor had he broken his back. The boy Cuddy, it appeared, had been helphig him, and running about backwards and forwards all day. When the ponies were loaded he had re- turned to the Hermitage to set all snug and tidy. When he came back to the castle they were gone. But no breaking of backs and no sending of the boy. This was strange indeed. ' Then, Fugleman,' I said, ' Mathew Humble sent a lying mess- age, meaning mischief.' What he designed I understooa in two or three days. But for the time I could only think that he wished to open again the ques- tion of his suit. Yet, why had Nan borrowed my cardinal and my gloves ? THE WISDOM OF THE STRONG MAN. 209 On the way back I looked into Nan's cottage. The door waa open, but there was no one in the house. I went home, little thinking what a narrow escape was mine. Had I known— but had I known, I should have been divided between gratitude to Heaven, and admiration of brave old Nan, and detestation of the greatest villain in England. CHAPTER X. SAILOR nan's bide. The night was cold and raw, with a north-east wind, which brought occasional showers of sleet. There was no moon. The street, as the old woman walked up to the castle, was quite deserted, all the women and girls being seated at home about bright coal-fii-es, knitting, sewing, and spinning, while all the men were at the ale- house, telling stories or listening to them, an occupation of which the male sex is never wearied, especially when beer or rumbo, with tobacco, accompanies the stories. Nan climbed up the castle hill, and passing through the ruined gate, began to pick her way slowly among the stones and heaps of rubbish lying about in the castle-yard. The light of the fire in the Fugleman's chamber was her guide, and she knew very well that just beside the door of that room would be lurking Strong Dan, with intent to seize her by the waist and carry her off. Perhaps he designed to carry her in his arms all the way to the Border. TMs thought pleased her very much. Dan was quite able to do it, and the distance is only thirty-five miles or so. It pleased her to think of such a ride in the Strong Man's arms, and how tired he would be at the end. Accordingly, when she drew near the door she went very slowly, and was not in the least surprised when, as she stood in tlie fire- light, the man stejtped from some hiding-i:ilace at hand, caught her by the waist, and tossed her lightly over his shoulder, making no more account of her weight than if she had been a mere bag of meal. 'Now, mistress,' he said, 'struggle and kick as much as you like. It don't hurt me.' She cheerfully acceded to this request, and began so vigorous a drumming upon his ribs that had they not been tougher than the hoops of tlie stoutest cask, they must have been broken every one. As it was, he was surprised, and perhaps bruised a little, but not hurt. He had not thought that a young girl like myself had such power in her heels. ' Go on,' he said ; ' you're a strong 'un, and I like you the better for it. Kick away, but don't try screaming, because if you do I shall have to tie your pretty head in a bag. Master Mathew'a P 210 *LET NOTHING YOU JDISMAT: orders, not my wish. Besides, what's the use of pretending, wh«n there's nobody here but you and me, bless your pretty eyes ! I know all about it, and here's a honour for you to be carried oflF, nothing less, by yovu- own man. Why, there isn't another woman in Warkworth that he'd take so mucli trouble for. Think upon that ! Now then, miss, another kick, or a dozen, if you like. Ah, you can kick, you can. You're a wife worth having. A happy man he'll be. Lord, it would take the breath out o' most that last kick would. Why, I'll swear there's not a woman in all North- umberland with such a kick as yours. Keep it up.' Thus talking, while she drummed with her heels, he slowly carried her through the dark gateway, picking his feet among the stones. Outside the castle, beyond the great gate, another man was waiting for them, wrapped in a great cloak. It was Mathew Humble. He had been drinking, and his speech was thick. ' Now,' he said, seizing the prisoner by the arm, ' you are in my power. Escape is impossible. If you cry out — but I am your master now, and for the rest of your life I mean to be. You have got to be an obedient wife. Do you hear ? I've had enough of your contempts and your sneers. You'll write to the boy, will you, mistress ? Ha ! Fine opportunities you will have on the way to Scotland to-night. Ho ! The boy will be pleased when he hears of this night's job, won't he ? ' 'Come, mistress,' said Dan, setting her down gently, 'here's the place and here's the ponies, and if you like, just for the look of the thing and out of kindness, as a body may say, to rax me a cuff or a clout, why — don't think I mind it. Oh, Lord ! ' It was a kind and thoughtful invitation, and it was followed by so vigorous, direct, and well-planted a blow that he reeled. ' Lord ! ' he cried again, ' I believe she's knocked half my teeth down my throat. Who the devil would ha' thought a slip of a girl Why, even Nan herself— — ' He asked for no more clouts, but kept at a respectful distance. There were half-a-dozen ponies, all loaded in readiness for the road. Mathew, Dan, and the boy they called Cuddy were to conduct the expedition, the two latter on foot, the fii'st on pony- back. There was also a pony with a saddle, designed, I suppose, for me. ' Now, Drusilla,' said Mathew, ' get up ; there is along journey before us and no time to spare. Remember— silence, whether we meet friend or stranger. Silence, I say, or ' He shook a pistol in her face. She drew the hood more closely down, and pretended to shrink in alarm. Then, without any more resistance, she climbed into the saddle, and took the reins from Mathew's hands. ' That's a good beginning, ' he said. ' Maybe you have come to your senses and know what is best for yourself. And hark ye, my lass, if you behave pretty, we'll send Barbara to the devil. If you SAILOR XAN'S BIDE. 2U don't, you shall have a mistress at the mill as well as a master. Think upon that, now.' Then the procession started. First Cuddy ; then the ponies, two by two, who followed the boy as the sheep follow their shepherd ; lastly, Mathew, upon his pony ; Nan upon hers ; and on the other side of her Dan Gedge, still wondering at the unex- pected strength displayed in those kicks and that clout. In addition to the advantages already spoken of possessed by Warkworth for the convenience of a run, should be mentioned the happy cu-cumstance that it lies close to the wild lands, the waste moors and hills which occupy so large a part of Northumberland. These moors are crossed by bridle-paths, it is true, but they are mere tracks, not to be distinguished from sheep-runs except by the people who use them, and those are few indeed. If you lose the track, even in broad daylight, you run the risk of deep quagmires, besides that of wandering about with nothing to guide the inexperi- enced eye, and perhaps perishing miserably among the wild and awful hills. As for the boy Cuddy, he possessed a gift which is sometimes granted even to blind men, of always knowing where he was and of keei)ing in the right path. It is with some an instinct. He was invaluable on these winter runs, because, however dark the night, whether the moors were covered with thick fog or impene- trable blackness, or even if they were tlu-ee feet deep in snow, he never failed to find his way direct to the point whither they desired to go. In general, however, the wildest road, though the shortest, was avoided, and the ponies were driven tlu-ough the country which hes north, or north-east of the Cheviots. But on this occasion, so great was Mathew's desire to ensure the safety of a run in which his ponies carried something more precious even than lace or rum, that he resolved upon trying the more difficult way across Chill Moor, south of Cheviot. Even on a summer day the way across this moor is difficult to find. On a winter's night it would seem impossible. Yet Cuddy declared that he could find it blindfold. They were to cross the Border by way of Windgate Fell and to carry their stuff to the little village of Yetholm on the Scottish side. If you draw a straight line on a county map almost due west from Warkworth, you will find that it passes near very few villages indeed all the way to the Scottish Border. The ground begins to rise a mile or so west of the town, and though up to the edge of the moors the country is mostly cultivated, the only villages passed the whole way for thirty miles, are Edlingliam, Whittingham, and Alnham, and it is very easy for safety's sake to avoid these. First, then, they rode slowly and in silence for six or seven miles as straight across the country as hedges and gates would allow. Presently striking the bed of the Hampeth Burn, they followed it up, rough as the way was, as far as the Black Tarn, which lies among the hills east of Edlingham. Here they turned to the right, keeping still upon the high ridge, and crossed Alnwick Moor, whence they F 2 212 ^LET NOTHING YOU BTS.VAY.' ~)resently descended till they found themselves in the little valley down which the river Aln flows at this point. Here the going was aa bad as could be, the ponies feeling their feet at every step, and the progress slow. Yet they never stopped for an instant, nor did the boy hesitate. IVIathew kept silence, riding with hanging head, full of gloomy thoughts. It was past midnight, and they had been in the saddle five hours and more, when they reached the place, close to the village of Alnham, where they were to leave the guidance of the winding burn and trust themselves to the knowledge of the boy upon the pathless moors. Here, under the shelter of a linney, Mathew called a halt. Dan produced a lantern and a tinder-box, and presently got a light. Then he found some provisions in one of the packs, and they ate and drank. ' You are so far from your friends now,' said Mathew to his prisoner, ' that you can talk and scream and do just exactly what you please, excej)t run away. Now you guess what I am going to do. Once over the Scottish Border you will be my wife by Scottish law, if I call you wife. So that now, you know, you had better make up your mind and be cheerful.' She made no reply. ' Well, then, have you got nothing to say ? ' She had nothing. 'Sulk, then,' he said roughly. 'Fall a sulking till you are tired. You may think, if you please, what your young devil of a sweetheart will say when he finds the nest empty ! Alive and pro- spering, is he ? ' He proceeded to express his earnest hope that the boy would shortly be beyond the reach of hope. This done, he informed Nan that the worst part of her journey had yet to be accomplislied, and that she had better take some meat and drink, unless slie wished to fall ofi' her saddle with fatigue, in which case Dan would have to carry her. She accepted without speaking, and, under cover of her hood, made an excellent supper, being, in fact, already pretty well exhausted with fatigue and hunger. When she had finished, Mathew offered her a bottle which contained brandy. He was amazed to find when she returned it to him that she had taken at one draught about half-a-pint of the spirit, so that he looked to see her reel and fall off the pony. That she did not do so he attributed to the efiect of the cold night air and the long ride, being unsuspi- cious how strong and seasoned a head was hidden beneath tliat hood. Supper finished, Mathew examined the boy concerning the road. He would tell nothing at all about it, yet he said he knew where to find it, and how to follow it, and, in short, undertook to guide the party without danger by as short a way as could be found across the moor. He was certain that he could do this, but he would not explain how he knew the way nor in what direction it wound among the hills. lu fact, how waa a boy to describe a SAILOR NAN'S RIDE. 213 road who knew not north from south, or east from west, nor liad any but the most simple English at his command in which to speak of valley or hill, ascent or descent 1 The moor over which they crossed that dark night in as perfect safety as if a broad highway had been laid down for them, and was lit with oil lanterns like some of the streets of London, is the wildest, I suppose, in all England. I have heard of that great moor which covers half Devonshire, though I have never been in the south country. I have read about that other great and wild moorland which lies round the Peak in Derbyshire. I have ridden over the broad heath which stretches from Hexham to Teesdale, a place as wild as the people who live upon its borders, yet have I never seen, nor can I conceive, of any i)lace or country so wild, so desolate, and so forsaken, save by hawks, vipers, and other evil things, as the land which lies by Cheviot, Hedgehope, and Wind- gtite Fell. The boy, as before, led the way, walking without hesitation, though the night was so dark. What he saw to indicate the road no one can tell. Nan, for her own part, could see nothing at all before her for the pitchy darkness of the night and the continual pattering of the rain. Here is the very head of the Cheviots, the middle of the moors and fells, across which so many parties of phmderers, cattle-lifters, and smugglers have made their way. There is not a valley among these wild hills which has not witnessed many a gallant fight. There is not a hill-side which has not run with streams of blood. There is not a mountain among them all which has not its ghosts of slain men. The heath and ling have been trampled under the feet of thousands of soldiers, for in the old days there was no peace upon the border, and every man was a soldier all his life. But, since the invasion of the Young Pretender, there has been no fighting on the border. Smugglers have taken the place of the cattle-lifters, and peaceful ponies laden with forbidden goods go aci'oss the moor in jjlace of horses ridden by men in iron. For those who love to be awed by the wildness of Nature, a place admirable and wonderful, but full of terror at all times to the heart of sensibility. I do not say, however, that the mcors were terrible to any of those who crossed them on this cold and dark night, save for the darkness and the rain, and the fear that at any moment they might all go head first into a quag. The boy, to begin with, was quite insensible to any impressions which can be produced by natural objects ; rocks, \)vc- cipices, wild stretches of land, dark woods — all were alike to him. As for Dan, I suppose he never thought of anything at all. Mathew was too full of the gloomy forebodings which always pre- cede the punishment of wickedness, to regard the things around him, and Nan, as insensible as the boy, was wishing only that the journey was over, because she was horribly cold and getting tired. The boy led them, by that wonderful instinct, up the slope of the hill to a high lovel, where the wind was keener and the rain 214 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY.' colder. He kept as nearly as possible to the same level, leading them round the middle heights upon the slopes of the great Fella and above the dales. The direct distance is not more than eight miles, but by reason of the winding of the way I suppose they must have doubled that distance. It was one o'clock when they left Alnham behind them, and it was already five before they came down the hill on the north side of Wind-Gate. 'Master,' said the boy at last, pointing at something invisible, ' yonder's Yetholm, and you are in Scotland.' Mathew started and sat upright in the saddle, throwing back his cloak. He was in Scotland. Why, then, his work was done. He laughed and laid his hand upon his prisoner's arm. ' My wife ! ' he cried. ' Bear witness, Dan ; my wife, I say.' ' Aye, aye, master. Give ye joy, miss. Master, another dram to drink the leddy's health.' Mathew gave him his bottle. Dan took a deep draught, and then wiping the mouth of the vessel, handed it to the lady. ' Take a drop,' he said, ' it'll warm your blood after that long ride.' Then followed so prolonged a draught of the brandy, that Dan too, as Mathew had done five hours ago, looked to see the girl, un- accustomed to strong drink, fall from her saddle. But she did not. And honest Dan marvelled, remembering, besides, the vigour of her heels and the unexpected reality of that clout. A wife so gifted with manly strength of heel and hand, who could also drink so fair, seemed to this simple fellow a thing to be envied indeed. As regards the run, let me say at once, so as to have done with it, that it was quite successful, and proved a profitable venture to all concerned, though Mathew, for his part, never showed any joy when the work of the night was spoken of. It was a bold thing to venture across the moors on so dark a night ; no one in office looked for such a venture in the little village of Yetholm ; and the stufi", taken in the farmers' carts to Kelso, was all sold off at once, therefore Mathew might have been proud of his exploit. But he was not. And when the old woman, accompanied by the boy, came home two days later and brought the news of what had happened, the success of the venture lost all its interest in the presence of the wonderful tale they had to tell. They rode into Yetholm a good while before daybreak, and the people of the inn — little more than a little village ale-house — were etill in their beds. It was now raining again, with a cold wind, while they waited for the house to be roused and the fire to be laid. Nan began now, indeed, though she had borne bravely the rough journey of the night, to feel the keen morning air and the fatigue of the long ride. Her limbs were numbed, and when, at last, the door was oj^ened and the iire lit, Dan had to lift her ofi" the pony and to carry her in. They placed her in a chair before the fire, where she sat huddled up in her cai'diiial and hood, refusing to take them off. SAILOR NAN'S RIDE. 215 When all was safely bestowed, Mathew thought him of his biide, and came into the parlour, now bright with a cheerful fire and a candle. He threw off hat and cloak with a sigh of relief. ' Come,' he said, ' let us be friends, Drusilla, since we are married. Yes, child, married. You would have me no other way. Let us have no more sulking.' She answered nothing. ' Well, it matters not.' Here the landlord and his wife, with Dan and a servant wench, came in together. ' Something to eat,' Mathew ordered. ' Anything that you have. My wife is tired with her ride over the moors.' ' Over the moors 1 ' Tliis was the landlady. ' You haven't, surely, brought a leddy over the moors on sic a night as this 1 ' 'Indeed, but 1 have,' he replied. 'Come, madam.' He seized her by the arm and dragged her off the chair — oh, the gentle wooer ! — so that she stood before him. ' Bear witness, all of you,' he said, taking her gloved hand. 'Tliia is my wife, my lawful wife, by Scottish law.' Now whether such is the Scottish law I know not at all, but in Northumberland it was always believed that, across the Border, such a form of words, before witnesses, constituted the whole of marriage required by law, although by way of adding some grace of ceremony, the pair sometimes jumped over a broomstick, or wrote kheir names in a book, or gave a blacksmith a guinea. ' My lawful wife, ' Mathew repeated. The bride, who had been standing with bent shoulders and bowed head, straightened herself and stood upright. Then the witnesses observed a very curious and remarkable thing. The face of the bridegroom, which should surely on such an occasion show a lively sense of happiness, expressed first astonishment, then un- easiness, and finally terror. The cause of these successive emotions was simple. When Mathew had repeated his form of words he would have dropped his bride's hand, but she now held his, first with a gentle pressure, next with a determination, and finally with a vice-like tenacitj which amazed and filled him with strange fears. Presently, still holding his hand, she spoke : ' I acknowledge Mathew Humble as my true and lawful hus- band ! ' The voice was hoarse and rough. Mathew, with his left hand, tore oft' the hood. Before liim stood, her mouth opening gradually to make room for the hoarse laugh which followed, no other than Sailor Nan herself, in her short petticoats and her cloth jacket, with a woollen wrapper tied about her head. ' My husband ! ' she repeated ; ' my loving husband ! Would ye believe it' — she addressed the company generally — 'he's so fond of me that he couldn't wait to have the banns put up, but must needs carry me off ! Saw ye ever such a braw lover ? ' They were all astounded ; and when she laughed, still holding 216 *LET NOTHING YOU DIS3IAY* the astonished bridegroom by the hand, some of them trembled, because they knew not whether she was man or woman, her voice was so rough, her hair was so short, her jacket was so sailor-hke. ' Ah, hinneys ! ' she laughed again hoarsely, because the air had touched her throat. 'The bonny, bonny bride and the happy groom ! Kiss your wife, my husband dear.' She threw herself upon his neck, and began to kiss his lips. ' You ? You 1 ' He tore away liis hand from her grasp, tried to push her from him with violence, but she clung fast to him, and retreated step by step to the corner of the room. ' You ? ' 'Yes, it's me, dearie — it's me. Did ye ever hear the like ? To fall in love with an old woman of seventy, like me, and to run away with her ! I never looked to get another husband. There's a spirit for you ! There's a bold spirit! IMathew dear, when shall we go back ? Oh, the wedding-feast that we will have ! Well, we women love a lad of mettle. Is there a boy in Wark- worth, except my man here, who would carry his wife all the way across the moors when he might liave had me asked in church ? ' Dan, one of those who are naturally slow to understand things unless they fall out exactly as is expected, had by this time succeeded in comprehending the whole. He had, he now per- ceived, carried off the wrong woman, which fully accounted for the vigour of the kicks, the amazing strength of the clout, and the capacity for strong drink. ' Nan ! ' he cried. ' It's our Nan ! ' ' It is, ye lubber,' she replied ; ' and no one else.' He then began to laugh too. He laughed so loud and so long, being a man who seldom sees a joke, and then cannot make enough of it, that the landlord, the landlady, and the servant-girl caught the infection, and they all laughed too. Mathew raged and swore. This made Dan laugh the louder and the longer. Mathew ceased to swear ; he threw himself into a chair, with his hands in his pockets, and sat, cheeks red and eyes flashing, until the storm of mirth subsided. Then his dainty and delicate bride banged her great fist upon the table. ' No sheering off now,' she cried. ' You're my man, and a merry and a happy life you shall lead. Mates and jolly sailors all, this is my third husband. The first, he was hanged ; the second, he hanged himself ; better luck to the third. What a wife he's got ! — what a wife ! Now then, rum for this honourable company, and a fiddle for the wedding ; and more rum and tobacco, and more rum. Stir about, I say.' She produced a bo's'n's whistle, and blew a long shrill call. ' Stir about, or I'll rope's-end the whole crew. Rum, I say ; more rum for this honourable company ! ' Witli. these words she sprang into the middle of the room, and began to dance a hornpipe with the most surprising skill and egility. 