THE MAGIC INK 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
THE MAGIC INK 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM BLACK 
 
 J J J 3 y . 
 
 
 LONDON 
 SAMPSON LOW, MAESTON & COMPANY 
 
 LIMITED 
 
 ^t Sunstan's ^ouse 
 
 Fetter Lake, Fleet Steeet, E.G. 
 
 1892 
 
 [All rights reserved.] 
 
LOXDOX: 
 I'RINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, Limited, 
 
 STAMFORD STItEET AND CUARISG CROSS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE MAGIC INK. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. The Eobbery . . . . 
 II. The Writing of the Letters 
 
 III. A Mystery. . . . . 
 
 IV. A Reunion ..... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 22 
 
 48 
 68 
 
 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 I. 
 
 XL 
 III. 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 83 
 
 95 
 
 102 
 
 108 
 
 119 
 
 NANCIEBEL. 
 
 ; I. " Go fetch your Alice here " 
 II. A Presentation 
 
 III. "Adieu, my dear 
 
 IV. New Friends. 
 V. Flight 
 
 VI. Checkmate . 
 
 127 
 150 
 175 
 
 202 
 229 
 257 
 
 253231 
 
THE MAGIC INK. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE ROBBERY. 
 
 At the very busiest hour of the afternoon a 
 young man of about one-and-twenty was making 
 his way along the crowded thoroughfare of the 
 Strand, carrying in his hand a satchel that had 
 stamped on it in gold letters, " Cripps's Bank." 
 He was rather a good-looking young fellow, with 
 pale, refined features, a sensitive mouth, jet- 
 black hair, and mild, contemplative grey eyes. 
 Eyes were meant for seeing ; but sometimes 
 they refuse to perform their office ; at this 
 precise moment, for example, this young bank- 
 clerk beheld nothing of St. Clement's Church, 
 nor of the frontage of the Law Courts, nor yet 
 of the fearful wild-fowl that marks the site of 
 Temple Bar. What he did see before him — here 
 
 y B 
 
2 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 in the heart of the great commercial centre of 
 the world — was a dream-picture of a small slate- 
 quarrying village in the west of Wales, its row^s 
 of cottages, its terraced black cliffs, its squalid 
 little harljour, and the ruffled blue sea beyond. 
 And if the schoolmaster's daughter — Miss 
 Winifred — she of the raven hair, and the violet 
 eyes, and the pleasant smile — wxre to come 
 along by those cottages, and past the Wesleyan 
 chapel, and go away up into the wooded vale 
 running inland, so that she might secure a 
 perfect solitude in which to read her last letter 
 from London ? Llanly is a commonplace little 
 hamlet ; and the slate-quarries are not pictur- 
 esque ; but youth and love combined can throw 
 a mystic glamour over anything. AYhat w^as 
 this sono' that was runnins; throuo'h his head '\ 
 He had got the words, such as they w^ere, 
 scribbled out all right ; and now he was seeking 
 for an air for them — something pensive and 
 wdstful, and yet not too sad either : _^ 
 
 Sweet Winnie Davies, down hy the sea, 
 
 Sweet Winnie Davies, do you still thinJc of me ? 
 
 Do you think of the long days you and I together 
 
 Went zcandering hy Llanhj in the fair summer iceatherf 
 
 So the words began ; but they w^ere of less 
 
THE ROBBERY 3 
 
 importance ; it was the setting of them — to 
 some air worthy of sweet Winnie Davies herself 
 — that more particularly claimed his attention. 
 For this young Welshman, his Celtic nature all 
 compact of imagination, and poetry, and romantic 
 sympathy and sentiment, was chiefly a musician ; 
 his tentative performances had been in that 
 sphere ; there also lay his far-reaching hopes. 
 That he was also a bank-clerk may be ascribed 
 to the irony of fate ; but he did not complain ; 
 and sweet Winnie Davies had considered him a 
 very sensible young man in accepting this post 
 when it was ofi'ered him, seeing that he was 
 anxious above all things to get to London. As 
 to whether he carried with him a conductor's 
 baton in his knapsack, who was to foresee ? 
 
 When this young Arthur Hughes reached 
 the offices of the Temple Bar Branch of the 
 London and Westminster Bank, he entered by 
 the heavily-swinging doors, and approached the 
 counter. There were a good many people coming 
 and going ; the clerks at the various desks were 
 occupied. Young Hughes perceived that he 
 would have to wait his turn before he could get 
 his business transacted, so he placed his satchel 
 on the counter beside him, and remained ab- 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 sently attentive, if the phrase is permissible. 
 There is a hushed somnolence about the atmo- 
 sphere of a bank, a drowsy whispering of pens 
 and shuffling of feet, that invites to contem- 
 plation, w4ien one has nothing to do but wait. 
 And when one has been, but a few seconds 
 before (if only dream-wise) in a little Welsh 
 village — looking at the harbour, and the quarries, 
 and the cottages, and the slim little figure of 
 the schoolmaster's daughter — it is perhaps easy 
 to return thither. There are times and seasons 
 when the imagination becomes a powerful necro- 
 mancer ; hey, presto ! — and the bare walls of 
 this place of business suddenly vanish, and in 
 their stead there stands revealed once more that 
 Welsh landscape — the cliffs and woods, the 
 scattered cottages, the breadth of sea beyond. 
 But it is with that solitary figure he is wholly 
 concerned ; he follows her with entranced eyes, 
 watching every grace and charm of movement, 
 and glad that the sunliglit is around her. Nor 
 does she seem at all downcast, notwithstandinof 
 that her sweetheart is so far away. On the 
 contrary, there is an abundant cheerfulness in 
 her expression ; her step is free and light ; 
 perhaps she is singing to herself — only the 
 
THE ROBBERY 5 
 
 immeasurable distance deadens the sound. And 
 now, what is this ? She pauses in her aimless 
 stroll ; she turns and looks along the road, as if 
 to make sure there is no one in sight ; then she 
 produces from her pocket a small hand-mirror, 
 and proceeds to scrutinise her appearance in it. 
 And a very pretty picture she undoubtedly finds 
 there — the black eyelashes and violet eyes, the 
 clear and fresh complexion, the waving black 
 hair ; and is her vanity so great that she must 
 needs smile and look pleased, and even begin to 
 talk to herself? Arthur Hughes knows better. 
 It is not vanity — nor anything like vanity. He 
 can remember how she wrote to him shortly 
 after his coming to London : 
 
 " Will you be desperately shocked, dear 
 Arthur, if I tell you that I have found a new 
 companion ? But wait a moment — don't be 
 alarmed ! — wait a moment, and I will explain. 
 The fact is, I found myself so lonely after you 
 left that I was absolutely driven to do some- 
 thing ; and do you know what I did ? — I cut 
 myself in two. Yes ; I divided myself into two 
 persons, my Ordinary Self and my Other Self; 
 and I find the system works admirably. For my 
 Ordinary Self is a most commonplace, uninterest- 
 
6 THE MAGIC INK ^ 
 
 inir, useless kind of creature — indeed, indeed, 'tis 
 too true — living a humdrum, monotonous, worth- 
 less life, with a sigh now and again for certain 
 things that are past, and another sigh for other 
 things that are far away in the future ; but my 
 Other Self— ah, that is different !— my Other 
 Self is the young lady that Arthur praised, and 
 petted, and teased, and made much of : and she, 
 I can tell you, is entitled to some consideration ! 
 And now, when my Ordinary Self takes my 
 Other Self out for a walk, don't you under- 
 stand that I have some right to be proud 
 of my companion ? I have got a little 
 pocket-mirror, Arthur ; I go away up the Megan 
 road ; I take it out ; and then the Ordinary 
 Winnie says ' Good morning ! ' to the other 
 "Winnie. 
 
 * Good morning. Miss Other One : let me see 
 how you look. It is of no consequence how / 
 look. My appearance is of not the least conse- 
 quence to any one ; but you — you whom Arthur 
 imagined into existence — it is of the utmost 
 importance that you should lie trim and neat and 
 nice, for yoii know lie is very particular. Yes — • 
 pretty well — not so bad — the sea-shell brooch on 
 the l^lack velvet band is what he approved. The 
 
THE ROBBERY 7 
 
 saflfron frill might be a little broader ; attend to 
 that. Now, go on, and tell me all the things he 
 has said about you.' 
 
 ' All of them ? ' says my Other Self. ' Well 
 he has called me good, and sweet, and kind, and 
 charming, and good-tempered, and clever, and 
 affectionate, and true, and tender, and wonderful, 
 and delightful ' 
 
 ' It is not surprising you should give yourself 
 airs ! ' 
 
 ' and stupid, and silly, and perverse, and 
 
 ill-natured, and cross, and unyielding, and 
 unjust, and quarrelsome, and obstinate ' 
 
 ' Not so much to boast of, after all ! ' says my 
 Ordinary Self. ' But now let me hear some of 
 the things you have said about him, to himself, 
 or to yourself, or to other people.' 
 
 ^ Oh, no, you don't ! ' says my Other Self, 
 laughing at me from the mirror. ' Telling's 
 telling. You might go away and write it all 
 down ; and send it over to London ; and then 
 there would be such an exhibition of vanity as 
 was never seen in the world before. It wouldn't 
 be at all wholesome. You often say things you 
 don't quite mean ; and it isn't safe to put them 
 down on paper ; at the same time, if Arthur were 
 
8 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 to appear here just now — well — I should most 
 likely ask you to go away — you would not be 
 wanted here at all— and then, if lie and I were 
 left together, then I might say some of those 
 thinii^s over ao;ain. But to have them written 
 down — no, thank you ! ' 
 
 So, you see, dear Arthur, the companion I 
 have invented — or, rather, whom you imagined 
 into existence for me — is not at all monotonously 
 civil and acquiescent ; sometimes we have dread- 
 ful quarrels ; but in such cases my Ordinary 
 Self is easily triumphant ; my Ordinary Self 
 claps the mirror into her pocket — and then walks 
 home alone." 
 
 Thus it was that Arthur Hughes, standing in 
 the London and Westminster Bank, and gazing 
 through the opaque walls at that distant dream- 
 land, knew it was no personal vanity that 
 prompted Winnie Davies to carry a little hand- 
 glass with her on her solitary wanderings. No, 
 it was rather a pretty fancy, that lent charm and 
 piquancy to many a letter ; for sometimes, if the 
 trutli must be told, the Ordinary AVinnie con- 
 siderately allowed the Other Winnie to have far 
 the larger part of the conversation, she merely 
 acting the part of reporter, and not holding her- 
 
THE ROBBERY 9 
 
 self responsible when any dark and mysterious 
 secrets had to be confessed. 
 
 It was at this moment that some one touched 
 Arthur Hughes's arm : instantly the dream- 
 picture (that had been before his eyes for perhaps 
 not more than three seconds or so) disappeared : 
 he was again in the Strand. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said a voice close to 
 him, '' but can you direct me to the London and 
 Counties Bank ? " 
 
 Naturally he faced round to see who the 
 questioner was. He found before him a tall, 
 meagre, grey-complexioned man, with an aquiline 
 nose, steely eyes, and a " goatee " ; and he was 
 just about to give the desired information when 
 some curious instinct caused him to turn again, 
 to see that his hand-bag was safe. It was gone ! 
 In that brief instant it had been snatched away 
 — no doubt by a confederate of the American- 
 lookino; strano;er. But that w^as not what Arthur 
 Hughes understood just then ; he thought of 
 neither why nor wherefore ; blank horror had 
 fallen over him ; he seemed to be drowning and 
 choking, and to have lost the power of speech. 
 The satchel — and its £7,560 belonging to his 
 employers — vanished into air : it was as if he 
 
lo THE MAGIC INK 
 
 had been dealt some violent blow, depriving him 
 of reason. His haggard eyes stared up and 
 down ; the world around him appeared strangely 
 empty ; and then, as the clerk on the other side 
 of the counter, seeing that something was wrong, 
 asked him a question, he managed to stammer 
 out, in panting accents — ■ 
 
 ''My bag — there were £7,560 in bank-notes 
 in it — belonging to Cripps's — I had it a mo- 
 ment ago " 
 
 The next instant the truth flashed in upon 
 him : he had been robbed — and the tall man who 
 had touched him on the arm, to distract his 
 attention, was one of the thieves. Blindly and 
 wildly he made for the swinging-door and 
 rushed into the street. He could easily recog- 
 nise the tall man ; the confederates could not 
 be far away ; was there not yet a frantic chance 
 of recovery ? But, alas ! what was this that 
 confronted him — this endless surging sea of hu- 
 man beings into which those two had disap- 
 peared ? He ran this way and that ; he hurriedly 
 searched the hall of the Law Courts opposite ; he 
 glanced breathlessly in at the bars of the neigh- 
 bouring taverns — but with an ever-increasing 
 and terrible consciousness that his pursuit was 
 
THE ROBBERY ii 
 
 hopeless, tliat already tlie thieves Nvere well away 
 with their booty, and that a calamity too awful 
 to be calculated or even thought of had befallen 
 him. It had all happened so rapidly as to be 
 quite incredible. He kept trying to assure him- 
 self that it was impossible. Why, only a few 
 minutes ago he had nothing more important to 
 think of than the setting of a song for Winifred 
 Davies. The hand-bag must be somewhere — 
 somewhere near : there may have been a mis- 
 take. And so he went quickly back to the bank. 
 
 The cashier to whom he had formerly spoken 
 was engaged ; but in his agony of haste he made 
 bold to interrupt. 
 
 ''I beg your pardon," he said breathlessly, 
 " but — but have you seen anything yet of my 
 bag ? I — I had it only a few moments ago — here 
 — here on this counter " 
 
 The cashier looked up from his cheques. 
 
 " Your bag ? — no. Have you lost it ? " 
 
 " It must have been stolen — only a few mo- 
 ments ago ! " he exclaimed ; " here — ^just where 
 I am standing. I set it on the counter — some 
 one spoke to me, and I turned for a moment. 
 It cannot be in the bank, then ? They must 
 have stolen it ! " 
 
12 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 " If that is so," said the cashier, " you'd better 
 jump into a hansom and drive along to Scotland 
 Yard." 
 
 " But they cannot have gone far " 
 
 He rushed again into the street, and with 
 distracted eyes looked everywhere around, and 
 looked in vain : the dread thing was that this 
 moving phantasmagoria was full of features, but 
 no one of them of any import to him. The 
 pavements showed him nothing ; the cab-rank 
 showed him nothing; the passing omnibuses 
 took no heed of him. He hurried hither and 
 thither, searching the many places he had searched 
 a few moments before — the bars of the adjacent 
 taverns, the entrance to the Law Courts, and 
 what not ; but nowhere could he find anyone 
 resembling the man who had asked him for the 
 whereabouts of the London and Counties. And 
 at last conviction and despair confronted him, 
 and would not be denied. The money was gone. 
 No one would believe the improbable tale he 
 would have to tell of the manner of its disap- 
 pearance. There would be a prosecution — con- 
 viction — a prison ; disgrace would fall on his old 
 father, the white-haired Wesleyan minister, whose 
 chief pride in life was his only son. And as for 
 
THE ROBBERY 13 
 
 Winifred Davies ? Well, she liad made many 
 promises before lie left Llanly, but she never 
 undertook to correspond with a jail-bird. 
 
 Now, if in this sudden and terrible crisis 
 Arthur Hughes had managed to keep his wits 
 about him, he would have perceived that the 
 best, the only, thing for him to do, was to go 
 straight away back to Cripps's, tell the officials of 
 the bank (whether they believed him or not) pre- 
 cisely what had occurred, and let them place the 
 whole matter at once in the hands of the police. 
 But this young man was of a highly nervous, 
 sensitive, high-strung temperament; his imagi- 
 nation magnified dangers, and even created them ; 
 and, above all, it was not so much of himself as 
 of those nearest and dearest to him that he was 
 now^ thinking, so far as he was able to think. 
 And in truth he was not able to think very 
 clearly. Dazed, bewildered, desperate, to him 
 this roaring thoroughfare of the Strand was a 
 dreadful and hideous place ; the noise of the 
 cabs and carriages, the waggons and omnibuses, 
 seemed to stupefy him ; he was driven to go 
 elsewhere for some brief space of self-communion. 
 And so, hardly knowing what he did, he turned 
 into one of the narrow thoroughfares leading 
 
14 THE MAGIC INK 1 
 
 ! 
 
 down to the Thames Embankment : there he 
 
 would find quietude, and a chance of realising to 
 
 himself what this ghastly thing was that had just i 
 
 happened, and what its consequences w^ere likely ; 
 
 to be. i 
 
 But here a singular and unexpected little '■ 
 
 incident occurred, that he afterwards, in less ' 
 
 distracted moments, was able to recall. Some ■ 
 
 short distance down the narrow street the way = 
 
 was blocked, or nearly blocked, by a number of i 
 
 vans being loaded; indeed, one of these was ; 
 
 nearly putting a summary end to this young j 
 
 man's troubles, for, being backed on to the | 
 
 pavement, it swung round just as he was passing, j 
 
 and was like to have pinned him against the : 
 
 w\all. More by quick instinct than by conscious 
 
 effort he managed to avoid it ; but in doing so I 
 
 he ran full tilt against a stranger, whom he ■ 
 
 knocked over. He was very sorry. He raised ; 
 
 the man up. He did not notice the swift ; 
 
 malevolent glance of the two dull black eyes of \ 
 
 this little yellow-skinned person, nor yet the | 
 
 change to a fawning obsequiousness that almost j 
 
 instantly came over the man's manner. The ■ 
 
 street was muddy after rain ; this foreigner — \ 
 
 Malay, Chinese, Hindoo, whatever he was — took ; 
 
THE ROBBERY 15 
 
 out a handkerchief, and began to clean his 
 clothes after a fashion. 
 
 " I'm very sorry," Arthur Hughes said. " The 
 man in charge of the van did not call out until 
 it was too late — I did not see you were on the 
 other side — I'm exceedingly sorry " 
 
 But the baleful fire had vanished from those 
 small, dull black eyes. 
 
 '' Oh, me solly too if you solly," said the little 
 foreigner, regarding the young man. ''AYe 
 make ilends now. Me show you we make fiends ; 
 me give you little plesent. See ! " 
 
 It was a small ink-bottle he produced — an 
 ordinary-looking thing. 
 
 "Take it — yes, yes, make fiends," he said. 
 " Make fiends ! Me solly if you solly. English 
 good people — kind people." 
 
 Well, in other circumstances, Arthur Hughes 
 would doubtless have declined to take an ink- 
 bottle or any similar thing from an entire 
 stranger encountered accidentally in the streets 
 of London ; but in his present tragic case he was 
 quite indifferent. He was bewildered ; he did 
 not understand ; only, the man seemed anxious 
 he should accept the little present ; and it was 
 a token of goodwill from one whom he had 
 
i6 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 unintentionally injured. So, hardly looking at 
 it, and thinking nothing of it, he accepted it, put 
 it in his pocket, thanked the Eastern-looking 
 person, and blindly went on his way. What 
 happened to him in the matter of small trifles 
 was of little moment now. 
 
 Down on the Embankment, near to one of the 
 stations on the Underground Eailway, he saw a 
 policeman ; and he regarded him with a strange 
 sensation of fear. There was another man 
 driving a mud-sweeping machine ; and him he 
 envied with a bitter heart. 
 
 " How little you know of your own happiness ! " 
 he was saying, almost in reproach. " Perched 
 up there, you are as proud as any king on any 
 throne. You have nothing to dread. The law 
 cannot touch you. Your conscience is clear. You 
 might be singing for very joy if you only knew." 
 
 For this hyper-sensitive young man, in the 
 first shock of his alarm and consternation, had 
 come to regard himself as being to all intents 
 and purposes a criminal. He was convinced that 
 the people at the bank — and still more the 
 people at Scotland Yard — would not for a 
 moment believe his tale of the two unknown 
 persons who had spirited away his satchel ; they 
 
THE ROBBERY 17 
 
 would assume— and especially the people at 
 Scotland Yard would assume — that he had 
 secreted the money for his own uses and invented 
 this cock-and-bull story about the mysterious 
 thieves. Nor did he perceive that he w^as at 
 this moment doing his very best to lend colour 
 to such a charge. He was putting himself into 
 the position of an absconding clerk. Had he 
 gone boldly back to the bank, told his story, 
 and challenged inquiry, the situation would no 
 doubt have been very unpleasant for a time, but 
 probably no harm would have come to him in 
 the end. But in the overwhelming dismay that 
 fell upon him on his discovering his loss, going 
 back to the bank seemed to him to mean nothino- 
 else than being confronted with detectives — 
 arrest — trial — perhaps a prison. A prison ! Even 
 now, as he wandered, stunned and demented, 
 along the Embankment, he began with a morbid 
 vividness to recall such descriptions of prison-life 
 as he had read. Formerly it used to be rather 
 a jolly life — hob-nobbing with friendly turn- 
 keys — sending out for further measures of claret 
 — receiving relatives and acquaintances and 
 borrowing money from them — throwing dice and 
 playing cards — anything to pass the time. Per- 
 
 
 
i8 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 haps that condition of affairs was all over now ; 
 but whether or not was of little consequence to 
 him ; there would be for him but the one result 
 of his going to prison — he would never lift up 
 his head again. His conscience might assure 
 him he was innocent ; his friends might pity and 
 forgive ; but once the iron had entered his soul, 
 for him there would be no recovery, no resto- 
 ration to life. And the venerable old minister 
 who had lived all these years in the love and 
 respect and affection of his flock — for him to 
 have his white head brought down to the dust : 
 it was too piteous to think of. Winnie Davies : 
 but Winnie Davies was young, and pretty, and 
 fascinating ; a few years would go by ; new 
 springs and summers would come to her, with 
 the thrushes singing in the evening woods, and 
 a lover walking by her side, linking his arm with 
 hers. And if in after times she should ever 
 think of a former lover — of one who had gone 
 away to London to do great things for her sake 
 — it would be with anger, it would l)e without 
 consideration : why had he brought shame upon 
 her in the days of her maidenhood ? 
 
 He was a sensitive lad : in spite of himself 
 tears rose to his eyes. 
 
THE ROBBERY 19 
 
 " Father — Winnie " — he murmured to himself, 
 '' you need not fear. It will not come to that. 
 There must be some other way." 
 
 There ivas another way, as it seemed to his 
 unhinged and distracted mind : a way sombre 
 and dark, but sure. All the forces of Scotland 
 Yard combined could not entrap, or prosecute, 
 or hale to prison, one who had slipped quietly 
 and unseen into the deeps of the sea. No tele- 
 graphing to foreign ports could secure the arrest 
 of him whose last adieu to the world was a secret 
 confided to the night, and the stars, and the lone 
 Atlantic. 
 
 " Do not be afraid, father," he said inwardly, 
 amid all those wild and storm-tost emotions that 
 were now being narrowed down to one stern re- 
 solve. " There will be no trial. There will be 
 no reading of newspaper reports — no whisperino-s 
 among the members of the congregation. Do not 
 be afraid, Winnie : no shame shall come to you 
 through me. If there had 1)een a prosecution, 
 I think you would have believed me innocent, 
 whatever happened ; but there will be no prose- 
 cution. Those I left behind me in Llanly will 
 have no cause to hang their heads on my account. 
 What becomes of me is nothino^." 
 
 c 2 
 
20 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 And this that he was about to give up — to 
 save his dear ones from scorn ? Well, youth is 
 naturally tenacious of life ; it takes little heed of 
 the pains and struggles and rebuffs involved in 
 its own eager aspirations and ambitions ; there 
 is the joy of pressing forward, to see what the 
 world has in store, to act one's part, to earn the 
 quiet of old age and retrospect. Moreover, in 
 his case, there were other and more idyllic 
 visions, with Winifred Davies as their central 
 fio-ure. These were harder to abandon. He 
 thought of bygone days ; of long walks by sea 
 and shore, he and she together; of murmured 
 confessions, with downcast lashes ; of eyes up- 
 turned to his, full of love, and hope, and pride. 
 For who was it that had been most eager to 
 prophesy great things of his going to London ? 
 Who had boldly declared that his " Cadwallon's 
 Army-Call " had more of fire in it, had a more 
 martial and stately tread, than even the famous 
 " Forth to the Battle," the Rhyfelgyrch Cadpen 
 Morgan, the war-march of Morgan of Morganog ? 
 Who had sung his "Bells of Llanly" to the 
 school children at their annual treat, and had 
 maintained, in public hearing, that in her opinion 
 it was more touching and sympathetic, more 
 
THE ROBBERY 21 
 
 characteristically Welsh, than even the " Bells of 
 Aberdovey " ? Nay, had she not gone further, 
 and in wistful confidences to himself talked of 
 the Crystal Palace, and of a young conductor 
 standing in front of the great attentive choir, 
 and of a Welsh girl seated among the audience, 
 and saying to herself (while trembling a little), 
 " Ah ! now, you English people will hear some- 
 thing. Wales has sent you many musicians : 
 judge now, by this Army-Call of Cadwallon, 
 whether another has not been added to the list. 
 And it was I who urged him to go away from 
 Llanly and try his fortune in the great city — 
 though the parting was cruel enough." 
 
 Yes ; it was much to give up — life, love, 
 ambition ; but he could see no alternative. The 
 only thing to do now was to guard against his 
 friends in Llanly forming any suspicion as to the 
 manner of his disappearance. He would write a 
 letter to his father, another to Winifred, and 
 another to Mr. Cyrus Brangwyn — a junior 
 partner in Cripps's, who had interested himself 
 in the young man's behalf; and in these he 
 would give such plausible explanations as he 
 could invent. Then a quick vanishing — and 
 silence. Black night and the Atlantic would 
 
22 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 hold his secret ; his troubles would be peacefully 
 over ; and there would be no finger of scorn 
 uplifted against those whom he had left behind 
 him in the distant little Welsh village, the home 
 of his youth. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS. 
 
 Thus it was that his first frantic apprehensions 
 were succeeded by a period of calm — the calm of 
 resignation rather than despair. For he did not 
 pity himself in the least ; indeed, he was not 
 thinking of himself at all. A great calamity 
 had occurred — how, he was almost yet too bewil- 
 dered to know ; but his first and sole care was 
 to shield from its consequences those dear ones 
 whose welfare, whose happiness, whose good 
 name, were of more concern to him than his own 
 life. Nay, even now, in the dull and dazed 
 condition into which he had fallen, his mind w^as 
 occupied with but the one idea — to frame such 
 excuses for his going away as would cause them 
 neither alarm nor grief. His subsequent silence 
 they would no doubt explain to themselves some- 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 23 
 
 how or another. The old man would say : ^' My 
 boy has gone away to the Colonies, to seek his 
 fortune ; and he is proud ; we shall not hear 
 from him, perhaps, until he can announce to us 
 that he has succeeded." And Winnie Davies ? 
 She would wonder for a time. Then she would 
 grow indignant and resentful. Then her eyes — ■ 
 as the eyes of a young maiden are apt to do — 
 would begin to rove ; recollections, memories 
 would become gradually obliterated ; she would 
 take it that in those distant climes he had 
 forgotten all about her and the little Welsh 
 village ; she would feel herself justified in 
 choosing another mate. 
 
 Sweet Winnie Davies, down hy the sea, 
 
 Siveet Winnie Davies, do you still think of me ? 
 
 Do you think of the long days you and I together 
 
 Went wandering hy Llanly in the fair summer iceather f 
 
 — that was all very well as a bit of idle rhyme ; 
 but the way of the world was the way of the 
 world ; a young maiden's imaginative fancies 
 are soon free to grace and adorn a new comer. 
 Indeed, what else could he wish for her ? For 
 her, long years of happiness and calm content : 
 for him, oblivion — and a nameless ocean grave. 
 Plunged in these sombre reveries, he had left 
 
24 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 the Embankment, crossed the river, and was 
 now in the Blackfriars Eoad. He had taken 
 this route mechanically, it being part of his usual 
 homeward way ; but he had no intention of 
 returning to his lodgings in the Kennington 
 Park Eoad ; would there not be a detective 
 hovering about — perhaps w^ith a warrant of 
 arrest in his hand ? No ; his immediate object 
 was to get those three letters written ; and so, 
 after some little hesitation, he entered a dingy- 
 looking cofFee-shop. He glanced timidly and 
 furtively around ; he knew he had entered on 
 false pretences ; it was neither food nor drink 
 that was in his mind. Well, there seemed to be 
 nobody in this dusky place except a stout woman 
 — probably the proprietress — who was seated 
 behind a counter at the farther end ; but 
 presently there emerged from some mysterious 
 recess a shabbily-dressed man in black who was 
 doubtless the waiter. A poor-looking creature 
 he was, with a pale and puffy face that suggested 
 gin ; and yet Arthur Hughes, so unstrung were 
 his nerves, had some vague desire to propitiate 
 this person : he hoped he would not stare too 
 curiously, even with those dull eyes. 
 
 "I should like some tea and a roll, if you 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 2$ 
 
 please," said Hughes, with averted look (would 
 the man guess that he wanted neither tea nor 
 roll ?). 
 
 The waiter — without any '' Yes, sir " — was 
 perfunctorily turning away to order these things, 
 when Hughes ventured to address him again. 
 
 '"' Would you mind getting me some writing- 
 paper in the meantime ? " 
 
 "How many sheets?" the waiter responded, 
 apathetically : he seemed to take no interest 
 whatever in this visitor, who need not have been 
 so alarmed about awakening suspicion. 
 
 "Three, I think, will do — and three envelopes, 
 if you please." 
 
 Then of a sudden it occurred to him that he 
 could at least spare the waiter the bother of 
 fetching pen and ink : had he not with him the 
 bottle that had just been given him by the 
 foreigner whom he had accidentally thrown into 
 the mud ? — while there was a pen in combination 
 with his pocket-pencil. 
 
 " You needn't trouble about pen and ink," he 
 said, quite humbly ; '' I have them with me." 
 
 And then he turned into a corner, and took 
 his seat on a bench that had a narrow table in 
 front of it. Mechanically he pulled out his 
 
26 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 pocket-pen and opened it ; mechanically he 
 brought forth from his pocket the little phial : 
 his head was so crowded with memories and 
 strange imaginings that he hardly knew what he 
 was doing. It was without curiosity that he 
 opened the small bottle — the cork giving way 
 easily : he may have noticed that the ink emitted 
 a pungent and unusual odour, and yet he paid 
 no particular attention to the fact. Indeed, he 
 did not stay to consider how odd it was that the 
 Eastern -looking person should have insisted on 
 making him a present in return for an injury, 
 however unintentional the injury may have 
 been : it was of other things he was thinking. 
 The waiter fetched the paper and envelopes. The 
 pen and ink were ready. And now he set to 
 work to construct a cloak under cover of which 
 he might escape into blackness and the un- 
 known. 
 
 The first letter was to the junior partner in 
 Cripps's who had procured for him a situation in 
 the bank. This Mr. Cyrus Brangwyn was on a 
 walkin2:-tour in Wales when he chanced to make 
 Arthur Hughes's acquaintance ; had been much 
 struck by the young man's manner, his intelli- 
 gence, his sympathetic nature ; and, on further 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 27 
 
 discovering youDg Hughes's eager desire to get 
 to London, he had offered to use his influence 
 to procure him a post, however minor a one, in 
 Cripps's. Hughes, who was merely an assistant- 
 clerk at the Llanly slate-works, gladly accepted 
 the off'er : to be in London was the main point, 
 no matter in what capacity. London, with its 
 Albert Halls and St. James's Halls, its Opera- 
 houses and Crystal Palaces — that was the Mecca 
 of this young man's mind ; he did not care in 
 what guise he might travel thither, nor yet by 
 what modest means he might maintain himself 
 there, so long as he was enabled to live in the 
 enchanted capital that drew the great ones of the 
 music-world from all parts of the earth. Then 
 there came a morning at Llanly, a dull, grey, 
 bitterly cold winter s morning. The old omni- 
 bus was drawn up in front of the Pembroke 
 Arms, getting in its freight for the railway 
 station some dozen miles off". The venerable, 
 white-headed minister was here, talking in his 
 grave fashion to this one and that of the by- 
 standers. Here, likewise, was Winnie Davies — 
 tearful — laughing — courageous — petulant. Why 
 would he not let her drive with him to the 
 station ? If it would be lonely for her coming 
 
28 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 back, it would be as lonely for him in tlie cold 
 third-class carriage journeying on to London. 
 Would he write as often as he had promised % 
 No, she knew he w^ould not. He was to be sure 
 to ask for a foot-warmer at the station. He was 
 to be sure to go and hear Santley sing at the 
 Crystal Palace, and to send her a long letter 
 about it. And, therewithal, as the driver was 
 now mounting the box, she drew from her pocket 
 a voluminous neckerchief of pale pink silk, and 
 this parting gift she would herself wrap round 
 his throat. Then the commonplaces of good- 
 bye ; and other farewells — not so commonplace 
 — spoken by eyes half-dimmed and piteous. 
 The brake is removed ; the lumbering omnibus 
 moves off ; there is a fluttering of handkerchiefs 
 and long last looks : Arthur Hughes is away to 
 London, in quest of fame and fortune, and 
 Winnie, ^ sweet Winnie Davies,' walks silently 
 back by the side of the minister, hardly knowing 
 that he is doing his best, in his grave and kindly 
 fashion, to cheer her. 
 
 "To Cyrus Brangwyn, Esq., Cripps's Bank, 
 Strand" — this was the letter he wrote and 
 addressed, sitting in a corner of the dingy cofl'ee- 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 29 
 
 house — " Dear Sir — I am sorry to have to tell 
 you that this afternoon I lost my satchel 
 containing £7,560 belonging to the bank, and 
 that I am quite powerless to give you any in- 
 formation that might lead to the recovery of the 
 same. I cannot explain how the satchel was 
 taken, nor can I describe the thieves ; but the 
 numbers of the notes are known to the Ijank, 
 and by advertising I suppose they can be 
 stopped, at least the large ones, wdiich are not 
 easily negotiable. As for the smaller notes 
 which the thieves may be able to put in circula- 
 tion, I regret that I am not in a position to make 
 good the loss to the bank ; but I am leaving this 
 country ; and if I should ever find it possible to 
 refund the money, you may be sure I will do so. 
 If you think it necessary to make any enquiries 
 about me, I ask you only for one thing — not to 
 make enquiries at Llanly. I assure you it is not 
 there I am going. I would give you my word 
 of honour ; but unhappily, in the position I find 
 myself placed in — and the suspicion naturally 
 attaching to it — you might not be inclined to 
 accept that as of any value. However, what I 
 tell you is true ; I am not going to Llanly ; and 
 any one making enquiries there would only give 
 
30 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 pain to innocent people, and would gain no in-, 
 formation about me. I have to thank you, dear! 
 Mr. Brangwyn, for all the kindness you have; 
 shown me since I came to London, though I ami 
 sorry I ever did come. If I ever return to' 
 London, it will be to restore the money to the; 
 bank. 
 
 " Yours very faithfully, 
 
 '' Arthue Hughes." ! 
 
 A sudden sound startled him : a boy in the^ 
 street was bawling out the name of an evening; 
 journal. And like a knife the thought flashed! 
 through his brain : wdiat if his scheme should! 
 fail ? He seemed to see before him the contents- 
 bill of one of those evening newspapers — large; 
 lines staring at him — ' Charge of Kobbing a^ 
 Bank — Proceedings this Day.' And would not 
 a summarised report be at once telegraphed] 
 down to Wales % Who would be the first toj 
 hear the story — in the quiet little village ? I 
 
 And then again he strove to reassure himself. 
 His scheme could not fail — there was no possi-: 
 bility of its failing — once he was on board the; 
 big steamer that would carry him out into the! 
 night. A noiseless slipping over into the dark| 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 31 
 
 and unknown waters — and no writ or warrant 
 could reach him then. There could be no charge 
 brought against one who had ceased to exist ; 
 there would be no evidence, no witnesses, no 
 public trial, no report to be telegraphed down to 
 Wales. There remained only to make these last 
 sad preparations. 
 
 But meanwhile that sudden sound had also 
 startled the pallid-faced waiter ; it seemed to 
 arouse him out of his dull lethargy. He cast a 
 surreptitious glance towards his mistress, who 
 appeared to have fallen asleep : then quickly and 
 stealthily he wxnt to the door. He was gone 
 for only a second or two ; when he returned he 
 had an evening paper in his hand ; and a marvel- 
 lous change had come over his features — he was 
 all eagerness and suppressed excitement. 
 
 " Archipelago ! " he said, in a confidential 
 whisper, to Arthur Hughes. 
 
 The young man looked up, dazed ; he did not 
 understand. 
 
 ^^ What is it?" 
 
 " The Rose Plate— Newmarket " 
 
 And even yet he did not seem to comprehend. 
 
 " It was fifteen to eight against ; I've made 
 my little bit this time," said the waiter, who 
 
32 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 could not altogether conceal his triumph, though 
 he spoke guardedly. 
 
 " Oh, a race, do you mean ! " 
 
 " Well, sir, if we didn't pick out a winner 
 now and again, we'd never get along — just to 
 keep one's heart up like. They tell me that Ked 
 Star is a moral for the Cambridgeshire " 
 
 But at this juncture the mistress of the place 
 made some movement, and the waiter sneaked 
 off, and began to apply his napkin to one of the 
 tables. Arthur Hughes looked after him. 
 
 "Man, man," he said to himself, ''have you 
 no thought of the terrible things around you in 
 the world that you can occupy yourself with such 
 trifles ? And yet, why not ? What better than 
 to think of nothing from day to day Init the 
 constant and common routine, with this little 
 variety of interest ? One morning must be just 
 like another morning, one night like another 
 night, quiet and ordinary; nothing haunting 
 you, nothing to dread. I wonder if you know 
 how well off you are — I wonder if you know what 
 a priceless blessing it is to be without care ? " 
 
 And therewithal, and heavily-hearted enough, 
 he turned once more to his series of farewells. 
 It was to his father that he would now wTite. 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 33 
 
 ^' Dear Father — You know with, what aspira- 
 tions I came to London. But after some study 
 of the musical world, from the outside, of course, 
 I find that the openings for a young composer, 
 unless he is of extraordinary ability, or has 
 powerful friends, are few indeed. On the other 
 hand, promotion in a London bank is by slow 
 steps ; the increase of salary small ; and little 
 opportunity given for one's personal endeavours. 
 So I have resolved to leave England, and seek 
 some wider and freer sphere. You must not 
 be alarmed, or fret, if you do not hear from me 
 for some time ; for my plans are as yet vague ; 
 and I may wander far before coming to a halt. 
 Be kind to Winnie. Even if you do not hear 
 from me for a very long time, do not worry on 
 my account. 
 
 '' Your affectionate son, 
 
 '' Arthur Hughes." 
 
 These two letters had been comparatively 
 easy to write. But when he came to the message 
 he must send to Winnie Davies, he paused. A 
 haggard and drawn look came over his face ; it 
 was as if the hand of death were already upon 
 him ; and as if this were tlie farewell dooming 
 
34 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 lier to widowhood. And tlien a strange exalta- 
 tion of self-sacrifice entered his heart. If he 
 were parting with her, and yielding her to some 
 one else, he would see that those days of her 
 widowhood should be brief and be not embittered 
 by any useless sorrow. He would make it easy 
 for her to forget him ; he would challenge her 
 wounded pride to help. For what more possiljle 
 than that a young man, far away from his native 
 village and its associations, and plunged into 
 this roaring city, should have allowed his wan- 
 dering inclinations to stray from the sweetheart 
 of his youth and fix themselves on some one 
 nearer at hand ? The briefest hint would be 
 enough. "Winnie Davies was proud ; she would 
 seek no further correspondence ; his silence 
 thereafter would be no trouble to her hurt and 
 indignant spirit. And so, with rather bloodless 
 lips, he began to write : 
 
 "Dear Miss Winifred — " He stopped and 
 looked. 'Dear Miss Winifred.' That was the 
 way he used to address her in the remote days 
 when her father and she first came to Llanly, 
 and when she became a member of the villao-e 
 
 o 
 
 choir. But in those days ' Dear Miss Winifred ' 
 meant respect and a timid appeal for friendship ; 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 
 
 35 
 
 whereas now the phrase was meant to wound and 
 insult. Never mind ; the pang would be but 
 temporary — and the days of her widowhood 
 would have no vain longings and regrets 
 attached. 
 