217 CHAPTER XI. THE SALE OF THE COTTAGE. When the old woman came home with the boy, the story which fihe had to tell surpassed all her yarns of salt-sea exj^erience. She told her tale nightly, in exchange for glasses of strong drink. And oven Cuddy, the boy, was in request, and sold his information for mugs of beer. The men laughed at Mathew's discomhture. To most men, indeed, the punishment of wickedness is always an occasion for mirth rather than for solemn reflection. They laugh at eufFering, especially when it is unexpected ; and if their dearest friend experiences a misfortune when he most expects a stroke of luck, they laugh. When a vagabond is flogged at the cavt-tail ; when a shrew is ducked ; when a miserable starving wretch is clapped into Btocks or pillory, they laugh. That is the way of men. But I have observed that they do not laugh at their own afflictions. Everybody, therefore, including the Vicar and his Worship, laughed at Mathew's discomfiture. They went so far as to say that Mr. Carnaby told the story to my Lord of Northumberland, who was entertaining my Lord Bishop of Durham, and that both prelate and peer laughed until the valets had to unloose their cravats. Yet I cannot see why one should laugh because a young man is mated to an old wife, expecting to have carried ofl" a young one. To me, it seems as if we should fkst condemn the crime of abduction, and next, bow to the rod. After the fii'st laughter, which was like an explosion, or a great thunder-storm, one of those during which the rain-water rattles and slates fall ofl' the roof : a universal burst of laughter when all the men ran together laughing their loudest, holding each other up, loosing neck-ties, j^umping on the apoi^lectic, and encouraging each other to fresh hilarity by pointing to Nan the bride : the question naturally arose if anything should be done to mark their sense of the attempted crime by those in authority. A most grievous and intolerable thing it was, indeed, that a young woman should be violently kidnapped and carried away like a sailor by a press-gang ; forced to ride thirty miles and more on a winter's night, across the cold and rainy Fells; married willy nilly in the morning without church or parson ; and this when she had not once, but many times, refused so much as to listen to proposals of marriage from the man. All were agreed that this was a thing not to be per- mitted. Yet, what could be done 1 To run away with a girl of her own free will and accord, and when she would marry the man but for wickedness of guardians, is a different thing ; many a maiden has fled across the Border with her lover, amidst the sympathy of her friends. But in this case it was like the carrying away of the 218 LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: Sabine women, and no words could he found by the moralist too Btrong to condemn the act. While everybody talked about it, that is to say, for a whole week, there was so much indignation that if Mathew had appeared it would have gone hard with him among the men, to say nothing of the women, who would think of no punishment too bad for him. The townsfolk talked of ducking in the river, of pillory and stocks, and I confess that the thought of Mathew in the pillory was not disagreeable to me. Yet, considering the way of the world, per- haps, if he had been young, handsome, and of pleasant speech, he might have been forgiven the attempted abduction, on the plea of love inordinate. One man, we know, may steal a horse — but then he must be comely and generous — while another, if he is churlish and harsh, is clapped into gaol for looking over a hedge. While, however, they talked, Mathew kept away, nor did he return for three or four weeks, leaving his private aifairs neglected ; and no one knew where he was in hiding. We had, however, a visit from Barbara. She came, she said, not out of any love to me or my mother, who had used words so injurious as regards herself, but to express her abhorrence of the crime which her unhappy brother had attempted, and her thankful- ness that this madness of his was defeated. She said that she knew nothing whatever of him ; where he was or what he was doing ; but she hoped that when he returned he would be in a better frame of mind, and feel the remorse which ought to follow such an action. As for the pretended marriage with the old woman, she said that was a thing not to be considered seriously. My mother received her excuses coldly, and she presently went away, after another attempt to discover whether I knew anything fresh about ' the boy.' She desired to know, she said, not out of curiosity, because she was not a curious person, as everybody knew, but because she feared that I might, by representing the late affair in its worst light, bring about a hostile feeling and even a conflict between her brother and the boy, which could not fail of being disastrous to the latter. My mother reassured her on this point, because, she said, Mathew was already well acquainted with Ralph's cane, and, having shown so much bravery in the late affair, which took two men to carry off one woman, would now most certainly have the courage to turn a submissive back to the chastiser when he should appear. Barbara thereupon went away. Though I loved her not, I could not but feel pity for a woman who had done and sufftrred so much on behalf of this thankless brother. She was grown much older to look at during the last year or two ; her face was pinched, and wrinkles had multiplied round her eyes with her constant cares. This is an age when gentlemen of exalted rank think it no sin to be put to bed helpless after a debauch of wine or punch ; I hope that more sober customs may shortly prevail ; else, one knows not what will become of us all. Yet, though drunkenness is in fashion, I think nothnig can be more miserable for a woman than to sit, as Barbara sat daily, knowing that the only man in the world she cares for ia THE SALE OF THE COTTAGE. 219 glo-wly getting drunk by himself in another room, which is what Mathew did. As to the idle talk about the other will and tlie rightful heir, I know not what she believed in her heart, or how far she joined in the wicked designs of her brother, which were about to be frustrated. Then IVIr. Carnaby, accompanied by his lady and by the Vicar, came in person to express his horror of the crime, and Ms satisfac- tion that it was providentially prevented. ' We have discussed,' said his Worship, ' the action which we should take in the matter. At present all we have to go upon is the evidence of Nan, who is, she says, Mathew's wife, so that if such be veritably the case she cannot give evidence in the matter at all, and that of the boy Cuddy, an ignorant, half -wild lad, who knows not the nature of an oath. Abduction is a great crime ; but then Mathew, whatever were his intentions, my child, did actually only run away with an old woman, and she makes no complaint, but rather rejoices, while he is rendered ridiculous. To kidnap a young girl is a hanging matter ; but then, my dear, you were not kidnapped. In short, we feel that to bring Mathew to justice would be difficult and perhaps impossible.' To be sure, one would not wish to hang any man for the worst of crimes, and we had no desire to bring Mathew before any court of law or justice, being quite contented that the offender should feel certain of sharp and speedy justice if he made another such attempt. ' Can we not see him, at least,' asked my mother, ' placed in pillory % ' ' I would place him in pillory,' his Worship went on, ' if the old woman who now calls herself his wife — Heaven knows with what right — would lodge a complaint. But she will not. He deserves pillory at the least. And as for rotten eggs, I would myself bring even a basket of new-laid eggs, so that he should want for nothing. And I would condescend to throw them. But she will not com- plain. She even laughs and boasts that she has gotten a young husband. And then, which is a difficult point in this doubtful case' — his Worship blushed and looked confused, while the Vicar hemmed and Mistress Carnaby coughed — ' he was running a venture across the Border, and no one knows — I say that no one can tell — who may be compromised in this affair as to what he took across or what he brought back, for though Mathew had great faults, there is no one more skilled — more skilled, I say.' ' No one,' said the Vicar, wliich completed the sentence for his Worship. ' Wherefore, my dear girl,' continued his Worship, ' I propose waiting until the man returns, when I will reprimand him with such severity as will serve to deter him— and any others of a like mind with himself — from a renewal of liis wickedness.' Mathew did come back, three weeks later ; but, although his Worship sent the Fugleman, carrying his pike, to the mill with a eouuiiaud that Mathew should instantly repair to him for admo- 220 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY: nition, and although the Vicar also repaired to Mr. Carnaby's house in his best gown in order to receive the offender, and to give greater authority to the discipline, Mathew came not. He posi- tively and discourteously refused to obey. There, it would seem, was a direct breaking of the law, or, at least, contempt for authority, uj^on which imprisonment, I dare say, might have followed. But whether from leniency, or on ac- count of that difficulty connected with the late venture, his Worship refrained from severity, and ordered instead that Mathew, for violence and contumacy, should do penance in the church. Here, indeed, was righteous retribution ! He would stand, I thought, in the very place where he had caused E,alph to stand nine years before ; he would be made to rise up before all the people, and, in a loud voice, to ask their pardon, and to recite the Lord's prayer. I hope I am not a vindictive woman, yet I confess that I rejoiced on learning from the Fugleman that this punishment had been meted out to the evil-doer. We both rejoiced, and we congratulated each other, because we thought that Ralph would also rejoice. Little did we know of that great and lofty mind, when we foolishly imagined that he would ever rejoice over the fall of his enemy. There was great excitement in the town when it became pub- licly known by means of the barber, who had it direct from his Worship, that this godly discipline was to be enforced on the person of Mathew Humble — a substantial man, a statesman, a miller, a man supposed (but erroneously) to be wealthy, and a man already thirty-four years of age or thereabouts. Whj', for a school- boy, or a lad of sixteen, or a plain rustic to stand up in this white sheet was joy enough, but for such a show of such a man, this, if you please, was rapture indeed for the simple people. I confess that I for one looked forward with pleasure to tlie spectacle. Alas ! who would believe that man could be found so daring ? Mathew refused contumaciously to perform the penance ! This was a great blow and heavy disappointment to all of us ! and we looked to see the Vicar excommunicate him. But he did not, say- ing that disobedience to the Church brought of itself excommunica- tion without need of any form of words. Let Mathew look to his own soul. And as there seemed no means of enforcing the punish- ment if the offender refused to undergo it, there was nothing more to be said. The behaviour of Nan at this time was worthy of admiration. On Mathew's return, but not until then, she walked to the mill and informed Barbara that, as her brother's wife, she was herself the mistress, but that, being accustomed to her own cottage, she should not for the present molest her in her occupation. Then she sought her husband. It was really terrible to mark how the ravages of drink and dis- appointment together had made havoc with the appearance of this unfortunate man. Unfortunate, I call him, though his punishment was but tlie j ust reward of his iniquities. The failure of his plot ; the THE SALE OF THE COTTAGE. 221 consciousness of the ridicule whicli overwhelmed him ; his shame and discomfiture ; the thought of the old woman whom he had called liis wife ; the messages which he had received from his ^^'orship and the Vicar — liis disobedience being connected in some way with partnership in the recent venture ; a dreadful vague looking forward to the future, and the constant terror lest Ralph should retm-n, filled his mind with agitation, and gave him no peace night or day. He neglected the work of mill and farm ; he would take no meals save by himself, and he drank continually. He looked up from his half-drunken torpor when Nan came in. 'I expected you before,' he said. ' What are you going to do ?' She poured out a dram and tossed it oli'. 'I came to see my bonny husband,' she said, 'before I am a ■widow once more. Eh, man, it's an unlucky wife ye have gotten.' ' Wife ! ' he repeated ; ' wife ! Yes, I supposed you would pretend ' ' Hark ye, brother,' cried Nan, bringing down her cudgel on the table with an emphasis wliich reminded Mathew uneasily of the second husband's lot ; ' hark ye ! Sail on another tack, or you'll have a broadside that'll rake you fore an aft from stem to stern. Vv^ife I am ; husband you are ; wherefore all that is yours is mine.' She hitched a rope into the handle of the stone jar containing the brandy and jerked it over her shoulder. 'The mill is mine, so long as it is yours, which won't be long, shipmet. Last night I read your fortune, my lad. By all I can discover, you and me shall part company before long. But whether you will hang yourself, like my second man, or be hanged, like my fu'st ; or whether you will be knocked o' the head — which is too good for such as you ; or whether you will die by reason of takin' too much rum aboard, which is fatal to many an honest Jack ; or whether you will die by hand of doctors, whereby the landlubbers do perish by multitudes — I know not. Short will be our company ; so, as long as we sail together, let us share and share alike, and be merry and drink about. Money — now, I want money.' He refused absolutely to let her have any money. Without any more words, this terrible woman prepared for action. That is to say, she took off her rough sailor's jacket, rolled up her sleeves, and seized the cudgel with a gesture and look so menacmg that Mathew hauled down his colours. ' How much do you want 1 ' he asked. ' Short will be the voyage,' she said. 'Give me ten guineas. Yes, I will take ten guineas to begin with. But don't think it's pay-day. I'm not paid off, nor shall be so long as Pity 'tis that I can't read those cards plainer. Well, my dearie, I'm going. If I think I should like the mill better than my own cottage, I'll come and stay here. You shall see, off and on, plenty of your wife. Ho ! ho ! The bonny bride ! and the happy groom ! ' She left him for that time. But she went often, during the brief space wliich reJiiained of IMathew'a reign at the mill. Each 222 'LET NOTHING YOU DIS3fAT* time she came she demanded money, and rum or usquebaugh ; each time she threatened to live with her husband ; each time she terrified Barbara with the prospect of staying there. And the man sat still in his room, brooding over the past, and thinking, not of repentance, but of more wickedness. One day, he rode away without telling his sister whither he was going or what he designed. He did not return that night, but two days later he rode into the town, accompanied by a grave and elderly gentleman, and after leaving the horses at the inn, he walked to our cottage. I saw them at the garden-gate, and my heart felt like lead, because I saw very clearly what was going to happen. In fine, I felt certain that the money would be demanded and our house sold. Mathew, goaded by his sister, who clamoured without ceasing for the money supposed to have been lent to us, and unable any longer to endure his suspense and anxiety regard- ing their cousin, resolved to bring matters to an issue. Fortunate indfied was it for us he had delayed so long. They came in, therefore, and the grave old gentleman opened the business. He said that he was an attorney from Morpeth ; that the mortgage, of which mention had already been made to Mistress Hetherington, had been drawn up by him at the request of Mr. Mathew Humble ; that he had witnessed the signature of my father, and that the business, in short, was regularly conducted in accordance with the custom and the requirements of the law. I asked him if he had seen the money paid to my father. He replied tliat he had not, but that it was unnecessary. I informed him thereupon that the money never had been paid at all, but that my father, a demented person, as was very well known, yet not so dangerous or so mad that he must be locked up, was persuaded by Mathew that he was signing an imaginary deed of gift conveying lands which existed only in his own mind, because he had no land. The lawyer made no reply to this at all. ' Now, mistress,' said Mathew roughly, ' is the time to show the proofs you talked about.' 'My proofs, sir,' I addressed the lawyer, 'are, first, that my father believes himself prodigiously rich, and would scorn to borrow money of such as Mathew Humble ; next, that he perfectly well remembers signing this document, which he thought a deed of gift ; thirdly, that we know p( isitively that he has had no money at all in his possession ; fourthly, tliat he denies with indignation having borrowed money ; fiftlily, that Matliew, like everybody else, knew of his delusions, and would certainly never have lent the money ; sixthly, that two hundred pounds is a vast sum, and could not have been received and spent without our knowledge. Lastly, that Mathew was known to be a base and wicked wretch who even tried to kidnap and carry ofi" a girl whom he wished to marry.' ' Evei-y one of these proofs,' said my mother, ' is by itself enough for any reasonable person.' THE SALE OF THE COTTAGE. 223 The lawyer replied very earnestly that he had nothing to do with proving the debt ; that he came to carry out the instructions of his client, and to give us a week's notice — which was an act of mercy, because no clause of notice had been inserted in the mort- gage ; that the house would be sold unless the money lent was paid ; that it was not his duty nor his business to advise us, but his own client ; that the law of England provides a remedy for everything by the help of attorneys, and that, by the blessing of Heaven, attorneys abound, and may be obtained in any town. Finally, he exceeded his duty by his client in counselling us to put our affairs in the hands of some skilled and properly qualified adviser. This said, he bowed low and went away, followed by Mathew. But Mathew returned half an hour later and found me alone. 'You told me,' he said, ' six months ago and more, that should I attempt any harm to you and yours, you would write to the boy. I waited. If your story was true, you would have written to him at once, out of fear. But your story was not true. All, women are all liars. I ought to have known that. Barbara says so, and she ought to know.' ' Go on, Mathew,' I said. ' I waited. If your story had been true, the boy would have hastened home. Well, I thought I would give you another chance. I would carry you off. That would make him wince, if he was living. Yet he has not come.' Did one ever hear the like ? To bring his own terrors to an end, or to an issue, he would have made me his unwilling and wretched wife. ' Now I've found you out. Why didn't I think of it before ? I asked the post-boy. Never a letter, he truly swears, has been delivered to you — never a one. So it is all a lie from the beginning. Veiy good then. Many me, or sold up you shall be, and into the cold streets shall you go.' I bade him begone, and he went, terrified, perhaps, at the fury with which I spoke. Of this I forbear to say more. When we sought the advice of Mr. Carnaby, we found that he entertained an opinion about law and justice wliich seemed to differ from that of the Morpeth lawyer. ' Your proofs,' he said, ' though to me they are clear and suffi- cient to show that Mathew is a surprising rogue, would go for nothing before a court. And I doubt much whether any attorney would be found to undertake, without guarantee of costs, so great a business as a civil action. Justice, my child, in this country, as well as all other countries, may hardly be obtained by any but the rich, and only by them at the cost of vexatious delays, cheats, im- positions, evasions, and the outlay of great sums upon a rascally attorney. Beware of the craft. Let the man do his worst, you still have friends, my dear.' So spoke this kind and benevolent man. I am sure that hia 224 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY.' deeds would have proved as good as his words had they been called for. We told no one in the town, otherwise I am sure there would have been a great storm of indignation against Mathew, and per- haps we did wrong to keep the thing a secret. But my mother wa3 a Londoner, and did not like to have her affairs made more than could be helped the subject of scandal and village gossip. It was now already the middle of December ; we should there- fore be turned out into the street in winter. As for our slender stock of money that was reduced to a few guineas. Yet was I not greatly cast down, because, whatever else might happen, the time was come when I might expect an answer. In eighteen months, or even less, a ship might sail to India and return to port. Ralph's letter would set all right. I know not, now, what I expected ; I lived in a kind of Fool's Paradise. Ralph was my hope, my anchor. I looked not for money but for protection ; he would be a shield. When the Fugleman came to the cottage we would fall to congratulating ourselves upon the flight of time which brought my letter the nearer. He even made notches on a long pole for the days which might yet remain. Yet, oh, what a slender reed was this on which I leaned ! For my letter to him might have miscarried. Who is to ensure the safety of a letter for so many thousand miles ? Or his reply might be lost on board the ship. i. letter is a small thing and easily lost. Or he might be up the country with some native prince ; or he might be fighting ; or he might be too much occupied to write. A slender reed of hope indeed. Yet I liad faith. Call it not a Fool's Paradise ; 'twas the Paradise of Love. Then came the day, the last day, when the money must be paid or we lose our house. That day I can never forget. It was the twenty-third of December. The mummers, I know, were getting ready for the next evening. In the night we were awakened by the waits singing before our house : 'God rest you merry, gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay,' and I, who ought to have taken the words for an exhortation to *lift my heart to Heaven, lifted it only as high as — my lover. To be sure, he was always a good deal nearer Heaven than his un- worthy sweetheart. In the night there was snow, and when the sun rose the garden was beautiful, and the leafless trees had every little twig painted white ; a clear bright day, such as seldom comes to this county of rain and wind in the month of December. If one has to be tlirust into the street, one would wish for a day of sunshine. Is it not a monstrous thing that this injustice should be possible ] Will there ever come a time when justice and equity will be administered, like fresh air and spring water, for notliing l So certain was Mathew of his prey that he sent the crier round THE SALE OF THE COTTAGE. 225 at nme in the morning to announce the sale for noon. And directly after eleven he came himself with the attorney ; and a man to con- duct the auction or sale of the house. We put together, in order to carry with us, our wearing apparel. Mathew was for preventing lis from taking anything — even, I believe, the clothes we stood in — out of the house. Even the Family Bible must stay, and the very account- books ; but he was rebuked by his lawyer, who informed him that the mortgage included only the tenement or building, but not its contents. We should keep our beds, then. But where to bestow them ? Whither to go ? My heart began to sink. I could have sat down and cried, had that been of any avail, and if my mother had not set a better example and kept so brave a face. 'The daughter of a substantial London merchant, my dear,* she said, ' must not show signs of distress before such cattle ' — she meant the attorney and his honest client. ' Get your things together, and we will see where we can find a shelter. My poor old man shall not feel the pinch of cold and hunger, though we work our fingers to the bone.' Her lip trembled as she spoke. Meantime my father was giving a hearty welcome to the astonished attorney, whom he considered as a visitor. ' In this poor house, sir, ' he said with a lofty air, ' though we have the conveniences which wealth can bestow, we have not the splendour. I trust, sir, that you may give me the pleasm'e of a visit at my town house, where, I believe, her ladyship will show you rooms worthy of any nobleman's house, not to speak of a plain City Knight, like your humble servant.' The attorney regarded him with wonder, but answered not. I believe he understood by this one speech how impossible it was that this poor man could have borrowed his client's money. At stroke of noon the sale was to commence. But as yet there were no buyers. No one was thereto bid except Mathew himself, who was impatient to begin. It wanted five minutes of noon when Mr. Carnaby appeared, bearing his gold-headed stick, and preceded by the Fugleman with his pike, to show that the visit was official. He was followed by a dozen or so of the townsmen, now aware that something out of the common was about to happen. ' Go on with the sale,' cried Mathew impatiently ; ' it is twelve o'clock.' ' Stop ! ' said his Worship. ' Sir,' he addressed the lawyer, ' you will first satisfy me by what right you enter a private house, and next by what authority you are selling it.' The attorney replied with submission and outward show of respect that he was within his powers, in proof of which he ex- hibited papei'S the nature of which I know not, concluding with a hope that his honour was satisfied. ' Why, sir,' said Mr. Carnaby, ' so far as you are concerned, I may be. I am also satisfied that this business is the conspiracy of a Villain against the peace and happiness of an innocent ghl.' 4 226 'LEI NOTHING YOU DISMAY: ' With respect, sir,' said the lawyer, ' the words ccnspiracy and villain are libellous.' ' I name no names,' but he looked at Mathew, who shifted hia feet and endeavoured to seem unconscious. ' I name no names,' he repeated, shaking his foretinger in Mathew's face, ' yet villain is the man who would ruin a helpless family because a virtuous woman refuses to marry him. Villain, I say ! ' He banged the floor with his great stick, so that everybody in the room trembled. ' I do not think, sir,' said Mathew, ' that your ofllce entitles you to ofler impediment to a just and lawful sale.' 'Prate not to me. Master Kidnapper.' ' If,' continued Mathew, ' Mr. Hetherington disputes my claim, here is my laAvyer, who will receive his notice of action. For myself, I want my own and nothing more. Give me justice.' ' I would to Heaven, sir, I could, ' said his Worship. ' Go on with your iniquitous sale.' It appeared at first as if no one would bid at all for the cottage, though by this time the room was full. Then Mathew offered fifty pounds. Mr. Carnaby bid fifty-five pounds. Mathew advanced five pounds. Mr. Carnaby bid sixty-five pounds. Mr. Carnaby was not rich ; yet he had formed the benevolent design of buying the house, so that we might not be turned out, even if the rent would be uncertain. Mathew wanted- not only the amount of the (pretended) mortgage, but also the pleasure of turn- ing us out. Ah ! where was Ealj^h now ? Where was ' the boy ' to whom I was going to write for protection if he dared to move 1 ' One hundred and ninety ! ' said Mathew. ' One hundred and ninety-five ! ' said his Worship. ' Two hundred ! ' said Mathew. Mr. Carnaby hesitated. He doubted whether the cottage of six rooms and the two acres of ground in which it stood were worth more. The hammer went up. He thought of us and our helpless situation. ' Two hundred and five ! ' he said. ' Two hundred and ten ! ' said Mathew. Again Mr. Carnaby hesitated ; again he saw the hammer in the air ; again he advanced. ' Two hundred and ninety-five ! ' said his Worship, mopping his face. ' Three hundred ! ' said Mathew. ' Any advance upon tliree hundred 1 ' asked the auctioneer. Mr. Carnaby shook his head. ' Villains all,' he said, ' I can afibrd no more. I cannot afibrd so much. Poor Drusilla ! Thou must go after all.' ' Going ! going ! ' cried the man, looking round. ' Five Hundred ! ' Mathew sprang to his feet with a cry as of sudden pain, for he knew the voice. More than that, in the doorway' he saA the man. THE SALE or THE COTTAGE. 227 He reeled and would have fallen but that someone held him ; his cheeks were white, his eyes were staring. The blow he had so long dreaded had fallen at last. His enemy was upon him. The figure in the doorway was that of a gentleman, tall and stately, still in the bloom and vigour of early m.anhood, gallantly dressed in scarlet with gold-laced hat, laced ruffles, diamond buckles, and his sword in a crimson sash. Alas ! for Mathew. The girl had told no lie. The Fugleman, being on duty, contemplated things without emotion, even so surprising a thing as the return of the wanderer. But he saluted his superior oihcer, and then, grounding his pike, looked straight before him. This was the answer— this was the reply to my letter. Every woman in love is a prophet. I knew, being in love, that my sweet- heart would make all well ; I knew not how ; he would bring peace and protection with him, for those I loved as well as for myself. Great and marvellous are the ways of Providence. I knew not, nor could I so much as hope that the answer would be such as it was — nothing short of my lover's return, to go abroad no mure. CHAPTER XII. *GOD REST YOU MERRY, GENTLEMEN.* What remains to be told ? Ralph was home again. What more could I have prayed for ? While these things went on we were sitting in the kitc-lien. In my mother's eyes I seemed to read a reproach which was not there, I believe, but in my own heart. I had prophesied smooth things, and promised help from some mysterious quarter which had not come. 'There are five guineas left,' said my mother. 'When these are gone, what shall we do 1 ' I tried to comfort her, but, alas ! I could find no Avords. Oh, how helpless are women, since they cannot even earn bread enough to live upon. When the bread-winner can work no longer, hapless is our lot. What were we to do when these five guineas were gone ? For, if I could find work to keep my fingers going from morn till night, I could not make enough to keep even myself, without counting my father and my mother. What should we do when this money was gone ? We must live upon charity, or we must go upon the parish. At the moment of greatest need my faith failed me. I thought no more of the letter I was to receive ; I ceased to hope ; my Paradise disappeared. I was nothing in the world but a helpless woman, a beggar, the daughter of poor, old, broken-down people, whose father was little better than a helpless lunatic. We heard from the parlour, where they were holding the auction, q2 228 *LET NOTIJING YOU DTSMAT: a murmur of voices, some high and some low. Suddenly there was a change ; from a murmur of words there arose a roar of worda — a tumult of words. Strange and wonderful ! I should have recognised the voice which most I loved. But I took little heed. The misery of the moment was very great. ' So ' — now, indeed, I heard the voice of his Worship, which was a full, deep, and sonorous voice — 'so may all traitors and villains be confounded ! Kidnapper, where are now thy wiles 1 ' I heard afterwards how Mathew would have slunk away, but they told him (it was not true) that his wife was without brandishing her cudgel. So he stayed, while his attorney, ignorant of what all this meant, congratulated his client upon the sale of the cottage. Five hundred pounds, he said, would not only suffice to pay hia own bill of costs, whicli now, with expenses of travelling and loss of time, amounted to a considerable sum, but would also repay Mathew's mortgage of two hundred pounds in full, and still leave a small sum for the unfortunate gentleman they had sold up. Mathew made no reply. He looked fearfully into his cousin's face ; it was stern and cold. There was no hope to be gleaned from that face, but the certainty of scrutiny and condemnation. What had he done to merit leniency? Conscience — or remorse — told him that he had tried to kidnap his cousin's sweetheart ; to drag her down to destitution ; while, as regards his own trust and guardian- ship, none knew better than himself the state in which his accounts would be found. The words of Mr. Carnaby reached every ear. But yet I heard them not, as I sat looking before me in mere despair. For I knew not wliat to hope for, what to advise, or what to do. Then the door was thrown open, and there was a trampling of feet which I regarded not at all, or as only part of this misery. The feet, I .supposed, belonged to the man who was coming to turn us out. I buried my face in my hands and burst into violent weeping. ' Is this some fresh misfortune ? ' It was my mother who sjirang to her feet and spoke. ' Are you come, sir, to say that we owe another two hundred pounds 1 What would you have with us on such a day ? We have nothing for you, sir, nothing at all, whoever you are ; we are stripped naked.' 'Madam,' this was his Worship's voice, 'you know not who this gentleman is. Look not for more misfortunes, but for joy and happiness.' Joy and happiness ! Wliat joy ? What happiness ? I began to prick up my ears, but without much hope and with no faith. ' My lord'— this time it was my father, who saw before him a splendid stranger, and concluded in his madness that it was some great nobleman come to visit him. ' My lord, I thank you for the honour of tliis visit. My lady will call the men and maids. I fear you are fatigued with travel. You shall take, my lord, a single bowl of turtle souji, as a snack, or stay-stomach, the finest ever made even for the Lord Mayor, with a glass or two of Imperial *GOB REST YOU MERRY, GENTLEMEN: 229 Tokay, the rarest in any cellar, before your dinner. Not a word, my lord, not a word till you are refreshed ; not a word, I insist.' At these utterances I raised my head, but before I had time to look around me, a hand was laid upon my shoulder, wlule a voice whispered in my ear, ' Drusy ! ' Oh, we foolish women ! For when the thing we most long for is vouchsafed, instead of prayers and praise upon bended knee, we fall to crying and to laughing, both together. Why, when I recovered a little, they were all concerning them- selves about me, when they ought to have been doing honour to Ralph. The Fugleman had a glass of cold water in his hand ; my mother was bathing my palms ; Sailor Nan was burning a feather ; my sweetheart was holding my head ; and my father was assuring his Worship that nothing less than the King's own physician should attend his daughter, * unless she presently recovered. He also whispered with much gravity that he had long since designed his Drusilla for his lordship, just arrived, who, though of reduced fortunes, was a nobleman of excellent qualities, and would make her happy. We heard, later, that Ralph brought with him an attorney from Newcastle, a gentleman veiy learned in the law, and the terror of all the rogues on the banks of the Tyne. With this gentleman and a clerk, beside his own servants, he rode first to the mill. He found Barbara engaged in her usual work of knitting, with the Bible before her open at some chapter of proplietic woe. No change in her, except tliat she looked thinner, aud the crow's-feet lay about her eyes. She recognised him, but showed no emotion. ' You are come home again,' she said. 'I have expected this. Mathew said the girl lied, but he was afraid, and I knew she did not. Girls do not lie about such things. You come at a fine time, when your sweetheart is begging her bread.' ' What 1 ' asked Ralph. ' I said she was begging her bread. She said you were pros- perous. If fine clothes mean aught you may be. Lord grant they were honestly come by.' ' I will now. Colonel Embleton,' said the attorney, 'place my clerk in possession and seal everything.' ' Where is Mathew ] ' asked Ralph. ' He is in the town. You will find him selling their cottage — Drusilla s cottage. By this time your dainty girl will be in tho road, bag and baggage.' ' What ? ' ' Pride is humbled. The girl has begun to repent of her stub- bornness. Of course so fine a gentleman as you would scorn a beggar wench.' With such words did this foolish and spiteful woman inflame the heart of a man whom she should have conciliated with words of welcome. 230 'LET NOTHING YOU BTS.VAY: He left her and rode into the town with such speed as the snow, now two feet deep, would allow. An hour later, Mathew, pale and trembling, rushed breathless into the mill. ' Has he been here ? ' Barbara nodded. Mathew went hastily to his room. Here he found the attorney with his clerk. 'These are my papers,' he cried, now in desperation. 'Every- thing is mine. The house is mine, the mill is mine, the farm ia mine.' 'Gently, gently,' said the lawyer. 'Let us hear.' Mathew played his last card. ' A second will was found,' he said ; ' it is in the desk.' ' We will wait,' said the lawyer, ' until the return of Colonel Embleton.' When Ralph came back, accompanied by Mr. Carnaby, he found Mathew waiting for him. 'Now,' said the lawyer, ' let us see this second will.' He opened the desk and drew forth the paper which Mathew pointed out. When he had unfolded and looked at it for a moment, he looked curiously at Mathew. ' This,' he said, ' is your second will ? ' ' It is,' Mathew replied. ' Found five years ago, and ' ' Quite enough,' said the lawyer. ' Friend,' he had by this time compared the signature with that of the tirst will, ' I make no charge, I only inform you as a fact, that this document is valueless, as bearing neither date nor witnesses, and if it did, it would still be valueless, because the signature is a forgery, plain and palpable. It will hang someone if it is put forward.' Mathew dropped his hands by his side. This was the fruit of his labours. He had forged the will ; he had made it of no use by neglecting the witnesses ; he had forged it so clumsily that he was at once detected. ' Any well-wisher of yours, sir,' said the lawyer, ' would recom- mend you to piit that paper in the fire.' Mathew did so without a word. ' Sir,' said the lawyer, 'you have saved your neck. Have you any more to say about the will 1 ' He had no more to say. The plots and designs of nine years came to this lame and impotent conclusion. 'Then, Mr. Humble,' the attorney continued, ' I have nothing more to say than this : Colonel Embleton expects an accurate state- ment of accounts and payment to him of all sums due to liim with- out delay.' Mathew made no reply ; he was defeated. He left the room, and presently, one of them looking through the open door, saw him leave the house with his sister. Ralph spoke not one single word to him, good or bad. By thia 'GOD BEST TOU MEIiRY, GENTLEMEN: 231 time he had heard of Mathew's attempted abduction and all his iniquities. There was no room in his heart for pity. In the morning Sailor Nan came to draw her pay. She heard that her husband had deserted her. She lamented the fact, because she had intended to be kept in pork, rum, and tobacco so long as he was ahve. But she was easily consoled with a jorum of steaming punch. Thus vanished from amongst us one who had wrought so much evil, for which I hope that we have long since entirely forgiven him (but he was a desperate villain), and we never knew what be- came of him. It was ten years later that Barbara came back alone. We found her in the porch (jne summer evening. She was woin and thin, and dressed in dreadful rags. ' Oh,' I cried, moved to pity by her misery, 'come in and eat, and let me find some better clothes for you.' She refused, but she took a cup of milk. ' I want to see the boy,' she repHed in her old manner of speech. \Mien Ralph came home she said what she had to say. ' JNIathew cmght to have had the mill. If it had been his, he would not have taken to drink and evil courses. You were an interloper, and we both hated the sight of you. When you went away, I used to pray that you might never come back. The wait- ing for you and the fear of you made him wicked. That is all I have to say.' ' ^Miere is Mathew ? ' ' Dead. Ask me no more about him. He is dead.' Ralph led her, unresisting, into the house. ' Wife,' he said tome, 'you have heard Barbara's confession. I, too, have had hard thoughts about her. Let us forgive, as we hope for forgiveness.' She stayed with us that night— an unwilling and ungracious guest — and the next day Ralph placed her in a cottage, and gave her an allowance of money, which she took without thanks. Per- haps her heart grew less bitter as years fell upon her ; but I know not, for she died and made no sign. On that year Christmas Day fell on a Thursday. Now, Ralph, who, though a grave man and the colonel of his regiment, showed more than the customary impatience of lovers, would be content with nothing short of being married on the very next day after his return. It is almost incredible that he should have had tlie forethought to bring with him a special license, so that we were not obliged to have tlie banns '-ead out. Could I refuse him anything '? Therefore, on the Wednesday morning, the very next day after he came back, we were married in presence of all the town, I believe, man, woman, and child, while the bells rang out, and our joyful hearts were warm, despite the cold without. I was so poor in 232 *LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY.' worldly goods that I must have gone to the sacred ceremony with nothing better than my plain stuff frock, but for the benevolence of good Mrs. Carnaby, who lent me a most beautiful brocaded silk gown, which, with all kinds of foreign gauds, such as necklaces, bracelets, and jewels for the hair, which my lover — nay, my bride- groom — bestowed ui)on me, made me so tine that his Worship waa so good as to say that never a more beautiful bride had been married, or would hereafter be married, in Warkworth Church. Thus do fine feathers make tine birds. VVlien the next bride is married in brocaded silk, with a hoop, her hair done by the barber, and her homely person decorated with jewels, people will be found to say the same tiling. Yet, since my husband, who is the only person I must consider, was so good as to tind his wife beautiful, should I not rejoice and be thankful for this strange power of one's outward figure — women cannot understand it — which bewitches men and robs th^m of their natural sense until they become used to it. After the wedding we went home to the mill, where my husband spread a great feast. In the evening came the mummers with 8ailor Nan, who drank freely of punch, and wished us joy in lan- guage more nautical than polite. His \Vor.ship slept at the mill because he was overcome with the aWundance and strength of the punch. Even the Fu.leman, for the first time in man's memory, had to be carried to bed, preserving his stillness of back even in the sleep of intoxication. And the next day we had another royal feast, to which all were invited who had known my dear husband in his youth. But to me it was a continual feast to be in the pre- sence of my dear, to have my hand in his and to rejoice in the warmth of his steadfast eyes. We are all, I hope. Christian folk, wherefore no one will be surprised to hear that on the morning of the day after the marriage, which was Christmas Day, after tiie singing of the hynui, ' When shepherds watch their tlocks by night,' my husband, giving me his hand, led me forth befoi-e all the people, and in their i)resence thanked God solemnly for his safe return, and for other blessings (I knew full well what these meant). Then the Fugleman leading, his pike held at salute, he recited the Lord's Prayer. Thus in seemly and solemn fashion was the long sorrow of nine years turned into a joy which will endure, I doubt not, beyond tliis eaitlily pilgrimage. THEY WERE MARRIED. PART L—MON DESIR. CHAPTER I. A new-year's dawn. New- Year's Day, in Palmiste Island, is very nearly the longest in the whole year ; it is also about the hottest, if one may say as much without giving oflence to other days. It is on this account that the Bun on this day, having so much work to do, gets up as early as six o'clock in the morning, an hour before his July time, after an- nouncing his intention by sending up preliminary fireworks in red and crimson. When the cocks see these rockets in the east they leave oflf crowing and go to roost. If you ask naturalists why the cocks crow all night in Palmiste, they generally say that it is because the island lies south of the Equator. Those who are not satisfied with this explanation are further told that it is by the laws of development and the natural growth of ideas that the Gallic mind has been bnmght to prefer coolness for times of crowing. The reasons of things offered by science are, we know, beautifully satisfying, and always make us feel as if we could almost create a world for ourselves if we only had a good big lump of clay and a box of stored electricity and a bucket of water and a pint of compressed air. When the cocks liave left off, the white man's dogs, and the Malabar dogs and the Pariah dogs immediately take up the tuneful tale, so that silence shall never be a reproach to the island. The journey performed by the chariot of his Majesty the Sun on that day, a most fatiguing one to his horses, involves a tremendous climb at the start and a breathless descent at the finish ; and is, in fact, nothing less than a vertical semi-circular arc in the heavens. The nature of the curve may be illustrated for unscientific persons by any young lady who will kindly raise her arms above the head, and join the tips of her fingers. At stroke of noon, on that day every man Jack and motlier's son in the place becomes another Feter SchlemilLl, inasmuch as he has no shadow. Strangers, at 2S4 THEY fVERE MARJiTFD. Buch a time, creep round houses and great buildings and precipices looking for the usual shade. They go to the north side, the south, the east, and the west, and find none. Then they think their wits must be gone for good, and sit them down to ciy. The wooUy- pated sons of Africa, for their part, rejoice in perpendicular rays ; they have taken the roof off their straw hats the better to enjoy them ; they sit in the open, courting their genial warmth ; they acknowledge with a grateful sigh that, after all, there is a little heat sometimes to be got in a generally cold and cheerless world. It is not till after seven in the evening that the sun has finished the journey and is ready to plunge red-hot into the cool waves. For five minutes or so after his header there is a tremendous seething and roaring of the maddened water : it is, of course, too far ofl' to hear the noise, but anyone can see the smoke of it, which is red and fiery, cooling down to sapphire and then becoming grey, after wliich the stars come out, and it is night. In this English land of mist and fog we never see the phe- nomenon of sunrise at all ; for either it is hidden behind cloud, or it rises too early, or it is too cold for us to get up and look at it. There must be, indeed, many men, quite elderly men, among us who have never seen the sun rise at all. Now, in Palmiste most of the people behold this most wonderful of natural phenomena every day. Perhaps the man on the Signal-mountain has the best view, because from his elevated position he can see the leaping of the sun from the sea, and the long furrows of light upon the startled ocean, and the sudden renewal of the unnumbered smiles, and the rolling of the mists about the valleys. But, as the man on the Signal-mountain is too often a mere ci'eature of duty, and must always subordinate sentiment to the watching for ships, it is probable that more joy is got out of the sunrise by the people below, who can give their whole attention to the exhibition pro- vided by Nature. Certainly, there is plenty to be seen down below. There was a pair, for instance, standing in the verandah of the house belonging to the estate of INIon DJsir, who seemed, on this New-Year's dawn, to find a great deal of enjoyment in the hour and the scene before them, though there was nothing that they had not seen before, times out of mind. But then they had one great advantage over the man on the Signal-mountain, that he is one and they were two — Hie et H;ec : Ille cum Ilia— which makes a very great difterence indeed. And they had other advantages. For, when the sun first appeared to them over the brow of the hill between themselves and the sea he shone on this particular morning straight down an avenue of palms ; he painted every leaf of every tree so that it glowed like red gold ; as for the trunks, the tall green trunks, he painted them in a great variety of colour, such as car- mine and golden red, and a dark green inclined to go ofi" into purple, and a most lovely, creamy, rich, soft brown, which did the eyes good to see, all the more because it only lasted a few mo- A ^^W YEAB\S DAWy. 2.15 ments. The two who looked caught their breath and gasped, so beautiful was the scene. To make it the more complete, because a suggestion of life always improves a picture, there suddenly ap- peared at the end of the avenue an Indian woman : she was dressed rather better than most coolies' wives, and, being a Madrassee and not a common Bombay person, she wore a long skirt or petticoat down to her heels, with a red jacket, and bangles up to her elbows, and, over head, shoulders, and all, a veil of coarse gauze. This is the kind of thing that the rising sun likes : it is good material for a sun to operate upon at his first joyous outset : so he seized up(in that woman and turned her into a bride, standing rapt, motionless, waiting for the groom, clothed and veiled, mystic, wonderful, in white lace, and he caused colours inexpressible in words to play about the dress beneath the veil. Only for a moment. Then they raised their heads, this pair of early risers, and saw how, upon the peak of the highest mountain in tlie island, there lay anutlier bridal veil, but of cloud, and how the sunshine struck it and it flew back as if the bridegroom was come and would gaze upon the face of his bride. And there were smaller things to note, for the lawn at their feet, not quite like an English lawn, because nothing in all the world is so good as a good English thing at its best, but a well- kept and tolerably smooth lawn, glittered as if it was strewn with a million diamonds and was worth the whole of the Cape, with Potosi and Golconda thrown in ; be.side the lawn the glorious Flamboyant hung out its flaming blossoms to greet the sun, and the Bougainvilliers proudly showed its pm-ple flowers, and the banana- trees and acacias with their perfumed flowers, and the Elephant creepers, and wonderful things with leaves of crimson and gold and long botanical names, which in England would have had pet and pretty names, welcomed the sun and