 ''Dear Miss Winifred —What I have to say 
 may pain you for the moment, but it is better 
 for us both that it should be said at once and 
 done with. I am afraid you were wiser than I 
 when you hinted that our engagement w^as 
 somewhat premature, and therefore involvino- 
 risk. And if I admit that, living very much 
 alone in London, and craving for sympathy as is 
 natural with a solitary stranger in a large town, 
 I have met with some one else whose attractions 
 have convinced me that the engagement between 
 you and me was a mistake from the bemn- 
 
 nmof- 
 
 He paused again, and regarded these lines. 
 The poor conventional phrases, the cold arti- 
 ficiality of tone : who could have imagined that 
 each word went like a dagger through his heart ? 
 And indeed he could not go on. He was about 
 to die ; it was not thus he could send a last 
 message to Winnie Davies. He might have to 
 
36 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 conceal mueli from her ; he would have to let 
 her believe that some day or other he might 
 return ; but he could not, even in the short time 
 that was now left to him of life, bear the thought 
 that all through the long years to come she 
 would reirard him with scorn and disdain as a 
 false friend and perjured lover. It was too 
 much for him to demand of himself. So he tore 
 up that sheet of paper, and began again — but 
 still with caution and self-control dominating 
 his brain and trying to still the almost suffo- 
 cating pulses of heart : 
 
 " Dearest Winnie — I have something to tell 
 you which may surprise you, but it is not meant 
 to cause you any distress. It is merely that I am 
 not quite satisfied with my position in London ; 
 and that I am going aw^ay. I have nothing to 
 complain of as against any one ; but there are 
 circumstances which seem to call me away from 
 London ; and I am sure it will be better for us all 
 in the end. You will say I ought to have come 
 down to Llanly to bid you good-bye ; and you 
 may be sure I do not forget your kindness in 
 getting up that bitterly cold morning, nor yet 
 all the things your eyes said after I was on the 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS V 
 
 top of the coach and you could no longer speak. 
 But the world is full of changes and disappoint- 
 ments ; and if I do not run do^Yn to Llanly now 
 to see you again, it is because there are urgent 
 reasons against it. I wish you would often go 
 over to see my father ; he is very lonely by 
 himself in the house, and you know how fond he 
 is of you. If you ever speak of me don't be 
 vexed that I have left you in a kind of uncer- 
 tainty ; and you must always remember this, 
 that no news is good neios. And now, dearest 
 Winnie, good-bye, and God bless you ! Do 
 not write to me — I am going away from 
 London. 
 
 " Arthur." 
 
 And therewith he corked up the little bottle 
 of oddly-scented ink and put it in his pocket 
 again along with his pen ; he paid for the tea 
 and roll which he had not touched ; he pur- 
 chased some stamps for the letters, and left the 
 coffee-house, wandering out alone into the wide 
 wilderness of London. 
 
 And now he was free to go ; his afiairs in this 
 world were all finished up ; there was nothing 
 left for him but to slip quietly away out of the 
 
38 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 knowledge of men, so that liis beloved ones 
 should have no suspicion. But all of a sudden a 
 blunt matter of fact interposed — here, as he 
 stood hesitating and absent-minded in the 
 Blackfriars Eoad. He had only a few shillings 
 in his pocket. How was he to purchase a 
 passage in any Canadian or American steamer, 
 in order that on some dark nie^ht he mioht dis- 
 appear into the voiceless grave of the Atlantic % 
 He had, it is true, — apart from the bulk of his 
 savings, which were deposited in the Llanly 
 bank — a few sovereigns at home in his lodgings ; 
 but even if these were sufficient to secure a berth 
 (as to which he had no precise information) how 
 could he return to fetch them ? Already, he 
 vaguely surmised, the place was being w^atched. 
 Detectives were after the absconding clerk. Nay, 
 even now, when he had formed no definite plans 
 at all, he had unconsciously turned towards the 
 heart of the great city, and was slowly and 
 impassively making for Blackfriars Bridge again. 
 How happy — how^ careless — were those people 
 he saw around him ! The big draymen were 
 cracking jokes as they lowered barrels into the 
 public-house cellars. The rubicund driver of an 
 omnibus raised his whip in salutation to the 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 39 
 
 driver of a butclier's cart, wlio responded in gay 
 fashion. Even a blind beggar, chanting his 
 unheeded stave, seemed content ; by-and-by, 
 with a few pence in his pocket, he would creep 
 away home to the common lodging-house, to his 
 pipe and his cronies, suJSiciently well satisfied 
 with such poor and small share of the world as 
 had been accorded him. How gladly would this 
 hapless young man have exchanged positions 
 with any one of these, had not a tragic destiny 
 encompassed him ! But for him there was no 
 escape. Indeed, he wished for no escape. It 
 was not about himself he was concerned. How 
 many years would it be before Winnie Davies 
 would quite abandon all hope of hearing from 
 him — would choose out another lover — would go 
 round by the quay, and through the town, and 
 up the vale, to meet him, singing lightly to 
 herself the while ' Cadair Idris,' or ' The 
 Watching of the Wheat ' ? For he hoped, and 
 wished, for no impossible things in the way of 
 constancy. Perhaps, after all, Winnie Davies 
 might sometimes think of him ; and, if she did, 
 it would not be as of a jail-bird. He would 
 make sure of that. 
 
 He wandered on. The black world of London 
 
40 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 was now ablaze with points of yellow fire ; cabs 
 and carnasfes were drivino; to the theatres : the 
 restaurants showed wide doors. He drew away 
 towards the east ; and as the slow hours passed 
 there was greater darkness here and loneliness. 
 A considerable traffic still poured down towards 
 London Bridge ; but about the Exchange, and 
 Cornhill, and Gracechurch Street, fewer and 
 fewer persons were to be met. AVhy had he 
 come hither ? Because he had a dim recollection 
 that in Fenchurch Street was the station for 
 Tilbury and Tilbury Docks ; and he knew that 
 from thence went great steamers out into the 
 unknown seas which were his goal. It was a 
 short railway journey ; so far at least he could 
 get ; and once down there at the Docks who 
 could tell what happy accident might bring him 
 to his desire ? So he idly patrolled these dark 
 and silent thoroughfares, as hour after hour went 
 by — rather avoiding this or that passing police- 
 man, whose suspicious glance he knew was 
 directed towards him. 
 
 Then, with the coming of the grey light of 
 the dawn, and while the side-thoroughfares were 
 as yet deserted — especially Fenchurch Avenue, 
 into which he had by 1)lind accident strolled — 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS ^l 
 
 he thought he would take out and read Winnie 
 Davies's last letter to him. It would be a kind 
 of farewell message from her. And as he un- 
 folded these closely-written pages, and began, it 
 seemed to him as if Winnie's voice sounded 
 strange. It appeared to be far away. It 
 appeared to belong to a distant and happy 
 time ; leagues and leagues now lay between him 
 and his sombre surroundings and that cheerful, 
 every-day, hopeful kind of life that Winnie 
 Davies talked about in so simple and blithe a 
 strain. 
 
 " Do you know what happened yesterday/' 
 she wrote, " when I went down to post a letter ? 
 Little Polly Evans had come out from the back- 
 shop, and she was sitting on the door-step, and 
 she had a kitten, and she had hold of the kitten 
 by the fore-paws, and was trying to get it to sit 
 up, or to dance, or some nonsense of the kind. 
 But just imagine my astonishment when I over- 
 heard what the little wretch was singing — or 
 trying to sing — I only heard fragments, but I 
 knew what' she was after very well : it was im- 
 pudent of the little monkey to make a dance-song 
 of it to please a kitten — but still — but still— and 
 this is what she was trying at — 
 
42 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 Llanly hells! Llanhj hells! your sad notes never 
 
 vary ; 
 
 1 hear throughout your tremhling chimes the name of 
 my lost Mary ! 
 
 hush you, hells! hush you, hells! with grief my 
 
 heart is hreaJcing — 
 
 Have you no other sound than that — of loving and 
 
 forsaking ? 
 
 ' Why, Polly,' says I, ' wliere did you learn 
 that song ? ' — for I knew she was too small a 
 thino; to have heard it at the choir-meeting^s. 
 
 ' My sister Hephzibah sings -it at night,' says 
 she, ' when she is ironing the clothes. But 
 they're all singing it.' 
 
 Arthur, my cheeks were burning crimson — I 
 mean my Ordinary Self this time. ^ They re all 
 singing itj the little monkey said, as innocently 
 as possible. And so, as soon as I had posted 
 Other's letter, away I went round by the chapel, 
 and up the hill, for I thought I should like to 
 hear what the Other One — Arthur's Winnie — 
 had to say about this. And when I took the 
 mirror out to find her, you should just have seen 
 her — smirking, and laughing, and as pleased as 
 Punch. 
 
 ' Oh,' says I, ' I suppose you're mighty proud 
 just because you've heard that the girls in a 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 43 
 
 Welsh village have taken to singing a particular 
 song ? ' 
 
 ' You mind your own business, Miss Ordinary/ 
 she says, as bold as brass. ' If there are better 
 judges of music than the girls in a AVelsh village, 
 I don't know where you'll find them.' 
 
 ' And I suppose,' says I (for she was looking 
 so happy and stuck-up that it quite annoyed me), 
 ' that you think the popularity of a song in a 
 little corner of Wales means conducting a cantata 
 in St. James's Hall or at the Crystal Palace % ' 
 
 But you should have seen how superior she 
 was ! 
 
 * Miss Ordinary,' she says, ' if you are so 
 very commonplace and unimaginative, let me 
 tell you that small beginnings have sometimes 
 great endings. They're all singing it : well, if 
 you see nothing in that — if you do not understand 
 what that means — then I say you are not fit to 
 have ; made the acquaintance of — you know 
 whom I mean ; and I will thank you to go away 
 home, and resume your commonplace drudgery, 
 and your narrow views. / have faith. / can 
 look forward. I don't want to have anything to 
 do with you ; I do not wish to associate with 
 you ; you can be off now, please ! ' 
 
44 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 Did yoii ever hear of sucli conceit ! 
 
 * Oh,' says I, ' perhaps, when the great opera 
 comes to be produced at Coven t Garden, you 
 will allow me to pass in to some quiet corner, 
 where I can sit and watch ? ' 
 
 'You I ' she says, with the greatest contempt. 
 ' You would be shaking in your shoes. You 
 would be dreading failure. Whereas / have no 
 fear. / know.' 
 
 Indeed, dear Arthur, she was just full of con- 
 fidence and assurance, and too proud almost to 
 speak to, simply because the Llanly girls had 
 taken to singing your song. And I may as well 
 tell you that she was looking none so ill — con- 
 sidering the absence of somebody — and she was 
 wearing, instead of the shell-brooch, the silver 
 anchor, for who was to know who gave it to 
 her " 
 
 Of a sudden he ceased reading this gay and 
 garrulous letter. The mention of his little 
 present to her recalled to him that out at his 
 lodo^ino;s there were countless letters and also a 
 number of small trinkets that Winnie Davies had 
 sent him since his coming to London ; and how 
 could he go away and leave them behind ? 
 These were his secret and sacred treasures : were 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 45 
 
 the detectives to be allowed to overhaul them, 
 to pore over her artless confidences, to guess at 
 hidden meanings known only to himself and her ? 
 At any cost of danger these things must be 
 rescued. Even if his lodgings were being 
 watched, might there not be a moment of care- 
 lessness ? He would be cautious in venturing 
 near ; a single second — and a latch-key ready in 
 his fino;ers — would suffice to 2;et him into the 
 house ; as cautiously would he come out again, 
 bringing with him what thereafter could never 
 be profaned. So he debated and debated within 
 himself — fearing and reassuring himself by turns 
 — as the busy world of London woke again ; and 
 in the end he was irresistibly drawn away out 
 towards that suburb which hitherto he had 
 avoided with an unnameable dread. 
 
 After long delay, and with the greatest cir- 
 cumspection, he ventured to approach his 
 lodgings. It was now past nine, and the omni- 
 buses and tramway-cars had carried the bulk of 
 the business men away into the City ; the 
 neighbourhood was comparatively quiet. As 
 far as he could make out there was no one 
 keeping observation on the house ; so, plucking 
 up courage, he went quickly to the door, opened 
 
46 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 it, and let himself in, and to his delight found 
 the way clear before him. Hurrying up-stairs 
 to his own room, a few seconds enabled him to 
 gain possession of those various little nothings 
 that to him w^re invaluable ; he put them in his 
 breast-pocket, next his heart — they would go 
 with him whither he was going ; and now he 
 had but to make good his escape. 
 
 At the foot of the stairs he met his landlady 
 — a tall, thin, rather sad-looking w^oman, in 
 widow's weeds — who seemed frightened. 
 
 " Oh, sir, you've come back, sir — and — and a 
 gentleman from the bank, sir, 'e called yesterday 
 evening, and was most p'tickler in his questions, 
 sir, and couldn't understand it " 
 
 " From the bank ? " Arthur Hughes repeated, 
 staring at the woman. 
 
 " Yes, sir. And another one " — she did not 
 say ' gentleman ' — " 'e come this morning, not 
 'arf a hour ago, and there was more questions, 
 and what could I say, sir ? For you as never 
 was out all night before " 
 
 There was a sharp rat-tat at the door. Arthur 
 Hughes looked alarmed. The landlady stepped 
 along the passage and answered the sum- 
 mons. 
 
THE WRITING OF THE LETTERS 47 
 
 " Yes, sir, he's here now," she said to the 
 stranger. 
 
 And instinctively the young man knew — and 
 quailed. 
 
 " Mr. Arthur Hughes, I believe ? " said the 
 new-comer, civilly enough. ^' My name is 
 Jameson — Inspector Jameson. I have been sent 
 by Cripps's bank to make some inquiries ; of 
 course they were very much astonished at your 
 not turning up yesterday afternoon." 
 
 " But — but what do you want ? " the young 
 man said, with a ghastly pallor on his face. 
 
 " Oh, merely that you should come with me 
 to the bank, and give any explanations you see 
 fit. That's all," said the detective, quite coolly. 
 '' You have no objection, I presume. We'd 
 better have a hansom ; the partners were very 
 much concerned about your not showing up 
 yesterday." 
 
 He surrendered himself in a blind sort of 
 fashion. His desperate stratagem — unless there 
 was still some wild chance of escape — had failed. 
 He was in the hands of the law. And his old 
 father ? And ' sweet Winnie Davies, down by 
 the sea ' ? 
 
48 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 And the law, as he knew, was inexorable. 
 Unless some unforeseen opportunity might still 
 present itself of his being able to slip away out 
 of the clutches of these people — to disappear, 
 leaving no trace behind him — there would be no 
 mercy shown to him or his. There would be no 
 consideration extended to the white-haired old 
 minister away down there in Wales, nor yet to 
 the young girl whose whole future life would be 
 overshadowed by her former relationship with a 
 felon. The story would get into the papers ; 
 there would be a trial ; he could do nothing to 
 prove his innocence ; and it was the business of 
 the prosecution to believe the worst. Already 
 he seemed to regard himself as a convicted 
 criminal. The inspector seated beside him in 
 the hansom cab was his jailer — it was a wonder 
 he had not produced a pair of handcuffs. And 
 yet this man, no doubt, had his own flimily ties ; 
 most likely, when he went home at night, his 
 children would come clambering on to his knee, 
 
A MYSTERY 4$ 
 
 convinced that he was the kindest of fathers. It 
 was only when he acted as part of that dread 
 machine, the law, that he became as implacable 
 and inexorable as itself. 
 
 For a time, as the hansom carried them 
 rapidly away into the city, the young man was 
 silent and absorbed ; and his companion did not 
 seek to intrude upon his dark meditations. 
 But at length Arthur Hughes said, almost 
 wearily — 
 
 " I suppose they think I stole the money ? " 
 
 " Oh ! as for that," rejoined the inspector, 
 with an amiable cheerfulness, '' there has been 
 no charge brought against you as yet — not at 
 all. It certainly looked awkward your not re- 
 turning to the bank ; and they were naturally 
 very much concerned about it. With a large 
 sum of money like that in your possession, it 
 was possible you might have been robbed or 
 murdered. But of course you will give them all 
 the necessary explanations " 
 
 '' I cannot 1 " the young man exclaimed, in 
 his despair. " How can I explain ? I know 
 nothing. When the bag was stolen, I did not 
 see who took it. I had turned for a moment 
 to speak to a stranger, and in the same instant 
 
 E 
 
50 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 the satchel was snatched away — I suppose by an 
 accomplice of the man who spoke to me. It 
 was all the work of a second. It was as if the 
 satchel had vanished. I ran up and down — 
 searched everywhere " 
 
 He stopped. What was the use of trying to 
 convince this man ? It was the business of the 
 law to assume his guilt. 
 
 " It would have been better if you had returned 
 to the bank and reported the robbery," observed 
 the inspector, dispassionately. 
 
 "I was frightened and bewildered," the young 
 man confessed. " I made sure they would not 
 believe me — the story would sound incredible — 
 and I had nothing to show by way of proof. 
 And I suppose they will not believe me now. 
 You," said he, turning to his companion as if 
 with a challenge, " do you believe that I have 
 not made away with that money ? Do you 
 believe that I don't know where a single farthing 
 of it is ? " 
 
 " Oh, as for that," said the inspector, evasively, 
 *' I must remind you again that at present there 
 is no charge against you. You are not even in 
 custody." 
 
 '' Not in custody ! " said Hughes, with a stare. 
 
A MYSTERY 
 
 51 
 
 " No," said the other, coolly. '' But if you 
 had refused to come with me to the bank, I 
 should have been forced to give you into custody. 
 It is much better as it is. And I have no doubt 
 you will be able to give a quite satisfactory 
 account of the whole matter when we get to 
 Cripps's." 
 
 So he was not yet in custody? And there 
 had been no charge brought against him that 
 would involve his immediate arrest ? Was there 
 still some chance, then, of his being allowed to 
 carry his original plan into execution — to make 
 sure that his best and dearest should come to no 
 reproach through him ? For he had not revealed 
 his intention to any one ; that was his own dark 
 secret ; escape and disappearance, and thereafter 
 the silence of unknown waters, might even yet 
 be possible. 
 
 But little indeed did Arthur Hughes anticipate 
 what was now about to happen. They had just 
 arrived at Cripps's, and were crossing the pave- 
 ment, when a gentleman came hurriedly out. 
 The moment he cast eyes on young Hughes, an 
 expression of astonishment — coupled with some- 
 thing of relief, too — appeared on his face ; and 
 he came forward quickly. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 '' Good heavens ! Hughes, what could you 
 mean by sending me such a letter ? " he said, in 
 a serious undertone. " I was just about to drive 
 out to your lodgings, to see what had happened. 
 But here, come into the bank ; I must talk this 
 thing over with you in private." 
 
 Arthur Hughes followed submissively ; this 
 was Mr. Brangwyn, one of the junior partners, 
 who had been of much service to the young man. 
 As they passed through the general room used 
 by the partners, these gentlemen, sitting at their 
 several tables, looked up and scanned with some 
 curiosity (at least so it seemed to Hughes) their 
 absconding clerk ; then Mr. Brangwyn entered a 
 smaller apartment, also overlooking the Strand, 
 shut the door, and bade Hughes be seated. 
 
 " Well, this is a pretty business ! " said he, 
 affecting an injured tone. " You know that it^ 
 was in a measure due to me that you came to 
 London, and got a place in this bank ; then, in 
 consequence of something connected with the 
 bank, you go and propose to commit suicide ; 
 and so, in a measure I am made responsible for 
 the taking away of a fellow-creature's life. Do 
 you call that fair treatment? It seems to me 
 an ill return for what little I have been able to 
 
A MYSTERY 53 : 
 
 do for you. And suicide ! — such a cowardly way j 
 of escaping from trouble " j 
 
 " Mr. Brangwyn," Arthur Hughes gasped out, \ 
 *' I never said a word about suicide ! " I 
 
 ^' Good gracious, man ! what are you talking ; 
 about ! " the junior partner exclaimed, impatiently, j 
 ^' Here is your letter. Here is your letter that I ; 
 found lying on my table not more than ten j 
 minutes ago." 
 
 He went to a drawer. ; 
 
 '' Yes, I know I sent you a letter," the young ; 
 man said, quickly. " And — and I confess that I j 
 had made up my mind to get on board a ship | 
 and slip over the side some dark night ; not to ; 
 escape from anything that might happen to me, ^ 
 but to save my old father — and — and another — ' 
 from the shame that might come of a prosecution. I 
 But no one was to know. It was to be my secret, j 
 And it was not likely I should tell you about it j 
 in a letter." | 
 
 '' Bless my soul, can you read your own hand- 1 
 writing ? What do you call that ? Bead — read ; 
 for yourself ! " . 
 
 Arthur Hughes took the letter that was given ■ 
 to him ; and as he regarded it, there was amaze- ; 
 ment — and even consternation — in his eyes. : 
 
54 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 For this that he saw before him, line after line, 
 was not what he had written in that clingy little 
 coffee-house, but what he had been thinking 
 during the time of his writing. Here was the 
 literal truth. Here were no formal sentences, 
 studiously vague, designed to cover the des- 
 j)erate scheme he had planned out for himself ; 
 but in place of these the actual thoughts and 
 emotions, hot and tumultuous, that had surged 
 through his brain when, as he thought, he was 
 bidding adieu to life. He read on in breathless 
 bewilderment. For he could not but recoonise 
 the fact that these things had been present to' 
 his mind all the while he was penning that 
 farewell message. And by what subtle alchemy 
 had the transformation been effected ? 
 
 " Dear Mr. Brangwyn " — this is what he 
 beheld before him, undoubtedly in his own 
 handwriting — " you have been a good friend to 
 me, and it is with the deepest grief and sorrow 
 in my heart that I say good-bye to you, in cir- 
 cumstances that will lead you to suspect me 
 of the basest ingratitude. This afternoon my 
 satchel, containing £7,560 belonging to the 
 bank, was stolen from me at the counter of the 
 
A MYSTERY 55 
 
 London and Westminster, Temple Bar Branch ; 
 and as I cannot describe the person who took it, 
 I suppose any one would naturally conclude I 
 myself had made away with the money, and 
 there would be a prosecution. I should not 
 mind that for myself, whatever might happen ; 
 but I cannot bear the idea of bringing such 
 shame on my old father, who has lived all his 
 life in respect and honour, and can only have a 
 few years more before him now. And Winnie 
 Davies — the daughter of the schoolmaster at 
 Llanly — I think you will remember her ; you 
 said she was the prettiest girl you had seen in 
 Wales ; and proud I was that day. She and I 
 w^ere to have been married if things had gone 
 w^ell ; but that is all over now ; and the only 
 desire I have in my mind is to make sure that 
 no disgrace may fall on my father or on her 
 through me. I am about to take a passage, 
 under an assumed name, in a steamer going to 
 America ; and some night I will slip over the 
 side ; and no one will guess. My father and 
 Winnie will wonder for a while why I do not 
 write ; but my father is an old man ; in the 
 natural course he will pass away without sus- 
 pecting ; and Winnie will forget, and marry and 
 
56 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 be happy. Mr. Brangwyn, I hope you do not 
 think I touched the money. No ; I am almost 
 sure you will not think that ; but the other 
 partners know little or nothing about me ; and 
 they are business men — they would want a strict 
 inquiry ; and I have nothing with which to prove 
 my innocence. But that is about myself ; and I 
 do not wish to speak about myself ; it is all over 
 with me, and my hopes as to music, and with 
 other hopes : what is one human being more or 
 less in the world ? It is about those dearest to 
 me that I wish to speak ; and I beg this thing 
 from you with a full heart — it is an appeal 
 almost from the grave, and you will not refuse. 
 If my father and Winnie should come to London 
 to make inquiries about me, they will almost 
 certainly go to you, knowing of your goodness 
 to me ; and they will ask news of me. Now, 
 dear Mr. Brangwyn, this is my last prayer to 
 you : be kind to them and cheer them. Tell 
 them that I was ambitious — that I went away — 
 that they may expect to hear from me after a 
 while. Do not say anything to them about the 
 money. They are poor ; they could not make 
 any restitution to the bank ; besides, if they 
 knew about the loss, they might couple it with 
 
A MYSTERY 57 
 
 my going away. Be kind to tliem. The one is 
 an old man who has already come through many 
 troubles and trials ; the other is a young girl 
 whose opening life should not be clouded by sad 
 memories. If they come to London, send them 
 away cheerful and hopeful. This is my last 
 prayer to you, and it comes to you as from the 
 other world. 
 
 " Arthur Hughes." 
 
 '' Now," said the banker, in simulated indigna- 
 tion (for in truth he was glad enough to find the 
 young man alive and well, his sinister design 
 frustrated at least for the moment), " perhaps 
 you will say that is not a threat to commit 
 suicide % " 
 
 But Arthur Hughes was still staring at the 
 paper, utterly confounded. 
 
 '' That is not the letter I sent to you ! " he 
 said. 
 
 " Do you deny that it is in your hand-writing ? 
 Who is likely to have known of all these private 
 matters but yourself ? " were the next questions. 
 
 ''It is in my hand-writing," Hughes said. 
 '' And — and what is more — it is the truth. It 
 is what I was thinking all the time. I must have 
 
58 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 written it — and yet — yet I did not intend writing 
 it ; the fact is, Mr. Brangwyn, tlie letter I did 
 actually send you was quite different from this. 
 I cannot understand it. I was most anxious to 
 hide from every one what I intended doing " 
 
 " And a very pretty scheme it was ! " said 
 the young banker. '^ Why, my good fellow, it 
 is about the maddest piece of Quixotism I ever 
 heard of ! To save your friends from a little 
 anxiety and trouble — which is about all that 
 could be involved in an inquiry into the circum- 
 stances of the robbery — you propose to deprive 
 an old man of his only son, and a young girl 
 of her sweetheart, to say nothing of throwing 
 away your own life, which you have no right to 
 do. And so I only got to know the truth by 
 some incomprehensible accident ? Your hand 
 deceived your eye, or something of that kind ? 
 Well, whatever it is, there is to be no more talk 
 about suicide. What you must do now is to 
 come along at once to Scotland Yard " 
 
 Arthur Hughes started and changed colour ; 
 and the banker instantly noticed that involuntary 
 tremor of apprehension. 
 
 " Nothing serious," said he good-naturedly. 
 " You must give them such particulars of the 
 
A MYSTERY 59 
 
 robbery as you can. A clerk in the London and 
 Westminster remembers something of a man 
 who was standing at the counter just before your 
 satchel was lost." 
 
 " I could identify the man who spoke to me 
 anywhere ! " young Hughes said with eagerness ; 
 for those shackles and trammels that his sensi- 
 tive imagination had bound upon him seemed to 
 be falling off one by one, and he was beginning 
 to breathe a little more freely. 
 
 " And you need not be afraid about yourself, 
 Hughes," the banker continued, '' as you appear 
 from your letter to have been. My partners as 
 well as myself accept your story, though you 
 must perceive you did a very foolish thing in not 
 at once returning to the bank yesterday afternoon. 
 And about the money : the larger notes cannot 
 have been negotiated, and the numbers will be 
 in all the papers to-morrow ; the damage will 
 not be so great, even if we do not get hold of the 
 men. Now, come along. We will take Inspec- 
 tor Jameson with us — and the less time we lose 
 the better." 
 
 And so, after all, Arthur Hughes found him- 
 self in that dreaded Scotland Yard. But of what 
 happened to him there — whom he saw — what 
 
6o THE MAGIC INK 
 
 questions were put to him — or how he answered 
 them, he had but the haziest knowledge. For 
 one thing, he had been up all night, wandering 
 through those dark and silent streets. Then he 
 had had no food since the previous day. But 
 above all, the distressing emotions that had 
 shaken him had left him the mere wreck of his 
 natural self He had, as it were, tasted the 
 bitterness of death ; and now that he had been 
 plucked back from the very verge of the grave, 
 he had not quite recovered his full perceptions. 
 How had all this come about ? By what 
 mysterious means had Mr. Brangwyn become 
 possessed of his secret ? Who had betrayed 
 him, when the fulfilment of his scheme of self- 
 sacrifice seemed within his reach ? 
 
 ^' Mr. Brangwyn," he said suddenly, when they 
 were on their way back to the bank, " will you 
 show me that letter again ? " 
 
 The letter was produced, and Hughes studied 
 it long and reflectively. 
 
 " No ; I never wrote it," he said. " I never 
 wrote that. That is what I had in my mind, 
 certainly ; it is true enough ; but the letter I 
 sent you was difi*erent. Even the ink : the ink I 
 wrote with was violet ; this is black," 
 
A MYSTERY 6i 
 
 *' The colour of ink may change, you know," 
 said Mr. Brangwyn. 
 
 " Yes ; but not what you have written with it 
 — unless — unless ' ' 
 
 He paused for a second or two in silence. 
 He began to recall the circumstances in which he 
 had become possessed of the violet-hued ink. 
 He recollected his bewilderment and conster- 
 nation on finding the money gone ; his rushing 
 down the narrow thoroughfare ; his accidentally 
 knocking over the little Eastern-looking man ; 
 his apology ; the presentation of the small phial ; 
 and his subsequent writing of the letters. And 
 that lilac- coloured fluid, the curious odour of 
 which had risen to his nostrils the moment he 
 had opened the bottle : had it some occult and 
 mysterious effect on brain and vision, so that 
 the writer could not see what he was actually 
 writing ? Or had it some strange necromantic 
 power of changing, along with its change in 
 colour, that which was written into what the 
 writer had really been thinking ? And had the 
 Malay, or Lascar, or Hindoo given him this 
 truth-telling ink in order to do him a mischief? 
 
 '' I suppose I must have written this letter," 
 said he, absently. ^' No one but myself could 
 
62 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 have written it. No one but myself knew all 
 the circumstances. And yet I don't remember 
 writing it. No, indeed ; what I remember 
 writing was entirely different. I Avrote you a 
 merely formal note saying I was about to leave 
 the country, and begging you as a favour not to 
 make inquiries down at — down at Llanly. I 
 wished no one to know what had become of me ; 
 
 I wished no one to suspect " 
 
 " You must have been out of your mind to be 
 contemplating such things ! " said the banker, in 
 a kindly way. "" But whatever you intended to 
 write, it is a very good thing that the letter I 
 actually received put matters so very plainly,; 
 for I mean to see that that delusion about 
 suicide and self-sacrifice is banished out of your 
 head. Eomanticism, my dear fellow : it's your 
 Celtic nature, all simmering with high-flown 
 notions ; what you want is a little cool, calm 
 common-sense of a wholesome Saxon kind. And 
 the best thing now, after we have reported 
 ourselves at the bank, is for you to go away 
 home to your lodgings, and have some food, and 
 lie down and get some sleep. You look tired ; 
 pranks like walking about all night are not good 
 for the nervous system." 
 
A MYSTERY 63 
 
 And this advice the young man eventually 
 followed, walking home by the Blackfriars Road, 
 in order to have another glance at the coffee- 
 house in which he had written the three letters. 
 He regarded it with a secret dread ; he had 
 suffered much in that dusky little place ; it was 
 there he had bade good-bye to life. And if that 
 extreme step were no longer necessary — if there 
 was to be no public inquiry, no prosecution, that 
 could bring shame on his dear ones at home — so 
 far well ; but his own case was not much bettered. 
 For had he not cut himself off from kith and 
 kin ; and made an outcast of himself ; and bade 
 a last adieu to the girl who, brave in her love, 
 had chosen to throw in her lot with his ? He 
 could not go to them now and try to explain 
 away those letters he had sent them. He had 
 signed the decree of his own banishment. He 
 w^as to live, it was true ; but he was to live 
 alone, apart, and silent. It almost seemed to 
 him, while he walked slowly and listlessly aw\ay 
 out to Kennington, as though life in such con- 
 ditions were not much preferable to a grave in 
 the wide Atlantic seas. 
 
 When he reached his lodgings he was surprised 
 to find a telegram and a letter awaiting him, 
 
64 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 and he was still more startled by the contents of 
 the former : 
 
 ^ For heavens sake do nothing rash. Your 
 father and I are coming to see you at once. 
 Winnie.' 
 
 What could it mean ? His father and Winnie 
 Davies on their way to London ? 
 
 Then he quickly turned to the letter, to see if 
 that would afford any explanation. But as he 
 read on, it soon became clear to him that these 
 rambling, whimsical, light-hearted pages had no 
 connection whatever with recent and tragic 
 events. This merry epistle belonged to the 
 happy time — before life had grown black : doubt- 
 less she had written and posted it before his 
 farewell message had reached her. And it was 
 with a strange kind of feeling that he regarded 
 her in this gay mood. 
 
 *' Do you know," she wrote, ^' that there has 
 been a most desperate fight between me and 
 that Other AVinnie ; and if we remain on 
 speaking terms, that's about all that can be said. 
 This is how it came about. You remember 
 Dick Griffith ? Well, when he came home from 
 Bristol last week he brought for me a most 
 
A MYSTERY 65 
 
 beautifully-bound copy of ' The Songs of AVales,' 
 and lie called and left it, with a message. And 
 I confess, Arthur, I was very much pleased ; for 
 blue smooth morocco is so nice, and only a single 
 line of gold ; but somehow — there was a suspicion 
 — I grew uncomfortable — I was frightened of 
 that Other One — and at last I went and opened 
 the mirror. 
 
 ' Have you got anything to say ? ' I asked. 
 (You should have seen her temper !) 
 
 ' Send that book back at once ! ' she cried. 
 ' As politely as you like — but back it goes, and 
 at once 1 I tell you I will not allow you to 
 accept any present from any young man.' 
 
 Well, Arthur, my Ordinary Self — I told you 
 what a mean, shabby, useless, commonplace kind 
 of creature she is — began to fret and grumble, 
 and that only made the Other Self more 
 indignant. 
 
 ' For one thing,' she said, ' if you had an 
 atom of pride, you would refuse to look at any 
 collection of Welsh songs that did not include 
 The Bells of Llaiily, and that had not the name 
 of Arthur Hughes in the index. But you — who 
 are you ? — a contemptible creature ! — it's a good 
 thing Arthur knows so little about you 1 ' 
 
 F 
 
66 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 ' And you,' I retorted (for I was a little bit 
 angry) — ' you give yourself pretty fine airs, all 
 because of your constancy in absence ! It is so 
 rare a virtue ! It is so wonderful a thinor that 
 a girl should keep to her plighted troth ! ' 
 
 ' I do not give myself airs ! ' she said, with 
 most infinite assurance. 'I take no credit for 
 my constancy at all ! And why ? Simply 
 because there is no one like him ; there is no 
 one to compare with him ; and, besides that, I 
 can look forward and see what is awaiting him 
 in the future. But you — ijou don't understand 
 such things ; you are a poor wretch. However, 
 I'm going to have one word more with you 
 before I'm done ; and I will thank you to listen. 
 You know wdiat Dick Griffith is ; he's always 
 daiigling after somebody. And you know what 
 that present means. If you keep it, then he will 
 call and see you. Then he will call again. Then 
 he will come in of an evening, to chat w^ith your 
 father. Then he will walk home with you from 
 the meetings of the choir. And then perhaps — 
 some Sunday morning — oh, you despicable, de- 
 ceitful craven ! — you will allow him to go away 
 out to Megan's farm with you — and he will 
 dawdle about, while you pick a few wild flowers 
 
A MYSTERY 67 
 
 to send to London. To send to London ! You 
 miserable wretch ! But I have warned you ! I 
 will keep an eye on you. You can't any longer 
 pretend ignorance of what presents and visits 
 may lead to, in the case of a girl whose sweet- 
 heart is far away, and who finds herself pretty 
 much alone. I am going to make you check 
 all those things at the very outset, my fine 
 madam ! ' 
 
 ' But if Arthur allows me to keep it,' I said, 
 rather sullenly, ' what right would you have to 
 interfere then ? ' 
 
 This made her angrier than ever ; you never 
 saw anything like it ! 
 
 * What, you would ask for permission ? You 
 would impose on his generosity ? For shame ! 
 Have you no finer feeling at all ? ' 
 
 ' That morocco is as smooth as velvet or silk : 
 that's what I know.' 
 
 She tried to wither me with scornful glances. 
 
 ^ No, you have no shame. I must take 
 another way with you. You must be compelled 
 and coerced. No presents from any young man 
 so long as I have the mastery over you ! I 
 order you to pack up that book, write a note, 
 and send them off forthwith. I will undertake 
 
 F 2 
 
6S THE MAGIC INK 
 
 tliat there shall be no parleyings, no hesitations : 
 I tell you, you have got to deal with me ! ' 
 
 So you see what a remorseless tyrant she is, 
 dear Arthur ; and there was nothing for it but 
 to cover up again that beautiful blue book, and 
 send it away. You may say that I earned the 
 approval of my conscience ; but that isn't so, for 
 I haven't any ; it's my Other Self who has the 
 conscience ; and she only uses it when she wants 
 to terrify me. Can you wonder that we are 
 hardly on speaking terms ? " 
 
 And so the careless, playful, prattling letter 
 went on ; but he grew less and less interested. 
 It had no bearing on the present circumstances ; 
 it had been written in happier moments. But 
 this telegram, with its announcement that his 
 father and Winnie Davies were on their way to 
 London ? He stared at the oblong piece of paper 
 — comprehending nothing. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A REUNION. 
 
 On the afternoon of the following day two 
 strangers, an old man and a young girl, arrived 
 
A REUNION 69 
 
 at Paddington Station. They had no luggage 
 save such bits of things as they carried ; the 
 porters paid little attention to them ; and for a 
 second or two they seemed confused and be- 
 wildered by the bustle and echoing din of this 
 vast place. But presently the white-haired old 
 minister and the timid, pretty, shy-eyed girl 
 along with him, had instinctively followed the 
 crowd to the outside platform; and here the 
 minister (with some nervous diffidence) engaged 
 a four-wheeled cab ; the man was given an 
 address in Kennington ; and then the two 
 travellers resigned themselves to the Ion or and 
 tedious drive towards that distant quarter of 
 the town. 
 
 For a time they were silent — silent and pre- 
 occupied ; and the faces of both were anxious and 
 careworn. But presently the minister, looking 
 out of the window at those unknown streets and 
 thoroughfares, said in an absent sort of way — 
 
 '' It is a great city, that has swallowed up the 
 lives and souls of many. Thousands and thou- 
 sands of poor human creatures have gone down 
 in its deep waters, with hardly even a cry " 
 
 " But not Arthur — not our Arthur ! " the girl 
 interposed, piteously. " He could not have been 
 
70 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 SO rasli, so desperate ; he must liave got my 
 telegram ; and if he knew we were coming to 
 see him, he wouki certainly remain in London ; 
 sm^ely he would not do anything dreadful if he 
 knew we were on our way to him " 
 
 '' And if we are too late," the old man said, 
 with a certain calm and sad resignation, " if the 
 boy has committed this sin, it is not for us to 
 become his judges. The great Judge alone can 
 read the hearts of men ; He alone can make 
 allowance for motives ; He can forgive much 
 to one that has loved much." Then he mur- 
 mured to himself: " Clu'ia multum amavit — quia 
 midtum amavit J^ 
 
 But she — the girl sitting here, with her pale 
 face harassed and apprehensive, and with those 
 beautiful violet eyes showing that tears had 
 visited them only too frequently during the past 
 anxious hours — was she likely to condemn too 
 harshly ? The letter she had received, the letter 
 that conveyed to her the terrible tidings that 
 had brought her thus suddenly to London, had 
 breathed the very spirit of unselfishness. Even 
 now, in this cab, as they traversed the ceaseless 
 thoroughfares of this great desert of a city, she 
 could recall each simple and pathetic phrase and 
 
A REUNION 71 
 
 sentence ; it was as if he himself were talkino; to 
 her ; and as if the appeal were to her very heart 
 of hearts. 
 