proclaimed that they had all grown each one twelve inches at least during the night in order to honour the dawn of New-Year's Day. The house was long and of one story, built with a deep verandah all round it, that on one side forming a kind of general sitting- room, open all day long to all airs that blow, affording almost a quadrangular draught ; grass curtains, now pulled up, protected it from the afternoon sun and the white glare of the moon ; it was laid with grass mats, and there were long cane chairs in it, and small tables with work and books upon them. Evidently a place used for the daily life. Three or four doors opened upon it ; that on the left hand belonged to the private room, or study, or office of Mr. Kemyss, Seigneur of Mon Desir ; that on the right led into the boudoir or schoolroom, or retreat of Virginie when she felt disposed to be alone ; the door in the middle led into the salon, a large room, with a piano, and a few, not many, engravings, and more cane chairs, with books and magazines — a place not in the least lilce an English drawing-room, yet fllled with the atmosphere of home and refinement — the haunt and home of ladies. Such a 236 THET WERE MARRIED. house in Palmiste is constructed entirely, so to speak, with a view to the salon and the salle k manger. They are the two principal rooms — the only rooms. To the right and left of them on the same floor are the bedrooms ; at the corners and in unexpected places, built out as the family grows, are other smaller bedrooms belonging to the children or the girls. The verandah at the sides is provided with jalousies, so that it may serve for a dressing-room, bath-room, or nursery. The bedrooms are simply furnished each with a pretty little French bedstead in green and gold, protected by a mosquito-curtain and an armoire. There is nothing else, because nobody in Palmiste is expected to use the bedroom for any other purpose than sleep. Tlie salle a manger, papered with one of those French designs — a man on horseback, a girl with a guitar, anything — which repeats the same scene a thousand times, is meant for a feeding or banqueting room, and nothing else. Therefore it contains nothing at all but a table, a sideboartl, and chairs. At the back is the kitchen, and one can only say of a Palmiste kitchen that, although many a good dinner is turned out from it, the stranger would do well not to pry into its mysteries, nor to ask of the Indian cook how he does it. Behind the kitchen is a long garden, planted with all kinds of vegetables, European or tropical, according to the season of the year : at the end of the kitchen-garden there is a double row of banana-trees, their leaves blown into ragged ribbons and broken ends, each with its pendent cluster of green fruit and purple bud. And behind the bananas there are the cases — the cottages for the servants and their wives ; and here there is quite a colony of little brown babies sprawling ab(jut in the sun, with no more clothes than Adam before the Fall, and bright-eyed boys, miracles of intelligence, and already eager to learn the various and multiform tricks, lies, treacheries, and make- believes, by which a crafty Oriental may make his way from small things unto great. On the right of the great house stands a smaller one, called the Pavilion. The son of the house sleeps here, and all bachelor guests, of whom at the season of the bonne annee there are always three times as many as there are beds to put them in, so that they toss up for the beds, and those who lose make out as they best can upon mattresses stretched upon the floor. Therefore, the New Year is by this arrangement turned into a most beautiful and festive time for the mosquitoes. The Pavilion has also its own verandah, but much smaller and narrower, and without any curtains or mats. Yet there are plenty of chairs in it ; chairs with prolonged arms, in which the occupant may put up his feet ; basket-woi'k chairs, with a ledge which may be jJuUed out for the feet ; low chairs in which one's feet need no support ; rocking-chairs ; and a lovely grass hammock, in which, with a Coringhee cigar, and something with ice in it, and perhaps a book requiring no eS'ort to understand it, and dealing with pleasant Bubjects, one may while away the hottest afternoon, swinging A NEW YEAR'S DAWK 237 slowly. There is not much paint left aljont the old Pavilion, it is true ; the floor of the verandah, which is of concrete, is cracked ; the jalousies of the bedroom windows are out of repair ; but the roof is still weather-proof, and the beds are comfortable, and there are these chairs to sit upon, and the verandah faces the east, so that in the afternoon, when man most inclines to rest and medita- tion, the sun may be avoided. To the right of the Pavilion, again, was the sugar-house, a great place, with the mysteries of which we have nothing to do, except that the whirr of the machineiy and the wheels, and the loud, well- satisfied breathing of its untiring steam-engine sounded pleasantly on mornings when the crop had commenced. On this day, however — New-Year's Day — the day of the bonne annee, no man, not even a Malabar, on a sugar estate can be expected to work. Outside the sugar-house lay piles of the white bagasae, the refuse of the canes which have been crushed, with their sweet and rather sickly smell ; and here, too, was the great barn-like stable for the mules, with the doors always left wide open, because these sagacious animals know very well which is the best place for them, and are far too wise to go straying from a comfortable slielter where they are well fed and well looked after. Why, as they very well know, mules who have strayed have been known to get lost in the ravines, and to tumble over waterfalls, and be eaten by big eels, or to be captured by Maroons, and made to lead a deuce of a life canying out tiieir villanies in the forest. Who would be the accomplice of brigands and poachers ? Beyond the mule stable a road leads to the Indian Camp, a village where the coolies of the estate live with their wives, their babies, their brass pots, their dogs, their goats and little kids, their cocks and hens and chickens, and their pigs. It is quite a large and populous village, in which the dreams of the Socialist are realised ; for all the houses are exactly alike, and the people are all on the same social depression, and the way of living is the same for all, and there is a beautiful, monotonous level. There are such villages and communities in England ; but they are rare. One such I remember in the Forest of Dean, which seems to resemble an Indian camp on a sugar estate ; but even there they have a church and two or three chapels, and tliere are differences of rank and position. The camp is a noisy place, too ; for the babies never cease crying, and the cliildren quarrel continually, and the dogs for ever bark, and the women accuse each other for ever in shrill and ear piercing voices. What do they accuse each other of ? Matter of cakes, my masters, and ghee, and gungee, and cocoa-nut oil, and nose-rings and silver bangles. What farther, one knoweth not. Every day, after a wliole morning spent in invective, retort, accusation and defence, they sally forth, and bring the case before the Sahib, the Seigneur and Lord of the estate, who hears the evidence,, and makes an awai'd, and admonishes them to keep the peace. They accept the award as hnal, but yet they do not keep the peace. 238 TRET WERE MAIiBIED. And on all sides of the house there stretch the broad fields of the estate, planted with the sugar-cane ; narrow paths cross them, and sometimes there is a rough-and-ready tramway. All day long the coolies work among them, cleaning and weeding, heedless of the hot sun, because they are anointed, and beautifully shine, with cocoa-nut oil, so that every man's back is a mirror for his friends. Beyond the cane-fields, on all sides but one, is the forest ; for there are yet miles of forest left ; and beyond and among the wild woods stand the everlasting hills. Now, when the first glimmerings of the dawn were welcomed by the silence of the cocks and the barkings of the dogs, there began in the mule stable an uncertain agitation, as of expectancy, and, each, in his stall, the mules began to open eyes, to kick out in dreams, to whinny, to fidget, to sliake a tail, to paw the ground, and to look around. At exactly the moment, and no other, when the sun first touched the topmost leaves and the single spiral shoot of every palm-tree in the Avenue, the oldest and most sagacious mule left his stall, and led the way out of the stable into the bagasse yard, followed by all his friends and lively companions. Then there ensued such a turning over on backs, kicking of legs, rolling about on the soft stufl', champing of the sugary canes, and letting out of heels at each other in pure gamesomeness, that you would have said the mules knew it was New-Year's Day, and had begun at very sunrise to enjoy the holiday. This was not so, however, for mules are a philosophical, albeit a light-hearted race, and know that life is made up of twelve liours' labour and twelve hours' repose. Therefore they do what they can to get through the first half as easily as may be, and go in for unmitigated enjoyment of the second. After the mules had spread themselves out on the bagasse, and the Indians' dogs were all barking in the camp, and the Indian women all scolding, there was no longer any pretence possible for lying in bed. So that the Chinaman who kept the only shop on the estate rolled off his counter, and opened his door, and let down his shutter, and alloAved tho escape of die night's accumuliited fragrance. A village shop in this our native land presents a rich field for research in the science of smells, particularly on a warm summer morning, when it has just been opened. But what is it compared to a Chinaman's shop in Palmiste 1 Bacon and cheese form our own staple. One cannot deny that these are good, separately or in combination, for the production of a rich and grateful perfume. But the Chinaman, in a much smaller space, has the fragrant and united product of snook, which was once live cod-fish, half-cured pork, rotten bananas, sardine-boxes lying open for a week, a keg of arrack, cheese, gungee, his own opium-pipe, cocoa-nut oil, blacking, and cigars, all combining together to pro- duce a stench of extraordinary strength. When the doors and windows were open it fell out, a solid tliough invisible lump of con- crete smell, irregularly shaped, which rolled, slowly at first, but A IS'EW YEARS DAWN. 239 afterwai'ds more rapidly, down the hill. On the way it encountered a brood of tender yellow ducklings, who were going along — poor dears — thinking of nothing at all but worms and warm mud. These pretty innocents, when the rolling mass fell upon them, all tumbled over on their backs, opened their beaks, and quacked their last. Then the ball rolled over the side of the road clown a steep slope, upon which it met and poisoned a promising family of young tandreks, and so over the edge of the ravine, getting broken into a thousand fragments, and doing no more harm to anybody. Not far from the Chinaman's stood a little cottage, built of packing-cases and roofed with their tin lining, in which there lived an old, old negress, well advanced in the nineties. She was a witch by profession : she revealed the future, either by cards, or by in- spection of the palm, or by interpretation of dreams, or by the reading of omens ; she charmed away sprains, warts, bruises, and internal injuries by the simple apph cation of her own hand ; she cursed people's enemies for them, and made crafty gri-gri, which revengeful persons smarting under a sense of wrong bought and placed under the beds of those who had wrought them that injury, so that these wicked folk presently fell into waste and consumption and slow dying — a joy to behold. She cured all diseases by herbs which she gathered in the forest and under the rocks of the ravine ; and it was whispered that if you wanted such a thing as a safe but elegant preparation of poison, which would kill without leaving a trace behind, this good old lady would make it up for you from l^lants which she would find in eveiy hedge. She, too, awoke with the dogs and the mules, and perceived that here was another day whose joyful course awaited her running. She found her joints rather stiff at first uprising, a thing which surprised her, because she had not been brought up in her childhood to expect it, and she sat for an hour or two in the warmest and sunniest place, with her grizzled old wool exposed to the rays, and so gradually recovered the use of her limbs and got warm, and felt young again, and set to work upon the finishing of a most beautiful gi-i-gri, with a cat's skull in it and two dogs' paws and a shark's tooth — a gri-gri which was intended to cause internal pains and burnings not to be allayed, and thirst insatiable, and sleepless rolling about at night, and mental distress, loss of appetite, delirium, convulsions, death and a long black box. And all for five dollars. She is a most useful and admirable creature, and it is sad to think that when she goes — she is not gone yet — she will leave no successor. There used, in the old days, to be plenty of such old women, but emancipation was a cruel blow to them : the new contentment and ease of the negroes discouraged the profession ; there is no longer any demand, to speak of, for gri-gri and vegetable poisons ; the coolies know for themselves where to find stramonium and what it will do in skilful hands : the old slaves are dead, and their sons are not revengeful on account of their fathers' wrongs, and when this old woman goes there will be no cne left to carry on her forgotten craft. The refiec- 240 THET WERE MARRIED. tion should make the old witch sad ; but she does not reflect : sha thinks she is still in comparative youth ; she takes no heed of time, and she believes she will live for ever. The two standing on the verandah were a young man of two- and-twenty or so and a girl of seventeen. They were always up first, and they always met here and had their morning talk at sun- rise, while the girl poured out the early tea and sent it round to the bedrooms. The Indian boy, who had made the tea and brought it from the kitchen, stood on the steps rubbing his sleepy eyes ; and lying huddled up, also on the verandah steps, was old Suzette, the black nurse, in a wonderful blue cotton frock and red cotton turban and bare feet. Her grandsons. Napoleon de Turenne and Rohan Auvergne de Turenne, were at the Grand CoUe'ge ; and her youngest son, their father, who had gone into the brokery line and had been greatly successful, drove about, a splendid personage, in his own carriage. But Suzette remained a nurse ; and she was too conscientious a nurse to allow her foster-daughter to get up before her or to remain talking with Monsieur Tom without her presence. ' Chokra, ' said the girl to the Indian boy, ' this great cup for the burra Sahib, and this little one for the mem Sahib.' She spoke, only with these two or three Hindustani words, in the Creole patois, which has been adopted by the Indian and Chinese coolies, and by the Malays, Singhalese, Portuguese, Mala- gassy, Somaulis, and all the races who are represented, in this island of a thousand tongues, as the common medium. But, like many who have been brought up on a sugar estate, she was a poly- glot young lady : her father was English and her mother French. She spoke her father's language perfectly well, with a tendency to make a soft guttural out of the 'r,' which was not unpleasant ; and she spoke with perfect fluency her mother's language ; but she would have been as much lost as any Canadian among the half- uttered syllables and nods and winks which stand for French in fashionable Paris ; for, in truth, the Fi-ench of Palmiste may be pure, but it is a little old-fashioned. And she could talk Hindustani of a kind, not the Hindustani of the schools, to be sure, but the tongue of the people, free and unencumbered by grammar and syntax, and understanded of all alike, by the gentle Tamulman, or by him who talks the soft Canarese or the sonorous Pali. She could not talk Chinese, because nobody can, and even the Chinamen out of their native country laugh at their own language ; nor any of the Madagascar dialects, because the Malagassy are a polite peojile, and do not expect it ; nor Malay, because the Malay is quick to learn for himself any language that may be going about ; nor any of those African tongues which may yet linger in the memories of the blacks, because there is nothing the East African negro more readily forgets than his own tongue, especially when there is such a beautiful language as Creole lying ready for his use, and because nobody ever learns any African language who can help it. 'The men,' said the girl, 'are late tliis morning. I suppose, A NEW YEAR'S DAWK 241 too, they sat up last night, and drank too much brandy and soda. Did you sit up, Tom ? ' She spoke as if too much brandy and soda was an accident which might happen to anybody ; and, indeed, in this thirsty island there do happen a surprising number of these accidents every year. So that it is a pity steps are not taken to prevent them. The young man replied that, for his own part, he went to bed when his father left them, which was at half-past ten ; but tliat some of them sat late, and there certainly were a great many bottles of soda lying on the verandah ; and that they were all fast asleep when he got up, which was before daylight. He had in his hand a pine-apple, which he had just cut in the garden, and was eating it with a fork. This, if you please, is the true way to eat a pine ; and the best time to eat it is in the morning, when it has been freshly cut. ' Will you have a mango, Virginie ? ' he asked. ' They are ready to be gathered.' 'Send some to the Pavilion,' she replied. ' Ayapana tea,' he said, ' would be more to the purpose. Suzette may go round presently and find out if anybody wants it. If I meet old Pierre, I will ask him to take some cocos tendres to the Pavihon. Don't forget the letchis, Virginie.' Ayapana tea is a grateful drink, made by pouring boiling water upon a certain herb so called : its properties are many : it restores tone to the afflicted after a severe night ; it cools coppers ; it drives away headache ; it restores the power of coherent speech ; it revives the sluggish brain ; in fact, it was planted, in the first instance, by the man who made the earliest vineyard, and he placed a root of it between every vine. As for the coco tenclre, Tom meant the unripe cocoa-nut, which is gathered for the purpose of providing a cool and refreshing morning draught. In cases which do not require the severity of ayapana tea, the coco tendre is efficacious, and it brings with it a coolness which mounts to the brain and runs along the veins and gives elasticity to the limbs. And as for man- goes, they are good for all conditions of men ; the temperate, such as Tom, and the eternally thirsty, such as Sandy McAndrew ; they are the sweetest gift of nature to the dweller in the tropics ; they refresh and revive after a hot and sleepless night ; they bring back hope, faith, and courage ; they reconcile one to life even when the rainy season has begun, and the floods of heaven are descending, and a soft and steamy heat lies upon the earth, and a vapour rises like that of a universal washing day, and the mildew grows and spreads visibly on the boots, and the covers drop ofl' the book'?, and the very cigars go out of curl. These two were too young to know much about shattered nerves and revivers and pick-me-ups. But they had heard of such things. Therefore Virginie received the allusion to ayapana tea with sympathy, and understood what was proposed to be effected by means of the coco tendre. She was seventeen, which is Creole for twenty. A ad, because B 242 THEY WERE MARRTED. she was a Creole, she was of slight and graceful figure ; for the same reason she carried herself well and was gracieitse — one would like to add a few more of those delightful adjectives which French poets and novelists have at their command. She was dressed in a simple white frock, with a crimson ribbon round her neck. Nature, who is always — the dear old lady ! — thinking how she can spare something more to set off and adorn a pretty girl, had given her a wealth of lovely light curling hair, as soft as silk, whfch lay all about her face and clung to her pretty cheeks like tendrils of a vine, as if it loved to be exactly in that place and wanted no other ; her eyes were blue and soft, with long lashes ; her cheek was not ruddy like an English maiden's, but touched with just the tenderest bloom of colour ; for, although she had never left the tropical island, she lived among the mountains — Mon Desir was a thousand feet above the sea, so that the air was sharp. Besides, Virginie rambled and climbed up the slopes of the hills and do^^ni the steep sides of the precipitous ravine, and was as sure-footed aa a chamois and as steady as an Alpine guide. This it was which lent her cheek its rose. Altogether, a lovely and dainty maiden ; a girl on whom eyes were already bent full of admiration and hope ; but not yet spoiled, though she had been out ever since the last Queen's birthday ball. Her face and her gestures were full of vivacity, because her mother was a French woman ; her eyes were full of truth and loyalty because her father was an English gentle- man ; at every turn of her head, at every quick movement of her hand, one was reminded of her descent, because this was French and that was English, and this she caught from her mother and that she inherited from her father. As for the young man called Tom, he was dressed as only Colonials dare to dress. That is to say, he wore a flannel shirt without any collar and all rags, and a pair of flannel trousers, patched and darned in various places, yet almost as ragged as the shirt ; round his waist was tied a belt made of long red silk ; he had on a short coat or jacket of common blue cotton, something like that affected by the British butcher : it is strong, durable, and light, therefore it is greatly in fashion among the people of Palmiste, although it does wear white at tlie seams : for head-covering he wore an old helmet well battered and bruised. This was his morning dress, the things in which he rode about the fields, looking after weeds and all the evils which assail the sugar-cane. He was his father's manager, and he took this journey every morning, starting at daybreak and returning about ten. He was a well set up youth, not so broad in the shoulder as many Englishmen, with brown hair cropped close, and a small beard and moustache ; not a face betokening great intellect, nor had his shoulders the studious stoop ; nor was he shortsighted ; nor did he concern himself at all about literature or art, or the popular scientific chatter, or the current topics of the day. In fact, very few young men had read fewer books than Tom Kemyss. Yet he was not a fool : he studied machinery ao as to A NEW TEAR'S DAWN. 248 understand the engines and works of his mill ; he studied agricul- tura] cliemistry for practical purposes ; he was handy in the carpenter's shop ; he was good at all kinds of sports, was cunning of fence, a good shot, and as plucky a lad as ever stepped. And though he had never left his native island, and was seldom absent from his father's estate, he was not at all a rustical person, not a mere hobereau, nor a boor. Quite the contrary : his manners and carriage were as good as if he had been brought up in a London square and at Eton and Oxford. And he had been trained bj' his father in the old-fashioned ideas — which they say, those who know, are rapidly dying out — as to the courtesy, respect, honour, and service due to women. When he had finished his pine-apple he strode away, and Virginie heard him whistling to his dogs, and then there was a mighty trampling of hoofs, because the daily struggle then began between Tom and his horse. The generous steed, being of high mind and proud of his descent, resolved every morning that this should be the last of obedience, and so attempted to bring about a revolution. When the attempt was quelled he gallojjed away obedient again. Virginie poured out another cup of tea more carefully tlian the rest, placed it on a tray, and carried it away with her own hands. It was her mother's tea, and the girl had done this small service ever since she coidd carry an}iliing. AVhen she was gone the chokra was left alone. At least, he thought he was alone. Uiduckily, he forgot Suzette, and acted as any solitaiy boy might be expected to act. He looked about him for a moment. The sugar-basin was filled with the delightful crj'stal sugar, as sweet as sugar candy, and as sparkling as so many diamonds. It w as made in the mill of Mon De'sir, and is the best sugar in the world, a great deal better than the white lumps of which we are so proud. The boy knew this fact, and it made his fingers to cm-l and his brown eyes to glow. He had never learned the Church Catechism, this poor chUd ; otherwise, no doubt Pring ! Prang ! Crick ! Crack ! Four, if you please : two on each ear, so that the report was heard a mile off, and every chokra on the estate jumped clean out of his jacket — because he had no shoes to jump out of — in terror and sympathy. ' Hein ! Ha ! Thou wilt steal, then, good-for-nothing ? Take that — and that — little pig of IMalabar ! ' The boy fled to the kitchen, whe-e he was received with the jeers of those who had not been recently detected. And the old woman sat down on the steps again, in the sun, and laughed with her eyes, her lips, her teeth, her head, her hands, her portly person, and her feet. She brimmed over and she shook with laughter. E 2 ZU TEHY WERE MARUIED. CHAPTER n. THE SQmRE. Among the many questions which may be put by fools for the dis- comfiture of tliose who pretend to be wise, is the question how it is that men can be found to put their money into a sugar estate. For the dangers and risks are great ; the work is hard ; the climate is generally trying ; and the ultimate results are wrapped in a delightful cloud of uncertainty. As for the capital required at the outset, that is so great that it would maintain a whole family in England. On the mere interest of it they might take a house at Kensington, and give dinner parties, and go every year to the sea- side. As for the thing to be grown — the cane — it is surrounded on all sides by innumerable enemies, like everything else which is care- fully planted, tended, cockered up, and rendered effeminate. Some- times it is an insect, which comes from no one knows where, and has no other object in life than just to bore holes right through the cane, and so to destroy it ; or it is a worm that appears suddenly in the ground, and refuses to eat anything except root of sugar-cane, and no one knows where he comes from either ; or it is a kind of rot ; or it is a wasting away and a drying up of the sweet juices ; or it is some other of the many thousand diseases which affect vege- table life. Sometimes, also, it is a troop of monkeys, who get into the fields by night, and tear up the canes for very wanton mischief. Above all, there are the hurricanes, which lay the canes prostrate, tear them up by the roots, and wash them out of the ground ; and they may come any year or every year. So that, unlpss fortune is more than commonly kind, the end of every planter who has not so large a capital that he can stand up against two, three, or even four bad years in succession is the same — monotonously the same. That end is, in fact, smash ; and his estate is sold. And then, because hope goes on springing in that elastic and everlasting way of which we know, there is never wanting a purchaser with a little money to thi'ow away, and the old game begins again, with chinking of glasses and the sparkle of champagne, and the best wishes of friends, and the confidence of the young beginner. That, however, is only the fate of the small capitalist. If you have got plenty of money to begin with, and want to multiply it by ten, and can afford to wait, and like tropical life and exile, with the things which some weak-kneed brethren call discomforts, such as hot days and vertical sims, and mosquitoes and prickly heat, and insijjid beef and tasteless mutton, you can do nothing better than take a sugar estate and manage it yourself. Some day people in England will find out how profitable a thing it is, so long as you ueed not borrow money to go on with. Then there will be com- THE SQUIRE. 245 panies started. Owners will sell to promoters for four times the value of the estate : that will be good for the owners, who will come to Paris or London, or Monte Carlo, and have a fling so long as the money lasts : the promoters will sell the estates to the share- holders for ten times their value : this will be good for the pro- moters who will make money by one swindle, to lose it in the next : then the companies will issue sliares, publish prospectuses, and exhibit their sugar in grocers' shops ; and they will appoint managers of local experience. These managers will be so experienced that they will sell the sugar, receive the money for the coolies, put everything in their own pockets, and bolt, working their way round by New Caledonia and Tahiti to San Francisco, and from there to New Orleans, enjoying the roses and rapture of gambling saloons, bars, and billiard-rooms. The company will then ' bust up,' and the estate will be sold for half its real value to a local per- son, with no money but what he borrows from the bank, and all will go on as before, and, if we are all happy, let us not sit down to ask what odds. The proprietor of Mon De'sir, Captain Kemyss, commonly called the Squire by his English friends, became a planter tlu'ough falling in love. It was in this way. About five-and-twenty years ago, when people in Palmiste were beginning to think that they might try to forget the calamity of their great and terrible cholera year and to leave off telling each other horrible stories, there arrived in the island an extremely sprightly regiment, the ofiicers in which were nearly all young, rich, and disposed to make things cheerful for themselves and all their friends, so far as lies in the power of the English otticer. They manifested this disposition from the day of landing ; they received callers with eflusion ; they called upon everj'body, bought horses, dog-carts, buggies, pony-traps, American traps, drove about the country, accepted invitations to all the planters' houses, turned up uninvited to the Sunday morning breakfasts, held magnificent guest nights, allowed their band to play as often as they were asked, and gave balls the like of which had never before been heard of. Also, they offered prizes and cups at the races, and rode to win them ; and they had an eleven, and for the first year or so they played the national game with vigour ; they were always pleased to see everybody in barracks at aii hours and at all meals ; brandy and soda was continually being produced ; they exhibited and kept up, to the admiration of philosophers, a real Charles Lever-like air of solid, substantial enjoyment of life, as if there were no headaches, as if youth would always last, as if there was nothing in the world to care for beyond sport — in moderation ; cricket, billiards, and racquets — always in moderation ; parade and drill — in strict moderation ; gambling — in tolerable moderation ; feasting, drinking, and love-making, without stint or stay, mode- ration, or any restraints beyond those imposed by physical con- sideration, such as the dimensions of the waist or the absence of 246 THEY WERE MARIHED. the opposite sex. The colonel looked young, being about f(jrty- eight, but he was tough — besides, the resources of science were called in to maintain the dark glossiness of his hair and moustache ; the majors also looked young, being about six-and-thirty ; the cap- tains were in the early thirties and the late twenties ; the subs. were all under five-and-twenty. It was a thirsty, toss-pot regi- ment ; a rattling, rollicking, story-telling, song-singing, card- playing, racing, billiard-playing, betting, gambling, drinking, sit- up-late regiment ; a handsome, tiirtuig, dancing, mean-nothing, detrimental regiment ; a regiment, in short, which turned the heads of all the girls with fl^ittery and compliments and dances, and all the things that youth Inost loves. In this regiment there were a couple of young men — that is, comparatively young, for they had both already got their company — who were close friends, and not, like their companions, wholly given over to sjjort and amusement ; they had, in fact, the unusual good sense to perceive that life cannot be all champagne and skittles. Wherefore they sometimes went to bed early, did not take soda and brandy as a pick-me-up before breakfast, observed a liberal moderation in strong drink during the day, and did not look upon all pretty girls as made solely for the amusement of the man with the scarlet jacket. In fact, they were the small minority which among every madcap crew are always found to spoil sport by squaretoed temperance. In any otiier company they would have been considered as rather dashing young fellows ; in this, the comparative soberness of their manners and morals was felt to be a standing reproach to their brother-ofhcers. It is a safe rule that one must not be more virtuous than one's fellows. Therefore the regiment heard with great relief and thank- fulness that not only were these two engaged to be married tio girls of the island, but that they were going to sell out at once. They became, in fact, engaged to two cousins, girls of French descent, who had been brought up together and were to each other as two sisters. They were alike in appearance, in tastes, and in accomplishments ; they resembled each other in agreeing to be very much in love each with her own English wooer ; they were both young, both beautiful, and both amiable. They differed, however, in one small point, felt by both young ladies to be of no importance whatever; namely, that one was rich and the other poor. Captain Terrier, the grandson of a peer, who married the rich girl, was him- self already tolerably well provided ; Captain Keniyss, the son of a bishop, who had only a moderate patrimony, married the one who was poor. Now, if he had stayed in the army, or liad gone home and lived quietly ujxm his modest income, he would have got along very well. But when he found that Ferrier intended to remain in Palmists and cultivate his wife's sugar estate ; when he learned, further, that his own wife would like notliing in the world so well as to remain all her days in the place where she was b' mi ; when he considered the fertility and goodness of the land ; when the pleasures of a planter's Life were i)ointed out to him, with the THE SQUIRE. 247 chances of a great fortune, he 5'ielded to temptation and bought an estate. Observe the dilierence at the outset between the two friends. Captain Ferrier married a girl who was the only child of a planter with the largest and most fertile estate in the island ; with his own money and with the money already made out of the estate he would be enabled, whatever happened, to ride out the storm. Therefore, with ordinary care, his prosperity was assured. Captain Kemyss, on the other hand, invested the whole of his own veiy moderate fortune in purchasing an estate. To complete the purchase he had, like most of his brother-planters, to borrow of the bank a third of the purchase-money at nine per cent. He there- fore became, for life, a man encumbered with a hopeless debt. One son was born to him, Tom by name, now his manager, part- ner, and overseer. His friend Ferrier had several children, but all died except one, a girl— Virginie. When Ferrier died himself, during the great fever year of 1867, Captain Kemj'ss became the guai'dian of the child and the executor of the will. Madame Ferrier and her daughter came to live with him, and they formed, Creole fashion, one household. There are some men to whom the backwoods or colonial life, far from friends, seems to strengthen and deepen their old ideas about the most desirable manner of life. Captain Kemyss — the ' Squire ' — carried on in the quiet Palmiste bungalow the kind of life to which he had been himself brought up. He was on his tropical estate an English country gentleman ; he educated his son in his own ideas ; it was through him that Tom showed no rusticity, and Virginie no Creole insularity. He was now a man of sixty ; tail, grey-headed, with a grey moustache ; he had a military bearing still ; he was a member of the Legislative Council, and was, there- fore, the Honourable Captain Kemyss, and in the whole colony there was no one who bore so good a name, or was held in such great honour, or was more regarded for integrity and trustworthi- ness in all his doings as he. His life would have been perfectly happy, but for a certain grim spectre, which would not be confined in a cupboard, but kept marching about with him wherever he went ; stood behind him at dinner ; sat on his bed at night, and never left him. It was the lean and gaunt ghost of bankruptcy. He first raised this ghost by much calculation and sad foreboding in the hurricane year of 1868 ; two or three good years laid it in the Red Sea ; then bad years followed, and up it sjjrang again, vivacious and sprightly as Jack- in-the-Box, and more horrible to look at. After that it was never laid again, but came every year nearer to him, looked larger, and shook a more threatening finger. Some men are so thick-skinned that, although they see the danger afar off, and know that they will shipwreck upon it, yet they go about their business in perfect happiness, regardless of the certain future. The Squire, who was as courageous as most men, trembled and shook with shame and terror when he thought of the word bankruptcy. The year 1880 248 THEY WERE MARRIED. was, for the estate of Mon Ddsir a bad year ; the yield was poor , it seemed as if the soil was, perhaps, giving out ; prices were not high ; the crop was short ; the bank was beginning an ominous note of warning. Still, if 1881 was good— if there were no hurri- canes and prices improved — tlie estate would pull through somehow, as it had pulled through so many years before, by being able to meet the interest of the debt ; if not, if anytliingat all of the many things which might happen went against him, then, then — the blow could no longer be staved off — he must go to the wall. The pro- spect, to a man tm-ned sixty, of seeing the whole of his life's work destroyed and brought to nought, was a very terrible thing to consider. There was one way out of the difficulty ; one certain way ; yet it was a way which he would not suiler himself to dwell upon. How if Tom were to marry Virginie 1 For then there could be no more troubles about money. The two estates — hers, large and prosperous ; his, small and struggling — adjoined. They could be worked with the same mill and machinei-y. Tom could manage both. No one knew better than himself, the trustworthy executor and guardian of the child, how, year after year, good and bad together, her estate brought in a clear income of eight thousand pounds at least ; and how this money had been accumulating and piling up during Virginie's minority, until it was now, for a land of small capitalists, an enormous fortune. But to consider the girl, almost his own daughter, as the means of rescuing himself from difficulties was a dreadful tiling to him. Meantime, there were two persons who were as desirous of seeing this result as Captain Kemyss, with the advantage over him, that they did not conceal their wishes. ' Sybille,' Madame Kemyss would whisper when she saw the young people together. ' Lucie,' Madame Terrier would reply, pressing her friend's hand, silently. The cousins who were so much alike in youth had grown alike again in middle life. This is a trying time with most women : they have lost the later beauty of womanhood, and have not yet put on that of age. These two ladies, however, were still beautiful, in the soft and graceful Creole way ; only they looked older than they were, which, perhaps, helped them. They were past forty ; and they looked, somehow, though their hair was neither thin nor grey, nor were their faces crows-footed, as if they were past fifty. 'In France,' one would say to the other, 'we should have settled it ourselves by this time.' ' In England, ' the other would reply, ' the boy would have settled it with the girl before this time.' ' Tom is a good boy, Sybille. Perhaps he fears your possible displeasure.' • He is a very good boy, Lucie. That is why I wish he would tell Vu-ginie that he would like her to be his wife.' THE SQUIRE. 249 The only reason why Tom did not tell her this most undoubted truth was that he was a Creole. Now all Creoles are perfectly happy with the present condition of things, provided that ensures a sufficiency of curry and claret and a roof. It is a land of sweet contentment. Tom was profoundly in love ; but then he had been in love with Virginie ever since she was born ; there was nothing new in that. It was impossible for him to think of life without her. On the other hand, things were so pleasant as they were, that it never occurred to him to desire a change. They tell a story in Palmiste of two Creoles who once lived there ; they were de- votedly attached to each other ; they went on year after year enjoying a protracted springtime of love ; their parents died ; they still continued their gentle courtship ; the years passed on ; they became grey and bald ; still they met day by day, and had their little lovers' quarrels and the fond renewings of love, quite in the Horatian style ; when one was seventy and the other sixty-eight- — though, to be sure, they still felt like twenty and eighteen — a friend suggested that it might be almost time to complete the long engagement by a wedding. They considered for a few months ; they thought the suggestion reasonable ; they were married ; but they had so long been lovers that they could not bear to give up their old habits, and they presently separated with mutual consent, went back each to his own house, and ' carried on ' as before. As regards Virginie herself, she was young ; she had never considered or thought of the question at all. She was undoubtedly very fond of Tom ; it seemed as if life without Tom would be im- possible. But, as yet she was innocent of any thought of love, just as she was wholly and entirely ignorant of the world, of humanity, of evil, wrong-doing, treachery, and deception. To be sure, the coolies were always in trouble, always suffering or inflicting wrong ; always deceiving, cheating, thieving, and quarrelling. Only, what coolies do, regarded as part of humanity's statistics, is only inte- resting to those who are able to take a broad and catholic view of mankind, therefore not interesting to those who live among them. In other words, the white residents in Palmiste disclaim the brotherhood of the coloured man. It is difficult to understand the ignorance of such a girl so brought up. She had not only never left the island, but had never slept off the estate, except once, when she went to a Government House ball, and once when she went to a garrison ball, six months before this time. She had been edu- cated by her mother and Madame Kemyss ; her guardian took a share in the teacliing, too ; the only friend of her own age was Tom ; he was her companion and confidant. She knew nothing of society, except as she saw it at home when people came to stay. There was no art whatever within her reach, except music, which her mother taught her ; there was no church even within reach, and the Sunday was only marked by the reading of part of the English prayer-book ; there was no talk of literature, because her guardian had but few books, and she had read them over and over 250 TTTEY WERE MA BR TED. again ; there were no politics. As regards European events, they iire treated on these estates with about as much concern as if they were the events recorded in Gibbon. There were wars and defeats, and many thousands shiin ; treaties made became treaties broken ; the victor was flushed with conquest, and the enemy rolled sullenly over the frontier. Historians never alter their sweet flowing style, because the events of history are alway.s the same. To the dwellers in this far-off land the events of the present are no more real than the events of the past ; to Virginie, as she heard them summed up when each mail came in, they were shadows and unmeaning things. The realities of life were the morning and evening rambles, the flowers, the water -falls, the hills, the fruits, and Tom. CHAPTER III. tN THE bachelors' PAVILION. In the pavilion the lazy bachelors began, one after the other, to stir, sit up, curse the mosquitoes, and finally to get up and come forth, clothed, for the most part, in ragged flannels and rough tweeds which had known service and were stained and torn. There was great diversity as regards hats ; for some had broad Panama hats, with brims like the spreading amplitude of a family umbrella ; and some had the ordinary round hat of the period, generously endowed with flowing puggrey ; and some had solar helmets ; and one, which was the Padre, wore the ecclesiastical broad-brimmed felt which we all know and love so much. He also wore the long flapping coat which, with the broad felt hat, makes our ecclesiastics almost as graceful to look ui)on as their brothers of Spain. One only among them appeared as if he was dressed for a battue in an English preserve, perfectly turned out in garments which made one or two of the younger men ashamed of their rags. This was the Honourable Guy Talbot Ferrier, Virginie's second cousin, only son and heir of Lord Ferrier, and a captain in the line regiment now on garrison duty at Palmiste. Most of the party knew each other as only colonials can know each other — that is, with a perfect knowledge of all the sti'ong points, weak points, good qualities, bad qualities, virtues and vices which distinguish their brethren. Not the least use for any of them to pretend to sail under false colours, or to put on side of any kind. Of course they did it, but it was no use doing it. Among them was Sandy McAndrew, of the great Scotch firm of McMull, McAndrew, and Company. The only fault of Sandy, regarded as a man and a companion, was that he generally fell asleep during dinner. In other respects he was perfect. Then, there was Davy McLoughlin, his partner, remarkable for the fact that his legs after dinner had a tendency to tie themselves into knots, which is an IN THE BACTTELOBS' BAYILJON. 251 embarrassing thing to witness until you get used to it. There was also the Pink Boy, who was only nineteen, and had but just arrived, and as j^et had not had time to display his many admirable qualities. But he was good at laugliing ; and he was as handsome as Apollo ; and he blushed, which, I believe, that god never did. His tweeds were almost as good as those of Captain Ferrier, but they were in different style, because the Boy was not a noble sports- man at all, but an accountant in a bank. And there was the Assistant Colonial Secretary, a person of veiy great importance in the official world ; in private, a great retailer of good things, with a prodigious memory ; so that, once started, he would go on, v/ith stories new and old for a livelong day, and very often did. He knew every man, woman, and child in tiie colony, and had an excellent story to tell about each ; a cheerful, even a jovial com- panion ; and he was of the persuasion which allows a curly crisp brown beard to remain upon the chin as a complement to the curly crisp brown hair. There was also Major Morgan, who came with Captain Ferrier. He was a soldier by profession ; but his principal occui^ation was the playing of cards, which was the reason why he was so frequently the companion of the younger man. Though he was entirely addicted at cards, and found in the changes and chances of the pips the only joy in life, and thotigh he played to win, he was not a gambler. It will never be said of the Major that he was in difficul- ties by reason of his losses at cards ; rather, it may be safely prophesied of him, that in the immediate future, when he has re- tired from the service, he will begin a long and tranquil career as a morning, afternoon, and evening whist player at his club. But at present he is still young enough to play any game that offers, whether e'carte, loo, lansquenet, baccarat, be'zique, cribbage, whist, poker, euchre, all-fours, monty, piequet, sechs-und-sechzig, or nap. A cheerful man, who generally won, and therefore regarded the world as a place where j ustice is accorded to merit. The Professor — his name was Percival — who had been a resident in the island for four or five years, was always to be found at Mon D^sir at the bonne minee. Perhaps, when he arrived, he had enter- tained hopes of introducing energy and activity of mind and body into the lazy colony. All such hopes, if any existed, were now gone ; he dreamed no more of fostering a love for culture, being quite persuaded that things would go on their old way whatever he said or did. This is, after all, a philosophic line to take ; even in quite temperate zones it requires an amazing amount of talk, per- suasion, entreaty, tears, expostulation, kicks, shoves, cuffs, boxes on the ear, admonitions of stick, to move the people a small six inches ; in tropical countries it wants ten times the energy to pro- duce a far more miserable result, and fever is the almost certain consequence. Therefore, the Professor sat down, and said that uncultured man was probably as happy as he of the assthetic crowd ; and that, for his own part, he should cultivate his garden — which 252 THEY WERE MARRIED. words, like those of Candide, were an allegory. He found himself mucli happier when he had ceased to make himself unhappy about the downward tendencies, swinishness, and grovelling of the islanders. He was cheerful again ; he recovered his spirits ; began again to tell stories, and regarded life as an optimist. In person he was shorter than most ; he made up for that by being broader than most ; he wore a big brown beard and spectacles ; he had a catholic taste for wine of all kinds, if only it was good, and was almost a Frenchman in his admiration of all pretty women. There was one other guest whom one should notice among all the rest. It was the Padre. He was young, quite young, and enthusiastic. When he left Oxford to be ordained a Bishop's Chaplain for Palmiste, he thought he was coming to a place which was crying aloud for the guidance of the Church. He dreamed of an obedient and docile flock, patiently awaiting instruction. He would instruct them ; he would guide them — to be sure, he had only, with great difticulty, secured a humble third in Moderations — he would lead them. And to ecclesiasticism of the Keble College kind he would add, by degrees, {esthetics, athletics, art, and culture. There was not as yet, in the whole island, one single piece of blue china, nor a peacock's feather, nor a picture of the latest school, nor a ballade of the prig-poets, nor any old silver, or lace, nor ritual, nor vestments, or incense — all were downright sturdy independent Protestants, Scotch Presby- terians, and so forth. So that a deep depression fell upon the young man's soul. He was so young, too, that he could not bear to see things going on without joining in them ; and so sensitive that he felt the ridicule of his own long skirts ; and so sharp that he saw how his profession was more respected than beloved, and that his presence was too often a grne. Then he was too sincere not to be grieved by the thirstiness of his companions, their random talk, their 'wild words,' their readiness to play cards, and their eagerness to laugh at a good story. He tried to tell a few good stories himself, but perceived with pain that he did not succeed in making his hearers laugh. A tall, thin young man, with the narrow, high forehead and straight features often found in enthusiastic young clergymen ; one of the kind who aflect great thirst for knowledge with the air of having known it all beforehand ; who have an exasperating way of saying 'Yes, yes, yes,' to whatever ia said ; and a man perfectly sincere, perfectly virtuous, honourable, and religious, whose life is bound to be a failure because he under- standeth not his fellow-man. As they came out upon the verandah of the Pavilion, one by one, they began to disperse. The Assistant Colonial Secretary, observing the remarkable neatness of the Padre's dress, the length of hia skirts, and the glossiness of his trousers, proposed to take him for a pleasant walk among the hills ; they set oS' together. Those who saw them start reported an ominous twinkle in the Secretary's eyes, and a courtesy in his demeanour, not always remarkable in hia IN THE BACHELORS' PAVILION. 