 ^' After all," he had written — or, at least, this 
 was what she had read — " After all, this reso- 
 lution I have come to is but a poor enough 
 return for the great love and affection that both 
 my father and yourself have given me. Think 
 of the long years of care he has bestowed on 
 me, and constant sympathy and generous con- 
 sideration ; never had any son such a father. 
 But when I come to speak of you, my dearest, 
 my very dearest, what am I to say ? Did you 
 ever understand your own courage, your own 
 independence and disinterestedness, when you 
 decided to cast in your lot with mine ? Again 
 and again I have told you I was not worthy 
 of such loyal and self-sacrificing love ; I have 
 shown you how precarious was my position — 
 how uncertain my future ; but no — you were 
 always the proud one — you were not to be 
 daunted." . . . . " And now, after having re- 
 ceived so much devoted affection and kindness 
 and sympathy from my two dear ones, do you 
 think I am going to let any disgrace fall on 
 
72 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 them tlirougli any doings of mine ? No, no. 
 They are of importance ; I am nothing. Some 
 one else will write the Caradoc cantata — thoudi 
 
 o 
 
 he may not know of your clever suggestion that 
 an uncler-wail of Morfa Rhuddlan should run all 
 through it ; and perhaps you will go to hear it at 
 the Hereford Musical Festival ; and you will say, 
 ' It may be Arthur could have written it as well 
 as that ; but perhaps he could not ; it was merely 
 promise in his case, that had no chance of fulfil- 
 ment.' I wish I could have completed a little 
 song I meant to send you. I had just about 
 got the air in my head when the dreadful thing 
 happened, and now all that has gone l:>y. A 
 darkness has fallen over my life — such shred of 
 life as now remains to me. And a deeper dark- 
 ness is to follow." .... "My dearest, how kind 
 to me you were in the old days ! Do you re- 
 member the wood beyond Megan's farm ; and 
 the little plank bridge over the brook ; and the 
 Sunday mornings in springtime when you used 
 to go to gather anemones, and wild hyacinths, 
 and campions ? The neighbours used to say we 
 were only boy and girl ; but we were looking 
 far ahead ; and you were always the hopeful one, 
 the light-hearted one, with more than the courage 
 
A REUNION 73 
 
 of a woman. As we sat and talked, I saw strange 
 things in your eyes — dreams and pictures — 
 pictures of the long years before us — and you 
 always by my side — and perhaps one or two of 
 the things you prophesied come true — and myself 
 very grateful to you for your constant faith and 
 upholding and courage. It was a happy time. 
 You put a kind of fairyland round the poor 
 assistant-clerk at the slate-works ; and love was 
 the light and colour of it ; and the music that 
 was in the air was the sound of your voice. So 
 much, and far more, you did for me : is it likely 
 I should hesitate when I find before me a means 
 of saving you — and saving my father — from 
 having to hang your head in shame ?"...." And 
 now, Winnie, this is farewell between you and 
 me — a farewell for ever in this world. When 
 you get this letter I shall have taken my pas- 
 sage in an outward-bound steamer ; but I shall 
 never reach any port. There will be no arrest 
 of the absconding clerk ; the Atlantic will make 
 sure of that. And of course you know that I am 
 innocent — that I did not take the money ; others 
 might be more difficult to convince ; but this 
 step now will guard you from any possible dis- 
 grace on my account. And you will forget me 
 
74 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 soon ; I wish that, for I wish you to be happy. 
 If I were alive, it would break my heart to think 
 of your marrying any one else ; but the dead 
 have no hearts to break. And so, good-bye 
 for ever in this world — good-bye, and God bless 
 you ! — and do your best to forget all there was 
 between you and me. 
 
 " Arthur Hughes.'*' 
 
 Would these monotonous and sombre thorough- 
 fares never end ? She seemed to have got lost 
 in a very ocean of streets and houses — an ocean 
 dull and dismal, vast and shoreless, the unceasing, 
 inarticulate noise of which was stupefying to the 
 brain. How different from the pleasant wood- 
 land ways round Llanly, about which the poor 
 banished lad must have been thinking when he 
 penned this farewell message I And had she not 
 been largely instrumental in severing him from 
 that quiet and simple life and consigning him to 
 this great and dreadful city ? AVas not she in 
 a measure responsible for this that had hap- 
 pened — though what it was she could not as yet 
 in any wise conjecture ? For it was all a bewilder- 
 ment to her — a bewilderment of dismay, and 
 piteous longing, and trembling hope, and feverish 
 
A REUNION 75 
 
 impatience. She sat silent now ; those sentences 
 from his letter burning clear, as it were, before 
 her eyes. She hardly paid heed to what was 
 outside— to that endless procession of gloomy 
 houses that went by like a dream. And the old 
 man was silent too ; it was hardly a time for talk. 
 
 At last, after what had appeared to them an 
 interminable journey, the cabman drew up in 
 front of a house in the Kennington Park Eoad. 
 The sudden cessation of the noise and rattle was 
 a startling thing ; perhaps it was that that 
 caused Winnie Davies's face to blanch as if in 
 fear. But the minister was apparently quite 
 calm and collected. He got out ; glanced at the 
 number of the house to see that it was correct ; 
 paid the cabman what he asked ; and then 
 crossed the pavement, the girl following. He 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 The moments of delay that ensued were 
 terrible ; the silence was terrible. The house was 
 as a house of the dead. Were they too late, 
 then ? Neither spoke. The girl's hands, folded 
 upon the little bag she was carrying, trembled 
 somewhat ; but she did not know that. She was 
 watching and listening, with a nervous strain that 
 almost made it impossible for her to breathe. 
 
76 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 Then there was a sound ; the door opened ; a 
 tall, thin, sad-visaged woman appeared. 
 
 " Is — is Mr. Arthur Hughes at home ? " the 
 minister asked : there was only the slightest 
 tremor in his voice. 
 
 '' No, sir," the landlady made answer ; and 
 yet, strangely enough, she stepped back a little 
 as if inviting these visitors to pass. " Xot yet, 
 sir. But he left a message, sir, that if you and 
 the young lady was to arrive before he came 
 back, I was to say he would be home as soon as 
 he could " 
 
 " He left that message to-day — this morn- 
 ing ? " the minister said, quickly, but still 
 maintaining that outward calm. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the melancholy-visaged 
 woman ; " and if you would kindly step in and 
 wait a little, sir, which it is near his usual time 
 of coming home in any case " 
 
 " And he is quite well, I presume ? " the 
 minister said, with something of hesitation, as 
 he passed into the lobby, followed by the 
 tremblino^ o;irl. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir — leastways he has been a little 
 flurried and hanxious, as any one could see, the 
 last day or two," answered the landlady, as she 
 
A REUNION ^7 
 
 showed them up-stairs to the young man's room. 
 She was very civil She offered them tea, 
 which both declined. Indeed, Winnie Davies 
 was hardly capable of responding to the good 
 woman, so entirely was she overcome by this 
 agony of suspense which she had come through. 
 She sate limply in her chair ; her hands clenched 
 nervously together ; her breathing low and 
 strained. It had been a sore ordeal. 
 
 But all at once a new vitality seemed to leap 
 through her frame. She sprang to her feet— 
 listening intently. 
 
 " It's Arthur !— it's Arthur ! " she cried. 
 She rushed to the door, threw it open, went 
 out on to the landing; • and the next moment 
 she had caught her lover by the hand — by both 
 hands — by the arm — and was caressing him, 
 and reproaching him, and pulling hinr into the 
 room, all at the same time. She was laughing 
 and crying ; her face beaming with delight, and 
 yet her dark lashes swimming with tears ; and 
 it looked as though she could not let go her 
 hold of him, so eager was she to assure herself 
 that he was alive and well. 
 
 " Oh, Arthur, how could you think of doing 
 such a dreadful thing ! " she exclaimed — but her 
 
78 THE MAGIC INK 
 
 upbraiding was only in the words : there was 
 none in her shining and joyful eyes. " To save 
 us from a little trouble, you w^ould go and break 
 our hearts ! " 
 
 '' To say nothing of the grievous sin involved," 
 said the minister, more gravely. " I little thought 
 any son of mine would have contemplated such 
 a crime, no matter what excuse might be blinding 
 his eyes and blunting his conscience." 
 
 " But — but — how did you come to know ? " 
 said the young man, in his amazement.' 
 '' Father — "Winnie — what brought you to Lon- 
 don ? Who told you what I meant to do ? 
 Did Mr. Brangwyn telegraph to you ? " 
 
 " Arthur, your own letters ! " said Winnie 
 Davies. 
 
 And of a sudden a wild conjecture flashed 
 through the young man's mind. Had all of 
 those three farewell letters written in the dingy 
 little coffee-house been perverted from their 
 intended purpose ? Had each one of them 
 revealed what he was actually thinking at the 
 moment of writing ? Had the mysterious ink 
 betrayed him in each several direction ? 
 
 And therewithal he sate down and gave them 
 a minute and circumstantial account of all that 
 
A REUNION 79 
 
 had happened to him during those last eventful 
 days. And he insisted that in not one of the 
 three letters he had written had he thrown out 
 the least hint as to the resolve he had formed ; 
 on the contrary, all three had been composed 
 with the express object of concealment — to save 
 his friends from useless sorrow. 
 
 '' But look, Arthur 1 " said Winnie Davies, and 
 with trembling fingers she drew from her pocket 
 that farewell message that had been haunting 
 her during all the long journey. 
 
 As the young man glanced his eye over these 
 pages, he seemed to become more and more 
 astounded. 
 
 '' Yes — yes ! " he said. *' That is what I was 
 thinking at the time ; but not what I wrote to 
 you, "Winnie ; not what I intended to write, 
 anyway. This is true enough ; but I did not 
 want you to know. There could not have been 
 some glamour, some madness, over my eyes, 
 that prevented my seeing what I was actually 
 writing ? No, it must have been the ink ; the 
 little yellow scoundrel meant to revenge him- 
 self on me for having tumbled him into the 
 gutter ; and the truth-telling ink was to 
 work mischief " 
 
8o THE MAGIC INK 
 
 "Where is the bottle, Arthur?" Winnie 
 asked, promptly. 
 
 " I threw it away yesterday morning," he 
 said ; and then he added : " I thought I had 
 no further need of it — no, nor of anything 
 else." 
 
 " That is a strange phantasy of yours, 
 Arthur," said the minister, slowly, " about the 
 ink that revealed the writer's thoughts in spite 
 of himself — a phantasy it must be, and nothing 
 more. Nevertheless, one might find in it the 
 material for a parable, as to the advantages of 
 tellino; the truth." 
 
 " Oh, I don't care how it all came about!" 
 Winnie Davies cried in her gladness, and now 
 she was standing by the young man's chair, and 
 her arm was on his shoulder, and she had taken 
 his hand in hers. '' I don't care at all. If the 
 spiteful little foreigner gave you that ink so that 
 you should get into trouble, he was entirely 
 outwitted ; and all that has happened is that 
 your father and I have come to London. And 
 since we are in London, do you know where 
 you must take me ? — to the Crystal Palace ! To- 
 morrow afternoon — Saturday afternoon — to the 
 Crystal Palace ! " 
 
A REUNION 8 1 
 
 '' And why the Crystal Pahice, Winnie ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Why ? " said she, boldly. '' Why but that I 
 want to see where you will be standing up in 
 front of the great chorus, conducting the per- 
 formance of your own cantata — if not Caradoc, 
 then some other one." 
 
 ** Dreams ! " said he, laufi^hino:. 
 
 " Dreams come true sometimes," said this un- 
 daunted young person, whose very winsome face 
 and beautiful eyes were all aglow now with pride 
 and happiness and confidence. " And what is 
 more : I am coming to London to be present at 
 that performance — ay, if I have to walk every 
 mile of the way ! " 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH. 
 
 I. 
 
 The vast iDulk of Ben Clebrig was dark in 
 shadow, but tlie wide waters of Loch Naver 
 shone a soft silver-gray in the moonlight, as 
 Hector Maclntyre, keeper and forester in the 
 far solitudes of Glengorm, came striding along 
 the road toward Inver-Mudal. As he approached 
 the little hamlet — which consists merely of the 
 inn and its surroundings and one or two keepers' 
 cottages — certain small points of red told him of 
 its whereabouts among the black trees ; and as 
 he drew still nearer he thought he would let the 
 good people there know of his coming. Hector 
 had brought his pipes with him, for there were 
 to be great doings on this Hallowe'en night ; 
 and now, when he had inflated the bag and 
 tuned the drones, there sprang into the profound 
 
 G 2 
 
84 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 silence reio^nino; everywhere around the wild 
 skirl of the '' Hills of Glenorchy." Surely the 
 sound would reach, and carry its message ? If 
 not, here was " Gillie, a Drover," played still 
 more bravely ; and again the proud strains of 
 " The Glen's Mine ! " By which time he had 
 got near to the inn, and was about to turn down 
 from the highway by the semicircular drive 
 passing the front door. 
 
 But here he suddenly encountered a fearful 
 sio'ht. From out of the dusk of the wall sur- 
 rounding the front garden there came three 
 luminous objects — three globes of a dull saffron 
 hue ; and on each of these appeared the features 
 of a face— eyes, mouth, and nose — all flaming in 
 fire. On beholding this terrible thing the tall, 
 brown-bearded forester turned and fled ; and the 
 pipes told of his dismay ; for they shrieked and 
 o'roancd and made all sorts of indescribable 
 
 o 
 
 noises, as if they too were in mortal alarm. 
 Then Mrs. Murray's three children, with victori- 
 ous shouts of laughter, pursued the tall forester, 
 and kept waving before them the hollowed-out 
 turnips with the bit of candle burning within. 
 When he had got up to the corner of the road, 
 Hector turned and addressed the children, who 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH ^ 
 
 had come crowding round him, holding up 
 their flaming turnips to cause him still further 
 consternation. 
 
 " Well, now," said he, in the Gaelic, '' that is 
 a fearful thing to alarm any poor person with. 
 Were you not thinking I should die of fright ? 
 And the pipes squealing as well, for they never 
 saw anything like that before. But never mind, 
 we are going down to the house now ; and, do 
 you know, Eoland, and Isabel, and you, little 
 Shena — do you know, I have brought you some 
 of the fir tops that grow in Glengorm. For it 
 is a wonderful place, Glengorm ; and the fir tops 
 that grow on the larches there are not as the fir 
 tops that grow anywhere else. They are very 
 small, and they are round, and some are pink, 
 and some are blue, and some are black and 
 white, and some others — why, they have an 
 almond inside them ! Oh, it is a wonderful 
 place, Glengorm ! — but it is not always you can 
 get the fir tops from the larches ; it is only on 
 some great occasion like the Hallowe'en night ; 
 and let me see, now, if I ■ put any of them in my 
 pocket. Here, Eonald, take the pipes from me, 
 and hold them properly on your shoulder — for 
 one day you will be playing 'Miss Kamsay's 
 
86 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 Strathspey' as well as any one — and I will 
 search my pockets, and see if I put any of those 
 wonderful fir tops into them." 
 
 The children knew very wxll what all this 
 preamble meant ; but neither they nor their 
 elders could have told how it was that Hector 
 Maclntyre, every time he came to Inver-Mudal, 
 brought with him packages of sweetmeats, 
 though he lived in one of the most inaccessible 
 districts in Sutherland, Glengorm being about 
 two-and-twenty miles away from anywhere. 
 However, here were the precious little parcels ; 
 and when they had been distributed. Hector 
 took his pipes again, and, escorted by his small 
 friends, went down to the inn. 
 
 Well, Mr. Murray, the innkeeper, had also 
 neard the distant skirl of the pipes, and here he 
 was at the door. 
 
 " How are you, Hector ? " he asked, in the 
 Gaelic. " And what is your news ? " 
 
 " There is not much news in Glengorm," was 
 the answer. 
 
 '' And when is your wedding to be ? " Mr. 
 Murray said. " We will make a grand day of 
 that day, Hector. And I have been thinking 
 I will get some of the lads to kindle a l)onfire 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH By 
 
 on the top of Ben Clebrig — a fire that they will 
 see down in Koss-shire. And there's many a 
 pistol and many a gun will make a crack when 
 you drive up to this door and bring your bride 
 in. For I am one who believes in the old 
 customs ; and whether it is a wedding, or the 
 New- Year, or Hallowe'en night, I am for the old 
 ways, and the Free Church ministers can say 
 what they like. Now come away in, Hector, my 
 lad, and take a dram after your long walk ; 
 there is plenty of hard work before you this 
 evening ; for Johnnie has broken his fiddle ; and 
 the lasses have not been asked to stand u]3 to a 
 reel for many a day." And then he paused, and 
 said : " And how is Flora Campbell, Hector ? 
 Have you any news of her ? " 
 
 "No," said the forester, in something of an 
 undertone, and his face looked troubled. " I 
 have had no letter for a while back ; and I do 
 not know what it means. Her sister that lives 
 in Greenock was taken ill ; and Flora said she 
 must go down from Oban to see her ; and that 
 is the last I have heard. If I knew her sister's 
 address in Greenock, I would write and ask 
 Flora why there was no letter for so long ; but 
 if you send a letter to one called Mary Campbell 
 
SS A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 in such a big place as Greenock, what use 
 is it ? " 
 
 " But no news is good news, Hector," said 
 Mr. Murray, cheerfully. And therewith he led 
 the way through a stone corridor into the great 
 kitchen, where a considerable assemblae^e of lads 
 and lasses were already engaged in noisy merri- 
 ment and pastime. 
 
 The arrival of the tall forester and his pipes 
 was hailed with general satisfaction ; but there 
 was no call as yet for the inspiriting music ; in 
 fact, this big kitchen was given over to the 
 games of the children and the younger boys and 
 girls, a barn having been prepared for supper, 
 and for the celebration of occult Hallowe'en rites 
 when the time came for their elders to take part 
 in the festivities. At present there was a large 
 tub filled with water placed in the middle of the 
 floor ; and there were apples in it ; and the 
 youngsters, with their hands behind their backs, 
 were trying to snatch out an apple with their 
 teeth. There was many a sousing of heads, of 
 course — an excellent trial of temper ; while 
 sometimes a bolder wight than usual would 
 pursue his prize to the bottom, and try to fasten 
 upon it there ; or some shy young damsel would 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 89 
 
 cunningly shove the apple over to the side of 
 the tub, and succeed by mother- wit where 
 masculine courage had failed. Then from the 
 roof, suspended by a cord, hung a horizontal 
 piece of wood, at one end of which was an apple, 
 at the other a lighted tallow candle ; and when 
 the cord had been twisted up and then set free 
 again, causing the transverse piece of wood to 
 whirl round, the competitor was invited to 
 snatch with his mouth at the apple, failing to do 
 which secured him a rap on the cheek from the 
 guttering candle. There were all sorts of similar 
 diversions going forward (the origin and symbol- 
 ism of them little dreamt of by these light- 
 hearted lads and lasses) when little Isabel 
 Murray came up to the big, handsome, good- 
 natured-lookino; forester from Gleno^orm. 
 
 " Will you burn a nut with me. Hector ? " she 
 said, kindly. 
 
 " Indeed I will, Isabel, if you will take me for 
 your sweetheart," said he, in reply ; " and now 
 we will go to the fire, and see whether we are to 
 be at peace and friendship all our lives." 
 
 They went to the hearth ; they put the two 
 nuts among the blazing peats ; and awaited the 
 response of the oracle. Could any augury have 
 
90 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 been more auspicious ? The two nuts lay to- 
 gether, burning steadily and quickly — a soft 
 love-fiame — no angry sputtering, no sudden ex- 
 plosion and separation. 
 
 " Now do you see that, lamb of my heart ? " said 
 the tall forester, using a familiar Gaelic phrase. 
 
 And no doubt the little lass was very highly 
 pleased. However, at this moment up came 
 Mrs. Murray with the announcement that the 
 children might continue at their games some time 
 longer, but that the grown-up folk w^ere wanted 
 in the barn, where supper was awaiting them. 
 
 It was a joyous scene. The huge peat fire 
 was blazing brightly ; the improvised chandelier 
 was studded with candles ; there w^ere a couple 
 of lamps on the long table, which was otherwise 
 most sumptuously furnished. And when Hector 
 Maclntyre, in his capacity of piper, had played 
 the people in to the stirring strains of " Tlie 
 Marchioness of Tw^eeddale's Delight," he put the 
 pipes aside, and went and took the seat that had 
 1)een reserved for him by the side of the fair- 
 haired Nelly, who was very smartly dressed for 
 this great occasion, as befitted the reigning 
 beauty of the neighbourhood. 
 
 " You'll be sorry that Flora is not here to- 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 91 
 
 night," said the fair-haired damsel, rather saucily, 
 to her brown-bearded companion ; '' and no one 
 to take her place. I suppose there was no one in 
 Sutherland good enough for you. Hector, that you 
 must take up with a lass from Islay. And there 
 is little need for you to dip your sleeve in the 
 burn and hang it up to dry when you go to l3ed, 
 so that the fire may show you your sweetheart, 
 for well you know already who that is. Well, 
 w^ell, you will have no heart for the merrymaking 
 to-night ; for a lad that has his sweetheart away 
 in the south has no heart for anything." 
 
 " You'll just mind this, Nelly," said the 
 forester, " not to carry your merrymaking too 
 far this night. Alastair Eoss," he continued, 
 glancing dow^n the table toward a huge, rough, 
 red-bearded drover who was seated there, "is 
 not the man to be made a fool of ; and if that 
 young fellow Semple does not take heed, he will 
 find himself gripped by the waist some fine dark 
 evening and flung into Loch Naver." 
 
 '' Oh, you are like all the rest. Hector ! " said 
 the coquettish Nelly, with some impatience. 
 " Every one of you is jealous of Johnnie Semple, 
 because he is neatly dressed and has good 
 manners and is civil spoken — " 
 
92 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 " What is he doing here at all? " said Hector, 
 with a frown. "Is it a fine thing to see a 
 young man idling about a place with his hands 
 in his pockets just because his uncle is the land- 
 lord ? If he has learned his fine manners in the 
 towns, why does he not earn his living in the 
 towns ? He is no use here." 
 
 " Oh no," said Nelly, with a toss of her head ; 
 '' perhaps he is not much use on the hill ; 
 perhaps he could not set traps and shoot hawks. 
 But he knows all the new songs from the 
 theatres, and he can dance more steps than 
 any one in Sutherland." 
 
 " Well, this is what I am telling you, Nelly," 
 her companion said, with some firmness. "I do 
 not know what there is between you and Alastair 
 Koss. If there is anything, as people say, then 
 do not make him an angry man. Let Semple 
 alone. An honest lass should beware of a town 
 dandy like that." 
 
 Here this private little conversation was inter- 
 rupted by Mr. Murray, who rose at the head of 
 the table and called upon the company to fill 
 their glasses. He wished to drink with them, 
 and they did not seem loath. When Hector 
 and his pretty companion found opportunity to 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 93 
 
 resume tlieir talk, he discovered that Nelly was 
 in quite a different mood. 
 
 " Well, now, it is a good thing, Hector, that 
 every one knows that you and Flora are to be 
 married ; for I can talk to you without Alastair 
 getting red in the face with rage. And when we 
 go out to pull the cabbage stalks, will you go 
 with me ? I know the way into the garden l)etter 
 than you ; and we can both go blindfold if you 
 will take my hand." 
 
 "But what need is there for you to pull a 
 cabbage stalk, lass \ " said he. " Do you not 
 know already what like your husband is to l)e ? " 
 
 Again the pretty Nelly tossed her head. 
 " Who can tell what is to happen in the 
 world ? " 
 
 " And maybe you would rather not pull a 
 stalk that was tall and straio^ht and strono- — that 
 would mean Alastair ? " said her companion, 
 glancing at her suspiciously. " Maybe you 
 would rather find you had got hold of a withered 
 old stump with a lot of earth at the root — a 
 decrepit old man with plenty of money in the 
 bank ? Or maybe you are wishing for one that 
 is slim and supple and not so tall — for one that 
 might mean Johnnie Semple ? " 
 
94 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 " I am wishing to know who the man is to be, 
 and that is all," said Nelly, with some affecta- 
 tion of being offended. " And what harm can 
 there be in doing wdiat every one else is doing ? " 
 
 However, not all Nelly's blandishments and 
 petulant coquetries could induce Hector Mac 
 Intyre to take part in this appeal to the divina- 
 tion of the kale-yard ; for when, after supper, the 
 lads and lasses went aw^ay blindfold to pull the 
 "custock" that was to reveal to them the figure 
 and circumstances of their future spouse, the big 
 forester remained to have a quiet smoke with the 
 married keepers and shepherds, who had no 
 interest in such matters. It was noticed that he 
 was unusually grave — he who was ordinarily one 
 of the lightest of the light-hearted. Naturally 
 they put it down to the fact that among all the 
 merrymaking and sweethearting and spying into 
 the future of the younger people he alone had no 
 companion, or rather not the companion whom 
 he would have wished to have ; for Flora, the 
 young girl whom he was to marry, had left 
 Inver-Mudal for the south in the preceding 
 autumn. And wdien they had asked if Flora 
 w^as quite w^ell, and when he had answered '' Oh 
 yes," there was nothing further to be said. 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 95 
 
 II. 
 
 Now on All-Hallows Eve there is one form of 
 incantation which is known to be extremely, 
 nay, terribly potent, when all others have failed. 
 You go out by yourself, taking a handful of 
 hemp-seed with you. You get to a secluded 
 place, and begin to scatter the seed as you w^alk 
 along the road. You say, " Hemp-seed, I sow 
 thee ; hemp-seed, I sow thee ; he who is to be 
 my true love, appear now and show thee." And 
 if you look furtively over your shoulder you wdll 
 l^eliold the desired apparition following you. 
 
 When Nelly came back from consulting the 
 oracle of the kale-yard, it appeared that she had 
 received what oracles generally vouchsafe — a 
 doubtful answ^er. 
 
 " What kind of custock did you pull, Nelly ? " 
 Hector asked of her. 
 
 " Well," said she, '' it is not much one w^ay or 
 the other. No, I cannot tell anything by it. 
 But I am going out now to sow the hemp-seed. 
 Hector ; and I know I shall be terribly frightened 
 — I shall be far too frightened to look over my 
 
96 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 shoulder ; and this is what I want you to do for 
 me : you will stop at the door of the inn and 
 hide yourself ; and I will go up the road and sow 
 the hemp-seed ; and if anything appears, you will 
 see it. Will you do that, Hector ? It is a clear 
 night ; you will be sure to see it if there is any- 
 thing." 
 
 He did not seem to be in the mood for taking 
 part in these superstitious observances ; but he was 
 good-natured, and eventually followed her to the 
 door. The little walled garden in front of the 
 Inver-Mudal inn is shaped like a horseshoe, the 
 two ends of the semicircle touching the main high- 
 way at some distance apart. He saw Nelly go up 
 toward the main road, and looked after her 
 al)sently and without interest. Nay, he was so 
 little thinking of his promised watch that, as 
 she was some time over the sowing of the hemp- 
 seed, he left the shadow of the inn door, and 
 strolled away up to the main road by the other 
 fork of the semicircular drive. It was a beauti- 
 ful clear moonlight night ; his thoughts were 
 far away from these Hallowe'en diversions ; he 
 was recallino^ other evenino^s loner aao, when 
 Clebrig, as now, seemed joining earth and 
 heaven, and when there was no sound but the 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 97 
 
 murmuring of the burns tlirougii tlie trackless 
 heather. The highway up there was white 
 before him ; on the other side was a plantation 
 of young firs, black as jet. Not even the cry 
 of a startled bird broke this perfect stillness ; 
 the wide world of mountain and loch and moor 
 was plunged in sleep profound. 
 
 All at once his pipe, that he happened to l^e 
 holding in his hand, dropped to his feet. There 
 before him in the white highway, and between 
 him and the black belt of firs, stood Flora 
 Campbell, regarding him with eyes that said 
 nothing, iDut only stared in a somewhat sad way, 
 as it seemed. He was not paralyzed with terror 
 at all. He had no time to ask himself what 
 she w^as doing there, or how she had come there. 
 Flora Campbell standing there in the road, and 
 looking at him in silence. But the horror 
 came when suddenly he saw that the white 
 highway was empty. He began to shake and 
 shiver as if with extremity of cold. He did not 
 move ; he could not move. He knew what had 
 happened to him now. Flora Campbell's wraith 
 had appeared to him. And with what message ? 
 The steady gaze of her eyes had told him nothing. 
 If they were anything, they were mournful. 
 
 H 
 
98 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 Perhaps it was a token of farewell ; perhaps it 
 was an intimation of her death. Hardly know- 
 ing what he did, and trembling in every limb, 
 he advanced a step or two, so that he could 
 command the whole length of the highway. 
 There was no sign of any living thing there. He 
 could not recall how it was she first appeared ; 
 he could not tell in what manner she had gone 
 away ; he only knew that a few moments before 
 Flora had been regarding him with steady, 
 plaintive eyes, and that now he was alone with 
 this moonlit road and the Ijlack plantation, 
 and Clebrio; rising; far into the silent heavens. 
 Then there arose in his heart a wild resolve 
 that, whatever this thing might portend, he 
 must instantly make away for the south, to seek 
 out Flora Campbell herself. She had something 
 to say to him, surely, though those mournful 
 eyes conveyed no intelligible message. Nay, 
 if she were dead, if this were but a mute fare- 
 well, must he not know ? Dazed, bewildered, 
 filled with terrible misgivings of he knew not 
 what, he slowly went back to the inn. He had 
 some vague instinct that he must ask Mr. 
 Murray for the loan of a stick if he were to 
 set out now to cross the leagues of wild and 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 99 
 
 mountainous country that lie between Inver- 
 Mudal and the sea. Mr. Murray, as it chanced, 
 was at the door. 
 
 " God's sake, Hector, what is the matter with 
 you ? " he exclaimed, in alarm, for there was a 
 strange look in the man's face. 
 
 " I have seen something this night," was the 
 answer, spoken slowly and in an undertone. 
 
 " Nonsense ! nonsense ! " the innkeeper said. 
 ^' The heads of the young people are filled with 
 foolishness on Hallowe'en, as every one knows ; 
 hut you — you are not to be frightened by their 
 stories." 
 
 '' It has naught to do with Hallowe'en," said 
 Hector, still with his eyes fixed on the ground, 
 
 you 
 
 as if seeking to recall something'. ^' Do 
 
 ^& 
 
 know what I have seen this night ? I have seen 
 the wraith of Flora Campbell — ay, as clear as 
 daylight." 
 
 " I will not believe it. Hector," said Mr. 
 Murray. " You have been hearing all those 
 stories of the witches and fairies on Hallowe'en 
 until your own head has been turned. AVhy, 
 where did you see the wraith ? " 
 
 '' Up there in the road, and as clear as 
 daylight, for that is the truth. It was Flora 
 
 H 2 
 
loo A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 licrsclf," the tall forester made answer, not 
 argumentatively, but as merely stating a fact 
 that he knew. 
 
 " And did she come forward to you, or did 
 she go away from you ? " Mr. Murray asked, 
 curiously. 
 
 " I — I am not sure," Hector said, after a little 
 hesitation. '' No, I could not say. Perhaps 
 I was not thinking of her. But all at once I 
 saw her between me and the plantation, in the 
 middle of the road ; and for a moment I was not 
 frightened ; I thought it was Flora herself ; then 
 she was gone." 
 
 " For you know what they say, Hector," Mr. 
 Murray continued. " When a wraith appears, 
 it is to tell you of a great danger ; and if it 
 comes forward to you, then the danger is over ; 
 but if it goes away from you, the person is 
 dead." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; I have heard that too," Hector 
 murmured, as if in soml)re reverie. Then he 
 looked up, and said : " I am going away to the 
 south." 
 
 " Well, now, that is unfortunate, Hector," the 
 good-natured innkeeper said to him. " For to- 
 morrow the mail comes north, and you will have 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH loi 
 
 to wait till the next day for the mail going 
 south, to take you in to Lairg to catch the 
 train." 
 
 " I will not wait for the mail," answered the 
 forester, who, indeed, knew little about travel- 
 ling by railway. " To-morrow is Wednesday : 
 it is the day the big steamer starts from Loch 
 Inver ; perhaps I may be in time." 
 
 " Loch Inver ! " the other exclaimed. "And 
 how are you going to get to Loch Liver from 
 here. Hector ? " 
 
 " Across the forest," was the simple reply. 
 
 " Across the Keay Forest and down by 
 Loch Assynt ? That will be a fearful journey 
 through the night 1 " 
 
 " I cannot rest here," Hector said. " You 
 will make some excuse for me to the lads and 
 lasses. I will leave my pipes ; Long Murdoch 
 will do very well with them. And I will thank 
 you to lend me a stick, Mr. Murray, for it will 
 be a rough walk before I have done." 
 
 Mr. Murray did more than that ; he got his 
 wife to make up a little packet of food, to which 
 he added a flask of whiskey ; and these he took 
 out to the young man, along with a shepherd's 
 staff of stout hazel. 
 
102 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 '' Good-by, Hector ! " said he. '' I hope you 
 will find all well in the south." 
 
 "I do not know about that," the forester 
 answered, in an absent sort of fashion ; " but I 
 must go and see. There will be no peace of 
 mind for me — there would not be one moment's 
 peace for me — otherwise. For who knows what 
 Flora wanted to say to me ? " 
 
 III. 
 
 It was an arduous task he had set before him ; 
 for nine men out of ten it would have been an 
 impossible one ; but this young forester's limbs 
 knew not what fatigue was ; and in his heart 
 there burned a longing that could not be as- 
 suaged. Nor in ordinary circumstances would 
 tlie loneliness of this night's journey have mat- 
 tered to him ; but his nerves had been unstrung 
 1 )y the strange thing that had happened ; and 
 now, as he followed a shepherd's track that led 
 away into the higher moorlands south of the 
 Mudal Pdver, he was conscious of some mys- 
 terious influence surrounding him that was of 
 far more immediate concern than the mere 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 103 
 
 number of miles — some forty or fifty — he had to 
 accomplish before noon of the next day. These 
 vast solitudes into which he was penetrating 
 were apparently quite voiceless and lifeless ; and 
 yet he felt as if they knew of his presence, and 
 w^ere regarding him. A white stone on a dark 
 heather- covered knoll would suddenly look like 
 a human fiice ; or again, he would be startled 
 by the moonlight shining on a small tarn set 
 among the black peat hags. There was no 
 moaning of wind ; but there was a distant mur- 
 muring of water ; the rills were whispering to 
 each other in the silence. As for the mountains 
 — those lone sentinels, Ben Loyal and Ben Hope 
 and Ben Hee — they also appeared to be looking 
 down upon the desolate plain ; but he did not 
 heed them, they were too far away ; it was the 
 objects near him that seemed to know he was 
 here, and to take sudden shapes as he went by. 
 
 Soon he was without even a shepherd's track 
 . to guide him ; but he knew the lay of the land ; 
 and he held on in a line that would avoid the 
 lochs, the deeper burns, and the steep heights of 
 Meall-an-amair. The moonlight was a great 
 help ; indeed, at this period of his long through- 
 the-night tramp he was chiefly engaged in trying 
 
104 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 to recall how it was he first became sensible that 
 Flora Campbell's wraith appeared before him. 
 He saw again — surely he would never forget to 
 his dying day the most insignificant feature of 
 the scene — the stone wall of the garden, the 
 white road, the wire fence on the other side, and 
 the black plantation of spruce and pine. What 
 had he been thinking about ? Not about Nelly ; 
 she was some distance in another direction, busy 
 with her charms and incantations. No ; he 
 could not tell. The sudden apparition had 
 startled him out of all memory. But what he 
 was most anxious to convince himself was 
 that the phantom had come toward him, rather 
 than gone away from him, ere it disappeared. 
 ]\rr. jMurray's words had sunk deep, though he 
 himself had been aware of the familiar supersti- 
 tion. But now all his endeavours to summon 
 up an accurate recollection of what had taken 
 j^lace were of no avail. He knew not how he 
 first became conscious that the wraith was there 
 — Flora Campbell herself, as it seemed to him — 
 nor how it was he suddenly found himself alone 
 again. He had been terrified out of his senses ; 
 he had no power of observation left. This 
 phantasm that looked so like a human being. 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WEALTH 105 
 
 that regarded him with pathetic eyes, that had 
 some mysterious message to communicate, and 
 yet was silent, had vanished as it had appeared, 
 he could not tell how. 
 
 The hours went by ; the moon was sinking 
 towards the western hills. And still he toiled 
 on through this pathless waste, sometimes get 
 ting into treacherous swamps, again having to 
 ford burns swollen by the recent rains. He was 
 soaked through to the waist ; but little he heeded 
 that ; his thoughts were of the steamer that was 
 to leave Loch Inver the next day. With the 
 moon going down, darkness was slowly resuming 
 her reign, and it became more difficult to make 
 out the landmarks ; but, at all events, the heavens 
 remained clear, and he had the guidance of the 
 stars. And still steadily and patiently and man- 
 fully he held on, getting, without much serious 
 trouble, across the streams that feed Loch 
 Fhiodaig, until eventually he struck the highway 
 running northward from Loch Shin, and knew 
 that so far at least he was in the rioht direction. 
 
 Leaving the Corrykinloch road again, he had 
 once more to plunge into the trackless wilder- 
 ness of rock and swamp and moorland ; and the 
 further he went through the black night the less 
 
io6 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 familiar was he with the country. But he had 
 a general knowledge ; and what mattered half a 
 dozen miles one way or the other, if only the 
 dawn would show him Ben More on his left, and 
 away before him the silver-gray waters of Loch 
 Assynt ? He was less conscious now of the 
 sinister influences of these lonely solitudes ; his 
 nervous apprehensions had to give way before 
 his dosfo^ed resolve to g;et out to the western 
 shores in time to catch the steamer ; all his 
 attention was given to determining his course 
 by the vague outlines of the higher hills. A 
 wind had arisen, a cold, raw wind it was ; but 
 he cared nothing for that, unless, indeed, it 
 should bring a smurr of rain and obliterate the 
 landmarks altogether. How anxiously he prayed 
 for the dawn ! If this wind were to bring driving 
 mists of rain, blotting out both earth and heaven, 
 and limiting his vision to the space of moorland 
 immediately surrounding him, where would be 
 his guidance then ? He could not grope his 
 way along the slopes that lie beneath Loch nan 
 Scarir, nor yet across the streams that fall into 
 Loch Fionn. So all the more resolutely he held 
 on while as yet he could make out something of 
 the land, dark ao-ainst the tremulous stars. 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH ' 107 
 
 Again and again lie turned his head and 
 scanned the east, with a curious minoiino- of 
 impatience and hope and longing ; and at length, 
 to his unspeakable joy, he was able to convince 
 himself that the horizon there was o^ivino; faint 
 signs of the coming dawn. He went forward 
 with a new confidence, with a lighter step. The 
 horror of these awful solitudes would disappear 
 with the declaring day ; surely, surely, when the 
 world had grown white again, he would behold 
 before him, not this terrible black loneliness of 
 mountain and mere, but the pleasant abodes of 
 men, and trees, and the western ocean, and the 
 red-funnelled steamer with its welcome smoke. 
 The gray light in the east increased. He began 
 to make out the features of the ground near 
 him ; he could tell a patch of heather from a 
 deep hole ; and could choose his way. The world 
 seemed to broaden out. Everything, it is true, 
 was as yet wan and spectral and ill-defined ; but 
 the silence was no longer awful ; he had no 
 further fear of the mists coming along to isolate 
 him in the dark. By slow degrees, under the 
 widening light of the sky, the various features 
 of this wild country began to take more definite 
 shape. Down there in the south lay the mighty 
 
io8 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 mass of Ben More. On his right rose the sterile 
 altitudes of Ben Uiclhe. And at last, and quite 
 suddenly, he came in view of the ruffled silvery 
 surface of Loch Assynt, and the cottages of Inch- 
 nadamph, and the gray ruins of Ardvreck Castle 
 on the promontory jutting out into the lake. The 
 worst of the sore fight with solitude and the 
 night was over. He gained the road, and his long 
 swinging stride now stood him in good stead. 
 Loch Assynt was soon left behind. He follow^ed 
 the windings of the river Inver. Finally he 
 came in sight of the scattered little hamlet 
 facing the western seas, wdtli its bridge and its 
 church and its pleasant woods and slopes, looking 
 all so cheerful and home-like ; and there also was 
 the red-funnelled Clansman that was to carry 
 him away to the south. 
 
 IV. 
 
 That long and difflcult struggle to get out to 
 the western coast in time had so far demanded 
 all his energy and attention ; but now, in en- 
 forced idleness, as the heavy steamer ploughed 
 her away across the blue waters of the Minch, 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 109 
 
 his mind could go back upon wliat had happened 
 the preceding night, and could also look forward 
 with all sorts of dark, indefinite forebodings. 
 He beo^an to recall his first association with Flora 
 Campbell, when she came to Auchnaver Lodge 
 to help the old house-keeper there. He remem- 
 bered how neat and trim she looked when she 
 walked into Strathie Free Church of a Sunday 
 morning ; and how shy she was when he got to 
 know her well enough to talk a little with her 
 when they met, in their native tongue. Their 
 courtship and engagement had the entire ap- 
 proval of Flora's master and mistress ; for the 
 old house-keeper at the lodge was now past work ; 
 and they proposed to install Hector's wife in her 
 place, and give her a permanent situation. The 
 wedding was to be in February or March ; in 
 iVpril the young wife was to move into the lodge, 
 to get it ready for the gentlemen coming up 
 for the salmon-fishing. When the fishing and 
 shooting of the year were over, Flora could re- 
 turn to her husband's cottage, and merely look 
 in at the lodo;e from time to time to lio-ht a fire 
 or two and keep the place aired. Meanwhile, 
 for this present winter, she had taken a situation 
 in Oban (she was a West Highland girl), and 
 
no A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 had remained tliere until summoned away to 
 Greenock by the serious illness of her sister. 
 Such was the situation : but who could tell now 
 what was to become of all those fair prospects 
 and plans ? Was it to bid a last farewell to 
 them and to him that the young Highland 
 girl had appeared — saying good-by with such 
 mournful eyes ? The small parlor in his cot- 
 tao^e — was she never to see the little adornments 
 
 o 
 
 he had placed there, all for her sake ? AVell, 
 then, if what he feared had come true, no other 
 woman should enter and take possession. There 
 were dreams of .Canada, of Cape Colony, of Aus- 
 tralia in his brain as he sat there with bent brow 
 and heavy heart, taking hardly any heed of the 
 new shores they were now nearing. 
 
 This anguish of brooding became at length 
 insupportable ; in despair he went to the 
 stevedore, and said he would be glad to lend a 
 hand with the cargo as soon as the steamer was 
 alongside the quay in Stornoway Harbor. And 
 right hard he worked, too, hour after hour, feed- 
 in q; the steam crane that was swinoina crates 
 and boxes over and down into the hold. The 
 time passed more easily in this fashion. His 
 chum was a good-natured young fellow who 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH in 
 
 seemed rather proud of his voice ; at times he 
 sang snatches of Gaelic songs — " Mairi bhinn 
 mheall shuileach " (Mary of the bewitching eyes), 
 or " C'aite 'n caidil an ribhinn ? " (Where sleep- 
 est thou, dear maiden ?). They were familiar 
 songs ; but there was one still more familiar 
 that woke strange echoes in his heart ; for 
 Flora Campbell was a west-country girl, and of 
 course her favorite was the well-known '' Fear 
 a bhata " : 
 
 "I climb the mountains and scan the ocean 
 For thee, my boatman, with fond devotion, 
 When shall I see thee ? — to-day ? — to-morrow ? 
 Oh, do not leave me in lonely sorrow ! 
 O my boatman, na horo ailya, 
 O my boatman, na horo ailya, 
 O my boatman, na horo ailya,, 
 A hundred farewells to you, wherever you 
 may be going.'' 
 
 That is how it begins in the English ; but it was 
 the Gaelic phrases that haunted his brain, and 
 broug;ht him remembrance of Flora's croonins: 
 voice, and of a certain autumn evening when 
 he and she and some others went all the way 
 down Loch Naver to Inver-Mudal, Flora and he 
 sitting together in the stern of the boat, and all 
 of them singing the ''Fear a bhata." 
 
112 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 The Clansman left Stornoway that same night, 
 groaning and thundering through the darkness 
 on her way to Skye. Hector did not go below 
 into the fore-cabin. He remained on deck, 
 watching the solitary ray of some distant light- 
 house, or perhaps turning his gaze upon the 
 great throbbing vault overhead, where Cassiopeia 
 sat, throned upon her silver chair. More than 
 once an aerolite shot' swiftly across the clear 
 heavens, leaving a faint radiance for a second or 
 so in its wake ; but he took no heed of these 
 portents now. In other circumstances they 
 might mean something ; but now a more direct 
 summons had come to him from the unknown 
 w^orld ; the message had been delivered, though 
 he had been unable to understand it ; and he 
 knew that what was to happen had now hap- 
 pened in that far town of Greenock. And as the 
 slow hours went by, his impatience and longing 
 increased almost to despair. The dark loom of 
 land in the south appeared to come no nearer. 
 The monotonous throbbino; of the screw seemed 
 as if it were to go on forever. And as yet there 
 was no sign of the dawn. 
 
 But the new day, which promised to be 
 quite insupportable in its tedium and in its 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 113 
 
 fears, in reality brought liim some distraction, 
 and that was welcome enough. At Portree there 
 came on board a middle-aged man of rather 
 mean aspect, with broken nose, long upper lip, 
 and curiously set small gray eyes. He carried a 
 big bag which apparently held all his belongings, 
 and that he threw on to the luggage on the for- 
 ward deck. 
 
 '' Where's this going to ? " called the 
 stevedore. 
 
 '' Sure 'tis bound for the same place as mesilf," 
 said the new-comer, facetiously ; '' and that's 
 Philadelphia, begob ! " 
 
 '' We don't call there," retorted the stevedore, 
 drily ; '' and you'd better stick to your bundle 
 if you want to see it at Greenock." 
 
 And very soon it became apparent that the 
 advent of this excited and voluble Irishman had 
 brought new life into the steerage portion of the 
 ship. He had had a glass or two of whisky. 
 He talked to everybody within hearing about 
 himself, his plans, his former experiences of the 
 United States ; and when gravelled for lack of 
 matter, he would fall back on one invariable 
 refrain : " Aw, begob I the Americans are the 
 bhoys 1 " And in especial were his confidences 
 
 I 
 
114 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 bestowed on Hector Maclntyre, tlie shy and 
 reserved Highlander listening passively and 
 without protest to Paddy's wild asseverations. 
 
 " Aw, the Americans are the divils, and no 
 mistake ! " he exclaimed. " But let me tell you 
 this, sorr, that there's one that's cliverer than 
 them, and that's the Irish hhoy, begob ! Sure 
 they talk about the German vote — aw, bather- 
 shin ! 'Tis the Irish vote, sorr, that's the 
 masther; and we've got the newspapers. And 
 where would the Kepublicans or the Dimocrats 
 be widout us ? — tell me that av ye plaze ! In 
 
 this ould counthry the Irishman is a slave ; 
 
 in Americay he's the masther ; and every 
 mother's son of them knows it ! Aw, begob, 
 
 sorr, that's the place for a man ! This ould 
 
 counthry isn't fit for a pig to live in ! Americay 's 
 the place ; you may bet your life on it, sorr ! " 
 
 And suddenly it occurred to Hector that he 
 might gain some information, even from this 
 blathering fool. His thoughts had been running 
 much on emigration during those lonely hours he 
 had passed. If what he dreaded had really taken 
 place, he would return no more to the lone 
 moorlands and hills and lakes of Sutherlandshire. 
 He would put the wide Atlantic between himself 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 115 
 
 and certain memories. For him it would be 
 '' Soraidh slan le tir mo ghraidh " — a long fare- 
 well to Fiunary ! 
 
 But at present the Irishman would not be 
 questioned ; the outflowing of his eloquence was 
 not to be stopped. He w^as now dealing with 
 the various classes and the various institutions 
 of Great Britain, on each of which he bestowed 
 the same epithet — that of '' bloody." The 
 Government, the newspaper editors, the House of 
 Lords, the House of Commons, the clergy, the 
 judges, the employers of labour, all were of the 
 same ensanguined hue ; and all were equally 
 doomed to perdition, as soon as Ireland had 
 taken up her proper and inevitable position in 
 America. Moreover, the tall and silent High- 
 lander, as he sat and gazed upon this fro thin o* 
 creature as if he were some strange phenomenon, 
 some incomprehensible freak of nature, could 
 not but see that the man was perfectly in 
 earnest. 
 
 " Look what they did to Jolni Mitchel ! Look 
 at that, now ! John Mitchel ! " 
 
 Hector had, unfortunately, never heard of 
 John Mitchel, so he could not say anything. 
 
 "Dying by the road-side !— John Mitchel — to 
 
 I 2 
 
ii6 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 be left to die by the roacl-sicle ! Think of that, 
 now ! What d'ye say to that, now ? John 
 Mitchel being left to die by the road-side ! " 
 
 There were sudden tears in the deep-sunken 
 gray eyes ; and the Irishman made no conceal- 
 ment as he wiped them away with his red cotton 
 handkerchief. 
 
 '' Well, I'm very sorry," Hector Maclntyre 
 replied, in answer to this appeal, '' whoever he 
 was. But what could they have done for the 
 poor man ? " 
 
 "They could have given him a place," the 
 other retorted, with a sudden blaze of anger. 
 " All that John Mitchel w^anted was a place. 
 But the " (ensanguined) " Government, would 
 they do it ? No, sorr ! They let him die by the 
 road-side ! — John Mitchel — to die by the road- 
 side ! " 
 
 '' Well, I am thinking," said the forester, 
 slowly (as was his way when he had to talk in 
 Eno'lish), " that if the Government wass to give 
 places to ahl them that would like a place, why, 
 the whole country would be in the public service, 
 and there would be no one left to till the land. 
 And do they give you a place when you go to 
 America ? " 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 117 
 
 " Aw, begob, sorr," said the Irishman, with 
 a shrewd twinkle in his eye, ^' we get our 
 share ! " 
 
 Hector could not make out whether his new 
 acquaintance had been to Portree to say good- 
 by to some friends before he crossed the 
 Atlantic, or whether he had been engaged in the 
 crofter ao^itation which was then attractinof atten- 
 tion in Skye. On this latter subject Paddy dis- 
 coursed with a vehement volubility and a gay 
 and audacious ignorance ; but here Hector was 
 on his own ground, and had to interfere. 
 
 " I am thinking you will not be knowing much 
 about it," he observed, with a calm frankness. 
 " The great Highland clearances, they were not 
 made for deer at ahl, they were not made for 
 sportsmen at ahl, they were made for sheep, as 
 many a landlord knows to his cost this day, 
 when he has the sheep farms on his lands and 
 cannot get them let. And the deer forests, they 
 are the worst land in a country where the best 
 land is poor ; and if they were to be cut up into 
 crofts to-morrow, there is not one crofter in 
 twenty would be able to earn his living, even if 
 he was to get the croft for no rent at ahl. Oh 
 yes, I am as sorry as any one for the poor people 
 
Ii8 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 when they increase in their families on such poor 
 hind ; l)ut what wouki be the use of giving them 
 more peat hags and rocks ? Can a man live 
 where neither deer nor sheep nor black cattle 
 can live ? — and even the deer come down in the 
 winter and go wandering for miles in search of a 
 blade of bent-grass." 
 
 However, the Irishman would not accept these 
 representations in any wdse. He suspected this 
 grave, broA\Ti-bearded Highlander of being an 
 accomplice and hireling of the (ensanguined) 
 landlords ; and he might have gone on to de- 
 nounce him, or even to provoke an appeal to 
 fisticuffs (which would have been manifestly 
 imprudent) had it not suddenly occurred to him 
 that they might go down below and have a glass 
 of whisky together. Hector saw him disappear 
 into the fore-cabin by himself, and was perhaps 
 glad to be left alone. 
 
 Steadily the great steamer clove her way 
 onward, by the islands of Eaasay and Scalpa, 
 through the narrows of Kyle Akin and Kyle 
 Ehea, past the light-house and opening into Isle 
 Ornsay, and down toward the wooded shores of 
 Armadale. The day was fair and still ; the sea 
 was of an almost summer-like blue, with long 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 119 
 
 swathes of silver calm ; the sun shone on the 
 lower green slopes that seemed so strangely 
 voiceless, and on the higher peaks and shoulders 
 of the hills, where every corrie and w^atercourse 
 was a thread of azure among the ethereal rose- 
 grays of the far-reaching summits. Even the 
 wild Ardnamurchan ("The Headland of the 
 Great Waves ") had not a flake of cloud clinging 
 to its beetled chffs ; and the long smooth roll 
 that came in from the outer ocean was almost 
 imperceptible. Toward evening the Clansman 
 sailed into Oban Bay. The world seemed all on 
 fire, so far as sea and sky were concerned ; but 
 Kerrera lay in shadow, a cold and livid green ; 
 while between the crimson water and the crimson 
 heavens stood the distant mountains of Mull ; 
 and they had grown to be of a pale, clear, 
 transparent rose-purple, so that they seemed a 
 mere film thinner than any isinglass. 
 
 V. 
 
 Theee was abundance of time for him to go 
 ashore and make inquiries ; but nothing had been 
 heard of Flora Campbell since she had left. How- 
 
I20 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 ever, he managed to get the Greenock address 
 of her sister, Mary Campbell, and with that in his 
 possession he returned on board. Thereafter the 
 monotonous voyage was resumed — away down 
 by the long peninsula of Cantyre and round the 
 Mull, up again through the estuary of the Clyde, 
 until, at four o'clock on the Friday afternoon, 
 the Clansman drew in to Greenock quay ; and 
 Hector Maclntyre knew that within a few 
 minutes he would learn what fate had in store 
 for him, for good or irretrievable ill. 
 
 He found his way to the address that had been 
 given him — a temperance hotel at which Mary 
 Campbell was head laundry-maid. But Mary 
 Campbell was no longer there. She had been 
 removed when she was taken ill ; and as she 
 would not go into a hospital, according to a 
 prejudice familiar amongst many of her class, 
 lodgings had been found for her. Thither 
 Hector went forthwith, to a slummy little by- 
 street, where, after many inquiries, he found the 
 " land " and the " close " that he souo:ht. He 
 ascended the grimy and dusky stone stairs. 
 When he had nearly reached the top floor he 
 was met by a short, stout, elderly man, who had 
 just shut a door behind him. 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 121 
 
 " Is there one Mary Campbell luvvin' here ? " 
 he made bold to ask in English. 
 
 " Kj, that there is," said the stranger, fixing 
 keen eyes on him. " Are you come for news of 
 her ? I am the doctor." 
 
 " Yes, yes," Hector said ; but he could say no 
 more ; his heart was beating like to choke him. 
 He fixed his eyes on the doctor's face. 
 
 " Ye'U be one of her Highland cousins, eh ? 
 Ye dinna look like a town -bred lad," said the 
 brusque and burly doctor, with a sort of facetious 
 good-humour. " Well, well, Mary is getting on 
 right enough. Ye might as well go in and cheer 
 her up a bit. The twa lasses dinna seem to 
 have many freens." 
 
 " But — but— Flora ? " said the forester, with 
 his hungry, haggard eyes still watching every 
 expression of the doctor's face. 
 
 "The other one? Indeed, she has had the 
 fever worse than her sister. I wasna sure one 
 night but that she would go — " 
 
 Maclntyre seemed to hear no more. Flora 
 was alive — was within a few yards of him. He 
 stood there quite dazed. His eyes were averted ; 
 he was breathing heavily. The doctor looked at 
 him for a moment or two. 
 
I 
 122 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 '' Maybe it's the sister you're anxious about ? " 
 said lie, bluntly. "Weel, slie is no out o' the 
 wood yet, but she has a fair chance. What, man, 
 what's the matter wi' ye ? It's no such ill news — " 
 
 '' No, no ; it's very good news," Hector said, 
 in an undertone, as if to himself. '' I wass — 
 fearing something. Can I see the lass ? I wass 
 not hearing from her for a while — " 
 
 But he could not explain what had brought 
 him hither. He instinctively knew that this 
 south countryman would laugh at his Highland 
 superstition, would say that his head had been 
 stuffed full of Hallowe'en nonsense, or that at 
 most what he had imagined he had seen and the 
 fact that Flora Campbell had fallen seriously ill 
 formed but a mere coincidence. 
 
 " Oh yes, you can see her," the doctor said, 
 with rough good-nature. " But I'll just go in 
 beforehand to 2fie her a bit warnino-. You can 
 talk to her sister for a minute or two. She is 
 sitting up noo, and soon she'll have to begin and 
 nurse her sister, as her sister did her until she 
 took the fever. Come away, lad — what's your 
 name, did ye say ? " 
 
 " Hector Maclntyre. Flora will know very 
 well where I am from." 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 123 
 
 The doctor knocked at the door, which was 
 presently ojDcned by a young girl ; and while he 
 left Hector to talk to the elder sister, who was 
 lying propped up on a rude couch in a rather 
 shabby little apartment, he himself went into an 
 inner room. When he came out he again looked 
 ■at Hector curiously. 
 
 " Now^ I understand why you were so anxious," 
 said he, with a familiar smile. " But how came 
 ye to hear she was ill ? She says she did not 
 want ye to ken anything about it until she was 
 on the hio^h-road to o'ettino; better." 
 
 Hector did not answer him. He only looked 
 toward the door that had been partially left 
 open. 
 
 " Go in, then," said the doctor ; " and dinna 
 stay ower lang, my lad, for she has little 
 strength to waste in talking as yet." 
 
 Timidly, like a school-boy, this big strong 
 man entered the sick-room ; and it was gently 
 and on tiptoe (lest his heavily nailed boots 
 should make any noise) that he went forward to 
 the bedside. Flora lay there pale and emaciated ; 
 but there w^as a smile of surprise and welcome in 
 the dark-blue Highland eyes ; and she tried to 
 lift her wasted hand to meet his. AVhat they 
 
124 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 had to say to each other was said in the Gaelic 
 tongue. 
 
 "It is sorry I am to see you like this," said 
 he, sitting down, and keeping her hand in his 
 own. " But the doctor says you are now in a fair 
 way to get better ; and it is not from this town 
 I am going until I take you with me, Flora, girl 
 of my heart. The Sutherland air will be better 
 for you than the Greenock air. And your sister 
 Mary will come with you for a while ; and both 
 of you will take my little cottage ; and Mrs. 
 Matheson will give me a bed at Auchnaver 
 Lodge. I am sure Mr. Lennox would not object 
 to that." 
 
 " But, Hector, how did you know^ that I was 
 ill ? " the sick girl said, and her eyes did not 
 leave his eyes for a moment. " I was not 
 wishing you to know I was ill — to give you 
 trouble — until I could write to you that I was 
 better." 
 
 " How did I know ? " he answered, gravely. 
 " It was you yourself who came to tell me." 
 
 " What is it that you say. Hector ? " she 
 asked, in some vague alarm. 
 
 " On Hallowe'en night," he continued, in the 
 same serious, simple tones, '' I was at Inver- 
 
A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 125 
 
 Muclal. Perhaps I was not caring much for the 
 diversions of the lads and lasses. I walked up 
 the road by myself ; and there your wraith ap- 
 peared to me as clear as I see you now. When 
 I went back and told Mr. Murray, he said, ' Did 
 she come forward to you, Hector, or did she go 
 away ? She is in great danger. It is a warning ; 
 and if she went away from you, you will see her 
 no more ; but if she came forward, she is getting 
 better — you will see Flora again.' I knew that 
 myself ; but I could not answer him ; and my 
 heart said to me that I must find out for myself ; 
 that I must go to seek you ; and I set out that 
 night and walked across the Keay Forest to Loch 
 Inver, and caught the steamer there. "What I 
 have been thinking since I left Loch Inver until 
 this hour I cannot tell to you or to any one 
 living." 
 
 " Hector," she asked, ^' what night was Hallow- 
 e'en night ? I have not been thinking of such 
 things." 
 
 " It was the night of Tuesday," he answered. 
 ''And that," she said, in a low voice, ''was 
 the night that the fever took the turn. Mary 
 told me they did not expect me to live till the 
 morning." 
 
126 A HALLOWE'EN WRAITH 
 
 "We will never speak of it again, Flora," said he, 
 " for there are things that we do not understand." 
 And then he added : " But now that I am in 
 Greenock, it is in Greenock I mean to remain 
 until I can take you away with me, and Mary 
 too ; for Sutherland air is better than Greenock 
 air for a Highland lass ; and sure I am that 
 Mr. Lennox will not grudge me having a bed at 
 Auchnaver Lodge. And you will get familiar 
 with the cottage, Flora, where I hope you will 
 soon be mistress ; and then there will be no 
 more occasion for a great distance l)etween you 
 and me ; or for the strange things that some- 
 times happen when people are separated the 
 one from the other." 
 
NANCIEBEL : 
 
 A TALE OF STEATFOKD-ON-AYON. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 There was a sliglit sprinkling of snow on tliis 
 walled and tiled back-garden — or back-yard, 
 rather — in the High Street of Stratford-on- 
 Avon ; and the two figures who, arm-in-arm, 
 were slowly pacing up and down, were well 
 wrapped up, for the night was cold. The one 
 was a tall young fellow of three or four and 
 twenty, of slim build and fair complexion ; the 
 other was a young lady of lesser height, who 
 wore a tall hat with tragic sable plumes, and 
 had also a black fur boa wound round her neck. 
 Not much could be seen of her face, indeed 
 except that she had a pert and pretty nose, and 
 soft, eloquent, pleading, dark eyes. 
 
128 NANCIEBEL 
 
 The young man was in an oracular mood. He 
 was delivering a discourse ; and it was a dis- 
 course on tlie letter li. He was proving to his 
 companion that all the learned and polished 
 nations of ancient and modern times had con- 
 temned and despised the letter A, even when they 
 did not resolutely ignore it ; and he was insisting 
 that the importance conferred on that letter by 
 the English-speaking communities, and the social 
 use it had been put to, as a sort of shibboleth 
 and test of one's up-bringing, were the result of 
 nothing but crass and vulgar ignorance. 
 
 " Ah ! I know what i you mean, Eichard," the 
 young lady said, plaintively. "It is all to give 
 me courage — if ever I should meet your mother 
 some day. For you know, dear, I never do make 
 a mistake except when I am frightened or 
 anxious. Indeed," she added, shyly, " I think 
 you are rather sorry, Eichard, that you can't 
 oftener catch me tripping because of the 
 penalty. You haven't caught me once lately, in 
 spite of all your difficult sentences. Is that why 
 you instituted prizes instead of penalties ? And 
 tell me this, Eichard — how can the same thing 
 be both a prize and a penalty ? " 
 
 " Nanciebel," said he, in answer to these 
 
*' GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 129 
 
 mysterious references, '' this is not a time for 
 asking conundrums. I tell you, to-night I am 
 going to speak to my mother — to tell her the 
 whole story " 
 
 " Oh, no, Richard," she exclaimed, imploringly, 
 " don't do that ! That will only be the end ; 
 and we shall never see each other again. And 
 our acquaintanceship has been so pleasant — — " 
 
 '' Acquaintanceship, Nancy ! " 
 
 " Whatever you like to call it — it has been so 
 pleasant. It will be a thing to look back on in 
 after years. But it will never be more than 
 that." 
 
 " Oh, stuff ! " he said, angrily. " I really 
 wonder at you, Nancy ! I never get the least 
 help or encouragement from you. Don't I know 
 that the circumstances are difficult enough ? 
 But you — you exaggerate them. You haven't 
 the courage of a mouse. You talk as if I were a 
 prince in disguise, and as if you expected my 
 mother to throw you into the Tower as soon 
 as she got to know. I wish you would have 
 a little common sense. The widow and son 
 of a captain in the navy are not such exalted 
 personages " 
 
 At this, moment an open door at the foot of 
 
 K 
 
I30 NANCIEBEL 
 
 the yard was still further opened, and there 
 stood revealed, shining in ruddy light, the 
 stationer's shop and '' fency goods emporium " 
 which was owned by Miss Nancy's elder brother, 
 and over which that young lady herself presided. 
 " Nancy ! " called a small boy — a younger 
 brother. 
 
 ''All right, Jim ! One moment, Eichard " — 
 and she had gone to attend to that infrequent 
 visitor, a customer. 
 
 When she had returned, and had taken his 
 arm again, and nestled up to him (for the night 
 was exceedingly cold, and she was an affectionate 
 kind of a creature), she said — 
 
 " Richard, what would your mother think if 
 she saw me behind that counter ? " 
 
 " She would think you were extremely 
 pretty," said he, with promptitude ; " and what 
 is more, when she gets to know you, she will say 
 you are as good, and true, and kind, and warm- 
 hearted as you are nice to look at. And what 
 more could you w^ant ? " 
 
 "Ah," said Nanciebel, sadly, "you fancy she 
 will see me wdtli your eyes. But that is not the 
 w^ay of the world." 
 
 "What do you know of the way of _ the 
 
" GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 1,31 
 
 world? " lie made answer. " Look here, Nancy. 
 Haven't I told you that my mother's two books 
 are the Bible and Tennyson, and that she 
 believes equally in both ? Very well : now let 
 her put her faith into practice. ' Kind hearts 
 are more than coronets, and simple faith than 
 Norman blood.' " 
 
 '' Ah, yes ; it is so pretty to read about in a 
 book," said Nanciebel, in her plaintive way, 
 " but it is so different in actual life " 
 
 He threw away her hand from his arm. 
 
 " I have no patience with you ! " he said, with 
 an angry frown. 
 
 And she on her side was just as quick. She 
 drew herself up, and said with proud lips — 
 
 " And I, Mr. Kingston, have no wish to 
 remain here to be insulted. Good-night ! " 
 
 She was moving haughtily away ; and lie, in his 
 temper, was like to let her go ; but he thought 
 better of it ; he put his hand on her shoulder, 
 and somewhat sulkily said, when he laid hold of 
 her — 
 
 '' Nancy I " 
 
 " Oh, I suppose you do not understand," she 
 said, indignantly, " that I have a little self-respect 
 — that I wish to be treated with a little common 
 
 K 2 
 
132 NANCIEBEL 
 
 civility and courtesy ? But I would have you 
 know that I am just as proud as you are — 
 prouder — although our stations in life may be 
 different " 
 
 " Nancy ! " he said, in a more appealing way. 
 
 " But I am content," she continued, in the 
 same proud and indignant tones. '' I have asked 
 nothing from you. This relationship between 
 you and me was not of my seeking ; and now 
 that it must end — now that it has ended — good 
 and well : I have nothing to regret. Good-night, 
 Mr. Kingston ! " 
 
 And again she was going away, but he caught 
 her by both shoulders. 
 
 ^' Nancy ! — Nancy ! — listen to me ! How can 
 you be so unreasonable " 
 
 She tore herself from him ; but it was only to 
 Ijurst into a passionate fit of crying and sobbing, 
 her hands over her face, her head averted. Of 
 course he was beside her in a moment, drawing 
 her towards him, and petting her. 
 
 " I didn't mean it, Nancy ! — I meant nothing 
 at all ! " he pleaded. '' Don't make me miser- 
 able ! I can't bear to see you crying " 
 
 "It is of no consequence," she sobbed. " It 
 has all come to an end now. I knew it from the 
 
GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 133 
 
 beginning. And — and there has been enough of 
 misery — and enough of misunderstanding — and 
 quarrelling — we were never suited for each other 
 — it has been a mistake throughout —and — and 
 now there is an end — and — and I am glad— I 
 am very glad," she said, with another burst of 
 tears. 
 
 '' Come, come, Nanciebel," said he, soothingly 
 and coaxingly, ''don't say everything is at an 
 end on the very night that I am going to appeal 
 to my mother, and when I want all the self- 
 confidence and courage I can muster. Why 
 don't you look on the brighter side of things ? 
 Think how fond she is of me ; she would do 
 anything for me. And then, if it comes to that, 
 I have some claim to be considered. It wasn't 
 nice for me to be called away from Oxford, when 
 my father died, at the end of my very first term. 
 One single term ! But did I grudge it ? No — 
 not when the Mater put it before me, and said 
 how lonely she would be in the world, and asked 
 me to be her companion. And here have I been 
 living in that old-fashioned place, hardly seeing 
 anybody, with next to nothing to do ; and when 
 I show my mother how a little family of three 
 would be ever so much more snuo; and comfort- 
 
134 NANCIEBEL 
 
 able than our two solitary selves living there, 
 don't you think she will agree ? ' 
 
 "You are so unkind to me, Eichard ! " 
 murmured Nanciebel, with hidden face — hut she 
 did not attempt to get away from him now. 
 
 "No, I am not. It is you who are so un- 
 reasonable," he protested. 
 
 " Then say you will not do it again," the half- 
 sobbing voice murmured. 
 
 " I promise you that, or anything else you 
 like, Nancy," he said, "if you'll only look up, 
 and let me see your face, and be good and kind 
 again, as you can be when you choose." 
 
 She did as she was bidden ; and as she dried 
 her eyes she said — 
 
 " I call it downright wicked of you, Eichard, 
 when you are about to take such a serious step, 
 to waste the time in quarrelling and trying to 
 vex and hurt me. How do we know how many 
 hours we may ever have together? Perhaps 
 this is the very last, and yet you quarrel " 
 
 " I am sure I did not ! — it was you ! " 
 
 " Now, don't begin again, Eichard ! " she said. 
 "How can you be so unjust, and inconsiderate, 
 and unkind, when you know what I have to 
 suffer for your sake ? And are you really going 
 
''GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 135 
 
 to speak to your mother to-night ? When shall 
 I know what she says ? Oh, I am so frightened, 
 when I think of it ! I lie awake at night, 
 wondering how you will begin — wondering what 
 her answer will be. And I know, dear," con- 
 tinued Nanciebel, with a bit of a sigh, " that if 
 she is angry with anybody, it will be with me. 
 She will blame it all on me. She w^ill never 
 think it was you who — who — ])egan to — began 
 to 
 
 " When once she sees your pretty eyes, 
 Nancy, she will understand the whole affair," 
 said he. "And that is what I am most anxious 
 for. If I can only get her to know you — to 
 know you as you are — 1 have no fear. It would 
 be all plain sailing then." 
 
 " Mothers and sons have different ways of 
 looking at things," said Nancy, who had her 
 little traits of shrewdness, " especially when it is 
 some one the son is fond of. Oh, just to think 
 of goino^ to see her — it frio^htens me to death ! 
 I know what she will be saying to herself : ' You, 
 you impertinent wretch of a girl, how dare you 
 try to entrap my son ! How dare you imagine 
 you will enter our family ! ' And I don't, 
 Richard, dear ! I don't — indeed. I do not dare 
 
136 NANCIEBEL 
 
 to imagine anything of the kind. I am too 
 terrified. It would be far better to let every- 
 thing remain as it is. You will go and get 
 married to some one whom your mother will 
 approve of ; and many a year hence you will 
 be saying to your wife : ' I once knew a girl 
 called Nancy. She lived at Stratford. I think 
 she was a little bit fond of me — poor Nancy ! ' 
 And I suppose I may get married too ; but I 
 wouldn't utter a word to anybody about what is 
 over and gone ; I would only think and think 
 of the dear, dear winter nights when you used to 
 walk with me arm-in-arm, and both of us dream- 
 ing of all kinds of impossibilities, and my heart 
 just beating and throbbing for happiness. And 
 I will never, never part with the locket — I don't 
 care who may object. If ever I marry, I will 
 say this : ' Well, you must take me as I am ; 
 and I can't help remembering things.' And I 
 know this, that whatever happens to me, and 
 whether I marry or don't marry, the dearest 
 name in all the world will always be to me 
 — Eichard ! " 
 
 ' ' You speak very freely of the chance of your 
 marrying some one else," said he (though, 
 surely, her artless confession might have been 
 
''GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 137 
 
 sufficient for the most exacting of lovers), " l)ut 
 I am going to make sure you shall do nothing of 
 the kind, unless you mean to commit bigamy. 
 Is that your little project, Nanciebel ? " 
 
 " Ah, it is all very well for you to talk with 
 such a light heart, Kichard, dear," she answered. 
 '' But I don't know what is going to happen to- 
 night, nor what you may have to tell me to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Why, what can happen ! " he remonstrated. 
 " You don't understand at all, Nancy. You 
 seem to imagine I am going to face a stern 
 parent — who will storm and rave and cut me off 
 with fourpence-halfpenny — and who will get 
 hold of you and lock you up in a cell on bread 
 and water. My goodness ! The Mater is just 
 about the gentlest little woman in the world — 
 you will find that out for yourself some day. 
 And why should you dread what is going to 
 happen to-night ? Do you think I am going to 
 ask her permission to marry ? Not likely ! I 
 hope I am old enough to judge and decide and 
 act for myself But of course when I tell her 
 that I have judged and decided, and that I mean 
 to act on my own account, I hope she will take 
 it all right. It will be so much more pleasant. 
 
138 NANCIEBEL ' 
 
 Of course, 1 don't wish to annoy lier ; I ! 
 
 wouldn't vex her for the worhl ; and I know I 
 
 have done nothing to vex her, if she will only 
 
 listen to reason, and if she will consent to make ' 
 
 your acquaintance. For that's where it all lies, 
 
 Nancy, as I have told you again and again. 
 
 When she knows you, she will just take you to ' 
 
 her heart. And that is what I am going to ask '._ 
 
 of her to-night — that I may bring you out to i 
 
 Woodend, so that you two may become friends. ' 
 
 She must know w^ell enoug^h that it is better for i 
 
 . ! 
 
 me to marry a good, true-hearted girl, than to | 
 
 run the racket that most young fellows do ; and | 
 
 where could she find anybody that would make a 
 
 more affectionate daughter than yourself, Nancy ? 
 
 For there is that about you, you know — you ! 
 
 have a fine capacity for loving " 
 
 '' You needn't bring that as a charge against ; 
 
 me, Richard ! " she interposed, with a pout. ; 
 
 " A charge against you ! It is your most : 
 
 adorable quality, Nancy," he said, " so long as : 
 
 you reserve all your loving for me. But I shan't ; 
 
 quarrel with you, if you transfer a little of it to | 
 
 the Mater, who can be very affectionate too, ' 
 
 when she likes. Now, I must l)e off, dear, or I I 
 shall be late for dinner. To-night I am going to 
 
'' GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 139 
 
 see what can 1je done. I think everything will 
 go smoothly. And to-morrow, how shall I be 
 able to tell you what has happened ? You know 
 I don't like coming here much in the daytime, 
 Nancy, lest people should talk." 
 
 " Kate will be back from Evesham to-morrow 
 morning," Nanciebel made answer. " I can get 
 out at any time. Suppose you meet me at the 
 end of the Church — by the river — that will be 
 out of the way." 
 
 " And at what time, Nancy ? " 
 
 " Any time you like. Well, say a little after 
 five o'clock in the afternoon — will that suit you, 
 Richard ? " 
 
 Their long and tender adieux over, he passed 
 through the front premises, and soon he had 
 quitted the gas-lit streets of Stratford town, and 
 was out in the white and silent country. As he 
 strode along the highway, he looked up to the 
 palely-irradiated heavens, and he repeated aloud 
 (for he was about as deeply steeped in Tennyson 
 as his mother was) : 
 
 "As shines the moon in clouded skies, 
 She in her poor attire was seen : 
 One praised her ankles, one her eyes. 
 One her dark hair and lovesome mien. 
 
140 NANCIEBEL 
 
 So sweet a face, such angel grace, 
 In all that land had never been : 
 
 Cophetua sware a royal oath : 
 
 ' This beggar-maid shall be my queen ! ' " 
 
 And of course he was the King Cophetua of 
 these modern times, or at least Nancy appeared 
 to think so ; though she would hardly have 
 appreciated the allusion to her poor attire, for 
 Nanciebel was one of the most smartly-dressed 
 girls in Stratford-upon-Avon. 
 
 And Tennyson was again cunningly called 
 into requisition that evening, by this young man. 
 When he got home he had just time to dress for 
 dinner — a mark of respect he never failed to pay 
 to his mother ; then he gave her his arm and led 
 her into the dining-room, as his father had been 
 wont to do before him. It was a quaint old- 
 fashioned-looking apartment ; for Woodend had 
 Ijeen originally a ferm-house, and when it was 
 changed into an independent residence, they had 
 transformed the big kitchen into a dining-room ; 
 so that here were stone jfloors, partially covered 
 with rugs ; and a vast hearth, with brass fire- 
 doo-s for the los^s of wood ; and shelves over the 
 sideboard for a brave display of shining pewter 
 platters. Mr. Eichard was somewhat silent dur- 
 
''GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 141 
 
 ing this meal. His mother asked him how he 
 had spent the day ; but he could give no clear 
 account of himself. The fact is, this young man 
 was accustomed to haunt the town of Stratford 
 and its neighbourhood, on the chance of his 
 getting a glimpse of a certain grey and purple 
 dress — a costume which he could now recognise 
 at a great distance, and which told him that 
 Nanciebel had come forth for a little stroll, 
 perhaps across the fields to Shottery, or over the 
 bridge and along to the Weir Brake. It was 
 wonderful what an amount of conversation these 
 two had to get through ; and how all-important 
 it was that certain things should be repeated on 
 every occasion on which they met. Or if they 
 did not speak at all, they were still happy enough ; 
 for their imaginations were busy with the long 
 life-time stretching out before them. Then, 
 before entering the town again on their return, 
 they parted (for Stratford, like most other small 
 places, is inclined to gossip) ; and this separation 
 lasted until the dusk of the winter afternoon 
 came down, and until the lamps were lit, when 
 he could approach the little stationer's shop 
 unobserved. At this time of the year there was 
 not much doing in any of these establishments. 
 
142 NANCIEBEL 
 
 111 summer Miss Nancy was kept busy enough | 
 with visitors, mostly Americans, who bought ; 
 photographs of the Parish Church, of Shake- \ 
 speare's Birth-place, and of the beautiful river- ■ 
 view that has been spoiled by the hideous 
 theatre, and who were proud to take away with 
 them as memorials of their visit all sorts of 
 pen-holders, albums, needle-cases, blotting-pads, \ 
 match-boxes, paper-knives, birthday books, and 
 similar things, each with a little glazed picture 
 of some bit of Stratford or of Warwickshire to 
 tell where it had come from. But in winter 
 Miss Nancy's situation was a sinecure ; at any | 
 moment she could leave her sister Kate in ; 
 charge ; nay, if ]\Ir. Richard chanced to come in 
 of an evening, and if she was minded to put on 
 her furry jacket and her tall hat, and go for a 
 little stroll with him up and down the walled-in 
 enclosure at the back, even her small brother Jim 
 could take her place, ready to call out ' Nancy ' ; 
 if any one happened to come in. Jim played - 
 gooseljerry to perfection ; for he was a studious : 
 boy, with a dark love of pirates, and cut-throats, 
 and equatorial savages ; and when he was re- ; 
 veiling in bucketfuls of blood he little cared how | 
 long his sister Nancy might keep pacing up and j 
 
''GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 143 
 
 down in the crisp snow out there. Mr. Richard 
 supplied him bountifully with his flivourite 
 literature ; and Jim had eyes and ears for 
 nothincr else. 
 
 o 
 
 When dinner was over at Woodend, Eichard 
 Kingston went to the door and opened it for his 
 mother ; but ere she passed out on her way to 
 the drawing-room, he said to her, wdth his eyes 
 cast down, and with a most unusual hesitation 
 and abashment — 
 
 " Mother, I want you to do me a favour — I 
 want you to — to read a page of this book — and 
 — and to think about it. I have marked it — 
 wdll you take it now — and read it ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, Richard, of course, if you wish it," 
 the gentle-faced little woman said, wondering at 
 her son's confusion. Had this been a manuscript 
 poem of his own composition, she could have 
 understood his embarrassment ; but the familiar 
 green volume — her beloved Tennyson — why 
 should that cause the boy any perturbation ? 
 However, she took away the book with her ; and 
 he shut the door after her ; and returned to the 
 fire-place — to stand there, and ponder over what 
 he had done, and its possible consequences. 
 