253 treatment of the cloth. When they returned, about nine o'clock, the Padre's long coat in ribbons, and his glossy trousers held to- gether by pins and bits of string, they remembered that twinkle, though the Secretary now takes blame to himself, and says that he ought to have taken thought of the Chinese raspberries and other thorny underwoods on that hillside. He may be very sorry, but his impersonation of the Padre in a thorny thicket caught by the skirts is funny, and has been known to make even the Bishop laugh. As for the Professor, he went into the garden and cut a pine-apple, and found a shady place to eat it in. Then he returned to the Pavilion and tlirew himself into the hammock, there to read a French novel, which the Pink Boy thought was a learned treatise, and therefore would not interrupt. Sandy McAndrew took a gun and went to take pot shots at the bo's'n birds in the ravine. His partner, with an eye to business, borrowed an umbrella, and went to insjject the canes. And the Pink Boy, left alone because no one invited Mm to join their party, ventured timidly to the verandah of the house in hopes of finding Miss Terrier alone and getting a talk. She was not there : but the squire was, and they went out for a walk together, which was not quite the same thing. The Honourable Guy Talbot Ferrier, born, as JDebrett tella everybody, in the year 1853, was therefore on New-Year's Day, 1881, in his twenty-eighth year. He was, at first sight, a singularly handsome young man, whose features wei-e regular, figure tall and upright, and eyes of a soft dark blue. His voice was musical and full, and his hands were small. He would have formed, in fact, an excellent model for a sculptor, and, by simply changing his expres- sion — nothing more — a most beautiful and poetical portrait might have been made of him. It was, however, just his expression which spoiled him. He had got, somehow, the wrong one, and so an incongruous and uncomfortable efi'ect was produced. There are a great many young men like him in this respect. Nature intended them for one expression, and they have gone astray, and so got another wliich does not fit. Later on in life it does not matter ; because the manner of life which gives the expression also changes the features. Now, in the case of this young gentleman, the nobility of purpose, the resolution of virtue, the courage of principle which should have appeared naturally on his face were not there. Virtuous resolution and high moral principle are not always necessary qualifications for making a young man popular. There were many men much beloved in Ferrier's regiment who were not implacably virtuous ; yet Ferrier himself was a man with no friends ; he was perfectly well bred ; he was not generally insolent ; he was not boisterous, or loud, or contemptuous, or superior, or any of the things which generally make men unpopular. Yet he was not liked. Many reasons might be assigoied to explain this fact : one will be quite suflicient — the young man not only thought of no one but himself, but did not pretend, as many quite selfish men do, to think about anybody. He was thoroughly held and possessed by the love of 254 THEY WERE MABRIEB. self. He had but one god — the soul within him which continually craved for something new, something which it could devour, some- thing which would keep it in excitement. Now the man who desires, not before all other things, but to the exclusion of all other things, his own personal gratification, is always in the long run, if it comes in his way, mainly attracted by gambling. There is a fierce excitement in it ; there is the rapid acquisition of money — the pos- session of which means venal pleasure of all kinds ; there is the trampling on other people in order to get it ; there are the alterna- tions of fear and hope ; no one else is benefited by your success ; no one else desires it ; every man is wholly for himself ; there is but one prize, and all desire it ; to make one man hapjjy, the rest must be disappointed. Therefore, though there are many pur- suits in which the egotist may gratify his favourite passion, there is none so entirely absorbing and so satisfying as gambling. A man at eight-and-twenty ought, even in colonial garrison life, to have some other pursuits. Ferrier found none which gave him any pleasure. He played continually : he would have played all day ; he was ready to play all night. The pleasing result, so far, was a quagmire of debts and obligations out of which the way would have been dubious even to a rich man. Now the house of Ferrier had never been rich. Lord Ferrier was not rich as a country gentleman ; as a peer he was certainly poor. And at all times there was present to his heir the vision of those debts and the anxiety how they were to be paid. This morning he awoke raspy in his temper, as often happens when men sit up till two in the morning to play e'carte and drink too much soda and brandy. And he remembered that the Major had taken another I O U from him when they parted. And, in addition, he found that his groom had let down his horse and cut his knees. It was small satisfaction, yet some relief, to kick and cufF the fellow ; and when this was done there was still the recol- lection of that I O U. ' A bad night, Ferrier,' said the Major, looking at the little slip of paper in his pocket-book. ' This makes thirteen hundred and fifty-five, I think.' Ferrier received the hint in silence. 'If I were you, my boy,' continued the Major, 'I would drop play for a while, just to let luck come round a bit.' ' Luck ! ' the loser groaned. ' There never was such luck as mine.' ' I don't think, Ferrier, that I ought to play with you ; it isn't fair. I keep my head ; you lose yours. I'm an old hand, and you are a young one. I play for the game ; you play for the stakes.' ' Hang it, man ! You can't mean that you don't play to win ? ' ' Of course I play to win. Every man does. But I tliink of the game, and you think only of the points. See ? ' Ferrier threw himself into one of the long chairs and relapsed into a gloomy silence. The New Year had begun badly, indeed, for him. It was going to finish — but this, as yet, he knew not — worse. Th^ IN THE BACHELORS' PAVILION. 255 JTajor strolled out with an umbrella, and then there were left on the verandah only the Professor and Ferrier. Presently the Pro- fessor dropped his French novel, and, lazily swinging in the ham- mock, contemplated the moody young gentleman with wonder and pity. ' It seems to me,' he said to himself, after a while, ' that here ia a young man whose conscience is pegging away at him like the eagle at the man on the rock. I wonder what he has done. To think that Virginie should have a cousin with such a face.' Indeed, at the moment the face was suffused with such a glow of vindictive wrath, self-reproach, and hatred, that it was quite horrible and terrifying to look upon. ' I wonder who it is, and what he has done : though, perhaps, it is a person of the other sex,' said the Professor. ' But it may be, perchance, that the Honourable Guy is possessed of a devil or two.' Towaixls nine o'clock, the sun being high and the heat of the day fairly begun, the men began to come back, and when the Secre- tary appeared leading the discomfited Padre, with his beautiful skirts cut into ribbons like a banana-leaf after a hurricane, and his black trousers rent in a hundred places, there arose a shout of admiration and joy quite beautiful to hear. And then they all went to bathe. Tom, who was the last to return, having been the round of the whole estate and made notes of shortcomings, led the way. He knew the pool where water was coolest ; it was half a mile off, where the ravine was the deepest and the narrowest. And he knew the shortest way to it, which was straight down a perpendicular rock about ninety feet deep ; but, as he went down there eveiy morning, it never occurred to him that anybody should think of breaking his neck there, and he was greatly surprised when half- way down to see above him the Padre clinging to the rock like a spread-eagle, unable to move up or down. Presently, the united efforts of the party got him up, and the Professor undertook to lead him to the pool by a safer and more circuitous route. Oh ! the pools and lashers, and waterfalls and brawling mountain streams of Palmiste ! Oh ! to sit under a little cascade of four or five feet high, to let the cold water flow over the hot and weary limbs, it is a joy which we who shiver in cold latitudes cannot under- stand or even conceive. It belongs almost to the keen and pas- sionate joys ; it is one which never palls, of which one is never satiated, the desire for which recurs every morning. ' But,' said the Professor, ' I prefer the long way round.' The bath and the walk home, and the dressing which followed, brought them well on to eleven, which, as everybody knows, is the breakfast hour of the Palmiste jilanter. Eleven o'clock in the fore- noon is, in fact, the proper time, the natural time, for eating. We foolish folk of England have abolished breakfast and substituted luncheon, a meal which spoils the day, depraves the appetite, and ruins the dinner. Nature intended mankind to eat twice in the 256 THEY WEBE MAERTED. day, and each time after the fatigue of labour. At eleven, if one gets up at five or thereabouts, the day's work is well-nigh done. After six hours in the saddle among tlie canes, for instance, which Tom had, one gets home with a hunger almost unintelligible in tliese climes ; a hunger which to a London alderman would make life indeed worth having. With what a cordial will that breakfast was attacked by the guests ; how claret flowed without stint or stay down thirsty throats ; how, after the simple bourgeoise plenty of bovillabaisse, fish fried, fish boiled, chicken and salad, cutlets, grilled turkey, and devilled bones, a stately prawn curry added nobility to the repast ; how coffee was followed by a chasse ; how Tom dis- tinguished himself beyond and above his peers ; how the Pink Boy contemplated the thing with rapturous wonder ; and how the Padre thought with something like shame of the plain English rasher and the cup of tea — these are things which may be briefly indicated, not dwelt upon. Envy is a hateful passion, and one must always con- sider the weaker brethren. After breakfast there was a rest. Most of them went back to the Pavilion for cigars. The Padre, fatigued with the morning's scramble, and perhaps just touched with the unaccustomed wine, fell fast asleep. Only Captain Ferrier remained with the ladies. He had shaken off his moody fit, and was now, having taken a great deal of claret, thorougldy set up and revived. Virginie had a great many questions to ask, and the two ladies sat and listened in their soft and dreamy manner. They talked about England ; and the child wanted to know all about her cousins and the noble head of the house ; what the castle was like ; what they all did when they were at home in it ; what the place was like, and what the people. Her cousin tried to describe them all. But what can a girl understand who knows no winter, no fog, no snow, no east winds, no green enclosures, no English villages, and no old English churches standing amid the graves of all the generations, girt with the old trees ? Meantime Tom, who knew not the meaning of fatigue, though he had been six hours in the saddle, and had eaten a more enor- mous breakfast than any of the rest, was busied with what appeared to be a net. At sight of that net the Professor arose, and softly retired to hide himself in the tool-house with his novel. Tom un- rolled his net, examined the meshes, mended one or two places, then rolled it up again. This took half an hour or so. Then he called a boy, and gave it him with a few directions. Then he rubbed his hands, and announced, with a cheerful smile, that every- thing was ready, and they could start as soon as they pleased. 257 CHArTER IV. THE HUNTING OF THE GOURAMI. *Let us first,' said the Secretary, the only one who had been taking any jiart in the preparations, ' wake up the Padre. He, too, must go with us.' He was awakened with some difficulty, and at first exhibited temper, and refused to join the expedition. However, he was young, and not to go might seem like showing a white feather unworthy of an Oxford athlete. Besides, the sport was the gentle and harmless one of angling. Therefore the poor innocent, though with misgiving, put on his broad felt hat and once more adjusted his white muslin puggrey and was ready. When the Professor had been led forth by the ear from his hiding-place and had been told that he, too, must go, and that resistance would be unavailing, the party was complete, the only man left behind being Ferrier, who had no taste for sport of any kind outside an English preserve. He suggested that the Major should stay behind with him and while away the heat of the day with a little e'carte', or vingt-un for two — a very pleasing method of losing money. But the Major refused, and went off' with the rest. First marched Tom, important, because he was the leader or captain of the chasse aux gouramis. Next came the Indian boys, cariying the gear ; then followed, with a rueful countenance, the captive Professor, grimly remembering fatigues on a certain occa- sion a year ago, and devoutly wishing that the sport was over ; after him the Padre, the long skirts of his only clei'ical coat left him flapping about his legs, and his white puggrey streaming behind the broad black hat ; and then the Assistant Colonial Secretary, with a Bweet smile upon him as he contemplated that broad hat and those flapping sku'ts, and thought of what awaited the owner of those gai-ments. It was the hottest time in the year ; in the shade the thermometer would be about ninety ; in the sun, anything you please. Yet there was a gentle breeze or stir in the air from the south, whence cometh the breath of the Antarctic, warmed upon its way, yet cool still, and fresh, when it floats across the hot and tropical twenties. ' In the ravine,' said the Professor, in order to encourage the Padre, ' there will be no breeze at all ; the rocks catch the heat and hold it till strangers come ; then they give it out, and the stranger is as grateful as you will be presently. It will be like the hot room in the Turkish bath — that room, I mean, where, if you want break- fast, you take the materials in raw and hold them in your liand till they are cooked. Last year we brought some tiflin with us — eggs, you know, and bread, and some slices of ham j we put them on a a 258 THEY WFJIH MARRIED. Btone just for a few minutes while we went into a pool after the gouramis. When we came back the eggs were hard boiled, the bread was toast, and the rashers of bacon were done to a turn.' ' I wish,' said the Padre, ' that I had left my waistcoat at home.' ' If you had been well advised,' said the Professor, whose only fault was a want of reverence for sacred things, ' you would have come on this expedition in your surplice, and nothing else.' Presently they came to the break-neck way down the cliff, down which they all scrambled except these two, and they went igno- miniously round by a longer and safer way. ' What boots it,' asked the Professor, ' to save ten minutes if you break your neck ? ' When they joined the party, the Padre observed, with surprise, that they were all undressing. Further, that the Professor, with a sigh, also began to shed his garments, and that he himself was expected to do the same thing. He realised the meaning of the irreverent suggestion about his surplice when he received a little maillot of coloured cotton, such as Frenchmen use to swim in. And he began almost to wish that he had not joined the expedition. In a few minutes the whole party were arrayed in this primitive dress, in which and their helmets and hats, and nothing else, they began walking along the hot boulders, under and among which the stream was brawling on her way. The streams of Palmiste are all alike : they rise in the hills and they run into the sea, through ravines beneficently provided by Nature for the purpose. If there were no ravines they would have to tumble, in break-neck fashion, over precipices. As it is, they gracefully roll, run, leap, babble, roar, prattle, fall, hasten, or linger on their way, through most beautiful valleys, sometimes deep, some- times shallow ; sometimes broad, sometimes narrow ; sometimes with perpendicular faces of rock, and sometimes with sloping sides, clothed with hanging wood. Sometimes the bottom of the ravuie consists of great rounded boulders, and one has to get along by jumping from one to the other. At first, this is fatiguing, until you get into the swing of it. Sometimes there is a broad flat bottom, covered over and piled with boulders ; sometimes the ravine closes quite in, and the stream runs noisily between the rocky walls of a narrow way ; sometimes the water dashes over the stones, forming hundreds of tiny cascades ; sometimes it glides under them, and is invisible for half a mile or so, though tlie dense growth on either hand speaks of the water below ; sometimes it widens out and forms lashers, pools, or basins ; and sometimes it leaps over a cliff and becomes a waterfall, dazzling, feathery, like diamond spray. And everywhere, except on the face of the rock, trees : such trees as one may dream of ; palms of every kind — the date palm, the cocoa, the raphia, the travellers' tree, the aloe with its long mast, the fragrant acacia, the tamarind, and a hundred others, whose names one knows not. In the shade under the trees and hidden behind Uie rocks are ferns, such as one may not hope to see in any other THE HUNTING OF THE 60URAMI. 259 country, and on the branches of the trees are orchids for those who have eyes to see and knowledge to understand. The ravine on that hot January day was very silent, winding in and out, growing deeper as it approached the sea. A few bo's'n birds called to each other flying across from rock to rock ; you could hear, perhaps, the chatter of monkeys in the trees. But there was no other sound. The place is so far away from the steps of man that a visitor who should chance to slip and fall might lie there until he died, and long after, without being found. For many miles of its course no one ever goes there, except at rare intervals when Tom brings his friends to fish for gourami, or when he strolls down in the afternoon with a gun on the chance of a shot. The coolies, an incurious folk, have no occasion to go there ; the negroes are afraid of ghosts ; and, of course, no one except an Englishman would venture into those hot and stifling depths at high noon of the New Year, with the sun straight over head glaring into all kinds of nooks and crannies where, save at such seasons of vertical advantage, ray of sun can never enter. The men were barefooted, and presently the Padre began to understand the Pro- fessor's allegory of the hard-boiled eggs. He was very hot in spite of his scanty apparel ; he asked himself, with shame, what certain people at home, who thought greatly of his missionary zeal, would say if they saw hixn now ; he was tired with the early morning walk ; his feet were blistering ; his legs ached Avith the perpetual leaping from stone to stone ; his shins were bruised with frequent falls. Said the Professor softly, 'Last year a man came here who was unaccustomed to walking on red-hot stones. We carried him up again after a Avhile, but he has never recovered the use of his feet, and now goes on crutches.' Tlien he was silent, and the Padre began to think there might be some truth in it. But their leader called a halt, and everybody, while the pre- parations were being made, sat down with their feet in the water. They were arrived at a most beautiful pool, about forty feet long and twenty broad. Great trees hung over the water, and splendid Hemes, with stems as thick as the trunk of a good-sized English oak, spread out long arms, octopus fashion, to throttle and destroy the trees which they embraced. They began — those who understood the method — by lowering the net carefully into the water at the upjoer end. When all was ready the Professor, with a groan, took up his i^osition in the middle, while Tom placed him- self at one end and the Secretary at the other. These three were places of honour assigned to those who were most at ease in tlie water, and presently they were all swimming slowly down the pool, joined by the others. It was a sweet and a beautiful sight to see the spectacles of the Professor glittering under his helmet, as he went through the task, without enthusiasm, yet conscientiously ; and the broad hat ^f liis Pteverence shading an anxious face, because 62 260 THEY WERE MARRIED. he was not happy about his feet, and because the proceedings seemed to lack the dignity proper to the cloth ; and the red face of the Major and the delight of the Pink Boy in the coolness of the Avater. Presently Tom handed over his end of the net to the McAndrew and disappeared. After remaining under the water for about five-and-twenty minutes or so, during which time he was adjusting the net at the bottom, he came up again. At this point the Professor, catching sight of the Padre's nose just out of the water, under the shade of his beautiful broad hat, began to laugh silently, and communicated a shivering to the net, so that Tom thought it was one of the eels, in length from ten to forty feet, for which the rivers of Palmiste are so famous, and went down again to investigate. By slow degrees and with great care the net was hauled along the whole pool and pulled in at the end. Then Tom's respon- sibilities began again. For he now had to dive down and bring up the fish, taking only as many as they wanted and picking out the big ones, throwing the young fish back again into the pool. Mean- time, those who were not actively employed sat on the edge of the pool with their feet in the water and waited. It was a good haul ; but Tom said that they must have one more cast of the net, and that the next likely pool was not more than a quarter of a mile down the stream. He set off, leading the way, as before. The rest followed meekly, with the exception of the Professor, who beckoned the Padre and made a gesture of silence. When the procession had disappeared beyond the next bend of the rocks, he rose and asked his Reverence if he wished to play that game any more. 