 For the page which Mrs. Kingston had been 
 
144 NANCIEBEL 
 
 besought to read and consider in this especial] 
 manner contained three verses ; and the verses! 
 were these — 
 
 "And slowly was my mother brought I 
 
 To yield consent to my desire : j 
 
 8he wished me happy, but she thought j 
 
 I might have look'd a little higher ; i 
 
 And I was young — too young to wed : \ 
 
 ' Yet must I love her for your sake ; | 
 
 Go fetch your Alice here,' she said : | 
 
 Her eyelid quiver'd as she spake. ! 
 
 " And dow^n I went to fetch my bride : ^ 
 
 But, Alice, you were 111 at ease ; < 
 
 This dress and that by turns you tried, | 
 
 Too fearful that you should not please. j 
 
 I loved you better for your fears, i 
 
 I knew you could not look but well ; j 
 
 And dews that would have fall'n in tears, I 
 
 I kiss'd away before they fell. ^ 
 
 " I watch'd the little flutterings, 1 
 
 The doubt my mother would not see ; 
 She spoke at large of many things. 
 
 And at the last she spoke of me ; ; 
 And turning look'd upon your face, 
 
 As near this door you sat apart, j 
 
 And rose, and, with a silent grace '■ 
 
 Approaching, press'd you heart to heart." 
 
 Would the gentle-eyed and gentle-voiced little! 
 widow in the next room understand? Surely! 
 the message — the entreaty — was clear enough \ 
 
« GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 145 
 
 Yet he was afraid of his own temerity : and like- 
 wise he was afraid that when the time came for 
 explanation, he could not tell her all that 
 Nanciebel was to him. When oug^ht he to go 
 and see what impression had been made ? Per- 
 haps it would be more prudent to wait until the 
 first surprise was over — until she had had time 
 to see that it was but natural her son should 
 choose for himself a mate. 
 
 As he stood considering, the door was opened, 
 and his mother appeared. AVith a sudden sink- 
 ing of the heart, he noticed that her lips were 
 pale, and her eyes anxious and concerned. 
 She shut the door behind her, and came quickly 
 forward, her gaze fixed intently on his face. 
 
 " Eichard," she said, in an undertone, " who 
 is she ? " 
 
 He was startled — and frightened. 
 
 " At all events," he said hastily, '' you may 
 be sure of this, that she is worthy to be Ijrought 
 into this house, and to be received by you as 
 your daughter." 
 
 It was a little speech he had prepared before- 
 hand ; but now it did not seem to have any effect. 
 
 " Who is she, Eichard ? " the widow again 
 demanded. 
 
146 NANCIEBEL 
 
 He told her. 
 
 '' A shop-girl ! " she said, faintly. 
 
 ''No, mother, not at all!" he exclaimed, 
 eagerly. " The place belongs to her brother, and 
 she merely looks after it for him. He is very 
 well off — you know Emmet and Marlow — he is a 
 watchmaker himself, and I suppose started this 
 other business for the benefit of his two sisters. 
 But what has that got to do with it, mother ? 
 She will cease to have any connection with the 
 shop the moment you say the word. And as for 
 herself, there is not a dearer or better girl in the 
 whole country. I am certain you will be the 
 first to say as much when you get to know her " — 
 
 " Surely, Eichard," the little woman said, in a 
 kind of wistful way, '' you might have chosen 
 someone whose family was known to us — who 
 was known to your own friends and relatives. 
 I do not say anything against the girl ; it would 
 not ])e just ; but she must herself be aware how 
 strange, how unusual the whole situation is. 
 A clandestine engagement — how came she to 
 consent to that ? — " 
 
 '' Mother," said he, taking both her hands in 
 his, " that was all my fault ! I ought to have 
 told you long ago ; but Nancy was afraid. 
 
''GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 147 
 
 Cannot you understand — isn't it clear in the 
 poem I asked you to read ? Indeed, she was 
 quite in despair ; she does not know how gentle, 
 and kind, and considerate you are ; she is terri- 
 fied at the thought of meeting you ; indeed, 
 again and again she has told me that what I 
 wished was an impossibility, and that she would 
 never be the means of bringing about any 
 dissension between you and me. Well, I hope 
 that will never arise — she couldn't bear it — she 
 says she would rather give me up a hundred 
 times over — " 
 
 The mother looked at her handsome boy. 
 
 '' Eichard," she said, " you know I wish for 
 nothing but your happiness ; there is no sacrifice 
 of my own feelings, or my own prejudices, I 
 wouldn't make if I was sure it w^ould make you 
 happy. But consider. Young' men of your age 
 are apt to form such fancies. The girl may be 
 everything you say — and yet — and yet it might 
 prove to be only misery for both her and you in 
 the long run — " 
 
 " Mother, I w\ant you to see her ! " he cried — 
 confident that Nanciebel's soft dark eyes would 
 be sufficient to resolve away all these dou1)ts and 
 fears. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 NANCIEBEL 
 
 The widow was silent for a moment or t^\^o. 
 
 " May I bring her to see you, mother ? " he 
 entreated. 
 
 " Would it be wise, Eichard ? " she said in 
 reply. "Would not that be making a family 
 compact — would it not be recognising as a serious 
 engagement what may after all be a mere 
 passing infatuation ? Have patience, my dear 
 child ; take time ; think what a terrible thing it 
 might be to pledge your whole future, and to 
 find out that you had cause to repent. Your 
 Uncle Alexander has often asked you to go out 
 to Shanghai ; well, you know how I should grieve 
 to lose you, even for a week or a day ; but 
 wouldn't it be wise if you were to go away from 
 Warwickshire for three months or six months, 
 and see whether your mind might not change in 
 the interval ? I know what these sudden fancies 
 are worth. They are common to both young men 
 and young women — illusions of the brain — the 
 most uncertain guides. It is for your own sake 
 I speak, dear ! You see how I am willing to put 
 aside my own prejudices ; it is not because of her 
 station in life that I object ; after all, that is not 
 of the first importance. But what surely is of 
 the first importance is, that you should know 
 
" GO FETCH YOUR ALICE HERE'' 149 
 
 your own minds — that your affection for each 
 other should be tried and found capable of 
 standing the strain of absence. Richard, to 
 please me will you go out for a few months to 
 Shanghai ? " 
 
 '' Yes, I will, mother," he answered, cheerfully 
 and confidently, '' if you ask me after you have 
 come to know Nancy a little. Let that be the 
 first thing — then you will be able to judge and 
 decide. Let me bring her to see you ! " 
 
 The widow hesitated, reluctant ; but this hand- 
 some lad held her hands in his ; and what would 
 she not do for his sake ? 
 
 '' Very well," said she. 
 
 He kissed her. 
 
 " There is the dearest mother in all the world ! 
 Ah, when you and Nancy are friends, you won't 
 talk about Shanghai ; you'll be as anxious as I 
 am that she should come and live with you at 
 Woodend. What a pleasant companion for you, 
 mother — so kind, and light-hearted, and loving. 
 I'll tell her, mother ! You shall see her to- 
 morrow. And you won't scrutinise her too 
 severely ? No, you won't be able — when you 
 look at Nanciebel's eyes ! " 
 
ISO NANCIEBEL 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A PRESENTATION. 
 
 PiADiANT, triumphant, with all the light- 
 hearted hope and courage of youth, Eichard 
 Kingston went to keep his assignation with 
 Nanciebel. It had snowed heavily all the 
 preceding night and all the morning ; but the 
 afternoon had brightened somewhat, and in the 
 western skies there was now a pale glow of 
 saffron, though that was hardly strong enough to 
 tinge the cold white landscape. 
 
 When he reached the Church, even -song was 
 ooino; forward : throuo^h the windows he could see 
 the gas-jets all lit up — points of lemon-yellow fire 
 in the dusk ; and ever and anon came the soft 
 thunder-roll of the organ, and the clear singing 
 of the choir. He walked along to the river-side. 
 The elms overhead were heavily draped with 
 snow, for not a Ijreath of wind was stirring. 
 The dull o^reen surface of the Avon was broken 
 liere and there by grey patches of ice floating 
 down Avith the slow current. On the other side 
 were tlie fiat wliite meadows ; and beyond these 
 
A PRESENTATION 151 
 
 again white slopes and heights, with black hedges 
 and trees protruding. The world was quite 
 silent — save for the hushed and slumberous music 
 in the church. 
 
 Now some one had considerately cleared a 
 path from the porch to the side of the stream ; 
 so that when Nanciebel came along, the deep 
 snow caused no inconvenience either to her 
 skirts or to her neat, small ankles. It was a 
 cold and cheerless trysting-place, to be sure ; 
 but love's fires burn independently of the 
 weather ; and it was not the wintry landscape 
 that was in Miss Nancy's mind. 
 
 Nor was it in Mr. Eichard's mind either ; for 
 now^, and quite suddenly and unexpectedly, he 
 experienced a new emotion — an emotion that 
 caused him no little disquiet. Hitherto, when- 
 ever he had caught sight of Nancy, his heart 
 had filled with joy ; the most distant glimpse of 
 the grey and purple dress and the sable-plumed 
 hat had been like a kiss for sweetness ; his eyes 
 lighted up to welcome her. But now, to his 
 amazement and dismay, he found, as Nanciebel 
 approached, that he was grown anxiously critical. 
 He scrutinised her — her appearance, her ex- 
 pression, her dress, her manner of walking, as if 
 
152 NANCIEBEL 
 
 he feared that some objection might be taken. 
 And perhaps she noticed his unusual look, as she 
 timidly gave him her hand. She flushed a little ; 
 and when she spoke, it was with averted eyes. 
 
 " You asked me to meet you, Eichard," said 
 she, " and I have come ; but not with any kind 
 of expectation. You w^ere too confident. But 
 don't think I shall be annoyed or disappointed ; 
 I knew wdiat your mother would say — " 
 
 Ah, w^ell, the sound of her voice — with its 
 mysterious charm, which could thrill his heart 
 wdtli the simplest phrase — that delightful sound 
 gave him courage again : how could his mother 
 w^ithstand those soft, low% penetrating tones ? 
 What mattered it what kind of gloves she 
 w^ore — what kind of brooch was at her neck 
 — when that tender voice could w4n its w^ay 
 to the heart, when those soft dark eyes could 
 plead for kindness ? 
 
 " But you're all wrong, Nancy," said he, with 
 a kind of forced cheerfulness (for it had alarmed 
 him to find that he could scan the appearance of 
 his sweetheart in this critical way). " The 
 Mater wants you to come and see her. It will 
 Ije all right — as I told you it would. Of 
 course — " 
 
A PRESENTATION 153 
 
 " Of course what, Eichard ? " she said, seeing 
 lie hesitated. 
 
 " Well, you can't expect impossibilities, 
 Nancy," said he, vaguely. 
 
 " Eichard," she said, "why don't you confess 
 the truth ? — Your mother is surprised and 
 grieved by what you ha^'e told her ; and although 
 she may have said that you might take me to 
 see her, it was against her will, and only to 
 please you. And you know she will never really 
 consent, though she may formally do so, out of 
 her fondness for you. Very well ; why should 
 you vex and trouble her any more ? I say now 
 what I said yesterday. Let this stop where it is. 
 Let us be friends — true friends — always and 
 always— l)ut nothing more than that. Then we 
 can grieve no one." 
 
 " And this is what your affection comes to ? " 
 said he reproachfully. " I thought you loved 
 me, Nancy ! " 
 
 Tears could rise quickly to those dark lashes. 
 
 " It is not my fault, Eichard," said she. " But 
 everything is against us. I knew your mother 
 would say no — " 
 
 " But she does not say no ! " he exclaimed. 
 " Nothing of the kind. Of course, as I say, you 
 
154 NANCIEBEL 
 
 can't expect impossibilities. You can't expect 
 her to be enthusiastic. What woman would be, 
 about a proposed daughter-in-law she has never 
 seen ? It is but natural for her to have doubts. 
 How can she know how thoroughly you and I 
 understand each other ? And it is for your 
 happiness as well as mine, that she talks about 
 separation — about the necessity for some consi- 
 derable time of separation — to see whether we 
 know our own minds. Six months at Shanghai — 
 that's what she proposes for me, Nancy ! " 
 
 " Shanghai ! " repeated Nancy, and she looked 
 up with a frightened stare. 
 
 " Yes, indeed. And it's you who have to save 
 me from that banishment. It all rests on your 
 shoulders," he continued, more cheerfully. " But 
 I know you will come through the ordeal in 
 triumph. AVho could withstand your eyes, 
 Nanciebel ? — you don't yourself know what a 
 winning fascination they have. And you won't 
 be nervous — after the first second : you will see 
 my mother wants to be kind. You remember 
 how the JMiller's Daughter was anxious about 
 what dress would please ; but you have nothing 
 to fear on that score ; you are always as neat 
 and ])retty and in good taste as it is possil)le to 
 
A PRESENTATION 155 
 
 be. I wish I could help you, Nanciebel ; but I 
 can't. You've oot to do it all — " 
 
 o 
 
 " Richard," said she, a little proudly, " don't 
 you think it is rather — rather unfair — that I 
 should be taken out to Woodend on approval ? " 
 
 " Well, so it would," he answered her, " if 
 anything of the kind were in contemplation. 
 But it isn't so. You are going out to make the 
 acquaintance of my mother ; and you will find 
 her ready to w^elcome you, be sure of that. Of 
 course he added, in rather a stammering fashion, 
 " I — I hope you on your side will be — well, 
 conciliatory — and nice. You need not take it as 
 if it were a hostile challeno-e between two women 
 
 o 
 
 — each anxious to criticise the other. If you go 
 out there determined to make friends, Nancy, it 
 will be all right—" 
 
 She looked rather blank for a second or two. 
 
 " If I go, it will be for your sake, Richard," 
 she said ; " but what I am most afraid of is that 
 I shall be so terrified as to be able to do nothing. 
 Your mother will think me stiff, or ill-mannered, 
 or stupid, when I am simply frightened. You 
 see, you are all impetuosity and eagerness ; you 
 don't care ; you don't consider what an awkward 
 position I shall be in. It is not as if I were 
 
IS6 NANCIEBEL 
 
 being taken out to visit your mother by some 
 acquaintance knowing us both. I am presented 
 to her all of a sudden, as some one who proposes 
 to become her daus^hter-in-law. It's nothing to 
 you ; you think it is all right and natural ; but 
 it is dreadful for me. I know what she will be 
 thinking — that I am a forward, impertinent 
 minx without any delicacy of feeling, or propriety 
 of conduct — " 
 
 " Oh, yes," he broke in scornfully. " She is 
 likely to think that of you after she has spoken 
 to you for three minutes ! That is precisely 
 your' character, Nanciebel ; you are so brazen in 
 audacity I " 
 
 "And when is this fearful thino^ to be got 
 through, Richard, dear ? " asked Nancy, looking 
 down. 
 
 " To-morrow afternoon," he said, with in- 
 effable impudence (just as if his mother had 
 made the appointment). " I will bring in the 
 pony-chaise for you, and drive you out." 
 
 "But — but where shall I meet you?" she 
 asked ao-ain. 
 
 " I will come for you," he answered. 
 
 "Not into the High Street," she hinted 
 timidly. 
 
A PRESENTATION 157 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " The people would talk," she said, with 
 lowered eyes. 
 
 " Let them talk," he answered, boldly. " It 
 is time this hole-and-corner arrangement was 
 done with. I want the whole thino; to be recoo^- 
 nised now. When they see Miss Nancy Marlow 
 driving out to Woodend, I dare say they will 
 talk. So much the better ! I am not for half- 
 measures." 
 
 *'No, you never are, Richard," Nancy said, 
 with a bit of a sigh. " And I wonder what will 
 come of it all ! " 
 
 Nor did she cease to be timorous and appre- 
 hensive. It was bad enouo^h that she was oroino: 
 out to Woodend '' on approval ; " but it was 
 ever so much worse that the neighbours should 
 know it — or guess at it — from the fact of his 
 driving in to the High Street to call for her. 
 
 " Don't you think, Richard, dear," said she at 
 last, " it would be better if I met you somewhere 
 a little way out of the town — say, at the railway- 
 bridge — " 
 
 " Then you would have to walk all that way 
 through the snow, Nancy," he pointed out, " and 
 your boots would get wet, or even muddied, if 
 
158 NANCIEBEL 
 
 there was a thaw. You see, I want you to he 
 as neat as a new pin, as you always are ; not 
 that I care about such things myself; as long as 
 your heart is warm and loving, what do I mind 
 what dress you wear ? — " 
 
 '' I understand," Nancy said at once, with 
 quick perception. " You are quite right, Eichard. 
 What would your mother say if I went witli 
 bedraggled skirts and soiled boots ? Of course, 
 of course, you are quite right ; you must come 
 for me ; and Jim will see that the pavement 
 is dry." 
 
 " Have you any white-rose scent for your 
 handkerchief, Nancy ? " he asked. " That is the 
 only scent the Mater seems fond of. No ? — then 
 I'll try and get some, and send it in to you this 
 evening. Oh, you will make a conquest, be 
 sure I 
 
 " What time to-morrow afternoon, Eichard, 
 must I be ready ? " 
 
 *'Four: will that do?" 
 
 " Very well ; now I must be going back into 
 the town. Four o'clock to-morrow afternoon. 
 Oh, dear, I wish it was all over ! " said Nan- 
 ciebel, plaintively. 
 
 And perhaps the gentle little widow out there 
 
A PRESENTATION 159 
 
 at Woodend had some such thought in her mmd 
 when her son tokl her of this proposed visit on 
 the following day. It is true, she knew what 
 was expected of her. Her role had been pointed 
 out to her, that evening on wdiich Eichard had 
 slipped the green volume into her hand. And 
 indeed she had made up her mind that if the 
 girl on whom he had set his affections seemed to 
 have an amiable disposition and good manners, 
 she would not allow the fact of her having stood 
 behind a counter to influence her mind. So 
 many young men had done worse ! And even 
 if there were some little defect here or there, 
 some lack of sensitiveness or refinement, might 
 not that give way to womanly sympathy and 
 guidance ? This little woman was prepared to 
 do a good deal for her beloved son. Whom else 
 had she to care for in the w^orld ? 
 
 And yet, notwithstanding all these kindly 
 and considerate resolves, and notwithstanding 
 the diligent coaching that Nanciebel had received 
 from her sweetheart, it must be confessed that 
 the meeting between the two women on the 
 following afternoon was, especially at first, of 
 the most constrained and ominous kind. Mr. 
 Kichard was so proud of the opportunity of 
 
i6o NANCIEBEL 
 
 showing off the beautiful and precious prize he 
 had won for himself that he hardly heeded ; 
 he was eager and talkative, and his volul)ility 
 seemed in a measure to fill the void of silence 
 that otherwise might have been marked. It is 
 true, he had been disappointed that his mother 
 and his chosen bride did not fall upon each 
 other's neck and weep gentle and sympathetic 
 tears ; and he had been surprised to hear the 
 little widow address Nancy as " Miss Marlow " ; 
 but he would not admit to himself that there was 
 any coldness on either side. Not at all ; he was 
 descanting to his mother on Nancy's general 
 characteristics ; indulging in a little sarcasm 
 even (to give the whole interview a sort of 
 playful and friendly cast) ; but conclusively 
 proving that Nancy and his mother held pre- 
 cisely the same opinions and were bound to 
 agree upon every possible subject. Nancy, for 
 example, was a devoted admirer of the late Lord 
 Beaconsfield, and did not fail to wear a primrose 
 on Primrose day. Nancy believed that the 
 honour of the country w\as safe in the hands of 
 the Conservative Party, and that Kadicals, and 
 Socialists, and atheists, and people of that sort had 
 nothing in view but the destruction of property 
 
A PRESENTATION l6i 
 
 and the total abolition of law. Nancy was a 
 devout adherent of the Church of England, and 
 considered it unbecoming, if not positively dan- 
 gerous, for bishops to have any dealings with 
 the dissenters. Nancy strongly disapproved of 
 women's-right women. Nor was Nancy quite 
 sure about the influence of the School Boards, 
 which she considered apt to draw away the 
 children from their proper and natural guardians 
 and friends, who had always been good to them 
 in times past. Nancy detested the use of cos- 
 metics, and wondered that respectable girls in 
 London could condescend to such practices. As 
 to tight-lacing, Nancy was also sound ; who but 
 a fool would want to sing, " I'd be a butterfly " ? 
 In short, it was Nancy, and Nancy, and Nancy 
 all the time ; why should any one speak of Miss 
 Marlow ? 
 
 But here a significant little incident occurred 
 which showed how very diff'erently mother and 
 son viewed this position of afl'airs. When Nan- 
 ciebel was ushered into the drawing-room, Mr. 
 Eichard insisted on her laying aside her hat and 
 jacket and gloves, so that she should have the 
 appearance of being quite at home ; and then 
 he conducted her to a little windowed recess at 
 
 M 
 
1 62 NANCIEBEL 
 
 the top of the room which his mother used as a 
 boudoir. It was a remarkably snug and cosy 
 apartment, a couch running round three sides of 
 it ; shelves of books covering two of the walls : 
 the windows commanding a view of the garden, 
 where thrushes and blackbirds and starlings 
 were hunting about among the snow for the 
 food which the widow was wont to flino- al)road 
 with a generous hand. It would have pleased 
 Mr. Richard if his mother and his sweetheart, on 
 entering this secluded little place, had sat down 
 together, perhaps arm-in-arm ; but somehow 
 Miss Marlow took her seat on one side, where 
 she remained looking amiable and attentive if 
 somewhat silent, while Mrs. Kingston, on the 
 couch opposite her, listened to her son's dithyr- 
 ambics or glanced out upon the wintry garden 
 as she spoke. And wdiat now happened was 
 this. Mr. Richard, having conclusively shown 
 that Miss Marlow's mental and moral qualities, 
 and her opinions on political, religious, and 
 social subjects generally, were such as to com- 
 mend her to any intelligent and reasonable 
 liuman being, proceeded, in a sort of half-playful 
 and kindly way, to say something of the young 
 lady's appearance. You see, she appeared to be 
 
A PRESENTATION 163 
 
 already one of the family. Here she was, in the 
 snno' little corner, not with hat and o loves on, 
 as though she were paying a formal call, hut 
 as if she had just come down from her own room 
 to have a little chat before tea was brought in. 
 And thus it was that when Mr. Eichard, chancino^ 
 to talk of the fashion in which his beloved wore 
 her hair, went on to suggest that perhaps it 
 might suit her better to wear it a little higher 
 on her forehead, he quite naturally and unthink- 
 ingly crossed over to her, and with a light touch 
 or two of his fingers pushed back her hair, so as 
 to invite his mother's opinion. But the reply 
 he received startled him. 
 
 " Richard ! " the widow exclaimed, in amazed 
 protest : and then all at once he knew how 
 differently his mother and he were regarding 
 this young lady. Not yet was she the daughter 
 of the house, to be treated with familiar little 
 caressings £ind pettings ; she was only a visitor, 
 she was only Miss Marlow, to be treated with 
 decorum and respect. As for poor little Nancy, 
 she was terribly embarrassed. Eichard, she 
 knew, should not have taken this liberty ; but 
 he had done it almost before she was aware, and 
 indeed it was not until afterwards she bethought 
 
 M 2 
 
i54 NANCIEBEL 
 
 her of what Mrs. Kingston might guess from 
 this little incident. Mr. Eichard did not try 
 any more experiments with Miss Marlow's hair, 
 or seek to alter the w^ay in which it lay on her 
 forehead. He returned to his seat with an un- 
 easy consciousness that he had made a mistake 
 — and perhaps even compromised Nancy a little ; 
 but fortunately at this moment tea was brought 
 in, and that proved to be a welcome distraction. 
 
 For in truth, the widow, critical as she might 
 be of her son's choice, could hardly help sym- 
 pathising with the girl in the lonely and 
 embarrassing position in which she was placed ; 
 and then again Nancy, though shy and silent, 
 was obviously most anxious to please. Once, 
 indeed, in answer to a question, she said, " Yes, 
 ma'am " ; and although Mr. Eichard inwardly 
 winced — for the phrase recalled the shop and the 
 counter — his mother did not appear to look on 
 it in that light. Perhaps it was a kind of 
 pathetic confession of humility ; perhaps it was 
 a kind of tribute to the widow's dignity ; and 
 every one knows how people who are not gifted 
 with any great magnificence of manner are 
 pleased when they think they impress. 
 
 Moreover, when, in the general talk that now 
 
A PRESENTATION 165 
 
 ensued round the tiny tea-table, there was any 
 possibility of a difference of opinion, Mr. Eichard 
 adroitly managed that his mother and Nancy 
 should be on the same side, while he challenged 
 their combined forces from the other. Take the 
 question of Mops, for example. The Mop in 
 Stratford-on-Avon, as in some other old English 
 towns, is a hiring fair at which farm-servants, men 
 and women, come in from the surrounding country 
 to offer their services to master or mistress ; and 
 for the refreshment of these stout-stomached 
 folks, or any other who may be of a like mind, 
 oxen and pigs are roasted whole in the principal 
 thoroughfares — the hungry yokel paying for a 
 slice off whatever portion of the slow-revolving 
 animal may take his fancy, and carrying the 
 smoking plate into the adjacent public-house, 
 where he can wash down the beef or pork with 
 copious draughts of ale. Now there are those 
 who hold that this roasting of a huge carcase, 
 and the public ladling of gravy, is a brutalising 
 spectacle ; and they would have that feature of 
 the Mop suppressed, even if the other concomi- 
 tants — the merry-go-rounds, the boxing booths, 
 the rifle galleries, and what not — were allowed to 
 remain. This was Mrs. Kingston's opinion ; and 
 
i66 NANCIEBEL 
 
 Mr. Eicharcl cunningly contrived that it should 
 be Nanciebel's also. 
 
 " Oh, I think the old-world customs should be 
 preserved," said he, boldly, " so long as they 
 don't involve cruelty to animals — and you don't 
 23ut an ox to shame by roasting it in public. 
 They talk of asking the magistrates to suppress 
 the Mop altogether — so that I suppose they 
 wouldn't even allow the men and women to come 
 into the town with a bit of straw stuck in their 
 cap, or whatever other symbol it is that tells the 
 farmer wdiat kind of work the applicant wants. 
 AYell, I think it is a pity ; I think the old 
 ceremonies and customs should be preserved — " 
 
 " The roasting of these animals in the streets 
 seems to me simply horrid," his mother said. 
 
 " Well, I know that is Nancy's opinion too," 
 he said (Nancy never having uttered a single 
 word to him at any time on the subject). '* And I 
 don't wonder she should refuse to go through the 
 streets on the day of the Mop. The smell of the 
 cooking is rather too pronounced. Still, there is 
 no reason why fastidious people like you and 
 Nancy should go near at all. You may keep 
 away. Give the bucolics their holiday, in the 
 manner they can enjoy it ; roasting animals lias 
 
A PRESENTATION 167 
 
 always been a sign of rejoicing ; it is a testimony 
 — in fact, you can see it only too plainly, if 
 you are walking along Chapel Street — that there 
 is fat in the land." 
 
 " Don't, Eicharcl ! " his mother said, with a 
 piteous expression ; and he was quite willing to 
 abandon the controversy — leaving his mother 
 and Nanciebel on the winning side together. 
 
 Well, the visit came to an end at last ; and 
 Mrs. Kingston bade good-bye to Nancy without 
 a word having been said on the subject which 
 was, no doubt, uppermost in both their minds. 
 Nor was there any parting embrace ; nor the 
 slightest recognition of the peculiar circumstances 
 that had brought about this interview. None 
 the less was Mr. Eichard triumphant as he drove 
 away his chosen bride through the melting 
 snow. 
 
 " What do you say now, Nanciebel ? " he 
 demanded. "Didn't everything go off first- 
 rate ? " 
 
 " Oh, Eichard, I am just dying of shame," she 
 murmured — and she wouldn't look at him. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter?" he asked in 
 astonishment. " I thought everything went off 
 most satisfiictorily ; there wasn't a slip or mis- 
 
1 68 NANCIEBEL 
 
 take anywhere — unless it was my own, when 
 I took to re-arranging your hair. That did 
 stagger the Mater, I admit." 
 
 *' Kichard," said she, " didn't you notice ? 
 When you asked me in the hall if I had got my 
 gloves, I said, ' yes, dear.' The next moment I 
 thoufi^ht I should have sank throus^h the floor 
 with shame and mortification." 
 
 " I'm sure I did not notice it," he said. 
 
 " But your mother did — I saw her look." 
 
 *' Very well, then — a good thing too ! Why 
 should she not know the actual relations that 
 exist l)etween us ? Now that I think of it, I am 
 not sorry that I raised your hair a little bit on 
 your forehead, and tried the eff^ect of it, as if you 
 already belonged to me. No, I am not sorry. 
 It is better she should know ; then she will 
 understand the intimacy of our relationship, and 
 the length of time it has lasted. I have no 
 doubt she thought it was only a passing fancy. 
 That was why she talked of Shanghai. There 
 was no mention of Shanghai this afternoon." 
 
 '' No, Ei chard, for she seemed careful not to 
 admit that she understood there was anything 
 l)etwecn you and me," said Nanciebel, who was a 
 good deal less confident tlian lier lover, " Sl\e 
 
A PRESENTATION 169 
 
 treated me just like a stranger — but very kindly, 
 I must say that. And — and I am not nearly so 
 afraid of her as I was," Nanciebel added. 
 
 " Afraid of her ! " he repeated, with a laugh. 
 " Why, you two will be the fastest friends in the 
 world within a couple of months from now. I 
 told you she would not be able to resist you. 
 She seemed pleased with you throughout ; and 
 you never in your life looked prettier or more 
 winning; — that I know." 
 
 Nanciebel shook her head. 
 
 '' A woman understands a woman's ways of 
 looking and talking," she said. " If ever she 
 does give her consent, it will be simply and 
 solely for your sake, Richard. She does not 
 like me." 
 
 " Nancy ! " 
 
 '' Ah, but I know," said Nanciebel, doggedly. 
 " I don't suppose she positively hates me — for I 
 gave her no occasion by provoking a quarrel or 
 anything of that kind ; but I dare say she is 
 crying at this moment, and wishing in a sort of 
 way that I had never been born." 
 
 "And you think that is the impression she 
 formed of you, Nancy ? " he asked. " I tell you, 
 you are too diffident. You don't know your 
 
I70 NANCIEBEL 
 
 own value. Of course she couldn't say anything 
 — to your face. But wait till I get home this 
 evening, then she will speak ; and be sure, wdien 
 I next see you, I shall be able to tell you some- 
 thing that will banish all those idle fears and 
 surmises. You think you could judge by her 
 expression ? Well, then, you have made a bad 
 guess, my dear Nancy — as I will prove to you 
 to-morrow." 
 
 She was for getting out of the pony-chaise at 
 some point on the Alcester Road, so that she 
 might walk into the town on foot ; but he 
 w^ould not hear of any such thing ; he cared not 
 wdio might know he had won his bride ; he 
 drove through Stratford, and along the High 
 Street, and up to her own door. As he bade her 
 good-bye, he said he would call and see her the 
 next day ; he expected to have some news to 
 tell her — as the result of this memorable inter- 
 view. 
 
 But as he drove leisurely home through the 
 gathering dusk, he was not quite so confident as 
 he had professed to be while talking to Nancie- 
 bel. It was strange that his mother had not 
 kissed the girl in taking leave of her. That 
 would have been suificient rccooiiition. J[er 
 
A PRESENTATION 171 
 
 parting little speech to the effect that she hoped 
 Miss Maiiow would come and see her again 
 might have been addressed to the merest 
 stranger. As for Nancy's contention, on the 
 other hand, that she could tell that Mrs. 
 Kingston disliked her, and had even the mon- 
 strous inhumanity to wish that she were dead 
 — he knew that was all nonsense. However, 
 there would soon be an opportunity for him to 
 learn what had been his mother's thoughts. 
 
 During dinner nothing of importance was said 
 with regard to Nanciebel ; for old Thomas, who 
 looked after the pony and kept the garden and 
 also waited at table, was continually coming and 
 going. But after dinner, Mr. Kichard went 
 direct with his mother into the drawing-room, 
 and sate down beside her, and took her hand, 
 and smoothed it between his own. 
 
 '' Now, Mater, what are you going to say to 
 me ? " 
 
 The little woman hesitated ; it w^as a mo- 
 mentous crisis in her simple and uneventful life. 
 
 " What can I say to you, Eichard ? " she said 
 rather sadly. " I do not wish to appear unkind 
 or inconsiderate. But — you must surely under- 
 stand how it must be a shock to me to know 
 
172 NANCIEBEL 
 
 that I am expected to receive a stranger into 
 our home — " 
 
 '' A stranger, mother ! " he exclaimed. '' How 
 long would she be a stranger ? " 
 
 " And then, my dear boy," continued the 
 mother, in the same absent way, " I have been 
 building up so many forecasts of your future — 
 and this is so entirely different. However, we 
 must do what is right — we must do what is 
 right, whatever it may cost. Much as I should 
 like to see you free from this — this entangle- 
 ment, I would not have you win your freedom 
 through any dishonourable action. If you have 
 raised hopes in this young woman's heart — if 
 you have pledged your word to her, you must 
 stand by that. I would not have your conscience 
 burdened by the knowledge that you had trifled 
 with her, and cruelly forsaken her, no, not if I 
 was thrice as anxious you should look elsewhere 
 for a wife — " 
 
 " Why, I knew you would say that, mother ! " 
 he cried, joyfully — though his exultation was 
 in curious contrast with the widow's half-con- 
 cealed regret. " And then, consider this — if you 
 found her passably agreeable, and pleasant- 
 mannered, and amiable, on a first and formal 
 
A PRESENTATION 173 
 
 interview like that — just consider how she will 
 improve, how she will win your regard, on more 
 intimate knowledge. What did you think of her, 
 mother ? Weren't you favourably impressed ? 
 I'm sure you must have thought she looked so 
 pretty and neat and modest. Did you notice 
 how soft and winning her eyes were ? Couldn't 
 you guess what her disposition w^as like ? At 
 all events, she tried hard to please you. I could 
 see it in every look." 
 
 " I have no fault to find, Eichard," his mother 
 said, but without much of the enthusiasm he had 
 hoped for. " I dare say she is a good, honest 
 girl, and may make you a good wife — if only — 
 if only she had some little instruction — and 
 preparation " 
 
 " Mother, Nancy is the quickest girl in appre- 
 hension you ever saw ! " he exclaimed eagerly. 
 " I don't know in what you consider her 
 deficient, but I know she would be delighted to 
 learn — and especially from you. Didn't you see 
 how respectful she was to you ? " he continued, 
 with insidious flattery. " She would be a most 
 willing pupil. Of course you saw she was shy 
 — that was but natural in a girl of her age, and 
 in the peculiar circumstances. You could not 
 
174 NANCIEBEL 
 
 expect her to have your .self-possession and 
 grace of manner ; that is something that can 
 only be acquired by long training — l)ut how 
 willingly Nancy would try to learn ! " 
 
 " It is all so strange to me as yet, Richard," 
 Mrs. Kingston said at length, " that I hardly 
 know^ wdiat to do. But in such an important 
 matter I cannot act entirely on my own respon- 
 sibility. I will write to your uncle Charles. 
 Perhaps he will run up from Bristol." 
 
 " Mother ! " Mr. Richard protested, with some 
 indignation. '' Do you want to frighten poor 
 Nancy out of her senses ! A family conclave — 
 a jury of strangers to summon the poor girl 
 before them " 
 
 " You cannot call your uncle Charles a 
 stranger," his mother retorted, but without 
 asperity : this alarming thing that had happened 
 ]iad stunned and frightened her rather than 
 made her angry. "Who, after myself, could 
 have your interests more at heart ? And I have 
 been thinking, Richard, that if you still persist 
 in this project — or if you are bound in honour 
 to Miss Marlow — then perhaps your uncle 
 Charles would receive her into the vicarao-e for 
 a while and let her associate with your girl- 
 
" ADIEU, MY DEAR ! » 175 
 
 cousins. A clergyman's house is the best school 
 in the world for any one who wishes to pick up 
 the ways and manners, the little courtesies and 
 politenesses, of refined society. And I am sure 
 the separation would be wholesome for both you 
 and her ; it would give you time to reflect ; it 
 would enal^le you to test the strength of your 
 regard for each other. Now, Eichard, dear, 
 don't ask me to say anything more, until I have 
 consulted with your uncle. I am sure that our 
 chief and only consideration will be your happi- 
 ness." 
 
 That silenced him, of course ; he could plead 
 and uro-e no further. But when he thous^ht of 
 his having to communicate this new scheme to 
 Nancy on the next day, his heart sunk within 
 him. Poor Nanciebel ! 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ADIEU, MY DEAR ! " 
 
 In reply to the widow's letter, the Rev. Charles 
 Henningham came up from Bristol forthwith ; 
 he was not one to underestimate the gravity of 
 
176 NANCIEBEL 
 
 such a crisis in the family affairs. He was a 
 small, thin, nervous, pale-faced man, with large, 
 almost feminine, eyes, and with a manner as 
 gentle and delicate as that of his sister. Like 
 her, too, in this particular instance, he never for 
 a moment thought of repudiating the obligations 
 under which his nephew Eichard had placed 
 himself — not at all : if the young man had 
 pledged his word to an honest and honourable 
 girl, he must stand by it, and his family must 
 simply try to do the best in the circumstances, 
 f Mr. Eichard was not at home when his uncle 
 arrived, so that there was a little preliminary 
 conversation between brother and sister — of 
 course, about Nanciebel. 
 
 " I presume, Cecilia," said the nervous little 
 clergyman, in his softly-modulated tones, " that 
 she has none of the accomplishments one would 
 naturally wish Eichard's wife to have ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I never thought of questioning 
 Eichard on that point," Mrs. Kingston said, " for 
 I supposed she would merely have the ordinary 
 education of one in her sphere of life. Of course 
 she can read and w^rite and figure up accounts ; 
 but beyond that, what ? Not that I put much 
 value myself on young-lady accomplishments. 
 
''ADIEU, MY DEAR!'' 177 
 
 A girl can get on very well without Italian, and 
 French, and German, and music, if she has a 
 good manner, and can write a clever letter, and 
 play lawn-tennis. But really, this girl on whom 
 Kichard has set his heart has no manner at all. 
 That afternoon she was here, she had absolutely 
 nothing to say for herself. And you know how 
 popular Kichard is, Charles ; his good looks and 
 high spirits stand him in good stead everywhere; 
 and to think of his being joined for life to this — 
 this — well, I will say nothing against her — but I 
 cannot help regarding it as a cruel misfortune." 
 
 " We must make the best of it, Cecilia," said 
 the clergyman, with chastened resignation ; 
 " and you may count on me to do what I can. 
 If you think she would gain any improvement 
 by coming to the vicarage for a few months — or 
 even for a year, if you consider a lengthened 
 period of separation advisable — I shall be glad to 
 take her, and she might join Gertrude and Laura 
 in their studies, as far as that is practicable. 
 You say she appears amiable and sincere ; and I 
 am sure if there was any objectionable feature in 
 her character, she would not have been Eichard's 
 choice." 
 
 " It would be the greatest kindness, Charles ! " 
 
 N 
 
178 NANCIEBEL 
 
 the widow said, with obvious gratitude. " It 
 might not be practicable for her to join your 
 girls in their studies — they are too far advanced 
 — and it would be too late in the day for her to 
 begin music now ; but she might practise her 
 handwriting until she acquired a good style ; and 
 they might teach her lawn-tennis. But above 
 all, what I should hope for is her gaining a little 
 more self-confidence and frankness — familiarity 
 with good manners — and so forth ; and where 
 could she find two more charming girls to 
 observe and copy than Gertrude and Laura ? Of 
 course it will be a difficult thing to propose to 
 her, without wounding her susceptibilities. We 
 can't tell her that she is ill-educated, or gawky 
 in manner, or unacquainted with the ways and 
 politeness of a well-bred family ; it will be easier 
 to point out the necessity for some period of 
 separation, as a test of their regard for each 
 other. And I hope she will understand that it is 
 done in kindness ; for, after all, if she is to be 
 Eichard's wife, I trust she will bear no grudge 
 against any one of us." 
 
 "She would be a very ungrateful young 
 woman if she did," said the clergyman, with 
 unusual severity, '' considering the very great 
 
''ADIEU, MY DEAR! " 179 
 
 sacrifices we are all of us prepared to make for 
 her." 
 
 And what did Nanciebel say to this scheme 
 when it was laid before her? It was Mr. 
 Richard who communicated it to her. On the 
 day following his uncle's arrival, he called in at 
 the shop in the High Street, and asked Nancy 
 to come for a stroll with him ; and, as her sister 
 Kate was there, she consented ; and the two of 
 them walked along Chapel Street and Church 
 Street without the slightest pretence of conceal- 
 ment. The temporary thaw had been succeeded 
 by hard frost ; the snow again lay crisp and 
 clear, while the roads glittered with broken ice 
 in the cart-ruts. There was a blue sky over- 
 head : it was a bright, inspiriting morning ; 
 these young folks had no thought of the cold. 
 They passed the Church ; they went down by 
 the mill ; they ascended the slippery steps of 
 the foot-bridge, and there, leaning on the rail, 
 they paused to look at the sluggish green river, 
 or at the wide white snow-landscape all shining 
 in the sun. And here it was that he told her 
 what his mother and uncle proposed should be 
 done. 
 
 '' Ob, Ricliard she said, when his tale was 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o NANCIEBEL 
 
 finished, '' that is as bad as your going to 
 Shanghai ! " 
 
 ^' Well, it is not, Nanciebel 1 " he made 
 answer. '' For I should be allowed to go down 
 and see you from time to time ; and it is easier 
 sending messages, or birthday presents, or 
 things of that kind, between Stratford and 
 Bristol than between Stratford and Shanghai. 
 But the great difference is this : my uncle 
 Charles, wdth whom you would be staying, is one 
 of the gentlest and kindest of men, whereas my 
 uncle in China, from what I can remember of 
 him, is one of the most fiery and ill-tempered — 
 a regular pepper-castor. You see, both the 
 Mater and I have grievously offended him. He 
 has been talking for ever so long back of 
 retiring — he has made a large fortune ; and he 
 has always been anxious that I should go out 
 and become a junior member of the firm : I 
 suppose he could make that one of his conditions. 
 Well, you know, the Mater wanted me at home ; 
 and besides, I have no turn for business ; and at 
 home I have stayed. I dare say he considers us 
 a couple of fools. But if I were to go out to 
 Shanghai, and if he were to discover that I 
 liadn t come with any intention of studying 
 
''ADIEU, MY DEAR!'' t8i 
 
 Pekoe and Souchong, but only to be kept away 
 for awhile from a too fascinating young lady in 
 Warwickshire, then there w^ould be an explo- 
 sion ! I should have a remarkaljly lively time 
 of it during that six months ! Whereas you, 
 Nanciebel, you will be wdth ' the very nicest 
 people you could wish for ; and they will be very 
 kind to you, for my mother's sake ; and I will 
 write to you every day — that is to say, if I am 
 only allowed to send you one letter a wxek, that 
 can't prevent my w^^iting every day, and sending 
 you the w^hole budget on Saturday. Do you see, 
 Nanciebel ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't understand yet, Eichard," said 
 Nanciebel, gazing mournfully at the green river, 
 wdth its slow-moving patches of ice, " I don't 
 understand wdiy they should w\ant us to be 
 separated, unless it is in the hope of the separa- 
 tion being for ever." 
 
 " How can you say that, Nancy ? " he pro- 
 tested. '' AVhy, isn't it on the distinct under- 
 standing that you are to be my w^ife that the 
 Mater has made this proposal, and that my 
 uncle asks you to make his house your home ? 
 Would they take all this trouble for nothing? 
 Then there's another thing, Nanciebel. If I 
 
i82 NAhXIEBKL 
 
 were dealing with a stern and truculent parent, 
 threatening and bullying, I might be tempted to 
 show fight : I should probably say, ' I have 
 chosen my wife, and stamping and roaring won't 
 alter the fact. You say you will cut me off with 
 a shillino; ? — well, o^o and do it, and be hano-ed 
 to you ! ' But, you know, Nancy, you couldn't 
 use lano^uao^e like that to such a orentle creature 
 as the Mater ; and as for cutting me off with a 
 shilling, no one threatens to do that for the 
 simple reason that no one has the power ; when 
 I am twenty-five, some eighteen months hence, 
 I come into my little money, and am my own 
 master. So that in the meantime, Nanciebel, 
 why should you gruml^le over our being sepa- 
 rated for awhile ? " 
 
 " It seems to me, Eichard," said Nanciebel, 
 wdth a pout, " that you take this separation 
 very easily. I believe you are glad to get rid 
 of me." 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly," said he, sidling closer to 
 her as they leaned over the rail of the bridge. 
 "That is extremely probable. Have you made 
 any other discovery, Nancy ? " 
 
 " Well, how w(5uld you like it yourself? " she 
 asked abruptly. " How would you like to be 
 
" ADIEU, MY DEAR ! " 183 
 
 taken away from your own family — as if tliey 
 weren't o;ood enoug;li for you to associate with — 
 and sent to live among strangers ? " 
 
 " If you mean being sent to live at Holiwell 
 Vicarage, I should like it amazingly," said he, 
 with a jovial air. '' My cousins are awfully nice 
 girls — and extremely pretty too. I shouldn't 
 object, not in the least 1 " 
 
 She moved away from him, and remained 
 silent. 
 
 " Come now, Nanciebel," he said, following 
 her, " don't be sulky. Tell me I may say to my 
 mother that you will consider this scheme, and 
 that if your brother has no objection, you will 
 do what she wants." 
 
 " No," said Nanciebel, distinctly, '' I refuse. 
 I am not going to tell my family that they are 
 no longer good enough for me. I refuse ; that 
 is my answer. You can go down to Bristol, if 
 you like ; if you prefer your cousins to me you 
 are welcome ! " 
 
 '' I never said anything of the kind," he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "You did, and you said you would l)c glad to 
 be rid of me " 
 
 '' Nancy ! " 
 
184 NANCIEBEL 
 
 " It is mean of you — downright mean of you," 
 she said, in indignant tones, " to deny having 
 said certain things simply because you did not 
 use such and such words. What you intended 
 to say is quite enough for me — thank you ! And 
 I have had enough — all the way round. I wish 
 to have done with such treatment — once for all. 
 I am going home." 
 
 She moved proudly away ; but he accompanied 
 her. Then she stood stock still. 
 
 " I wish to go alone," she said with firm 
 lips. 
 
 " I shan't allow you," he said (not dreaming 
 there was anything serious in the w4nd). " I 
 know better than you what is good for you, 
 Nancy ; I am going back with you." 
 
 She remained undecided for a moment — vexed, 
 and mortified, and helpless. Then she said 
 slowly and bitterly — 
 
 " I have often heard that one may be born in 
 the position of a gentleman without having the 
 manners or feelings of a gentleman, but I had 
 never seen it before. I should luu^e thought 
 that a gentleman would respect my wish." 
 
 " No, no, Nanciel)el," said he, shaking his 
 head " the tragedy- queen does not become you. 
 
" ADIEU, MY DEAR ! 185 
 
 You're not tall enough, not fierce enough. Are 
 you oroino' to oive me your hand ? " 
 
 An implacable determination was on her 
 mouth. 
 
 " I wish to pass," said she, stiffly (though he 
 was not barring the way at all). "And I wish 
 to go back home alone." 
 
 Then quick as flame his mood changed. 
 
 "Oh, go home alone, then!" he said, with 
 frownino; brows : and the next moment he had 
 turned from her and was striding eastward 
 along the bridge, leaving Nanciebel to get down 
 the slippery steps and make her way home as 
 she pleased. 
 
 As for him, he struck off through the snow- 
 covered meadows, caring little whither he went, 
 but vowing vengeance all the tihae. She was 
 too unreasonable ! He would suffer this kind of 
 thin or no longer. Here were both his mother 
 and his uncle doing everything they could think 
 of for her — not spurning her and refusing to 
 receive her into the family, as many would have 
 done, but laying thoughtful and kindly plans 
 and schemes to assure her a happy future ; and 
 she must needs break out into a fit of temper, 
 and flatly decline to accept their good offices. 
 
1 86 NAN CI E BEL 
 
 It was too outrageously unreasonable ! He 
 would teach her a lesson this time. 8he would 
 have to come humbly to him, and promise 
 amendment, before he would permit of any 
 reconciliation. Nanciebel w^ould find out that 
 he was not to be trifled with. 
 
 Alas ! for these brave resolutions : the first 
 thing he saw on returning to Woodend was a 
 small packet, addressed to himself, lying on 
 the hall table. He opened it — hurriedly and 
 anxiously — for he had recognised the hand- 
 writing. Here w^ere a bundle of letters, and 
 one or two tiny packages carefully wrapped up ; 
 likewise the following note : — 
 
 " ElCHARD, 
 
 " / return you your letters, and 
 also the 2^resents you have given me. 
 
 " Good'hye.—N a^cyJ' 
 
 He stared, in alarm and bewilderment. Did 
 she mean it ? Had she taken mortal offence 
 because of the imagined slight to her flxmily — a 
 slight that he ought to have explained away ? 
 Perhaps she had consulted her elder brother 
 ])efore taking this serious step ! And then (with 
 a jump of the heart) he observed that before the 
 
18; 
 
 word " letters " in the above note she had origin- 
 ally written " dear,'' but had scored that out. 
 The obliteration had been done but lightly ; 
 perhaps she had meant him to see the little 
 adjective after all ? He was not so angry w^ith 
 Nanciebel now. It was her love that had 
 dictated that little word of four letters, if it 
 was her pride that had compelled her to score 
 it out ag^ain. 
 
 Tow\ards dusk, on the same afternoon, Mr. 
 Eichard again made his appearance in the High 
 Street. Nanciebel blushed furiously when he 
 entered the shop ; there was a curious look in 
 her eyes, moreover ; his heart smote him — he 
 guessed she had been crying. 
 
 '• I want to speak to you, Nancy," he said, in 
 a grave voice. 
 
 Her sister Kate was behind the counter, busy 
 with her needle ; so, without more ado, Nancy 
 drew^ a shawl round her shoulders, and passed 
 into the back-garden, leaving the door open. 
 He w^as at her side in a second. 
 
 " Will you take back the letters, Nancy ? " 
 said he, rather hesitatingly, for he knew not in 
 what mood she might be. " You cannot mean 
 what you say. It isn't all over between us 
 
i88 NANCIEBEL 
 
 because — because of a quarrel. And I'm sure I 
 had no intention of saying or hinting that your 
 family were not good enough for you to associate 
 with — no such intention in the world." 
 
 " Oh, Eichard," she suddenly said, in a voice 
 full of pathetic appeal, " do be good to me ! It 
 quite breaks my heart when there is anything 
 wrong between you and me ! I will do what you 
 w^ant. I will do everything your mother wishes, 
 only — only — be kind to me, Eichard ! " 
 
 The next instant his hands were clasped round 
 her soft dark hair ; her eyes were upturned to 
 his. 
 
 " Why aren't you always like this, Nancy ? " 
 he said. 
 
 " Because you won't let me," she said, plain- 
 tively. " But don't begin again, Eichard ! 
 Have you — have you brought the letters — and 
 the locket, and the other things ? " 
 
 He took the little package from his pocket, 
 and handed it to her ; she furtively kissed it ere 
 transferring it to her own. 
 
 *' So you will go to Bristol, Nanciebel ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear ! " she said, looking down again. 
 
 " And do yuu imagine I don't understand 
 what you are thinking — or dreading ? And, of 
 
" ADIEU, MY DEAR ! " 189 
 
 course, I sympathise with you all the same, even 
 if I know your fears are groundless. Why, they 
 will be as kind to you as it is possible for you 
 to W'ish ! It isn't as if you were going as a 
 governess into a strange house wdiere the daugh- 
 ters might bully you and the servants try to 
 snub you ; you are going to a home — to be 
 received as my future wafe ; and the chief points 
 of education that the Mater seems to have in 
 view are lawn-tennis and the w^ay of dressing 
 your hair — though I fancy you could give Gerty 
 and Laura a lesson in that, rather than they you. 
 It seems to me that it will be simply a holiday 
 for you — a long holiday " 
 
 '' Yes, Eichard, long — how long ? " she inter- 
 posed. 
 
 " They were talking about a year," he answered 
 evasively. 
 
 "Ah, w^ell," she responded, with a submissive 
 sigh, " I suppose, if I have promised to do every- 
 thing your mother wdshes, there is no more to 
 be said. But it will be dreadful, Eichard — 
 never seeing you. I shall lose heart, I know. 
 I have heard of people pining and moping until 
 they fell into an illness ; well, if that should 
 happen to me, perhaps I shall not be sorry. I 
 
I go NANCIEBEL 
 
 have only been in the way — and a cause of 
 trouble. But if anything were to happen to me 
 — when I was far from my friends, and from 
 you, and from any one I cared for, I should 
 have the consolation of knowing that I had done 
 everything that had been asked of me ; and I 
 suppose your mother and your uncle would have 
 no ill-feeling towards me then ; and you — you 
 wouldn't quite forget Nanciebel — sometimes you 
 would remember " 
 
 There was a sob in the dark. 
 
 '' Come, come, Nancy," said he, soothingly, 
 " you needn't have any such apprehensions. 
 And you are not going to be left all alone like that. 
 I shall stipulate for being allowed to go down 
 and see you once at least in every two months 
 — they talked of three months " 
 
 " Couldn't it be every month, Kichard ? " she 
 pleaded. 
 
 " Nanciebel," said he, " you'd begin to think me 
 a nuisance. Why, you'll be so busy with your 
 amusements and excursions and all the charitable 
 work connected with the vicarage that you'd 
 resent my coming bothering you so often. 
 However, that can all be arranged afterwards. 
 You will find the Mater most considerate ; she 
 
" ADIEU, MY DEAR ! " 191 
 
 will agree to anything you ask ; and don't 
 imagine you are going to banishment or im- 
 prisonment — but to have a long and pleasant 
 holiday, in a nice house, amongst the most 
 friendly people in the world." 
 
 That night at dinner Mr. Eichard informed 
 his mother and his uncle that Miss Marlow had 
 given her consent to the scheme which had been 
 placed before her, and pathetically tried to draw 
 from them some expression of sympathy or 
 approval. But the widow received the news 
 with a grave reserve ; perhaps in her secret 
 heart she had been wondering whether Nanciebel 
 might not definitely refuse and so prepare the 
 way for a rupture of the engagement. 
 
 " I hope it will all turn out well, Eichard," 
 the mild-voiced clergyman said, '' and I am sure 
 myself and the girls will do what we can to 
 make the young lady feel at home. We must 
 simply agree to regard her as already one of the 
 family. But sometimes I wonder what your 
 uncle Alexander will say when he comes to hear 
 of it." 
 
 " My uncle Alexander," said Mr. Eichard, 
 with some independence, " seems to think he 
 owns me, simply because he happens to have 
 
192 • NANCIEBEL 
 
 been my father's brother. But I do not see that 
 I am so much beholden to him. I hardly know 
 him, to l)egin with ; and he has done nothing 
 for me — except to make offers he must have 
 
 known I could not accept " 
 
 " He might do a great deal for you," the 
 widow said. " He has made a large for- 
 tune " 
 
 " Yes, but of course he'll leave it all to that 
 girl, his stepdaughter. She is the only one who 
 has any claim on him — I don't consider I should 
 look to him for anything " 
 
 " Well, you needn't," his mother said, sadly, 
 " after he hears of what has now taken place." 
 
 " What I look to him for," said Mr. Eichard, 
 with some firmness (for well he knew what view 
 the irascible old gentleman out in Shanghai 
 would take of this matter), " is to mind his own 
 affairs, and not to interfere where he is not 
 wanted. He writes about me," he continued, 
 addressing his uncle, "as if I were a child, and 
 as if the Mater were a nursery-governess 
 neglecting her duty. Well, I won't have it. 
 He hasn't acquired the right to inter- 
 meddle -" 
 
 " He has been most kind and thoughtful," 
 
" AD IE U, MY DEA Tv* / " 1^3 
 
 Mrs. Kingston pleaded. '' If his remonstrances 
 were sometimes couched in plain language, 
 surely, my dear boy, you must have known 
 what his intentions were. Again and again he 
 has offered to give you a place in the firm ; and 
 if I have been selfish enough to ask you to 
 relinquish these chances, and to stay at home 
 with me, it hasn't been always with a good 
 conscience." 
 
 '' Well, well, mother," her son replied, " it is 
 no use talking about that now. I am not going 
 out to Shanghai. And I don't want any of uncle 
 Alexander's money ; let it go to my cousin who 
 is not my cousin — Florence her name is, isn't it ? " 
 
 Now the Rev. Mr. Henningham had to return 
 to Bristol the next day ; but it was hardly to be 
 expected that Nanciebel could accompany him on 
 such short notice. She would wish to say good- 
 bye to her friends and relatives ; moreover, her 
 wardrobe might require looking after, seeing 
 that she was to be away for so long ; and Mrs. 
 Kingston undertook that the young lady should 
 arrive at Holiwell Vicarage fully equipped. 
 Nanciebel had again been persuaded to pay an 
 afternoon visit to Woodend ; and, although she 
 was quite as shy, and nearly as silent, as on the 
 
 o 
 
194 NANCIEBEL 
 
 previous occasion, nevertheless her neat appear- 
 ance and becoming modesty made a favour- 
 able impression on the clergyman, while ]\Irs. 
 Kingston, now fully recognising the course of 
 events as inevitable, made less constrained ad- 
 vances towards friendliness and intimacy. Mr. 
 Eichard seemed highly pleased with the result of 
 this interview. It all seemed settled now. And 
 Nancy no longer appeared to be afraid. That 
 period of banishment was not to be so dreadful, 
 after all. 
 
 In the meantime, uncle Charles had nobly 
 undertaken the duty of calling upon Nanciebel's 
 elder brother, in order to explain to him the 
 position of affairs, and what were their plans for 
 the future. It was a most delicate and invidious 
 task. For when two young people become en- 
 gaged, their friends and acquaintances — and even 
 the world at large — charitably and amiably as- 
 sume that the young lady has had nothing what- 
 ever to do with bringing about this result ; 
 it is the young man who is solely and wholly 
 responsible. Accordingly the question remained 
 as to how Nanciebel's brother would regard this 
 spiriting away of his sister. Doubtless he would 
 assume that she was innocent of any preliminary 
 
" ADIEU, MY DEAR / " 195 
 
 flirtation ; she had not replied to stolen glances, 
 or let her hand part reluctantly from his, or in- 
 dulged in any sort of sly and innocent coquetry. 
 No, no. She had been pursued witli attentions ; 
 flattered ; coaxed ; finally, out of her generous 
 good-nature, she had, given consent — to the 
 young man who was now answerable for the 
 whole aflair. As the good clergyman made his 
 way to the shop of Emmett and Marlow, watch- 
 makers and silversmiths, he became a little 
 anxious. If young Marlow had taken that 
 stationer's business chiefly as a means of pro- 
 viding employment for his sisters, he might be 
 willing enough to have the maintenance of one 
 of the girls taken off" his hands. If, on the 
 contrary, he had embarked in the enterprise as 
 a speculation on his own account, he might ob- 
 ject to have his manageress carried off" in this 
 peremptory fashion. Much would depend on his 
 personal disposition ; and Mr. Henningham, who 
 was a peaceable and timid little man, hoped at 
 least that young Marlow would not turn out to 
 be a fierce and angry Eadical, indignant at the 
 thought of his sister being borne away into cap- 
 tivity in order to become the bride of a scion of 
 the so-called upper classes. 
 
 2 
 
196 NANCIEBEL 
 
 Mr. Henningliam was speedily reassured. 
 Nanciebel's brother he found to be a respectable, 
 quiet-mannered, sensible young man, who spoke 
 with equal intelligence and frankness. 
 
 " No, sir," he said, respectfully, to the clergy- 
 man, " I did not like your nephew coming about 
 the place at all. I would have stopped it if I 
 had known in time. I think Nancy ought to 
 marry in her own circle. However, I suppose it 
 is no use talking about that now. Well, I think 
 your proposal is very generous ; and I see good 
 reasons for it ; the only thing is, that you must 
 allow me to pay for my sister's board." 
 
 " My dear sir," said the clergyman blandly, 
 " I hope you will not raise the question. I think 
 both Mrs. Kingston and myself w^ould prefer 
 to regard your sister as already one of the 
 family " 
 
 The young man flushed. 
 
 " Oh, I can't have Nancy go anywhere as a 
 beggar," said he, but witnout rudeness. " Once 
 she is married, it will be different." 
 
 " We will waive the point at present, then," 
 said Mr. Henningham, who was extremely 
 pleased to have got over this awkward inter- 
 view so easily ; and, as he was going away, hQ 
 
''ADIEU, MY DEAR."' 197 
 
 was good enough to say : " And, of course, you 
 understand that while we consider this period of 
 separation a wholesome thing as between those 
 young people, we have no wish to restrict Miss 
 Marlow's full and free intercourse with her own 
 relatives ; and if her sister or yourself were at 
 any time anywhere near Bristol, I should be only 
 too pleased to see you at Holiwell Vicarage." 
 
 Uncle Charles went away down again into 
 Somersetshire, to tell his daughters whom they 
 were to expect. Then a week or two went by, 
 during which Nanciebel was preparing for her 
 departure. Then came the night of farewell (for 
 she was going off by train next morning), and 
 Nancy and her lover were, as on many a previous 
 occasion, strolling arm-in-arm up and down the 
 little tiled courtyard. 
 
 " Life is so much harder in reality," Nanciebel 
 was saying, in a rather sad way, " than it is in 
 things you read of in books. I thought it was 
 kind of your mother to give me Tennyson's 
 Poems yesterday, Kichard. She told me how it 
 was you asked for her consent ; and how she 
 couldn't refuse ; and when I came home, I read 
 the poem all over again. But everything went 
 so easilv for the Miller's Daughter, A single 
 
198 NANCIEBEL 
 
 interview with tlie young man's mother : that 
 was all. There was no talk of sending her away 
 from her friends — to live with strangers — per- 
 haps for a whole year. You say they are not 
 strangers, Eichard, dear ; and, of course, they 
 are not to you ; but they are to me. And the 
 life will be strange. I know I shall feel dread- 
 fully lonely. I shall spend half the night 
 crying " 
 
 ''No, no, no, Nanciebel 1" he said. "You 
 don't know what you are talking about. It will 
 be a far pleasanter life for you than your present 
 one " 
 
 " Without you, Eichard ! " she said, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " I am talking of the average circumstances," 
 said he — perhaps conscious that he was an 
 exceptional one. " You will have all the fun 
 that my cousins have, with nothing of their hard 
 drill. While they are grinding away at Latin, 
 and French, and German, you will have nothing 
 but English literature to get up ; and while they 
 are hammering at fugues and sonatas, you will 
 only have to practise your handwriting — and 
 you can do that by writing to me. There will 
 be no lawn- tennis as yet, of course ; but you can 
 
« ADIEU, MY DEAR ! " 199 
 
 play battledore-and-shuttlecock in the hall ; and 
 you will be expected to take part in entertain- 
 ments for the instruction and amusement of 
 the villagers— and won't that develop your self- 
 confidence, Nanciebel ! " 
 
 " I am sure Bristol must be a dreadful place 
 to live in," said Nancy, with a sigh. 
 
 '' Why, it is one of the most beautiful towns 
 in England ! " he protested. " Of course, you 
 will be living a little way out in the country ; 
 but wait till I come to see you ; I will take you 
 into the town, and show you the College Green 
 and the Whiteladies' Eoad, and Durdham Down, 
 and Clifton Down, and the Suspension Bridge, 
 and the steep banks of the Avon all hanging in 
 foliage. Why, it is a beautiful neighbourhood — 
 not flat and tame like this, but with plenty of 
 heights and clifls and open spaces covered with 
 hawthorn in the spring. Oh, I can tell you 
 Bristol is a most picturesque place ! " 
 
 '' What do I care about that ? " said Nanciebel, 
 as if in echo of '' What's this dull town to me % " 
 And then she continued, '^ Kichard, I have got a 
 little pocket almanac, and I am going to mark 
 with red ink all the dates fixed for your coming 
 to Bristol ; and every night, before going to bed, 
 
20O: NANCIEBEL 
 
 I will score out the day that has j)assed, and say, 
 * There's another day of misery got over.' " 
 
 " And mind this, Nancy," he said, " though 
 we have promised to send each other a letter 
 only once a fortnight, that does not prevent you 
 writing every day in the week, and keeping the 
 sheets until the proper time has come. I'm sure 
 I mean to do that ; as I told you before, it will 
 be a kind of diary ; and you must tell me every- 
 thing you are thinking, so that I may be certain 
 I know exactly the truth. Oh, I don't say you 
 may not find it a little lonely at first ; you will 
 be thinking of the pleasant evenings we have 
 spent here, or the morning strolls out to the 
 AVeir Brake ; but then, dearest, think of the 
 necessity for the absence, and of all the greater 
 happiness in store for us. There are very few 
 engaged young people who have everything 
 planned out so satisfactorily for them — friends 
 approving — all the circumstances propitious — 
 and what is a little waiting ? " 
 
 " Ah, it's all very well for you, Eichard," she 
 said ; " you are a man ; and you are high-spirited 
 and careless. But I shall feel so lonely — and — 
 and there will 1)e nobody to be good to me," 
 confessed Nanciebel, artlessly. 
 
" ADIEU, MY DEAR! " 201 
 
 '' You wait till I come down," said he, " and 
 see if I don't make up for lost time." 
 
 And still more sad of heart was poor Nancy 
 at the station on the following morning. She 
 hardly spoke. Mr. Kichard got her a couije, and 
 bribed the guard to keep it for her ; she did not 
 seem to care. Her elder brother was here to see 
 her away, but he did not pay much attention to 
 his sister ; there were one or two acquaintances 
 of his on the platform ; and there w^as a Parlia- 
 mentary election somewhere in the neighbour- 
 hood that seemed to interest them. As the time 
 drew near, Nanciebel grew more and more 
 dejected. She answered her lover's remarks in 
 monosyllables chiefly, for her lips were tremulous, 
 and she dared not trust herself. At last she had 
 to get into the carriage. He kissed her ; she 
 took leave of him without a word — only pressing 
 his hand ; and the last he saw of her were her 
 tear-filled eyes piteously and longingly regarding 
 him. Then — long after the train had left the 
 station — there was a fiutter of a small white 
 handkerchief from a carriage window ; and that 
 again disappeared at a curve in the line ; 
 Nanciebel was gone. 
 
202 NANCIEBEL 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NEW FEIENDS. 
 
 For Mr. Ricliard, Stratford-on-Avon was an 
 empty town after the departure of Nanciebel. 
 He used to wander all round the neighbourhood 
 — through the meadows, down by the river, or 
 along to the Weir Brake ; or again he would go 
 away up to the top of Bardon Hill, and survey 
 the wide landscape, identifying almost every 
 feature of it with some recollection of his lost 
 Nancy. Here was a lane in which she had made 
 shy confession of her love, and sworn sweet vows 
 of constancy until death ; yonder was the high- 
 way in which, not a fortnight thereafter, they 
 had had a furious quarrel ; and still further 
 along the point at which she had become sud- 
 denly penitent and liad wejDt mild tears of con- 
 trition. He even went into the little shop in the 
 High Street and begged Miss Kate Marlow to 
 allow him to visit, in solitude and silence, the 
 vacant little courtyard in which Nanciebel and 
 he had conjured up so many fair dreams and 
 visions of the future. Sister Kate was sym- 
 
NEW FRIENDS 203 
 
 pathetic and understood ; she left him to himself, 
 and gave him ample opportunity to become as 
 miserable as he wished. But one afternoon Miss 
 Kate had a more definite favour to bestow on 
 him. 
 
 '' I had a letter from Nancy this morning," she 
 said, at the door of the shop. '' I was wonderino- 
 she did not write ; but she said she waited until 
 she got settled. Would you like to see it ? " 
 
 '' Oh, yes," said he, eagerly, '' for she won't 
 write to me until the end of next week. Of 
 course, I am anxious to know how she takes to 
 the place." 
 
 Therewith he followed Nanciebel's sister in- 
 side, and she went and got the letter. It was 
 a long and elaborate composition, showing care 
 as regards the handwriting ; no doubt Nancy 
 was already practising. But it was the contents 
 that interested Mr. Eichard— and surprised him. 
 He expected that Nanciebel would be com- 
 plaining of her sad fortune ; pining for absent 
 friends; recalling the pleasant hours she had 
 passed with those she loved most; and won- 
 dering when her period of lone banishment was 
 to be over. Nothing of the kind. In this letter 
 Nancy seemed rather to be giving herself airs. 
 
204 NANCIEBEL 
 
 Her sister was told of all the elegancies of life at 
 the vicarage, even to the ringing of a dressing- 
 bell before dinner ; and was given to understand 
 that Nancy was put in a position of perfect 
 equality with the vicar's daughters, and even 
 treated with consideration and respect by the 
 lady house-keeper — a somewhat awful person, as 
 it appeared — who presided over the establish- 
 ment. Mention was made of the Stanhope 
 phaeton which had awaited her at the station. 
 The garden of the vicarage communicated with 
 that of Holiwell Court (Hon. G. Stapleton, 
 brother of Lord De A^aux and Esk) ; and as the 
 vicar's family had the free run of the place, 
 Nancy, when the two young ladies were at their 
 mornino-'s tasks, would sometimes wander into 
 the hot-houses, where the Scotch head- gardener 
 told her the Latin names of the plants, and 
 otherwise introduced her to the science of botany. 
 And so Mr. Richard read on, momentarily ex- 
 pecting some reference to himself, but finding 
 no such thing. He handed back those closely- 
 scribbled sheets, and tlianked Miss Kate. Then 
 he walked away home, rather dispirited. 
 
 But a very different letter arrived at Woodend 
 towards the close of the f olio win .2^ week. There 
 
NlilV FRIENDS 205 
 
 was no showing-ofF or pride of place, but the 
 out-pourings and tender confidences of an inno- 
 cent young soul, that might have melted a heart 
 of stone. Oh, for the happy days, never to be 
 recalled, which she had passed with her dear 
 Richard in that beloved Stratford town ! Here 
 she was all alone, far, far from friends, with no 
 one to cheer her or comfort her, with the future 
 all grown dark and hopeless. The night brought 
 wakeful hours of memory, and weeping over by- 
 gone happiness ; the morning brought wdth it 
 a renewed sense of isolation. A moan as of a 
 dove deprived of its mate went all through this 
 letter ; and even while the young man prized 
 and welcomed eagerly these artless confessions, 
 his heart was stricken with sympathy and pity. 
 Poor Nancy ! Even the Stanhope phaeton, and 
 the dressing-bell before dinner, and the Hon. Mr. 
 Stapleton's greenhouses, and the Scoto-Latin 
 names of flowers, seemed not altogether to com- 
 pensate. She still thought of her dear Richard, 
 and of drowsy Stratford town, and the silent- 
 winding Avon. 
 
 But the drowsiness of AVarwickshire, so far as 
 Mrs. Kingston and her son were concerned, was 
 about to be broken in upon in a sudden and 
 
2o6 NANCIEBEL 
 
 startling manner. Quite unexpectedly, without 
 any warning, tlie news arrived that Richard's 
 uncle out in China had at last accomplished the 
 end he had long had in view — his retirement 
 from the immediate direction of the firm of 
 Kingston, Campbell, and Co., of Shanghai, and 
 that he and his stepdaughter would almost im- 
 mediately start for Europe. There were some 
 further details in the letter. Uncle Alexander 
 meant to set up house in London, after he had 
 had time to look about ; but in the meanwhile, 
 on his arrival, there would be a good deal of 
 legal business to attend to, and he would take 
 it as a kindness if his sister-in-law, for that brief 
 period, would receive into her house his step- 
 daughter Florence. Now, Mrs. Kingston had 
 never even seen this young lady, who was a 
 daughter, l:>y a former husband, of uncle Alex- 
 ander's second, and recently deceased, wife. But 
 the little widow never thought of evading this 
 demand made upon her by her imperious and 
 hot-tempered brother-in-law. It was not the 
 aspect of this surprising intelligence which filled 
 Mrs. Kingston's breast with concern. 
 
 " Richard," she said, going to her son with 
 the letter in her hand, "your uncle Alexander 
 
NEW FRIENDS 207 
 
 and his daughter are coming to England ; and 
 he is going to bring her down here, to stay with 
 lis a little while, until he gets some business 
 over in London. And — and I suppose there will 
 be a general talk over family affairs," continued 
 the anxious mother, " and — and I suppose I shall 
 have to tell him about Miss — about Nancy " 
 
 Mr. Eichard's face flushed quickly. 
 
 "I've said before, mother, that I expect uncle 
 Alexander to mind his own affairs," he remarked, 
 in ominous tones. " I am indebted to him in 
 no way, and I don't mean to be. Did I ever ask 
 him for any of his money? Who constituted 
 him my guardian ? " 
 
 '' I am sure that your uncle Charles and I 
 did what was right about — about Nancy," said 
 the widow (who seemed always to have a little 
 struggle in calling [Miss Marlow by her Christian 
 name), " but I know all the same that your 
 uncle Alexander will be very angry — and you 
 know how stormy and passionate he is " 
 
 '' Look here, mother," Mr. Kichard said, defi- 
 nitely, " I want you to understand this : I am 
 not going to allow uncle Alexander to worry 
 you about Nancy, or upon any other subject. 
 If he has anything to say, let him say it to me, 
 
2o8 . NANCIEBEL 
 
 and lie shall have his answer. But if I find him 
 beginning to bully you, I shall show him the 
 way to the door ; I suppose you may live all 
 your life in China and yet not have forgotten how 
 to take a hint." 
 
 Alas ! w^hen uncle Alexander arrived at Wood- 
 end — accompanied by a tall, and handsome, and 
 bright-looking young lady, who appeared to 
 take possession of the whole house in a bewilder- 
 ing sort of way — he w^as in no truculent mood. 
 He w^as a complete wreck, he declared. The 
 long voyage had shattered him ; the rattling 
 across France had still further destroyed his 
 nerves ; his consolation now was that he could 
 lay his bones to rest in his native land. It is 
 true that as Mr. Eichard watched the perform- 
 ance of this big, heavy, bilious-complexioned man 
 at luncheon, he was of opinion that, for a mori- 
 bund person, he possessed a remarkably brave 
 appetite. His harrowing description of the sen- 
 sations he suffered during the wakeful hours of 
 night did not interfere with his large consump- 
 tion of steak and kidney pie ; and by the time 
 that cheese and celery w^ere produced he had 
 got through the best part of a decanter of old 
 Madeira. He had been growing more and more 
 
NEW FRIENDS 269 
 
 silent, however, as the repast proceeded ; and, 
 when all rose from table, he said he would retire 
 to his own room and lie down for awhile, as he 
 found that a nap after lunch had a soothing effect 
 on his nervous system. 
 
 And here were mother and son with this 
 strange young lady left on their hands. But 
 the strange young lady was in no wise dis- 
 concerted. 
 
 " Well, cousin," she said, gaily, as she turned 
 to Mr. Kichard, " are you coming to show me 
 over the curiosities of Stratford ? I suppose I 
 may call myself an Englishwoman ; and an 
 Englishwoman ought to know something of 
 Stratford-on iVvon. How far is it in to the 
 town ? " 
 
 " A little over a couple of miles," said he ; 
 " but I will drive you in, if you like ? " 
 
 " Oh, thanks ; that will be capital," said she. 
 " You can tell me when the carriage is ready : 
 I shall be in the drawing-room with aunt Cecilia." 
 And therewith she quite naturally and affection- 
 ately put her hand within the widow's arm and 
 led her away with her. 
 
 .. In less than half an hour thereafter Mr. 
 Kichard found himself seated next this light- 
 
2IO NANCIEBEL 
 
 hearted cousin of his, who had begged him to 
 give her the reins. It was a pleasant afternoon ; 
 the snow had altogether disappeared from the 
 country-side now ; there were mild airs blowing, 
 and a touch of sunlight here and there ; a feeling 
 of Spring was abroad. 
 
 " I'm awfully fond of driving," said she ; " and 
 driving through an English landscape in the 
 Spring-time — what can be better than that ? " 
 
 " I'll have the pony-chaise brought round for 
 you every morning if you like, Miss Kingston," 
 he remarked. 
 
 " Miss Kingston ! " she exclaimed, with an 
 audacious smile. " Well, well ! Why, my name 
 is Floss ; and I am your cousin ; can't you put 
 these two together, and give me a nicer name 
 than Miss Kingston ? I am going to call you 
 cousin Dick. You see," she continued, giving the 
 reins a shake to wake up the old pony, " girls are 
 subjected to such formalities and conventionalisms 
 in ordinarily talking to gentlemen that, where 
 there is a chance of a little familiarity, it is 
 quite delightful. Cousin Dick sounds all right, 
 doesn't it ? " 
 
 '' Y — yes," said he : he was thinking of poor 
 little Nanciebel, and her shy ways ; and he was 
 
NEW FRIENDS 211 
 
 hoping that Kate Marlow might not see him and 
 this dashing cousin of his if they had occasion to 
 drive along the High Street. 
 
 When they got into Stratford, however, he 
 put up the horse and trap at the stables belong- 
 ing to a hotel where he was known ; and there- 
 after they continued their peregrinations on foot. 
 But first of all cousin Floss paused at a milHner's 
 window, and looked in. 
 
 " Will you wait for me," said she, " or come 
 in and sit down ? I'm going to buy some little 
 things for your mother, to break up the un- 
 relieved black of her mourning. Why, it isn't 
 at all called for ; and it is the greater pity 
 in her case, for she is comparatively a young 
 woman, and very nice-looking, and why should 
 she wear nothing but black? Of course, a 
 widow will protest, and may even think you 
 cruel ; but you have only to talk a little 
 common sense, and be firm ; and you'll see if I 
 don't get something that will improve aunt 
 Cecilia's appearance." 
 
 She made her purchases, and sent them to the 
 hotel ; then he took her along to New Place, 
 and showed her the site of Shakespeare's house : 
 and again he conducted her to the Church, to the 
 
 P 2 
 
212 NANCIEBEL 
 
 shrine wliicli so many pilgrims from all parts of 
 the world have visited. She betrayed the most 
 lively interest in everything he showed her, and 
 talked with an unfailing cheerfulness and frank- 
 ness. At first, in faet, on setting out with this 
 newly-found cousin, he had ])een rather taken 
 aback ; her matter-of-fact audacity had some- 
 what disconcerted him ; but now he had grown 
 familiar with her fashion of addressing him just 
 as if he were her elder brother. 
 
 " Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed, when he 
 showed her the Memorial Theatre — that fantastic 
 gew-gaw building set amid the placid riverside 
 scenery — " did ever any one see anything so 
 monstrous as that — so preposterous in itself, and 
 so out of keeping with the quiet, old-fashioned 
 town ! "Why, have you no public-spirited men 
 in England ? Couldn't they raise a subscription 
 to buy up that awful structure, and have it con- 
 veyed to the coast and hurled into the sea ? 
 How do you expect Shakespeare's ghost to rest, 
 with a thing like that in the neighbourhood ? " 
 
 And then again, as they were driving home, 
 she said in her airy fashion — 
 
 "How do you spend the evenings, cousin 
 Dick?" 
 
NE IV FRIENDS 1 1 3 
 
 " After dinner, you mean ? " he said. " Oli, 
 well, the Mater is always happy enough if she 
 has a volume of Tennyson, and I wander about 
 outside with a cigarette." 
 
 " You haven't a billiard-room ? " 
 
 '' No." 
 
 " Papa must see that there is a billiard-room 
 in the house he takes in London," continued 
 Miss Florence, with decision. " Gentlemen are 
 too valuable creatures of an evening to be 
 allowed to go away by themselves to smoke. 
 And I'm very fond of smoke." 
 
 " Perhaps you have tried a cigarette your- 
 self ? " he asked, with a dash of impertinence. 
 
 " I ? " she answered, carelessly. " Oh, no. 
 But I can play billiards a little ; and I don't care 
 how smoky the atmosphere is. By the way, 
 cousin Dick, are you a good waltzer ? " 
 
 " I don't know — middling, I suppose," was his 
 reply. 
 
 " That means you are a capital waltzer," she 
 said, with much satisfaction, " and I'm delighted 
 to hear it. A cousin who is a good waltzer must 
 be simply invaluable ; and when we get our 
 London house I shall rely on you to save me 
 from bad partners — an awful lot can be done by 
 
214 NANCIEBEL 
 
 skilful connivance. One of these evenings at 
 Woodend we'll clear the drawing-room and have 
 a turn, to see if our steps correspond ; and, being 
 my cousin, you know, you won't be afraid to 
 catch hold of me — that is the worst of a bad 
 partner — a stranger — who seems to think you're 
 made of glass and will break if he touches you. 
 I like to feel that my partner has a good grip, 
 and knows where he is going." 
 
 AVhen they reached home they found that tea 
 had just been brought in to the widow's little 
 boudoir ; and through the windows they could 
 see that uncle Alexander was pacing up and down 
 the longest path in the garden outside — walking 
 with a quick, little, shuffling step, his head bent 
 forward, his arms swinging at his side. 
 
 " Shall I go and call your papa, cousin Floss ? " 
 said Mr. Kichard — bravely tackling her newly- 
 assumed style and title. 
 
 *' Oh, no, no ! " she cried. " He'll come in 
 when he has done the regulation quantity. I 
 have no doubt he has carefully measured out the 
 forty-four yards ; and forty times makes a mile, 
 you know; but if you interrupt him he loses 
 count, and has to begin the mile all over again 
 — and that makes him cross, naturally. Poor 
 
NEW FRIENDS 21 S 
 
 papa ! — he used to be so put out on board ship 
 —he never could get a stretch of the upper deck 
 left undisturbed for him ; as soon as he began, 
 one of the officers would be sure to order up the 
 Lascars to do something or other, or else some of 
 the passengers would come and take possession 
 with rope-quoits or shovel-board. I hope our 
 London house will be in a square, where papa 
 will be able to get a measured space without 
 being over-looked." 
 
 But when uncle Alexander came in it was not 
 to tea. He was groaning and complaining ; he 
 hardly knew which of his ailments demanded 
 most immediate attention, whether it was the 
 headache that lay across his brow like an iron 
 clamp, or the heartburn that gnawed in his bosom 
 like some internal rat, or the sickness and 
 lassitude that seemed pulling him generally to 
 the ground. AVell, he attacked the heartburn 
 first— with bicarbonate of soda. That proving 
 of no avail, he had a thin slice of bread and 
 butter thickly spread with cayenne pepper ; and 
 having bolted that bolus, he washed it down 
 with a good stiff glass of brown brandy and 
 water. Whether the heartburn disappeared or 
 not, he seemed at least to recover a little from 
 
2i6 NANCIEBEL 
 
 the hopeless depression that had been hanging 
 over him ; and he could now talk without a suc- 
 cession of melancholy sighs. 
 
 He was going up to town next morning, he 
 said. Would it be convenient for aunt Cecilia to 
 have Florence remain with her for a week or ten 
 days, until he had seen to his business affairs in 
 London ? The widow replied that she would be 
 most delighted — she had already cast favouring 
 eyes on this frank-spirited girl. Thereafter, 
 again asked uncle Alexander, would aunt Cecilia 
 and Kichard come up to town and be his guests 
 for a week or two at the private hotel he 
 was staying at in Arlington Street ? Florence 
 wanted someone to show her about London ; he 
 would be glad to have aunt Cecilia's advice about 
 the choice of a house. The little wddow hesitated. 
 The whirl of town life was not much to her 
 liking ; she had grown accustomed to this 
 peaceful, secluded existence. But here Miss 
 Florence struck in, and declared that she would 
 only remain at Woodend on the understanding 
 that aunt Cecilia and cousin Dick should go to 
 London with her at the end of her stay ; and 
 that settled the matter. The arrangement was 
 finally made, and uncle Alexander returned to 
 
NFAV FRIENDS 217 
 
 the garden to the measured forty-four yards that 
 was to assist the action of the cayenne pepper 
 and brandy. 
 
 So it came about that Florence Kingston was 
 established at Woodend, where she speedily 
 made herself felt as anything but a dull and 
 depressing influence. The irresistible cheerful- 
 ness, the kindliness, the good humour of the 
 girl acted as a kind of charm upon the solitary 
 little widow, who . thawed and warmed into 
 smiles in the sunshine of this constant com- 
 panionship. For it was not at all upon Mr. 
 Richard that cousin Floss bestowed her atten- 
 tions. Indeed, she treated that young man in 
 somewhat of a cavalier spirit ; it was the gentle 
 mother whom she petted, and teased, and 
 spoiled, and laughed at, all at once. 
 
 ^' I declare, Richard," said the widow, on one 
 occasion when cousin Floss had just left the 
 room, " when that girl goes out, it is just as if 
 a hurricane had passed by — leaving a sudden 
 calm behind it." 
 
 " And yet you don't seem to dislike her, 
 Mater," he observed. 
 
 " Dislike her ? No. Sometimes I think I am 
 getting too fond of her," the widow said, with a 
 
2i8 NANCIEBEL 
 
 sigh ; perhaps she was thinking of what might 
 have been. 
 
 Then came the evenino^ on which the oreat 
 waltzing experiment was to be tried. As well as 
 they could they cleared the tables and chairs 
 from the larger drawing-room ; and Mrs. 
 Kingston was asked to officiate at the piano. 
 How long was it since the widow had played a 
 waltz, or any other species of musical composi- 
 tion, for the matter of that ? Nevertheless, she 
 could refuse this headstrong girl nothing ; so 
 presently she was strumming away at some fine 
 old-fashioned tune, while the young people were 
 gliding round the cleared space to the tinkle- 
 tankle of the venerable instrument. When they 
 stopped. Miss Florence was good enough to 
 say— 
 
 '^ You do very well, cousin Dick. Oh, yes ; 
 you and I will have a little practice every 
 evening, and we'll get into each other's ways 
 perfectly. I like your reversing ; you're not 
 afraid to catch hold. And then I shall rely on 
 you in London, mind. Whenever I want to get 
 rid of a bore, or a bad dancer, I shall claim you. 
 You must be at my beck and call. It's wonder- 
 ful what tricks you can play with a programme 
 
NEW FRIENDS 219 
 
 when you have an accomplice ; and when the 
 accomplice is yom^ cousin, it's all right, don't 
 you see ? " 
 
 But the opportunities for bringing this dark 
 conspiracy into operation were as yet afar off; 
 for when Mrs. Kino;ston and Mr. Eichard even- 
 tually went up to London with cousin Floss, 
 the whole party found themselves in a private 
 hotel, uncle Alexander not yet having provided 
 himself with a house. And meanwhile, as the 
 retired China merchant was still being called 
 upon to go into the City on business matters, 
 the introducing of Miss Florence to the ways 
 and customs of the town, and to its outward 
 features as well, fell upon these two Warwick- 
 shire folk, who were almost as much strangers 
 as herself. That, however, did not matter much 
 to Mr. Eichard, who had the arrangement of 
 their little excursions, and rather liked going 
 about with this pretty and vivacious cousin. 
 The barouche which uncle Alexander had hired 
 he seldom was allowed to make use of ; it was 
 in almost constant requisition for the three 
 sight-seers. Miss Florence was, of course, taken 
 to the Tower. The British Museum did not 
 occupy much of her time ; but a students' day 
 
220 NANCIEBEL 
 
 in the National Gallery interested lier keenly. 
 She heard part of a debate in the House of 
 Commons, and had tea in the tea-room. She 
 hunted out the neighbourhoods that had grown 
 familiar to her in her favourite novels ; was that, 
 then, the actual building in which poor Angelica 
 had sate and stitched, and watered her bread 
 with tears, and given her lover up for dead — the 
 lover who was pining in a Spanish prison far 
 away, and never hoping to regain his native 
 land ? Other buildings also, whose names she 
 had heard of, she was taken to visit — the 
 Trafalgar at Greenwich, the Star and Garter at 
 Eichmond, and so forth ; and most frankly did 
 she enjoy the little festivities that accompanied 
 these wanderings. Then there Avere concerts 
 and theatres for an occasional afternoon or 
 evening ; hardly a day seemed long enough. 
 The widow grew quite cheerful through her 
 constant association with this bright and bold 
 young life that was showing all its pleasant est 
 cliaracteristics in these varied scenes ; Mr. 
 Eichard had never seen her look so well or so 
 happy ; and she was content (if with a smile 
 of doleful resignation) to wear whatever Miss 
 Florence imperiously insisted on her w^earing. 
 
NEW FRIENDS 221 
 
 Uncle Alexander, it may be observed, remained 
 apart from these gaieties. For one thing, his 
 business arrangements did not go forward quite 
 as smoothly as he had expected ; for another, 
 the state of his health called for a constant care. 
 He was his own physician. He had found that 
 ordinary doctors were rude persons, who were 
 not ashamed to hint that he ought to eat and 
 drink less and take more exercise. He knew 
 that his many ailments arose from far more 
 recondite causes, and demanded the most 
 studious treatment. These continuous escapades 
 on the part of his daughter and her two relatives 
 were not for him. How could he be expected 
 to go and breathe the polluted air of a theatre, 
 when he had to be in his own room, looking 
 every ten minutes at his tongue in a mirror ? 
 But he was glad to think that Floss had youth 
 and health and spirits to enjoy all that mad 
 gadding about ; and he hoped that his sister-in- 
 law and her son would prolong their stay in 
 London as long as they conveniently could. 
 
 Amid all this whirl of amusement and en- 
 joyment Mr. Kichard suddenly remembered that 
 the day appointed for his first visit to Bristol 
 was drawing near ; and perhaps he had an 
 
222 NANCIEBEL 
 
 uneasy consciousness that he had been somewhat 
 neglectful of poor little Nanciebel. He had not 
 written to her literally every morning — for life 
 in London was a desperately busy thing ; and 
 sometimes his budget of news for the week was 
 a somewhat perfunctory affair. However, that 
 would all be put right now. Letter-writing was 
 an ineffective thing at the best. When he was 
 once more face to face with his sweetheart — her 
 tender eyes looking into his — she would know 
 that he had been true to her in absence. And 
 would they not both congratulate each other 
 that the first two months of that cruel separa- 
 tion were now over ? 
 
 AVhen cousin Floss heard that he was going 
 down to Bristol on the following Monday she 
 was indignant. 
 
 " What for ? " she demanded, in her straight- 
 forward way. 
 
 " I have an appointment — that I must keep," 
 said he. 
 
 " Why, it is Monday night we were going to 
 see The Winters Tale at the Lyceum — papa got 
 the box a fortnight ago. And you know your 
 mother and I just hate going anywhere by 
 ourselves. How far away is Bristol ? Can't 
 
NEW FRIENDS 223 
 
 you come back in time to take us to the 
 theatre ? " 
 
 Well, the truth is he had intended staying 
 the night at Holiwell Vicarage, in order to have 
 a long evening with Nanciebel ; but then, on 
 the other hand, both his mother and cousin 
 looked so naturally to him for escort and 
 guidance that he was almost bound to return 
 and take them to the Lyceum as they wished. 
 There was an afternoon train leaving Bristol 
 which would bring him to Paddington at 6.30 ; 
 that would just give him time to get to the 
 hotel, snatch a bit of dinner, and dress. So he 
 told cousin Floss that she should not be balked 
 of The Winter s Tale on his account. 
 
 He left London on the Monday morning by 
 the 9 o'clock express, and reached Bristol at 12. 
 During the journey down he had been possessed 
 not so much with joy at the prospect of meeting 
 Nanciebel as with a half- confessed fear that 
 she might begin to cross-examine him, and be 
 petulant, and cause trouble. He was conscious 
 that the sorrow of separation had not fallen 
 equally on him and her — he had had distractions, 
 about which the less said the better. And when, 
 on arriving at Holiwell Vicarage, and being 
 
224 NANCIEBEL 
 
 ushered into the drawing-room, he found that 
 along with Nanciebel there were his two cousins 
 and also the governess, perhaps he was somewhat 
 relieved. Yet Nanciebel looked so gentle ! — 
 and so pleased at his coming, too. She regarded 
 him covertly, with her dark, soft eyes ; and a 
 mantling blush suffused her cheek when he 
 made bold to address a w^ord or two to her direct. 
 "Mr. Kingston," she called him, before the 
 vicar's daughters and the governess. There was 
 something odd and unexpected about the way 
 she wore her hair now — and about her dress, too 
 — that did not escape his notice ; she seemed to 
 have undergone some kind of transformation, 
 though he could not define it exactly ; she was 
 hardly the same Nanciebel who used to walk up 
 and down the little courtyard with him, crisp 
 snow underfoot, and shining and throbbing stars 
 overhead. 
 
 Luncheon-bell rang and the vicar appeared at 
 the same time : in a minute or two they were all 
 assembled at table in the dining-room. And 
 uncle Charles was full of questions about his 
 brother-in-law Alexander and his plans, and also 
 about his niece, or quasi-niece, Florence, whom 
 he had never seen. On this latter point Mr. 
 
NEW FRIENDS 225 
 
 Richard was frankly talkative, not to say 
 effusive ; and Nanciebel, on the other side of 
 the table, listened in silence. A stranger might 
 have fancied that she and this handsome young 
 man had now met for the first time ; and that 
 the quiet little country girl was rather impressed 
 hj his stories of the fine doings in London town. 
 
 After luncheon the various members of the 
 small household discreetly went their several 
 ways, leaving Mr. Richard and his sweetheart 
 by themselves. But still there were servants 
 about, so Nanciebel said shyly — 
 
 " Will you come into the garden, Richard ? " 
 
 " Anywhere you like, Nancy," he answered ; 
 and he followed her through the open French 
 window and down the wide stone steps. It was 
 a large, old-fashioned garden ; and there were 
 walls of yew intersecting it. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you again, Richard," she 
 said, with downcast eyes (she did not dare to 
 take his arm, for there might be a spectator at 
 one or other of the windows). 
 
 " And I am glad to find you looking so well," 
 said he. "I was sure you would find my uncle 
 and my cousins as kind as you could wish. I 
 saw that from the first, in your letters, though 
 
 Q 
 
226 NANCIEBEL 
 
 you weren't quite — quite as — as outspoken as 
 you might have been." 
 
 " Were you disappointed, Richard ? " she said, 
 humbly. '' But you don't know, dear, how 
 lonely I have been since I came here 1 Yes, 
 they are very kind ; but kindness isn't every- 
 thing," she continued, with a bit of a sigh. 
 *^ AVhen I think of those days at Stratford — ah, 
 that was different ! " 
 
 " Yes I know, Nanciebel," he said. '' But you 
 can't expect everything. I know you are very 
 warm-hearted ; and you like to have people say 
 nice things to you, and be good to you, and pet 
 you. But that can't be always and everywhere ; 
 and I don't think you are so badly off." 
 
 " It's all very well for you to say so," said 
 Nanciebel, with some rebellious spirit, " when 
 you are having every possible enjoyment and 
 amusement along with that cousin of yours. Of 
 course you don't feel dull. Of course you don't 
 feel lonely." 
 
 *^ Well," said he, sharply, " I don't pine and 
 fret if there is no one by to say pretty things 
 and give me caresses." 
 
 ^' I daresay she would if you asked her," said 
 Nanciebel, with a toss of her head. 
 
NEW FRIENDS 227 
 
 He drew in his breath — but stopped ere any 
 word of anger could escape. No ; he had not 
 come down here to quarrel with Nancy. And 
 after all might there not be some little justifi- 
 cation ? Had he quite realised her loneliness ? 
 Had he honestly contrasted it with the gay time 
 he had been spending in London ? 
 
 '' We needn't fall out, Nanciebel," said he, 
 slowly. '' I have only a short time to stay." 
 
 " A short time to stay ? " she repeated. 
 " Why, when are you going back ? " 
 
 '' By the 3.42," he made answer. 
 
 There was a momentary silence. 
 
 " Eichard," said she, '' here is the time come 
 we have been looking forward to so long 
 — at least that I have been looking forward 
 to ; and you take advantage of it to the 
 extent of a couple of hours. Are you sure 
 it wasn't a mere sense of duty that brought 
 you here at all ? Perhaps you didn't want 
 to come ? " 
 
 '' Perhaps I didn't want to come ! " he said, 
 impatiently. And then he controlled himself, 
 and said, in quite an altered tone — 
 
 " Oh, stuff and nonsense, Nanciebel ! Why 
 will you insist on quarrelling, you little, quick- 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 NANCIEBEL 
 
 tempered, warm-liearted stupid ! Come, kiss and 
 be friends." 
 
 They were at the moment passing through an 
 arched opening cut in the thick wall of yew ; 
 and she obediently paused, and did as she was 
 bid. The reconciliation was complete. She 
 took him to see Mr. Stapleton's greenhouses, and 
 introduced him to the head gardener — a young 
 Scotchman of eight-and-twenty or so, who, as 
 she afterwards informed him, was prodigiously 
 clever, had attended classes at Glasgow Univer- 
 sity, though he was then quite poor, and was 
 now so recognised a master of his art that he 
 had been offered the equivalent of his present 
 situation at Beever Towers, the seat of the Duke 
 of Grandon. She led him round to show him 
 the caged eagles, and the white peacocks, and 
 what not : indeed, she seemed just as much 
 home here at Holiwell Court as at the adjoining 
 Vicarage. Then she pointed out that, if he 
 must really go by the 3.42 train, it was about 
 time for him to return indoors. 
 
 Both his cousins and Nanciebel drove with 
 him in to the town, to see him off. The parting 
 between him and Nancy was necessarily not 
 effusive — for Gertrude and Laura were looking 
 
FLIGHT 229 
 
 on, and tliey were merry and talkative girls who 
 would hardly leave him alone for a second. Nor 
 were there tears in Nanciebel's eyes as the train 
 moved away from the station, and as she waved 
 her handkerchief to him in final adieu. In fact, 
 this leave-taking was far different from that 
 wdiich had occurred when Nanciebel bade good- 
 bye to Stratford ; but was it not better that it 
 should be so, he asked himself, as he sat alone in 
 the carriage, and was being rapidly whirled away 
 towards London ? Nancy seemed more satisfied 
 with this separation now — if at times she com- 
 plained that there was no one to be good to her. 
 And meanwhile — meanwhile he would get to 
 Arlington Street in time to slip into evening 
 dress and take his mother and cousin Floss to 
 the Lyceum. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 On that same afternoon uncle Alexander came 
 home from the City ; and, finding his step- 
 daughter and Mrs. Kingston together, he — 
 without any apology, for rudeness is a prerogative 
 
230 NANCIEBEL 
 
 of dyspepsia — ordered Miss Florence to go to 
 her own room : lie had something particular to 
 say to aunt Cecilia. He sat down by the fire, 
 and stared into the coals ; he seemed more sallow 
 and sluggish than ever ; and when he spoke it 
 was in slow and mournful tones. 
 
 "I do not know how long I am for this 
 world, Cecilia," he observed. " Every day I be- 
 come more depressed. I cannot shake it off — I 
 have lost hope — I hardly care how soon the end 
 may be." 
 
 " Perhaps London does not agree with you," 
 the widow said, with gentle sympathy. ^' Why 
 should you not try travelling, uncle Alexander — 
 on the Continent ? " 
 
 " Try travelling ! " he exclaimed, in sudden 
 and angry impatience. " God bless my soul, 
 haven't I tried travelling sufficiently ? Haven't 
 I just come home from China ? Would you like 
 me to go back to Shanghai for a change ? I 
 wish you would listen, and not interrupt with 
 fatuities ; how long do I know I may be able to 
 make my wishes known ? " And then he con- 
 tinued in more business-like tones : " Now, this 
 is what I want to say — that in view of what may 
 happen to me at any time I wish to make the 
 
FLIGHT 231 
 
 best provision I can for those I leave behind — 
 those I am most interested in. Florence has the 
 first claim, of course, though she is not of my 
 blood. Eichard, on the other hand, is of my 
 own kith and kin. Very well : when I have made 
 certain smaller bequests, the bulk of my property 
 will remain to be divided as between these two." 
 " It is so generous of you, uncle Alexander 1 " 
 the widow broke in. " But surely there is no 
 occasion for you to talk like that ! Surely not ! 
 Why, I should call you an exceptionally strong 
 man." 
 
 " I wish you to listen, if you please, Cecilia," 
 observed the dyspeptic, with a dignity natural 
 to one who was speaking of his own nearly- 
 approaching end. '* I was going to say that 
 there might be some difficulty in deciding what 
 relative portion should be assigned to either of 
 these two ; but that what has been happening 
 of late seems to point to an easy way out of the 
 difficulty. You must have noticed how capitally 
 these two get on together — how fond they seem 
 of each other's society. " Ah, well," he con- 
 tinued, with a heavy sigh, " youth is a fine 
 thing, and health, and absence from care : let 
 them enjoy them while they can ! " 
 
232 NANCIEBEL 
 
 But sudden consternation filled tlie heart of 
 the little widow ; she knew what he meant ; and 
 she found herself on the brink of a confession 
 which she had put off from day to day, vainly 
 hoping that the need of it would not arise. 
 
 " Oh, yes, uncle Alexander," she observed, 
 rather breathlessly. " I am glad to see them 
 such good friends. It is but right they should 
 be so — almost of an age — and cousins — it is only 
 to be expected -" 
 
 " I should like to see them married before I 
 go," continued the invalid, absently. " Or if 
 that is denied me, I should like to know that 
 that settlement of their lives was to take place, 
 and I could make provision for them in proper 
 form." 
 
 " Uncle Alexander," said the widow, w^ith her 
 trembling fingers nervously clasped together, " it 
 is most kind and generous of you to have such 
 intentions in view. But — but I think — I must 
 explain — as regards Eichard, what you propose 
 is impossible. I have said that I am delighted 
 to see him and his cousin on such friendly terms 
 — but-^but that is all there is Ijetween them." 
 
 *' Oh, yes, I understand," uncle Alexander 
 said, impatiently. '' I understand. Of course 
 
FLIGHT 233 
 
 nothing lias been declared between tliem. That 
 is quite right. There has not been a sufficient 
 length of time. But we, who are outsiders and 
 spectators, can see clearly enough what will 
 happen." 
 
 " Oh, uncle Alexander," she exclaimed, in her 
 distress, ''it never can happen !" 
 
 He stared at her. 
 
 " What do you mean, Cecilia ? " he demanded. 
 
 " Eichard is — is already engaged to be mar- 
 ried," she blurted out. 
 
 There was no explosion of wrath ; he only 
 continued to stare at her, as if she were an 
 imbecile, whose utterances were wholly unin- 
 telligible. 
 
 '' But — but — what was that ? — impossible ? — 
 what did you say? Eichard engaged to be 
 married ? " he repeated, with non-understand- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 The ordeal had to be faced. She began, and, 
 with piteous excuses for not having made the 
 revelation before, she told him the whole story. 
 Uncle Alexander sate and listened — dumbfounded 
 beyond the power of speech. A sort of despair 
 and resignation overwhelmed him. And when 
 she had finished he could only ejaculate— 
 
234 NANCIEBEL 
 
 " Well, well, if any human being ever, heard of 
 such a gigantic piece of tomfoolery ! " 
 
 But presently he said, with a blaze of anger — 
 " Why, don't you know that every young idiot 
 gets into a scrape like that, and that it is the 
 lousiness of his relatives — unless they're fools — 
 unless they're fools! — to get him out of it? 
 Don't you know it's as common as shelling peas ? 
 You talk to me as if it was a piece of romantic 
 sentiment — Miller's Daughter be hanged I — and 
 that the young idiot should rather be praised for 
 holding to the girl ! I tell you it happens every 
 day — and will happen every day as long as idle 
 lads are allowed to dawdle about, and there are 
 shop-girls and milliner-girls and barmaids to 
 make eyes at them. And, instead of getting 
 him out of the scrape, you treat the whole thing 
 as serious ! Gracious heavens ! But I must put 
 this matter right. What's the girl's name ? 
 How much does she want? What size of a 
 cheque has she got in her eye ? " 
 Mrs. Kingston flushed a Jittle. 
 " I wish you to understand, uncle Alexander," 
 said she, with unusual firmness, " that the girl is 
 a good and honest girl, and not a designing 
 adventuress at all — that I am convinced of; 
 
FLIGHT 235 
 
 and I do not see wliy she should be insulted 
 simply because of her station in life — which is 
 perfectly respectable and honourable, if it comes 
 to that." 
 
 '' Stuff and fiddlesticks ! " cried uncle Alex- 
 ander. Indeed, this sharp crisis in the family 
 affairs seemed to have suddenly banished all that 
 languor and depression which, according to his 
 account, were dragging him down to the tomb. 
 '' You're too fond of romance and poetry, Cecilia ; 
 and that's the fact. You want a little common 
 sense to come in to put matters straight. Where 
 is this girl ? " 
 
 "At Holiwell Vicarage," Mrs. Kingston 
 answered. " Uncle Charles is taking charge of 
 her for the present." 
 
 The China merchant stared at her again. 
 *' No," said he solemnly ; " no, Cecilia, you 
 cannot mean that there are three such fools in 
 the family I Two I could have borne with — but 
 three ! Uncle Charles as well ! — upon my soul, 
 it's beyond belief ! " 
 
 But the meanest worm will turn. 
 " I wish to say this once for all, uncle Alex- 
 ander," observed the little widow, with very 
 considerable dignity, " that I hope you will not 
 
236 NANCIEBEL 
 
 speak to Eicliard as you have done to me this 
 afternoon. His temper is not so much under 
 control as mine ; he would probably answer you 
 in your own language. Propose to him that the 
 girl he is engaged to should be offered a sum of 
 money, and I know one certain consequence — he 
 Avould never darken your door again, nor would 
 you or yours ever enter our house. As for my 
 share in this matter, I am not ashamed of it. I 
 have done what I thought was right. Eichard's 
 word is pledged to a good and honourable girl ; 
 and if he is my son he will not disgrace himself 
 — I say, disgrace himself — by seeking to break 
 that bond, whatever pecuniary and mercenary 
 inducements may be placed before him." 
 
 She rose as if to leave the room. 
 
 *' Cecilia ! " he said, to stay her. 
 
 " No," she made answer, " let that be the last 
 word. I wish for peace between the two families. 
 There will be no peace — there will be a lasting 
 rupture and estrangement — if you propose that 
 Eichard should do anything dishonourable, 
 merely because you have had certain plans in 
 view. I do not say that in other circumstances 
 I might not have wished as you wish ; but as 
 matters stand I hope my son will act as becomes 
 
FLIGHT iy] 
 
 the name he bears. And another thing, uncle 
 Alexander, neither he nor Florence need know 
 that a word has passed between us on the subject. 
 They are very good friends, and nothing more ; 
 let them remain such — if you choose it to be so. 
 If not, then my boy and I can return to Wood- 
 end at once, and we shall not trouble you again." 
 She did not wait for an answer. She forth- 
 with quitted the room, leaving uncle Alexander 
 entirely out-talked and astonished. He had not 
 anticipated this display of firmness — this l)old 
 upstanding of what he considered idiotic senti- 
 ment against the rude and doughty onslaughts 
 of common sense. And when he began to con- 
 sider matters, he had to confess that perhaps he 
 had been a little premature. That this shop- 
 girl could be bought off he w^as convinced ; but 
 he had erred in making the proposition too 
 suddenly to the widow. Then, again, he would 
 have a better right to interfere when the relation- 
 ship between Eichard and Florence had become 
 developed — in the obvious and proper direction, 
 of course. What ? — Eichard marry a penniless 
 little sempstress in Stratford-on-Avon — a shy, 
 speechless nonentity, as the widow had half 
 admitted — when here w^as his bright and fasci- 
 
238 NANCIEBEL 
 
 nating cousin, an heiress, gifted with every 
 qualification, a fit helpmeet, one who would do 
 him honour in society ? Uncle Alexander, seated 
 ])y the slumbering fire, was so intent upon these 
 various schemes and considerations that he for- 
 got he had allowed a whole hour to elapse since 
 he had examined his tongue in the mirror — and 
 during that hour he had kept his daughter 
 Florence a prisoner upstairs ; and when eventu- 
 ally he went away to his own room, to seek 
 safety and consolation in his medicine chest, he 
 was still of opinion that the widow's quixotic 
 ideas of duty, and her son's chivalrous resolves 
 with regard to that wretched little milliner-girl 
 — was she a milliner-girl? he had forgotten — 
 would in time be overcome. For great is the 
 power of common sense. 
 
 Accordingly, uncle Alexander did not return 
 to] this project; and as the widow heard no 
 more of it, she, in turn, was silent, so that the 
 two cousins were thrown into association just as 
 heretofore, ignorant of the dark schemes and 
 designs which had been foreshadowed with regard 
 to their future. And the better to secure his 
 sinister end, uncle Alexander declared that for 
 the present he was going to abandon his inten- 
 
FLIGHT 239 
 
 tion of taking and fitting out a London house : 
 it was too much trouble. He did not know but 
 that, if his health continued to grow worse, he 
 and Florence might not go away to one of the 
 German baths, so that he might try a course of 
 the waters. In the meantime he discovered a 
 furnished residence in Melbury Eoad which would 
 serve their needs. And could not the widow 
 postpone her return to Woodend for awhile, so as 
 to initiate Florence into her duties as house- 
 mistress ? When Florence preferred the same 
 request — or rather imperiously insisted, with all 
 kinds of direful threats and cunning coaxings — 
 Mrs. Kingston yielded ; she could refuse nothing 
 to this wild-spirited cousin Floss. 
 
 It was hardly fair to put any young man's 
 constancy to such a perilous test : but Mr. 
 Eichard, even while giving himself up to the full 
 enjoyment of the society of this charming cousin, 
 could always still his conscience and reassure 
 himself by writing a more than usually affection- 
 ate letter to Nanciebel. And why should he 
 send a too minute account of their gay doings 
 when he knew that that would only wound 
 the poor faithful heart? Nancy had already 
 betrayed a suspicious curiosity about the Florence 
 
240 NANCIEBEL 
 
 whom lie briefly mentioned from time to time, 
 and had even begun to demand explanations. 
 
 " Why, you see, Nanciebel," he wrote in reply, 
 " my uncle and his stepdaughter know very few 
 people in London as yet ; and as he is a good 
 deal in the city, the time would hang very 
 heavily on her hands if the Mater did not take 
 her about a little. Then, of course, I have to 
 accompany these two. I could not let them 
 wander about London all by themselves ; but do 
 you think it is any pleasure to me to go to the 
 Tower or to the South Kensington Museum ? 
 And then, again, when any people send them an 
 invitation, the Mater and I are sure to be 
 included, as it is known we are staying with 
 them ; and it is but natural that in a strange 
 house, if there is any dancing or anything going 
 on, Florence should count upon me, as her cousin. 
 I don't see how you can object ; but you have 
 such a tendency to magnify trifles ! When I 
 express regret over our engagement, or ask you 
 to release me, then you will have a right to 
 complain ; but in the meantime you needn't 
 grumble about nothing." 
 
 Nanciebel's answer to this was written in 
 a dozen difi'erent moods : by turns she was 
 
FLIGHT 241 
 
 indignant, rebellious, petulant, and piteously im- 
 ploring. 
 
 '' What is the use of keeping me here ? " she 
 asked. '^ What is the use of it ? Did you see any 
 diflference in me when you came down that day 
 — except in the dressing of my hair ? And did 
 you think it an improvement — an improvement 
 worth all this loneliness and misery ? Once you 
 w^ould have said that my hair could not be 
 improved ; once you would have declared it was 
 the prettiest in the world ; but that was long 
 ago — that was before your cousin Florence came 
 to England. I know you will be in a rage 
 because I talk of misery ; and you will accuse 
 me of ingratitude, and ask what more I want. 
 Well, I needn't attempt to tell you, for you 
 wouldn't understand ; but I can remember the 
 time when you were more in sympathy with my 
 feelings, and when there was no fear of my being 
 misunderstood. Once you would not have left 
 me to pine like this ; you would not have 
 yielded to relatives ; you were ready to do 
 anything for my sake. But I suppose it's the 
 way of the world ; and you, of course, can't 
 regret an absence that brings you so much — and 
 such charming — consolation. 
 
 R 
 
242 NANCIEBEL 
 
 " I have written — I only know that I just hate 
 being alone. Oh, for the happy mornings and 
 afternoons when I could sit and listen at every 
 footstep on the pavement outside, and think 
 that any moment my Eichard might come in ! 
 You did not want me improved tlien. I suppose 
 you never think now of the Bideford Eoad, and 
 the lane leading down to Shottery, and the 
 meadows. It seems a long time ago now to 
 poor me. I sit and think that never, never 
 again there will l3e the long, still, beautiful 
 evenings, and us two on the banks of the Avon, 
 seated beneath the bushes, and watching the 
 boys fishing on the other side, under the Weir 
 Brake. These were happy, happy days ! Will 
 they ever come again, Eichard, dear ? Do say 
 something kind to me when you write — I don't 
 mean the kindness I get from the vicar and his 
 daughters, but real kindness, for I am so lonely 
 and miserable ! " 
 
 Now this appeal, couched in its artless lan- 
 guage, made Mr. Eichard not a little remorseful ; 
 and his contrition suddenly assumed the shape 
 of a resolve to go to cousin Floss and tell her all 
 about his eno^ao-ement to Nanciebel. He did not 
 stay to ask why that should be considered as 
 
FLIGHT 243 
 
 making amends to Nancy ; he only felt that he 
 was somehow called upon to tell the whole truth ; 
 then Florence could think of him as she pleased. 
 Was it not due to poor Nanciebel ? Why should 
 she be ignored amid all these gaieties and dis- 
 tractions ? She had her rights. And she had 
 not been too exacting — her last letter had been 
 piteous rather than petulant and quarrelsome. 
 
 But this proved to be a terrible business. He 
 chose an opportunity when cousin Floss had 
 gone out into the garden, to have a look at the 
 spring blossoms, or perchance to survey, with 
 feminine curiosity, the backs of the artists' 
 houses, across the low brick walls. When he 
 overtook her, she was apparently busy with 
 snowdrops and primroses and daffodils ; and she 
 was so goodnatured as to pick for him a purple 
 crocus and even to fix it into the lapel of his 
 coat. How could he refuse this simple^kindness ? 
 — he was not a boor. Nevertheless, in about 
 twenty minutes or so, he and she and the little 
 widow were to set out for the private view of a 
 certain picture-gallery, where they would most 
 likely meet such people as they knew ; and he 
 would be wearing cousin Floss's flower in his 
 buttonhole. Was he going about with her, 
 
 R 2 
 
244 NANCIEBEL 
 
 then under false pretences ? The confession had 
 become all the more imperative. 
 
 But how was he to begin ? 
 
 *' Cousin," said he, with a most unusual hesi- 
 tation — for, under her skilful tuition, he had 
 come to address her in the most frank and open 
 and unconventional manner, " did my mother 
 ever speak to you — about — about — a Miss 
 Marlow ? " 
 
 She noticed his embarrassment instantly. 
 
 " Why, no ! " she said, in some surprise. 
 " Miss Marlow ? No — I don't 4hink I ever heard 
 the name. Who is she ? " 
 
 How could he explain ? He wished that 
 cousin Floss had not such clear eyes, and a mouth 
 so ready to smile. 
 
 " At present," he went on, in rather a stammer- 
 ing fashion, '' she — she is living with my uncle 
 Charles at Bristol — at the Vicarage, near 
 Bristol." 
 
 Cousin Floss laughed. 
 
 " The governess ? " she said. 
 
 '' No — no — but I have something to tell you 
 about her. I think I ought to tell you — for 
 sooner or later you will hear of it," he continued 
 — and he was blushincf like a schoolgirl, because 
 
FLIGHT 245 
 
 cousin Floss was evidently amused by his timidity. 
 ** I thought the Mater would have told you " 
 
 All of a sudden Miss Florence put her hand 
 within his arm, in the most friendly way, and 
 thereby intimated that she wished him to pace 
 up and down the garden path with her. 
 
 '' Cousin Dick ! " she protested, '' I won't hear 
 a word ! I know what you've got to tell me — 
 and I can see how it vexes you — but I will 
 spare you the confession. Oh, don't I know 
 what dreadful flirts young men are — don't I 
 know ! — but they can't help it, the poor dears, 
 and I am always ready to forgive them — because 
 — because — well, because there are sometimes 
 girls wicked enough to lead them on, and pretend 
 they enjoy it, too ! Cousin Dick, why should 
 you tell me ? — do you think it would be news ? " 
 
 '' Oh, but you're quite mistaken, Florence ! " 
 he exclaimed. " Quite mistaken ! I assure you 
 she is not the kind of girl to amuse herself in 
 that way at all " 
 
 " Oh, a simple innocent, is she ? " said cousin 
 Floss, with another little bit of a laugh. " Yes, 
 they sometimes look like that — sometimes it is 
 part of the game — with the clever ones — - — " 
 
 '' Oh, but really " 
 
246 NANCIEBEL 
 
 " Oh, but really," she repeated, with the most 
 obvious good-nature, " I won't hear another 
 word ! I won't, indeed, cousin Dick ! Do you 
 think I don't understand ? You see, my dear 
 cousin, a girl who has lived a good part of her 
 life in India, and a still longer time in China, and 
 knows what a voyage in a P. and 0. ship is like 
 — well, she isn't quite a baby, you know — not 
 quite a baby — and if you were to begin with your 
 confessions, I might have to begin with mine ; 
 and wouldn't that be mutually awkward ? I wish 
 you had seen a young aide-de-camp, a Captain 
 Webster, who came on board, this last trip, at 
 Aden, and remained with us as far as Suez. 
 He was a dear — and that's a fact ; but papa 
 didn't seem to see much in him — papas never do 
 see anything in young men who have a pretty 
 moustache but no income to speak of. So, you 
 understand, cousin, I might have a story or two 
 to tell as well as you ; and I shouldn't like it, 
 for blushing doesn't become me ; besides, it is far 
 safer and nicer for every one to let bygones be 
 bygones. No, you needn't interrupt, cousin 
 Dick ; I won't hear another word from you — not 
 a word ; we will both let bygones be bygones : 
 I tell you, it's safer," 
 
FLIGHT 247 
 
 And as Mrs. Kingston appeared at this 
 moment at the French window, and called to 
 them, what could he do ? He gave up the hope 
 of explaining to his cousin. He went to the 
 Private View — wearing the flower she had given 
 him. And if any one drew inferences from his 
 being constantly seen with her — well, how could 
 he help that ? 
 