'I — I — certainly think that we have had enough.' ' Then come back with me. We will put on our clothes and we will go cameron-fishing instead.' ' Have we not had enough fishing for one day ? ' The Padre thought of those awful stones and of his blistered feet, and remembered the cool verandah. The Professor hastened to explain. ' We shall not take ofi" our clothes for cameron-fishing ; nor shall we jump about on red-hot boulders ; and we shan't walk at all. It is a lazy sport. We shall sit under the shadiest place we can find, higher up, where there is a little air, I will teach you how to fish. I never catch any myself, but I know the way other people catch them ; and perhaps you will be more lucky.' ' All this seems a dreadful waste of time, does it not ? ' asked the man fresh from Oxford. ' You have only been a month in Palmiste,' said the Professor. * After a litde, you will discover that you can' i waste time here. There's no such thing as wasting time, unless, indeed, you throw it away on reading. Out here we are irresponsible. Life goes by, I suppose, because there is a cemetery ; but you don't feel as if it was ever going to end. There is no use trying to do any work. THE nUNTIKG OF THE GOURAMT 261 Nobody ■will ever be improved ; nobody wants to be improved. It is warm and sunny — what more can a man want ? ' 'If I thought that,' said the Padre, 'I would go straight back to England and find Work. Why, it was because I thought I Bhould find my Work here that I came.' The Professor smiled. ' That is the language of the schools. I know it.' ' Would you have me,' asked the young clergyman hotly, ' would you have me take this post in order to sit down in shady places and catch — what do you call them ? ' ' Wise men sit down and meditate,' said the Professor. ' Talk to the Squire ; he never reads much, yet he is as wise as Solomon. Piestless men buzz about, and shove, and push, and call it work. Do you know the story in Rabelais about the work of Diogenes ? ' 'I do not read Rabelais,' said his Reverence, coldly. 'Poor man ! Never mind. There was a civil chaplain here until lately who was a miracle of laziness. Yet he always went on t;ilking about his Work, with a capital W, you know, just as you do. It is very good to begin with, and the habit remains.' 'I hope the habit will remain.' ' It will. It will. But the thing will vanish. I am going home myself before long, because I am one of the restless men, and want to work. It is very foolish of me, and I am sure I ought rather to stay. Never mind. Let us go catch the camerun. Then we will find our way home and sit on the verandah till it is time to dress for dinner, and eat letchees and talk to Virginie. I have known her ever since I came here, which is now four years ago ; and I am in love with her, as you will be before long — very Ukely you are already — you need not blush, because it does you credit — and I am deuced sorry she has got that fellow for a cousin.' ' Why ? ' asked the Pacbe. ' Why ? Because — because I do not like him.' They had their cameron-fishing. The Professor led the way to a quiet little stream above the ravine, where there was shade. Here he cut a long thin branch of a willow-like tree and tied to the end of it a running noose, made of the thin and strong tendril of the liam. 'Now,' he said, 'you do likewise. Go and sit on that stone, there, and I will sit there. All you have to do is to keep quiet. When you see a cameron marching along, pit-a-pat, suspect- ing nothing, hook your noose over his tail. Then nip him up, and he is caught. It is quite easy to do it, though I have never been able, with all my efforts, to catch a single one.' ' What is a cameron like, when you do see him ? ' ' He is about six inches long, and he is black, and he looks like a crayfish, or big prawn. He is good enough to boil a beautiful red, and he lends himself to curiy, or you can eat him boiled. He isn't proud. Now, go and catch him.' The Professor was short-sighted, consequently he never saw any camerons at all. But he sat very patiently, with his noose iu the 2R2 THEY WERE MATiRTED. water and the camerons playing about the harmless trap in dozens ; and he meditated. ' She will be a great heiress ' — this was the staple of his reflec- tions — ' that cousin of hers will be a Lord, very likely he will want to marry her ; and she ought to marry Tom, because she loves him ; next to Tom, and if I could make up my mind to murder Tom, she ought to marry me, because I love her. And her money would set the Captain's estate on its legs again. Poor old man ! Half a hurricane this year and down he goes ! Hallo ! Padre, old man, wake up. It's haK-past five, and instead of catching camerons you've gone to sleep again. I haven't caught any myself, but I've had some splendid misses. Let us go and talk to Virginie.' 'o' CHAPTER V. HOW THB aiAIL CAME VS. This New- Year's Day was considered by the Mon D^sir party as in no way differing from any other New- Year's Day. As usual, there was ojien house so far as the resources of the establishment allowed : BO many beds, so many sofas, so many mattresses, so many guests. They came ; they feasted, talked, sang, and rejoiced ; there was abundance of talk, with the popping of corks innumerable ; there was the prettiest girl in the whole island to court, compliment, and tease. When the brief holiday was over they all went away again to their respective work. That is what happened every New-Year'a Day. All things in Palmiste go on as if they were to last for ever, or to recur for ever on the usual day. And certainly no one could have suspected that a time so festive, gay, and irresponsible would bring with it the cause of a revolution — nothing short of a revolu- tion — for the lives of half the j^eople in the party. When the Professor, after the fruitless hunt for cameron, sought the verandah of the house, he perceived, being with his spectacles nearly as good as other people without, that something had happened or was about to happen. First of all, the English mail was in, and there was present the Captain of the mail himself, who had just come out, and was sitting in great contentment in one of the easiest of the chairs. The Squire, whose face was troubled, was holding a letter in one hand and the Home News in the other. First he read the letter through, then he read a page or two of the newsi)aper, then he turned to the letter again, and then he went back to the paper ; evidently he was thinking more of the letter than of the printed page. The two elder ladies sat with tears in their eyes, holding each a hand of Virginie, who stood before them, pale and troubled, as if she was going to be offered up in sacrifice. What could be the matter? Captain JFerrier stood apart, with a small packet of open letters in ITOfV THE MAIL CAME JiV, 2fi3 his hand, occupied with his own thoughts, and they seemed as gloomy as those which had distorted his features in the early morning. Something was certainly going to happen. As a rule, the excitement of the mail lasts from the first appearance of the signals on the Signal-hill until the issue of the slip into which the news of the whole month is condensed by the Editor of the Commercial Gazette. Tins summary, which is all that anyone wants to see, varies in length from fom- inches to six inches and a half. Think of getting your news for a whole month condensed into six inches of letterpress ! All the great people in the Avorld, the Bismarcks, and the Gladstones, and the Gambettas ; all the ministers, states- men, generals. Parliament men, eloquent speakers, persuasive preachers, convincing wTiters, mischievous demagogues, restless agitators, misleading-article men, poets, prigs, dramatists, his- torians, novelists, actors, artists. Big Rag, Little Tag, and Bobtail — all over the habitable globe toil and moil with the utmost diligence for four weeks in every human tongue, and the result of the whole can be boiled down into a six-inch slip ! And even that does not prove that the world has been advanced by one sixth of the length of that slip. The monthly spectacle of a whole world feverishly busy, and doing nothing, is of itself, without considering the climate, sufficient to account for the philosophic calm and resolute inaction of the Palmiste natives. ' Why all this care \ ' they say. ' Nothing comes of it. Only sometimes knocking of heads together ; tumults, bi'oken bones, revolutions, and wars, with loss of property and triumph of the wrong side. Sit down, neighbours, and let us tell each other pleasant stories, and make merry while we may, until the night falls, when we are fain to go to sleep.' The perusal of the slip finished, the excitement instantly dies away. Everj'body reads the same papers, the Overland Mail, the Home News, and the Illustrated London Neim ; some go so far as to read the Saturday Revieic and Punch, or the Spectator. But they are few ; therefore, since no one can boast of any information but that which is open to his neighbours, there is no inducement to talk politics ; and since no more information can come for a whole month, there is no inducement to speculate. The captain of the mail-steamer arrived, then, about four of the clock, bringing with him the monthly packet of letters and papers for the whole party. ' I heard,' he said, ' who was out here, and I waited for the post to be opened, and so brought all their letters, as well as yours, Captain Kemyss. And how goes it with you and yours, and how is the pretty maid ? ' He had been on the line a good many years, and Virginie was Btdl for him his pretty maid, and he was a privileged guest at Mun De'sir, to come and go as often as he pleased and was able. Then he sat dowu and rested while the letters were read. There were two for Captain Kemyss — liis correspondence with 2f64 THEY WEEE MABRIED. the mother-country, after so many years of exile, had dropped by degrees, and was now almost reduced to nothing ; one for Madame Ferrier — a veiy unusual circumstance ; one for Virginie, who had never had a letter fi-om England before ; five or six for Captain Ferrier ; two for the Professor ; half a dozen for the Padre ; a pile for the others ; and a vast quantity of newspapers, Punches, monthly magazines, books and pamphlets for everybody. The first of the two letters which Captain Kemyss opened was from a certain cousin of his, a country gentleman of the Midland counties, and was respecting Tom. 'My advice,' said the writer, ' is to keep the boy where he is. Let him stick to the thing that he knows. As for sugar-planting being precarious, it has kept you for thirty years, and I dare say it will keep him. England is not a good country just now, especially for men like me, who have a dozen farms on their hands ; ' and so on — and so on — a letter which does not concern us. Captain Kemyss laid it down with a sigh. He had hoped that I^erhaps some chance might liave been found for Tom when the crash, so long imminent, should come at last. Then he took up the other letter, which was in a writing strange to him. When, now a dozen years and more agone, his guardianship of Virginie began, there was a second guardian, also one of Captain Ferrier's brother-officers, who had sold out, and was then living at Southsea. It was understood that he was to hold an honorary office, and that the child would continue to live with her mother at Mon Desir, while Captain Kemyss managed her estate. So honorary was the office that the acting guardian had almost forgotten the existence of his coadjutor, and had not even learned that he was dead. The letter was from his widow, and was as follows : — 'Dear Sir, — * As the widow of your old friend and brother-officer, one who •was associated with you in the office of guardian to Miss Ferrier, I trust I need no introduction or excuse for addressing you.' — ' So Jack is dead, is he,' said the reader, stopping to look at the sig- nature. 'Poor Jack! I had almost forgotten him.' — 'Circum- stances have not allowed me, until lately, to offer any hospitality to my ward, if I may call her so. I am now, however, I rejoice to say, at last in a position to discharge one at least of the duties accepted for me by my late husband.' — 'He married — I heard that he married — I forget who she was,' said the Squire, stopping again at this point to recall things, ' somebody of gtMjd family, I know — and she had expectations. Let me see. They were hard up when I heard last — lived in a cottage at Southsea ; that must have been twelve years ago. Then Jack died, I suppose, and she's come into the money at last. I suppose that is what she means.' He went on with the letter — ' I believe that our dear Virginie — or Lucie^forgive me if the name has esca|)ed my memory — must nofv be seventeen years of age. I hear from the Colonel of the IbJOth, just returned from HOW THE MAIL CAME IK 2fi5 your lovely island, that she is perfectly charming and perfectly beautiful. I have also learned, to my great satisfaction, that you have so well nursed her estate that she is now a considerable heiress. Now, my dear sir, do you not think it would be a great pity that this young lady, while she is still young, with her affections free, sliould not come to England and make acquaintance with her own people ? I have the honour of knowing Miss Ferrier. I was talk- ing on this subject to her on the last occasion of meeting her. I am happy to inform you that she expressed herself in the kindest manner concerning her unknown cousin, and will, I am sure, show her all the attention when she comes home that she can desire or expect. As for me, I do not disguise the fact that I should like to have a young and beautiful girl staying with me, partly because it is pleasant to have young and pretty faces about one, and partly because they make a house attractive and bring people about one. Others may hunt for lions ; it is my principle, my dear Captain Kemyss, that men care more for lionesses. When I get my fair Creole in my drawing-room I shall not let her go in a hurry. ' As regaids matrimonial prospects, you may entirely trust me. I will stop the first sign of a flirtation in the very bud, unless the man is thorouglily what you have a right to expect. There are not BO many men of the right kind in this town, especially since the terrible bliglit that has fallen upon landowners ; yet there may be some. Of course, I know there are many dangers which beset a girl of fortune or expectatitms. London is always abomiding in penniless adventurers, literary men, subalterns, younger sons, and even curates, who are longing to marry an heiress and hang up tlieir hats and sit down idle for life. But they shall not get near our Vii'ginie. I will surround her, my dear Captain. I will be like a hollow square with fixed bayonets, until the right man ap- prrxiches, and then I will be a benevolent Fairy. Of course, a girl of good — almost of noble — birth, who has none but good relatives — I think I have heard that her mother belongs to the House of Desmarets d Auvergne — who has also a great and pi-o- ductive sugar estate — with, the Colonel said, a hundred and twenty thousand pounds, but perlia^ts that is too good to be true — should look very high indeed. There is nothing to which she may not aspire, though if we dream of a coronet we should be sober ; our thoughts ought not to run higher than an earl or a viscount. However, I will do my best. Character, of course, as well as position, should be carefully inquired into. ' 1 have written honestly to you, because if you were really a private friend of my late husband you must be a man of the world. I frankly think that my ofier is a good one, and that in the interests of the girl you ought not to refuse it. If her mother lives, my in- vitation will extend to her ; but, on the whole, I sincerely tliink it will be better that the child should come alone, and acquire by living entirely among English people, the ideas, the air, and the tone of English society. 2C6 THET WERE MABEIED. ' I hope to have a favourable answer by return mail. I am ready to receive my charge to-morrow, if she can come. If a chaperon can be found, the arrival of my ward in person would be the most favourable reply possible. ' I remain, dear Captain Kemyss, ' Yours, very sincerely, ' Laura Hallowes.' The Squire read this frank and plain-spoken letter through twice. The tone of it struck his ears, long unfamiliar with the world of fashion, discordantly. His ward was to go to London, and stand in the matrimonial market with other girls, saying, ' Behold me ! I am rich, beautiful, young, of gentle birth. I will take a coronet in exchange for myself.' Yet the letter was honest ; also, the invitation was one which ought not to be lightly refused. It was right that the girl should go to England ; it was part of her education. She ought, as Mrs. Hallowes suggested, to make the ac(|uaintance of her own people ; she ought to go while yet young, with her affections free. And at this point, he said, with a sigh, ' Poor Tom ! ' and read the letter again. Evidently the letter of a woman of society — of the world ; and probably a woman who would make social capital out of her rich young heiress. Yet, what harm would that do Virginie ? At this point he folded the letter and raised his eyes. A singular pantomime was going on. First, his own wife took a letter from Madame Ferrier's hands, and read it. Then both ladies and Virginie gazed upon each other in a kind of stupor. Then Madame Ferrier held out her arms, and the girl fell into her maternal embrace. ' Child,' murmured the mother, ' can I let thee go ? So soon? So soon 1 ' ' Sybille ? ' said her friend, speaking the language of her youth, * we must let her go. It is for the child's own good ; we are two simple Creole ladies, who have never left the island and never shall. But Yirginie has English cousins ; she must visit her father's countiy, she should learn to love his home. Virginie, child of my heart, what sayest thou 1 ' ' What can I say ? ' she replied. ' Oh ! what can I say 1 ' ' It was thy father's wish, my dear,' her mother went on. ' He spoke continually of taking thee to England when thou wast grandie.' ' It is I,' said her guardian, ' who should have thought of it. My dear, the time has passed so swiftly that I forgot you were grown up. I ought to have remembered that it was due to you that you should go home for a while — for a while ' — he repeated. ' We must let you go.' He took her hands and bent over her with his kindly smile. ' We cannot bear to part with you, my dear; but, if your mother consents, we must let you go. May I see tliose letters ? ' HOW THE MAIL CAME IN. 2(57 One of them was from Mrs. Hallowes to Madame Ferrier, con- veying to her the same invitation as she had made to Captain Kemyss, but in diflerent terms. For she said nothing about society or matrimonial projects and ambitions ; but dwelt upon the advan- tage to the young lady of seeing England, and spoke of her own as a quiet home among a circle of quiet friends ; and she also dwelt upon the advantages to be derived in the way of music, art, and so forth. ' She must be, indeed,' thought the Squire, ' a woman of the world.' The other letter was from Virginie's second cousin, Maude, daughter of Lord Ferrier and sister of the man on the verandah, who was scowling over his letters. It was a very short letter, but kindly : — ' Dear cousin,' she wrote, ' I learn from Mrs. Hallowes, the widow of one of your guardians, that she has invited you to pay a visit to England next year. I sincerely hope that your mother may let you come, even if she does not herself accompany you. Remember that you have cousins who would like to make your acquaintance. ' Your father was at school with mine, his first cousin. I have heard a great deal about you and your beautiful country home already from my brother, and I assure you that I look forward to making your acquaintance with a very great deal of pleasure. We spend most of our time at The Towers, but generally have two months in London. Wherever we are, when you are able to leave Mrs. Hallowes, come and stay with us, as soon as you can. ' Your affectionate cousin, Maude.' These were the three letters which fell like so many bombs into the peaceful verandah on that sunny afternoon. And this it was which, when the Professor arrived, was making his host read the Home News with eyes which read indeed but saw not, and turned again to the letter. ' A Coronet, ' he murmured ; ' but why not ? Poor Tom ! Yet^ would it have been right — would it have been honest — to take advantage of her innocence and ignorance before she knows the world ? Let her go. And Tom must take his chance. A poor chance, indeed ! Rank against rusticity. Fashion against fidelity ; the lover of the town against the sweetheart of the country.' Virginie's cousin, meanwhile, had opened two letters. One of them was from his sister. He read it hurriedly, and crammed it into his pocket as if it made him angry. What it said was this : — ' Dearest Guy, — I hear from two or three people who know, or ought to know, that oui' Creole cousin is rich, young, and beautiful. 208 THEY WERE MARRIED Also that she has manners which would fit her for any station And that she is coming home to stay with a woman wlio wants her, I believe, as a help to get on in society. The Avoman, however, in very well, and will take the girl to good houses. I have taken notice of \\qy for yry^r sake — mind, for your sake — and because such a woman may, in certain cases, be very useful to you. Now, Guy, be reasonable. You tell me that you are in desperate straits. It is now six years, or thereabouts, since these desperate straits began. I do not reproach you ; but I remind you that you have had, not only your own allowance, but all my money, and all that I could persuade my father to add. He does not know of these straits ; if he did he would ask you how they are caused. I do knoiv, Guy. Again, I do not reproach you. I will even go on trying to help you, though I know that every ten-pound note we get for you will only go the same way as its j^redecessor. Now, consider carefully. When you were at home last summer I caught an heiress and got her here on purpose for you to meet her. You remember her. She was not, I own, in the least degree beautiful, nor was she clever at all ; and I did not expect tliat you would fall in love with her ; but she was rich and she was amiable, and she was ready to fall in love with you. And men in desperate straits cannot always marry anybody they please. But you would not have her, although you were in such straits. Now, here is this other girl. Come home immediately, on urgent private aftairs. Come home, if you can, in the same steamer with her ; make fierce love to her all the way home. When she goes to Mrs. Hallowes', let it be with your engaged ring on her finger. When you get her money you can pay ofi' yom- creditors, even if you only begin a fresh course of madness.. There, Guy ; that is all I can do for you at present. I have only to add that the times are bad for everybody who has got land, and therefore for us. And it is not the least use expecting any further assistance from your father, or from your afi'ectionate sister, Maude.' ' Then,' murmured the young man, ' how the devU is Morgan's I U to be taken up 1 ' The other letter was written in a less clerkly hand, and there were occasional mis-spellings in it. And it was this letter which made the young man scowl. ' I told you, Guy,' it began, without any polite or conventional endearments of speech ; ' I told you that I would let you know from time to time what I am doing and how I am doing. Very well, then. I am doing very well. And so is the boy. He is not like you, I am glad to say, as yet ; in face he takes after me and his grandfather, the scene-shifter, who was once a very handsome man ; and I hope he will never become like you in any single respect. And, as I am not quite a lady mj'self, though more so tlian when you knew me, I have got a girl who is a lady to act as his governess and companion. By the time the child grows up and can compare, I shall, I dare say, have become more like a lady. HOW THE MAIL CAME IN. 269 because I do not want him ever to be ashamed of his mother. An actress I am, and shall remain. Ten pounds a week, my gallant Captain, your wife draws. She's got her marriage lines safe ; but nobody knows that she's the Honourable Mrs. Ferrier. Biz is first-rate. We have got a piece good for six hundred nights, and the ghost walks regular. Portraits of your wife are sold wherever she goes — character-portraits, looking in the glass, tying a handker- chief round her head, in a riding habit — all sorts — and she gets letters, offers of marriage, bouquets, and applause, and everything which the heart of an actress can desire. So that she is quite happy. And the boy is so beautiful that she does not so veiy much repent having fallen in your way. And, as for his rights, why, whatever you do, you can't gamble them away. I do not want ever to see you again, nor to hear from you. The Army List will tell me where you are, which is all I want to know. And, on the least attempt at interference with my boy, we go to The Towers — accompanied by our own people, the respectable scene-shifter — and we see my lord, and we introduce the daughter-in-law and the grandchild. It is a good situation, and I think I should play it rather well. I remain, your wife, not at all affectionate, Violet Lovelace — it is a swell name, and I found it in the Court Guide — but it is not so good as my own real name, which is, as you very well know, Emily Ferrier.' When Captain Ferrier had got through the whole of this epistle, which did not take long, he fell into a study, in which everything became a nocturne, an arrangement in black. He was roused by the arrival of the Professor, against whom, for some unknown reason, he had conceived a violent and irrational hatred. He glared at him for a moment, and then strode hastily away. First he walked along the avenue of palms, and when he got to the end of it he swore aloud ; then, by way of distraction, he went to the stable to look at his horse, and swore again, and if his syce had been in tlie j)lace it would have been bad for that poor Indian. But he was not. The man was at the moment with the old witch of Endor bargaining for a charm which would slowly poison a horse, so that no one would suspect what was the matter with him, and an honest groom should not get into trouble. The terms of the transaction were amicably arranged, and the charm, wliich was to take the form of a little something to pour among the oats, was promised, on condition that this estimable person should pay for it beforehand — because he could write — in forged passes, by means of which the old woman afterwards made much money and helped many of her friends to deceive the police. We may here observe that, among the many things which once done cannot be recalled, perhaps the most fatal is such a thing as Guy Ferrier did when he was just twenty-one years of age, being then a young gentleman of very headstrong disposition, and fully determined upon having all he wanted, at any cost. He had always from clu dhood acted upon this principle, and it made him so 270 THEY WERE MAERIED. popular at school, that when he left the boys proposed to have firewoi'ks. In the Army he continued to act on the same settled principle, being now quite certain that he deserved to have all he wanted ; and he was so much beloved, therefore, that when it became known, directly after the arrival of this mail, that Ferrier was going home on urgent private afi'airs — presumably the raising of money to pay his debts of honour — his brother-officers so far sympathised with him as to give thanks unanimously that he was going to enjoy a holiday. It was upon this principle, also, being at the moment consumed and inflamed with passion, that, at the age of twenty-one, he entered secretly into the bonds of holy wedlock with a certain 'young person' named Emily Hicks. She was quite young, extremely pretty, quick, and clever, well able to take care of herself, almost uneducated, the daughter of a scene- shifter or carpenter and ' general service ' theatrical man, and she was just commencing a dramatic career, which now promises to be distinctly successful, when this thing happened to her. The interruption to her professional j^ursuits lasted rather more than a year. She then returned to Daddy Perigal, and informed him that for the future she should never again speak to her hus- band, nor take money from him, nor in any way own him ; that she should go back to the stage in her first-assumed name ; but, for the sake of the child, whom she brought with her, whose rights must be watched, she would assume her legal name when the boy should be grown up. She therefore returned to the stage under her old acting name, and began to work just as hard as if she were still really Emily Hicks, with her future before her, instead of the Hon. Mrs. Ferrier, a woman married and done for. As for her husband, he went his own way, and contrived, as a rule, to forget her existence, except when he was reminded of it by such a letter as he had just read, or by his sister's well-meant attempts to find him an heiress. Between himself and an heiress there always stood this woman and her boy. At first, he suffered from great apprehensions that she would communicate with his own people. As she did not, he gradually recovered confidence in her word. He could not marry ; that was true ; but then he did not want to marry. The goddess of Chance was the only bride he cared to worship ; some day, most certainly, if Emily lived and the boy lived, there would be a row. Meanwhile, so long as she let him alone, he troubled himself little about her. When his thoughts were turned upon her by such letters as he had just received he realised how bitterly he hated the woman. ' We are going to have a sad change. Professor,' said Captain Kemyss. ' Virginie is to leave us and to go to England.' ' Virginie will go away ? ' This was, indeed, a change. ' Yes : she had another guardian besides myself, though I had almost forgotten it : she is invited, and we think we ought to let her go : we hope it will not be for long. But who knows ? who knows 1 ' irOW THE 31 AIL CAME IN. 271 There were letters, too, for the Professor. Among them one which seemed to cause him much agitation. ' Come home at once,' it said, among other things. * The lonf^er you stay away, the more difficult will it be for you to get what you want. Come, and you shall join the ranks of the pennilesa adventurers and make a spoon or spoil a horn.' When they met at dinner, a certain sadness weighed upon their minds. The dinner was silent ; for now they all knew what was going to happen, and that the party would be broken up, never, perhaps, all to meet again. Virginie was going to England — the child who had grown up among them. Why, McLoughlin, McAndrew, and the Secretary had seen her every New-Year's Day, and plenty of days between, for seventeen years ; they had watched her pass from infancy to childhood ; she grew slowly, before their eyes, from a gu-1, imperfect, bony, angular, to a woman, perfect, rounded, marvellous. She was the joy of the house — the great and chief attraction of Mon De'sir. There was no one like her in the island. And now she was to go. Wliat — what would the place be without her 1 In Palmiste one is accustomed to seeing people come and go. The officers of the garrison, naturally, are constantly changing ; the Governor changes every six years or so ; the chiefs of the Civil Service are always changing ; and partners and clerks of mercantile houses are perpetually coming out and going home again, to say nothing of those who succumb to the extraordinary thirstiness ot the place, and go prematurely to their long home. Therefore, no one was surprised to learn that Captain Ferrier was called home on urgent private affairs. With the Professor it was different ; he was liked by many ; he had been in the Colony four or five years, and was regarded, though wrongly, as a permanent resident. He was an eminently cheerful soul ; he played a fair hand at whist ; he had at times a mordant tongue, and was good at the repression of those who, in Palmiste or elsewhere, endeavour to assert themselves over much ; and he had a great fund of information and anecdote, by means i >f which he could enliven the dinner-tables of the plain, honest Scotch folk who mostly make up the civil society of Palmiste. It was rumoured that he wrote — no one knew what ; men who had lived with him knew that he possessed, hidden away in drawers, a quan- tity of MSS. ; that he had been known to extract one, now and then, and to read it for the benefit of his friends ; so that, when the news fell upon them that he, too, was going, it was felt that his intention was to go home in order to publish those MSS., or write more. The dinner languished. The talk was forced. The Pink Boy told about the gourami-fishing ; the Padre recounted some of his sufferings on the boulders ; and the Professor narrated his fruitless chasse of the camerons ; but the Squire was dejected, the two eider ladies sad, Virginie anxious and restless, and Tom downcast. 272 THET WERE MABBIED. After dinner, the Squire filled his glass and gave his usual New- Year's toast. ' Gentlemen,' he said, ' I drink to all friends at home. Captain Terrier, I drink the health of his Lordship. Major, Professor, McAndrew ' — he bowed to each in t"'^n in his kindly and courtly w,ay — ' to you and to yours, here and at home, I wish a Happy New Year. ' It will be a strange New Year to us,' he went on, ' without our child. Virginie will go, I suppose, by this next mail ; we send her to the keeping of good hands ; we trust — that is, we hope — that we shall have her back among us in a year or two, when she has shaken off the rustic ways of Palmiste and learned the talk of Mayfair. But we are not afraid. Our Virginie will not forget her old friends ; and for hostage, we keep Madame Ferrier with us.' Virginie, who sat on her guardian's left, seized his hand and kissed it with tears. ' As for you, Professor,' went on the old planter, ' it's a dis- graceful thing that you can't stay with us. You've got enough to live upon — what does a bookman want more ? You know the foolishness of fighting ; here is a haven of rest ; and you must needs go back to wringle wrangle among the literary men of London. For shame, sir ; for shame ! Haven't we been kind to you 1 ' From all voices, except the two officers, there came a chorus. ' Haven't we been kind enough to you. Professor 1 ' ' Hech, mon ! ' This was the expostulation of Sandy McAndrew. He felt at the moment that after the many hundreds of sherry-and- bitters, cups of cold tea, brandy-and-sodas, and vermouths taken by the Professor in the room over his office, it was ungrateful in him to go. There needed no words. ' Come with me, Virginie,' said Tom, when he could get speech of her. She went out with him into the night, looking like a white ghost upon the dark lawn. ' I want to say something to you, dear,' said Tom, ' before you go. May I say it to-night 1 ' 'Yes, Tom. Say what you please and all you please.' ' It is this, Virginie. You are going to leave us. That is quite right. You have rich friends in England whom you ought to see. I always thought that you would go some day. And you are rich yourself. My dear, we have been so much together, all day long together for all these years, that we are almost like brother and sister, are Ave not ? ' ' Go on, Tom,' she said, with a quick perception, almost a pang at her heart, that they were not brother and sister. 'I am not clever at books,' he continued. 'The Professor is, but I am not. And I don't know how to talk about things, like your cousin. I am only a Creole, a son of the soil, a sugar-planter, cut, Virginie, I want you to believe one thing.' ' 1 will believe anything, Tom, that you tell me to believe.' ROW THE 31 AIL CA3IE IN. 273 * It is a very simple thing. It is only that I love you ' *But I know j'ou do, Tom.' ' And that 1 shall always love you, whatever you do. I mean — because, of course, whatever you do will be right and good, and the best thing that ever any girl did — that even if I hear that you have accepted some man in England, some clever man or some great man, I shall go on loving you all the same. I am what I am, Virginie ; but, whatever happens, good or bad, you will remember, will you not — oh ! my dear — that here, at Mon De'sir, there is one man who loves you always.' ' Oh ! Tom,' she said, bursting into tears. * Why must I go to England at all ? Yes ; you all love me ; you are all too good to me. And I wish it was over, and I was back again, and all was going on just the same as before.' This can never be. One of the most cruel things that Time, who is always dragging and tearing something from us, does is that he will never let pleasant ways remain or renew themselves. He is always destroying. He tramps on, always a lusty youth, whose companion, as in Watts's picture, is pale Death, and beneath his feet as they go the flowers are trampled down and their grace and perfume lost. There may be — there should be always to the end — other flowers before us, but they are not the same. And at Mon De'sir this is the last of the old New- Year Days when Virginie, the sweet and innocent child, would be there to meet and greet them with her smile and her pretty soft caressing waj's. ' She must go, Tom,' said his father that night, ' with her affec- tions free.' ' Yes, sir,' he replied ; ' I have told her to-night that I shall alwaj^s love her ; I thought I ought to tell her that before she goes. But she will go with her affections quite free, as you say.' ' Humph ! ' That was all Captain Kemyss said. What he thought was — Wliat will Mrs. Hallowes say if Virginie tells her ? CHAPTER VI. HOW THE MAIL WENT OUT. Next morning the party broke up in sadness, and in the early morning they drove or rode away. The earliest to go was the Professor. He appeared on the verandah with the morning tea. Tom was there in his morning rags, and Virginie in her white frock, always fresh and sweet as a lily. All tlu'ee were depressed, but the saddest of all was the Professor. ' It is my last visit to Mon De'sir,' he sighed. ' In a few days I ihall have left the island, never to see it again.' I 274 THEY WERE MAREIEB. ' If I thought,' said Yirginie, ' that I should never see it again, I would not leave it.' ' My most pleasant memories,' the Professor went on, lugu- briously, ' will be those of the days spent here — and of you,' he added. ' They ought to be,' said Tom, thinking of Virginie, rather than of Mon De'sir, though he was narrow-minded enough to think that no place in the world could be more beautiful — which is, indeed, true. Then he got up and went off for his morning ride of inspec- tion. Weeds grow, and coolies are lazy, and Sirdars go to sleep, even thoiigh lovely Creoles make all hearts sad by going away. ' You are ambitious,' Virginie said. ' We have always said that you would not make this colony your home. What is an ambitious man to do here ? I wonder, though, whether you will be any happier in England than you might be here, if you chose tc remain.' ' I dare say not,' he said, v/ith a kind of groan. ' After all, we must not be for ever looking out for happiness. There is no place in the world where one can laze along so happily as here — nor is the claret so good anywhere, I think. But one must work, and after a time one wants to do the work one likes best.' ' Everybody is always going away,' said Virginie. ' It is sad for the people who live here. Directly we get fond of anyone he resigns or gets transferred, and so we lose him. And now I am going too. At all events, we shall go in the same ship.' ' Yes ; I shall not have to say farewell until we get to England. Besides, it is a kind of satisfaction to feel that if I am going you are going too. One cannot think with any comfort of Mon De'sir without you. It would be too wretched to come here and find no Virginie. To be sm-e, there are the ladies, and the Squire, and Tom. But, after all, they are not the principal characters in the piece. They come on the stage, you know, to be grouped round the central figure— you.' ' Thank you, Professor,' she said, smiling. * You have always been kind to me.' 'I have always been in love with you,' he replied, with a frank- ness which did not displease her. She was accustomed to be loved, and regarded the Professor's assurance in much the same light as if it came from her guardian. ' Kot that I presume up(jn that fact. It is a beautiful thing for a man like me to be in love with a girl like you. I am proud of it, and, I assure you, grateful to Pro- vidence for the magnificent privilege of being in love with such a girl as you.' ' Oh ! Professor.' This incomprehensible statement confused her. 'I mean exactly what I say, though you do not understand what I mean. So long, however, as you know that I am your faithful servant, that is enough.' ' What have I done, ' she asked, ' that you and Tom should both say and think such kind things about me ? ' JIOW THE MAIL WENT OUT. 275 The Professor shook his head. ' You cannot yet understand,' he replied, * your own power. But you will before long. I do not know what Tom has said, but I hope that he put his case clearly, and that you will not forget any- thing of what he said. Because, Virginie, sometimes words, when they are first heard, seem to mean little. But, when they are remembered, they get in course of time to acquire their full mean- ing. Perhaps Tom's words were like these.' She was very young and she was very innocent. Tom's words had not been understood by her in the sense he intended — that is, not in their fullest sense ; not in the sense which we who read them give to them. In other woids, this child had no thought whatever of love-making, courtship, and such tilings. ' I remember perfectly what Tom said,' she replied, considering a little. ' Don't tell me,' he interrupted hastily. ' If you remember them, it is enough. You are going into a strange world ; you will get new ideas, and see new people, and learn to think difierently in many ways ; and you will be far from your old friends. Where- fore, remember Tom always ; and if you want counsel think of me, and let me help if I can.' And then the Squire appeared, and the Professor presently took his leave. Six days later, the mail steamer, lying in the harbour with her Bteam up, ready f(jr her start, presented, at five o'clock in the after- noon, an animated and lively appearance. The departure of every mail IS attended with plenty of bustle and crowds of visitors ; but on this occasion, when, in addition to certain French families, the departures of Virginie Ferrier, her cousin, and the Professor were all to take place together, it seemed as if the whole island were going with them, so crowded were deck, and companion ladders, and saloon. On deck there were gathered little groups of sym- pathetic friends. French ladies were pressing their infalhble nostrums against sea-sickness ; there were a hundred words of last parting, of recommendation, and of warning to be given ; there was the musical ripple of women's talk ; there were the strident voices of Southern Frenchmen. Marseillais especially, and the soft- blurred syllables of Parisians, or those who, by clipping of syllables, ■would fain pass for Parisians ; and there surged up from the saloon the loud laughter of the British ofiicers who had come on board to rejoice with their brother over his departm-e ; and the merchants and civilians who had come to mourn over the farewell of the Pro- fessor. Sorrow and joy alike demanded the alleviation or en- couragement of brandy-and-soda. Continuous were the poppings of corks : loud was the shouting for the steward ; higher and still higher grew the pile of empty soda-water bottles. On deck a little court surrounded Virginie. Among them were the Pink Boy and the Padre, both desperately in love, though their case was hopeless indeed. His Reverence, for his part x2 276 THEY WERE MARRIED. dreamed of a sympathetic helpmeet, who would admire his ser- mons, encourage his ambitions, and lielp him to show the colony an example of the active Church life. It did not occur to him that a girl brought up as Virginie had been might become many things ; but ecclesiasticism was impossible for her. The Pink Boy thought how delightful a thing it would be to have Virginie with him in those hot rooms of his over the Bank, in pleasing contiguity to the guano depots, and the port, and the bawling crowd, always en- gaged in lading and unlading. And, for his part, he did not under- stand how such a girl could not marry such a boy as himself. They went on dreaming, however : now, for reasons which will presently appear, they will dream in this way no more. The girl was flushed with the excitement and the emotion of leave-taking. She was in charge of a French lady, who was going all the way to London. All the farewells had been said but one. There only remained, of the home circle, her guardian : her cheek was flushed, and her eyes were bright and tear-stained. She had no heart for the com- pliments and pretty things wliich one after the other came to say to her. At last there came the time of departure. A beautiful gradation marks the ceremony of leave-taking on board the mail. First, the comparative strangers ; next, the friends ; then the intimate friends ; last, the members of the household. Thus, when the oflicers and the merchants, and those of the French peojile who knew her, had offered their hands and wished Virginie hon voyage, and all, even the Padre and the Pink Boy, were over the side of the ship and in their boats, there remained the hardest parting of all — that with her fond and faitliful guardian. He kissed her forehead, cheeks, and lips. ' My dear,' he said, taking her in his arms, * it is best for you It is what your father would have wished. Why should we re- pine ? Yet, it will be sad, indeed, without you.' So they parted. Captain Kemyss was the last to leave the ship before the bell rang ; the whistle shrieked, the screw turned, and the great sliip began once more to drive its long white furrow on the main. But the old man's eyes were dim, and for a wliile he could not see anything. When they cleared, he became aware that Virginie was stand- ing aft, beside the steersman ; and behind her were the Professor and her cousin, and she was waving her handkerchief and crying. At sight of her tears, the Pink Boy's ej'es filled, and he choked, and then he said a wicked word to one of the boatmen, which gave him relief. And the Padre, who felt a siiuilar inclination to choke, obtained relief by rebuking the Pink Boy for that wicked word. So they came ashore, and for many days the light of the sun waa dim to them, and curry, even prawn curry, had no flavour. It was then six o'clock, and it wanted nearly an hour to sunset. ROW THE MAIL WENT OUT. 277 As for Tom, the reasons why he was not on board were per- fectly well known to everyone, and there was a general feeling that they did him credit. If peoj^le are in love, and are soft- hearted and cannot trust themselves to say good-bye in public, then people had better stay ashore, which Tom did. But he had his little plan in his own mind, and this is what he did. From Mon De'sir to the Signal-mountain is a good twelve miles by road. But a man with strong nerves and a steady head can hnd a much shorter path by way of the mountains, which lie in an amphitheatre round the town. They are rather awful hills to climb about, being provided, more plentifully than falls to the lot of most hills, with bare faces of rock and jirecipices, and real saddle-backs, along which the rare visitor, who would get along the top, has to drag himself with a leg hanging over each side ; but Tom knew the way well, and had too often achieved the feat to think about the danger. Therefore, as he intended to see the last of the girl he loved, he climbed along this break-neck ridge, and made his way to the Signal- mountain. There is always a man on watch up there ; he is provided with a telescope two yards long or so ; he has a little hut half buried in tlie rock, and a mast provided with cross-trees and ropes for signalling the approach of ships ; he is up at break of day and re- mains on watch till sunset. And when hurricanes come he is generally blown far away out to sea, hut, telescope, mast, and all. Tom stood beside the hut with the telescope in his hand, and watched the departure of the steamer. First he saw the crowds on board break up and disappear over the sides, till there were only the passengers and the crew left on deck ; then he saw his father, who was the last to leave ; and then he saw Virginie standing at the helm waving her handkerchief. At first he could see her face, and he knew tliat she was weeping. The screw went round. The ship passed out of the quiet harbour waters and began to roll in the waves of the Indian Ocean. Virginie stood there still, after the point was cleared, when she could no longer see her friends, watching the receding shores of the island she had never left be- fore. What thoughts, what memories, were in the girl's mind ! Her lover remained motionless, glass in hand, while the ship grew less, and the tigure on deck grew smaller, till tlie white dress, the last he saw of Virginie, vanished altogether. Then he watched the ship itself till the sun went down and the night fell, and ship, and sea, and all dropped out of sight. Then, with heavy heart, he slowly descended the hill. He had seen the last of Virginie. How and when would he see her a