 In due course of time the visit of Mrs. King- 
 ston and her son to their London relatives came 
 to an end ; and they returned to their Warwick- 
 shire home. But they very soon discovered that 
 a singular change had come over the house. 
 Woodend was solitary as they had never known 
 it to be in former days. There was something 
 wanting in these silent rooms : a voice, with 
 clear laughter ringing in its tones, and joy, and 
 audacity, was now heard no more in the hall ; 
 the garden, though all the splendours of the 
 Spring were beginning to declare themselves in 
 plot, and bed, and border, seemed empty now. 
 
 " I could not have believed I should have 
 missed her so much," the widow said, sadly. 
 
 And as for Mr. Kichard, he was ill at ease. 
 His thoughts, which he knew should have been 
 turned towards Bristol, went in quite another 
 
^48 NANCIEBEL 
 
 directioD, and would hover, in spite of himself, 
 about Kensington and the neighbourhood of 
 Holland Park. Poor Nanciebel's fortnightly 
 letters to himself were not looked for half so 
 eagerly as cousin Floss's hasty scrawls sent down 
 to her dear aunt Cecilia ; and Mr. Eichard would 
 lie in wait for these, and, whenever he found 
 one on the hall-table, he would at once carry it 
 to his mother, with the seemingly careless 
 question, '' What has Florence to say now. 
 Mater ? " For, indeed, cousin Floss seemed to 
 find a great many things to say to the widow. 
 She was continually writing on some kind of 
 excuse ; and she invariably wound up with pretty 
 and affectionate speeches, and hopes of a speedy 
 reunion. Cousin Floss did not write to Mr. 
 Eichard, of course — that was too much to 
 expect ; but in one way or another his name 
 generally came to be mentioned ; and sometimes 
 there were tantalising and even impertinent 
 messages for him. 
 
 "Who is this Captain Webster, Eichard, 
 dear ? " the widow asked on one occasion. 
 
 Mr. Eichard blushed angrily. 
 
 " Oh, he's some young idiot — aide-de-camp to 
 a Colonial governor or something of that kind." 
 
FLIGHT 249 
 
 ''But why should Florence send you this 
 message about him ? " Mrs. Kingston asked 
 
 again. 
 
 " Oh, well," said he, with a fine air of assumed 
 indifference, " Florence told me something al^out 
 him before — he was on board the steamer they 
 came home in — and as he left the ship at Gibral- 
 tar, I suppose she was surprised when she found 
 him turn up in London." 
 
 Meanwhile the continual unrest and down- 
 heartedness that had characterised his manner 
 ever since their return to Woodend had not 
 escaped the anxious mother's eyes ; and one 
 evening she made bold to speak of it. 
 
 " Well, Mater," said he, " I don't know what 
 it is, except that I feel I am in a wrong posi- 
 tion altogether. I am tired of doing nothing. I 
 w^ant to go away. Look at Nancy : the separa- 
 tion that was agreed upon tells more hardly on 
 her than on me, for she is kept apart from her 
 friends and relatives, while I live on just as 
 before. It's hardly fair. I think I should go 
 away from England for a time — for a considerable 
 time — until, indeed, this period of separation 
 ends, and then I could come back and marry 
 Nancy, and everything would be settled and 
 
250 NANCIEBEL 
 
 right. I am sure, if once tlie wedding took place, 
 all would be well." 
 
 " I suppose," said the widow, absently, '' that 
 my selfishness must be punished in the end. It 
 was I who have kept you in idleness, Kichard, 
 and now you fret, and want to go. I should 
 have thought you could have found some way of 
 passing the few months that must elapse now 
 before the settlement you speak of. And if you 
 find the house so dull — well, I had not intended 
 to tell you — it was a little surprise we had 
 arranged — but Florence is coming down to stay 
 with us for awhile." 
 
 '* Is Florence coming down here ? " he asked 
 slowly, and with a strange expression of face. 
 
 Something peculiar in his tone struck her. 
 She looked up as she said — 
 
 '' Yes. It was to be a little surprise for 
 you " 
 
 " Mother," he said, hastily, '' I will not be 
 in this house when Florence comes. You must 
 make some excuse for me. I will go abroad ; or 
 I will go down to Bristol — and live in the town 
 — and only see Nancy from time to time. But 
 I — X don't want to be here when Florence comes." 
 
 The truth flashed upon her in an instant ; 
 
FLIGHT 251 
 
 but, amidst all her alarm and bewilderment, she 
 had the courage to say, in a low voice — 
 
 '' You are right, Eichard. If it is as I suspect 
 — ah, well, there is no use thinking now of 
 what might have been — you must none the less 
 do what is right. It was thoughtless of me to 
 ask Florence to come down again — but how 
 could any one help loving her ? — she is such a 
 dear girl, so bright and clever and good- 
 tempered — but you, Eichard, your honour is at 
 stake. Of course you have said nothing to 
 her?" 
 
 '' To Florence ? — certainly not, mother. How 
 could I ? But there is not another word to be 
 said. You must make some excuse for me to 
 Florence ; and I must go." 
 
 No, there was no use saying anything further ; 
 but the widow could not help adding, almost in 
 an undertone, and wistfully — 
 
 " If things could only have been different, 
 Eichard ! I cannot help thinking that Florence 
 — well, she has always seemed so much interested 
 in you — and she would always talk so much 
 about you, when she and I were alone together 
 — and you yourself see how you are never out 
 of her letters — ah, well it is no use thinking of 
 
252 NANCIEBEL 
 
 what is impossible — but if you had been free, 
 and if you had gone to your cousin, I don't 
 think you need have feared her answer " 
 
 He turned very pale. 
 
 " Don't say that — you have no right to say 
 that, mother ! " 
 
 "It is but a guess on my part," she said, 
 sadly. '' But I can imagine what her answer 
 would have been. And then to think of her in 
 this house — as my daughter and companion — so 
 cheerful and self-reliant — so merry and good- 
 humoured " 
 
 " Mother," said he, almost reproachfully, " you 
 seem to forget ! " 
 
 " No, I don't forget," she answered, with 
 resignation. " I was thinking of what might 
 have been ; but I don't forget. And you are 
 doins: right, Richard. I will make excuses to 
 Florence for you — whether you go abroad or 
 down to Bristol. I suppose she will not suspect 
 — no, she cannot suspect, if you have said 
 nothing to her." 
 
 Nor was this the only act of renunciation on 
 Mr. Eichard's part. Just at this time he had to 
 go up to London for a few days to transact 
 some business with his mother's lawyers; but 
 
FLIGHT 253 
 
 he did not apprise his uncle and cousin of his 
 coming to town, nor did he once call at the 
 house in Melbury Eoad. It is true that, during 
 these few days, he found his way a number of 
 times to that neighbourhood, and on more than 
 one occasion he caught a glimpse of cousin 
 Floss, as she drove up in the barouche, or came 
 out walking with her maid. He knew he had 
 no right to do this thing ; but he regarded it as 
 a sort of bidding good-bye to a broken fancy, an 
 impossible dream. To whom could it do any 
 harm ? Cousin Floss could know nothing of it — 
 he studiously kept himself concealed. If this 
 unspoken farewell was unduly prolonged (for he 
 remained in London some days longer than was 
 necessary for the lawyers) it was himself who 
 was being lacerated by its pain. It did not 
 matter to Nancy ; marriage would condone 
 everything ; she had no part or concern in these 
 phantasies of the hour, that would soon be for- 
 gotten among the actualities of life. 
 
 By the time cousin Floss's visit drew near, 
 Mr. Eichard had made all his preparations. He 
 was going down to Bristol. He argued with 
 himself that being constantly in the same 
 neighbourhood with Nanciebel would keep alive 
 
254 NANCIEBEL 
 
 in his recollection what was clue to her ; and, 
 moreover, he considered that in the circumstances 
 he might fairly ask for some modification of the 
 arrangements that had been arrived at in family 
 conclave with regard to his visits. Might he 
 not see Nanciebel once a week, or perhaps even 
 twice a week — for a single hour ? Both he and 
 she had hitherto loyally obeyed the conditions 
 that had been imposed ; might not these be 
 relaxed a little now ? It was not as a punish- 
 ment, but as a test, that this separation had 
 been agreed upon ; and here were the two of 
 them, after the lapse of a considerable time, of 
 the same mind. Mr. Kichard endeavoured to 
 extract Icourage and hope for the future from 
 these wise and virtuous reflections ; but it was 
 with rather a heavy heart that he drove away 
 to the station, on the day previous to cousin 
 Floss's arrival. 
 
 Cousin Floss, when she stepped out of the 
 pony-chaise on the following afternoon, and 
 found the widow awaiting her in the porch, was 
 in the highest spirits, and her always bright 
 enough eyes fairly shone with gladness. 
 
 "Do you know, aunt Cecilia," said she, as 
 she hugged and kissed the little woman, ''it is 
 
FLIGHT 255 
 
 just like getting home again to see your dear 
 face once more. Wlien I saw Thomas and the 
 pony and the carriage at the station, I said to 
 myself, ' Ah, now you will soon be among old 
 friends ! ' " 
 
 " Come away in, dear," said the widow, quite 
 as affectionately, and she took the girl by the 
 arm and led her into the house. ^' I declare 
 it does my heart good to hear your voice 
 again." 
 
 " And papa is so sorry he couldn't come 
 with me this time," continued this blithe young 
 damsel — who looked all round the drawing-room 
 as if expecting to see some one — " but the fact 
 is, he has found himself a good deal better of 
 late, and he thinks it is because the Kensington 
 neighbourhood suits him, and he likes the house. 
 The garden is just about forty yards long ; so 
 twenty-two times up and down makes an 
 easily -measured half-mile ; and he can get his 
 regulation quantity done every day without 
 being overlooked by anybody. I think he will 
 keep on that house. He hasn't been looking 
 about for any other. But — but — aunt Cecilia," 
 continued Miss Florence — again glancing back 
 into the hall, ^' where is cousin Dick ? " 
 
2S6 NANCIEBEL 
 
 Only for the moment did the widow seem a 
 little embarrassed. 
 
 " He has had to go away, dear," she said, 
 striving to appear quite placid, and unconcerned. 
 " He was so very sorry — I was to tell you how 
 sorry he w^as. Nothing but the most absolute 
 necessity compelled him — you may be sure of 
 that." 
 
 " He has gone away ? " said cousin Floss, in 
 return, with a kind of puzzled, uncertain look. 
 '^ Where has he gone, aunt Cecilia ? " 
 
 " To Bristol, dear," answered the widow. 
 
 " Oh, to Bristol ! " repeated the young lady 
 slowly. " That is where his uncle lives — his 
 uncle Charles — isn't it ? " 
 
 And when Mr. Eichard's mother signified 
 assent, the young lady said no more. She 
 seemed a trifle thoughtful as she went away to 
 her own room to look to her things ; but when 
 she appeared at dinner she was as cheerful as 
 ever ; and the widow, with affectionate eyes and 
 many a kindly speech, showed how she rejoiced 
 to have this pleasant companion once more with 
 her. 
 
CHECKMATE 257 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CHECKMATE. 
 
 When Mr. Richard arrived in Bristol lie put 
 up at a hotel overlooking College Green ; but he 
 had no intention of going at once to Holiwell 
 Vicarage ; he wanted time to think. For indeed 
 he was as one distracted ; wild projects flashed 
 through his brain — in a sort of restless and 
 reckless despair ; one moment he would be for 
 confessing the whole truth to Nanciebel, and 
 throwing himself on her mercy ; the next he 
 would be for an immediate marriage, as the one 
 definite settlement of all these perplexities. He 
 went out and wandered through the streets of 
 the town, seeing hardly anything. He followed 
 the Whiteladies' Road until he emerged on 
 Durdham Down ; but the fair English landscape, 
 all shining in the white light of the spring, 
 brought no joy to his heart. When he ought to 
 have been thinking of Nanciebel, and of his 
 visit of the morrow, he was in reality wondering 
 what his cousin Florence had said when she 
 discovered he was gone ; he was picturing her 
 
 s 
 
258 NANQIEBEL 
 
 walking in the garden with the little widow ; he 
 could see her driving in to Stratford, to make 
 her afternoon purchases there. And what was 
 that his mother had hinted? — that if in other 
 circumstances he had made bold to speak to 
 Florence Kingston, he need not have feared her 
 answer ? That was not even to be thought of ! 
 How could the widow know, in any case ? It 
 was but the fond partiality of a mother. He 
 had to turn from these fruitless and agonising 
 speculations over what might have been to the 
 obvious duty that lay before him ; and again 
 and again he strove to convince himself that, if 
 he and Nanciebel were once married, there would 
 be an end to all these hopeless and futile 
 regrets. He had been bewildered by a brilliant 
 and fascinating apparition. Nancy and her quiet 
 ways would win in the end. The common- 
 place security of ordinary life was sufficient for 
 most folk. Vain dreams, farewell ! — here were 
 peace and content, and the even tenor of one's 
 way. 
 
 Next morning he had summoned up courage, 
 and even formed some inchoate plans ; about 
 eleven he started off and drove out to Holiwell 
 Vicarage. Arrived there, the housekeeper in- 
 
CHECK MA TE 259 
 
 formed him that his uncle had just gone off to 
 see some old woman in the neighbourhood ; 
 that the young ladies were at their drawing 
 lessons ; and that Miss Marlow was in the 
 garden. Accordingly, Mr. Richard replied that 
 he would himself go and seek Miss Marlow; 
 and presently he had stepped forth into the 
 outer air. 
 
 He encountered Nanciebel rather suddenly — 
 she was coming through the archway in the 
 walk of yew — and the instant she caught sight 
 of him she stopped, looking startled and 
 frightened. 
 
 " What is it, Eichard ? " she said, when he 
 went up to her. 
 
 And he was amazed also. She seemed to shrink 
 back from him, as if dreading what he had to 
 say. Yet was not this in some measure a 
 relief? If she had flown to him with love and 
 joy in her eyes, how could he have played the 
 hyprocrite ? 
 
 " Well, I have come to see you,'' he said. 
 
 '' Yes," she made answer rather breathlessly — 
 and she kept staring at him with anxious 
 scrutiny — '' yes — but — but is that all ? " 
 
 " I don't understand you," he made answer, 
 
 S 2 
 
26o NANCIEBEL 
 
 still wondering, '' I — I have no bad news, if that 
 is what you fear — nor any news, indeed." 
 
 '' Oh," she said, with her face lightening 
 considerably, "it is merely a visit ? There is 
 nothing — nothing of importance ? You see," 
 she continued as if eager to explain, " I did not 
 expect you, Eichard — you sent no letter — and 
 you have come long before the usual time. I 
 was almost afraid you might have heard — I 
 mean that there might be some bad news, or 
 some occasion for your coming so unexpectedly. 
 And how is your mother ? It was so kind of her 
 to send me Tennyson's last volume — to keep my 
 set complete. Aren't the flowers here pretty ? — 
 the Springtime is always so delicious. And 
 when are you going back to Stratford, Eichard ? " 
 
 He could not make Nanciebel out at all. 
 Apparently she was most desirous to be friendly 
 and complaisant; yet his presence seemed to 
 embarrass her. She was nervous — constrained 
 — her eyes watchful and furtive ; this was not 
 the Nanciebel who had clung closely to him as 
 they walked up and down the little courtyard, 
 under the stars. Nevertheless, he was here to 
 perform a duty. 
 
 ' ' Yes, I have come before the proper time, 
 
CHECKMATE 261 
 
 Nancy," said he, ignoring lier last question, 
 ''and it is to put a proposal before you, and 
 before my uncle. This separation that was 
 agreed upon — well, you have complained of it 
 before, and of your loneliness here, and I don't 
 wonder at it — this separation has lasted long 
 enough, it seems to me. I think if we could get 
 everybody to agree, we might as well be married 
 at once — " 
 
 And again she regarded him with a sort of 
 apprehensive look, which she instantly con- 
 cealed. 
 
 " Oh, do you think so, Eichard ? " she said, in 
 an offhand way. "For I am hardly of your 
 opinion. I think that an arrangement that was 
 agreed to by everybody should be carried out ; 
 and then, you see, no one will be able to 
 complain. It was to be a trial ; and who could 
 tell what was to happen when it began ; and who 
 can tell what may happen before it ends ? For 
 you see people are so different, Eichard," con- 
 tinued this profound philosopher — and she 
 seemed anxious to talk away this project into 
 nothingness. " There are some who don't care 
 about being petted, who are independent, and 
 self-sufficing — and they are mostly men ; and 
 
262 NANCIEBEL 
 
 there are others who like to be petted and made 
 much of — and they are mostly women. Very 
 well ; when there is such a difference between 
 dispositions, isn't it wise that they should be 
 tested by time — ? " 
 
 "You didn't talk that way once," said he, 
 with a touch rather of surprise than of actual 
 disappointment or chagrin. 
 
 " Oh, well, perhaps not, for I was younger 
 then," remarked this sage person ; " and then 
 being sent away from all one's friends and 
 acquaintances was pretty trying at first. How- 
 ever, I don't complain now. No, I think it was 
 wise on the part of your mother ; and I am sure 
 I thank her. And when do you go back to 
 Stratford, Eichard ? " 
 
 He was completely nonplussed. Here was the 
 sacrifice he had nobly determined to make put 
 aside as a thing of naught ; while he was practi- 
 cally invited to return home forthwith ; and that 
 he could not do. Florence Kingston was there — 
 whom he dared not meet. Besides, how could 
 he go away leaving the whole matter as it stood 
 before, surrounded by all kinds of distracting 
 uncertainties ? It was for Nanciebel's own sake 
 that he must persevere. 
 
CHECK MA TE 263 
 
 '' To Stratford ? " he repeated. '' Well, under- 
 stand, Nancy, I did not tliink you would 
 agree to this without some coaxing and per- 
 suasion — and I shall have my uncle to talk 
 over as well — so I have come down to Bristol 
 for a little while, and I am staying at a hotel 
 there." 
 
 " Oh, for some time ? " she said, " you are 
 going to remain here, Eichard ? " She was 
 silent for a second or two. " Well, it is so 
 sudden — so bewildering. You cannot expect 
 me to say yes just at once, even if I knew that 
 your uncle and your mother would consent. It 
 is so grave a step. But — to-day is Saturday : 
 you will give me till to-morrow ? Will you 
 come out to-morrow afternoon, Eichard, and 
 then I may be able to say something more 
 definite ? Yes, I will, I promise ; to-morrow 
 afternoon you shall have my answer — " 
 
 ^'But I don't want to press you, Nanciebel," 
 he urged again ; for he could not in the least 
 understand what all this meant. ^' I came down 
 to Bristol for the very purpose of talking the 
 whole thing over, and showing how it would be 
 better and safer and more satisfactory for every 
 one if we could arrange for this time of pro- 
 
264 NANCIEBEL 
 
 bation to cease. Who knows what may happen ? 
 And you may be doubtful and reluctant, of 
 course ; for it is a grave step, as you say ; but I 
 am sure it is the best thing to do ; and then 
 there will be no further misgivings or trusting 
 to chance." 
 
 It was hardly the impassioned pleading of a 
 lover; but Nanciebel did not seem to look for 
 that. She merely begged him again to give her 
 till the following afternoon, and she appeared to 
 be immensely relieved — and grateful — when he 
 assented. Nor did she beg him to stay until his 
 uncle should return and his cousins be free. She 
 even hinted that it might be more prudent for 
 her to say nothing of this proposal until he him- 
 self should bring it forward on the next day. In 
 the meantime she bade him good-bye with a 
 very pleasant and affectionate look; and he 
 returned to his hotel in Bristol, and to aimless 
 cogitations which led to confusion rather than to 
 any enlightenment. 
 
 But what happened next day drove away 
 those puzzled surmises and substituted for them 
 amazement and alarm. About half past one 
 o'clock his uncle drove up to the hotel, and came 
 into the coffee-room where Mr. Eichard happened 
 
CHECKMA TE 265 
 
 to be standing at the window. The nervous 
 little clergyman was very much excited ; but he 
 had to speak in a low voice, for there were some 
 people seated at the table at lunch. 
 
 ''Eichard," said he, in a hurried undertone. 
 " Do you know what the meaning of this is ? 
 Miss Marlow has gone." 
 
 " Gone ? " his nephew repeated with staring 
 eyes. '' Gone where ? " 
 
 "I do not know ; she has left the house. 
 This morning she complained of headache, and 
 decided to remain in her own room ; then when 
 we returned from morning service, w^e discovered 
 that a cab had been brought out between eleven 
 and twelve, and that she had left, taking all her 
 things with her. And here is a letter we found 
 lying for you." 
 
 '' Yes, but what did she say when she went ? " 
 his nephew demanded in blank amazement. 
 " There must have been somebody in the house. 
 What explanation did she give ? Where did she 
 say she was going ? " 
 
 ''Not a word to anybody ! — perhaps you will 
 understand from that letter," said the clergyman 
 — looking at the enigmatic envelope. 
 
 Mechanically Mr. Kichard broke the seal ; 
 
266 NANCIEBEL 
 
 he was tliinking of her strange behaviour 
 on the previous day. Nor did this carefully 
 written epistle afford him any satisfactory eluci- 
 dation. 
 
 " Saturday night. 
 
 "Dear Eichard, 
 
 "By the time you get this note, I 
 shall have escaped from a position which was 
 only embarrassing to you and to me, and to 
 others. I shall always appreciate your kindness 
 — and never ^ never forget it ; but what you 
 wished was not to he. I had intended telling 
 you by degrees how I had come to this resolu- 
 tion ; but your sudden appearance here to-day 
 has precipitated matters ; and to-morrow I shall 
 take the step I have long meditated — and I am 
 sure it will be better for us all. And I am sure 
 your mother will be glad. I shall always re- 
 member with gratitude the sacrifices she was 
 ready to make ; and when I read ' The Miller's 
 Daughter ' I shall always think of her with 
 respect and affection ; but she did not consider, 
 when she gave me Tennyson's Poems, and 
 hoped they would be my constant teachers, 
 that there was another one far more applic- 
 able to my station. I refer to ^ The Lord of 
 
CHECK MA TE 267 
 
 Burleigh.' Do you remember tliose significant 
 lines — 
 
 ' But a trouble weigh'd upon her, 
 
 And perplex'd her, night and morn, 
 "With the burden of an honour 
 Unto which she was not born.' 
 
 All, if that poor lady had only known in time ! — 
 then she might have avoided all her misery, as 
 I hope to do. For why should I aspire to a 
 dignity for which I am unfitted ? Your cousins 
 here have been very kind ; but all the same it 
 has been impressed on me every day that I was 
 not horn in the i^urjjle. I am not ashamed of 
 my humble origin, for 
 
 ' Kind hearts are more than coronets. 
 And simple faith than Norman blood ; ' 
 
 but it is better for all that I should abandon a 
 fond dream, and accept life as it is. Dear 
 Eichard, you have given me several little 
 presents from time to time, and these I wish 
 to return ; and I will send them to you by a 
 safe hand. If you will allow me, I will keep 
 your photograph — for one need not forget an 
 old friend, whatever trials and hardships the 
 world may have for us. Farewell for ever, 
 
268 NANCIEBEL 
 
 dear Eichard, from your still affectionate and 
 grateful 
 
 " Nancy. 
 
 " P.S. — I will send you the tilings in a day or 
 two." 
 
 Mr. Eichard handed the letter to the clergy- 
 man, but not in silence. 
 
 " Why," he exclaimed, angrily, as his uncle 
 glanced over the pages, ^^ if that is not a piece of 
 studied hypocrisy, it is the writing of an absolute 
 fool ! ' Born in the purple ! ' — where did she 
 pick up a phrase like that? — does she consider 
 that / have been born in the purple ? — does she 
 suppose that / was going to bestow a coronet on 
 her?" 
 
 " Eichard," said the clergyman, gently, " you 
 must remember that girls in her position like to 
 write like that — they have learnt it out of penny 
 romances — they think it fine. I should say the 
 letter was sincere enough, even if the terms of it 
 strike you as being artificial. And the fact 
 remains that she has left the Vicarage." 
 
 '' Precisely ! " said the young man — who did 
 not at all rejoice in the freedom that had been 
 thus suddenly thrust upon him ; for he considered 
 
CHECKMA TE 269 
 
 that this was only some kind of incomprehensible 
 freak on the part of Nancy, and ithat, after an 
 immensity of trouble and annoyance, they would 
 all of them find themselves precisely in the same 
 straits as before. '' And now we shall have to 
 hunt her out, and convince her that her heroic 
 renunciation is out of place ! I suppose we shall 
 have to advertise — come back to your sorrowing 
 friends ! Upon my word, it's too bad ! We 
 shall have all this trouble for nothing. I sup- 
 pose she wouldn't go to Stratford — and confess 
 to her relatives that she CQuld not bear the 
 burthen of the honour that was destined for her. 
 That would not be romantic enough ! She will 
 wait until the whole of our family go to her as a 
 deputation, and beg her on their knees to accept 
 the coronet ! " 
 
 "You are angry and impatient, Eichard," the 
 clergyman said, quietly. '' But there is more in 
 that letter than you seem to see. It has been 
 written with deliberation ; it has been thought 
 over for some time back. It is no sudden freak. 
 Now come aw^ay out with me to Holiwell, and 
 we will see if we cannot find out something 
 about this very odd affair. Gertrude and Laura 
 may help us. And we are bound to make in- 
 
270 NANCIEBEL 
 
 quiries — until we know that the girl is in safety : 
 she cannot be allowed to vanish into space in 
 this fashion." 
 
 As they drove away out to the Vicarage, Mr. 
 Richard did not speak a word — his brain was 
 busy with all manner of conjectures and wild 
 speculations. Supposing, now, that he were to 
 take Nancy at her word ? Of her own free will 
 she had withdrawn from the engagement which 
 of late he had felt as a very millstone round his 
 neck. No doubt his word was given to her ; 
 but here she had in set terms renounced her 
 claims ; and why should he not accept her renun- 
 ciation % But, even as he argued with himself in 
 this way, he felt it was all impossible. He could 
 not be so mean as to take advantage of a fit of 
 temper or some perverse and inexplicable whim. 
 He knew Nanciebel ; knew her contradictory 
 moods ; knew how atfectionate she could be at 
 one moment, and how petulant and wayward the 
 next ; and he could not make this fantastic letter 
 an excuse for backing out of an engagement to 
 which his honour was pledged. How could she 
 mean what she said in this ridiculous message of 
 farewell ? When a girl took one of the most 
 serious steps possible in her life, she was not 
 
CHECKMATE 271 
 
 likely to be quoting poetry and using sham- 
 literary plirases. Perhaps (this was his final 
 conclusion) Nancy had been finding her life at 
 the Vicarage too dull and forlorn, and had sud- 
 denly resolved to break the monotony of it with 
 a romantic episode. 
 
 Now, no sooner had the good vicar begun to 
 question his daughters about this mysterious 
 thing that had just happened than it became 
 abundantly evident that they knew a good deal 
 more than they were willing to admit. Gertrude 
 looked at Laura, and Laura looked at Gertrude ; 
 and both were mute. Clearly they did not like 
 to '' tell." Nancy had been their comrade in a 
 measure ; perhaps she had even asked them to 
 keep her secret ; and here was their cousin 
 Eichard — how could they say anything that 
 would lead him to doubt the constancy of his 
 betrothed ? And yet when the vicar, getting 
 a bit of a clue, began to press home his questions, 
 it seemed as if there was nothing for it but a 
 frank avowal. Gertrude, as the elder, came in 
 for most of the cross-examination ; and at length, 
 with many hesitations and shy glances at ]\Ir. 
 Richard, and appealing looks to her father, 
 she allowed them to construct what story 
 
272 NANCIEBEL 
 
 they might out of the following fragments and 
 hints. 
 
 Nancy had always been fond of wandering about 
 in the garden — particularly when Gertrude and 
 Laura were at their morning exercises, and she 
 was left alone. She had made the acquaintance 
 of Mr. Stapleton's head-gardener — as Eichard 
 knew, a most respectable, and well-educated, and 
 well-mannered young man. ^' Mr." Bruce, as 
 Nancy always called him, was very kind to her, 
 instructing her in botany, and lending her books. 
 Other books beside botanical ones, too, for Mr. 
 Bruce was a well-read young man, and had quite 
 a library. Nancy seemed to have a great ad- 
 miration for the young Scotchman. She was 
 always talking about him — and contrasting him 
 with others. She had cut his portrait out of a 
 horticultural journal, in which it had appeared, 
 along with a biographical sketch, and a list of all 
 the prizes he had won. Gertrude had even 
 ventured to remonstrate with Nancy about her 
 partiality for this young man — seeing that she 
 was engaged to be married to cousin Eichard — 
 whereupon Nancy had laughingly replied that 
 she liked to be appreciated by some one. Nancy 
 had shown her a photograph of the gardens at 
 
CHECKMATE i>j7, 
 
 Beever Towers, and pointed out the charmingly 
 surrounded cottage which Mr. Bruce Avas to 
 occupy when he left Somersetshire for Yorkshire. 
 That the young Scotchman and Nancy were in 
 constant correspondence, Gertrude had to admit 
 that she knew ; but she did not consider it her 
 duty to say anything — she thought it would be 
 treacherous, she said. 
 
 '^ But Bruce left Holiwell a fortnio^ht a2:o ! " 
 exclaimed the vicar, JDreaking in upon the shy 
 confessions. 
 
 " Yes, papa," said Miss Gertrude, '' but he has 
 not gone to Yorkshire, for I have seen him twice 
 during last w^eek." 
 
 "And I saw him yesterday," observed Miss 
 Laura, with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Yesterday ? — where ? " demanded her cousin 
 Richard — who had sat silent and bewildered all 
 this time. 
 
 " At the foot of Crossways Lane, by the pond," 
 said the younger daughter ; and then she added, 
 with some hesitation, " And — and Nancy was 
 with him." 
 
 " Really, I am more than surprised," said the 
 vicar, with unusual emphasis, " at such conduct 
 on the part of that young man. I had always 
 
 T 
 
274 NANCIEBEL 
 
 considered him a most respectable, well-bred, 
 honourable young fellow — indeed, I had a very 
 great regard for him, even when he and I differed 
 in our political views ; but that he could have 
 stooped to this clandestine correspondence " 
 
 "Papa," said Gertrude (who also seemed to 
 regard the young Scotchman with favour, and 
 was modestly anxious to put in this meek 
 apology for him), '' don't you think he may have 
 been waiting for an opportunity of coming to 
 speak to you ? Perhaps he may have wished to 
 have all his affairs in Yorkshire settled first." 
 
 '^ Oh, if there has been any hole-and-corner 
 business in the affair, be sure it was Nancy's own 
 doing 1 " said Mr. Kichard, scornfully (alas, how 
 inconstant are the hearts of men ! — had he no 
 recollection of certain moonlight strolls up and 
 down a hushed little courtyard — a courtyard so 
 hushed that one could almost in the darkness 
 have heard poor Nanciebel's heart throbbing for 
 very joy ?), " she was always for romance, and 
 mystery,' and secrecy ; and I have no doubt she 
 persuaded this fellow into concealing the whole 
 affair until they could declare themselves mar- 
 ried. Or perhaps they are married already ? — 
 that would be just like Nancy. And now I 
 
CHECKMATE 275 
 
 know wliy she looked so friglitened when I came 
 
 here yesterday " 
 
 " Cousin Richard/' said Gertrude, rather 
 piteously, " I hope you will not think I had any 
 part in this. I could not help seeing what was 
 going on ; and perhaps I ought to have told papa, 
 or written to you ; but then I thought it would 
 be dishonourable. Many a time I have been 
 sorry for you, and thought you ought to know." 
 
 " Oh, but look here, Gertrude," he exclaimed, 
 " you mustn't blame yourself at all — you mustn't 
 imagine any harm has been done to me. Why, 
 if what you suggest has all come true — if Nancy 
 has gone and got married-— or is about to get 
 married — that would be for me " 
 
 But he paused and was silent. The future was 
 vague and uncertain : these wild and dazzling 
 hopes were not to be spoken of as yet. Never- 
 theless, the two girls could gather from his face 
 that he was in nowise disappointed or depressed 
 by this sudden news ; he only insisted, in a 
 matter-of-fact kind of way, on the necessity of 
 getting to know of Nancy's whereabouts and 
 immediate prospects. 
 
 He remained to midday dinner at the Vicar- 
 age ; he went with his cousins to evening 
 
 T 2 
 
276 NANCIEBEL 
 
 service ; he had some bit of supper with them 
 later on ere he set out to walk into Bristol. And 
 now that he had almost convinced himself that 
 his relationship with Nancy was really, finally, 
 and irretrievably broken, he began to think of her 
 with gentleness — not with any anger or desire 
 for revenge. She had been a most affectionate 
 and loving kind of creature ; too loving and 
 affectionate, perhaps ; she could not suffer being 
 alone ; she must have some one to cling to, some 
 one to pet her, and '' be good to her." Well, 
 well, he had nothing to reproach her with, he 
 said to himself, as he walked along the solitary 
 highway. When Nanciebel's soft dark eyes had 
 looked into his, they had been honest enough at 
 the time ; it was her too tender heart that had 
 played her false ; she was hardly to blame, for 
 how can one alter one's tem^Dcrament ? And he 
 understood that letter now. It was not alto- 
 gether artificial. Perhaps there was a little 
 sentimental regret in her bidding him good-bye ; 
 and perhaps she thought she could best express 
 that in the language of books. And if Nancy 
 wished to betray a sweet humility — or even to 
 convey a subtle little dose of flattery — in talking 
 of the honour of the position that had been 
 
CHECK MA TE 277 
 
 designed for her, wliy should he be scornful of 
 these innocent girlish wiles ? Poor Nanciebel 1 
 She had been kind in those bygone days ; he 
 hoped she would be happy, and run no more 
 risks of separation. 
 
 But he was hardly prepared for his next 
 meeting with Nancy. He had spent all the 
 Monday morning in aimlessly wandering about, 
 discussing with himself the various possible ways 
 and means of getting into communication with 
 that wayward and errant damsel ; and at last 
 he was returning to his hotel, about lunch-time, 
 when behold ! here was Nanciebel herself, her 
 hand on the arm of a tall and rather good- 
 looking young fellow of grave aspect and quiet 
 demeanour. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Eichard," said Nanciebel, with her 
 face flushing rosily and her eyes shining gladly, 
 " this is just what I have been hoping for ! I 
 knew we should meet you somewhere ! Will 
 you let me introduce my husband — you've met 
 before." 
 
 The two men bowed, and regarded each other 
 with a somewhat cold and repellant scrutiny ; 
 which could tell how the other was going to take 
 this odd situation of affairs ? But it was Nancy 
 
278 NANCIEBEL 
 
 with her eager volubility, who got over the 
 awkwardness of the meeting. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Mr. Eichard, for I made sure 
 you would be glad when you heard the news. I 
 have seen for many a day that you wished our 
 engagement broken off — I could read it in every 
 line of your letters ; but I wanted you to speak 
 first. Then you frightened me on Saturday — 
 did you really mean what you .said ? — or w^hat 
 was your intention ? — anyway, it's all right now, 
 and you are free ; and now James and I can 
 make any apologies that are necessary for the 
 concealment that has been going on. Oh, but 
 that was all my doing, Mr. Eichard — indeed it 
 was ! — I declare it was ! James was for going 
 direct to your uncle and explaining everything 
 — and I said that would only provoke a tremen- 
 dous family disturbance — that it would be far 
 better for us to get married — and then no 
 objection could be taken. Yes, we were married 
 this morning," continued Nanciebel, with a be- 
 coming modesty, " and Mr. and Mrs. Stephens, 
 with whom I am staying, have gone away home, 
 and so James and I thought we might come for 
 a little walk. I am so glad to have met you, 
 Mr. Eichard—" 
 
CHECKMATE 279 
 
 But here Mr. Eicliard, who had been consider- 
 ably flurried by this unexpected encounter, and 
 by Nancy's rapid confessions, pulled himself 
 together. 
 
 '' But look here," said he boldly, '' where's the 
 wedding-breakfast ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Nancy, with another blush, " the 
 Stephenses are to have a few friends in the 
 evening ; but I think we shall leave by the 
 afternoon train, for London — " 
 
 '' Very well," said Mr. Eichard, " but in the 
 meantime ? See, there is my hotel — suppose you 
 and your husband come in and have lunch with 
 me — let it be a wedding-breakfast, if you like — 
 what do you say, Mr. Bruce ? " 
 
 An odd kind of half-embarrassed smile came 
 into the young Scotchman's grave and handsome 
 face. 
 
 " I have not much experience in such matters," 
 he answered, in his slow, incisive way, as he 
 looked at his bride with affectionate eyes ; " but 
 I should think in such a case, it would be for 
 the young lady to say what should be done." 
 
 '' Oh, then, I say yes ! " cried Nanciebel, in an 
 instant. " Oh, it is so kind of you, Mr. Eichard ! 
 — for you know I wouldn't for the world have 
 
28o NANCIEBEL 
 
 any disagreement or ill feeling remain behind ; 
 and now I can write down to Stratford that you 
 are quite good friends with us, and I hope 
 you'll tell your mother so, and your uncle, and 
 Gertrude and Laura. It is so very, very kind of 
 you, Mr. Eichard ! " again said Nanciebel — 
 almost with tears of gratitude in her soft dark 
 eyes. 
 
 The improvised wedding-breakfast was a great 
 success ; and Mr. Eichard played the part of host 
 with a quite royal magnificence. The young 
 Scotchman was throughout grave and self- 
 possessed, but not taciturn ; when he did speak, 
 there was generally something in what he said. 
 But indeed, it was Nancy who did all the 
 talking ; chattering about everything and no- 
 thing, and always turning for confirmation (but 
 not waiting for it) to James. And then again, 
 when it was time for them to go, Mr. Eichard 
 accompanied them into the hall, and had a cab 
 called for them ; and as he bade them good-bye 
 on the wide stone steps outside, Nancy took his 
 hand and pressed it warmly, and looked into his 
 eyes almost as once she had looked, and murmured 
 in a soft undertone — 
 " You ham been kind ! " 
 
CHECKMATE 281 
 
 Sucli was the fashion of their parting ; but 
 Nancy's eyes were still once more turned back to 
 him, and she waved her hand to him as she and 
 her husband drove away. 
 
 Now it was about a fortnight afterwards — 
 perhaps a day or two less — that Mrs. Kingston 
 and her niece Florence were in the little boudoir 
 at Woodend ; and, strange to say, the latter was 
 down on her knees, with her head buried in the 
 widow's lap, as if she had been making con- 
 fession. 
 
 " And may I call you mother ? " was the 
 conclusion of her tale, uttered in only a half- 
 heard voice. 
 
 " Indeed, you will be the dearest daughter I 
 could have wished for," said the widow, most 
 fervently, as she stroked the pretty hair with both 
 her hands. " I never thought to see this day ; 
 it is everything I could have wished for, dear 
 Florence." 
 
 '' You are not angry, then ? " said the fair 
 penitent, without looking up. "But I- shall 
 never believe you care anything about me until 
 you call me Floss." 
 
 " I will call you anything you like, my 
 
282 NANCIEBEL 
 
 dearest," said the widow, again clasping and 
 petting the pretty head that lay bent and 
 humbled before her. 
 
 Then cousin Floss arose. Humility with her 
 could only be a passing mood. She seated her- 
 self next the little widow, and put her arm 
 within hers. 
 
 " "What do you think papa will say ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 '' WeH, my dear," said Mrs. Kingston, '' I 
 think I know what he will say ; but if you are at 
 all afraid, I'll go into the garden and ask him 
 myself — this very moment." 
 
 " AVill you ? " said cousin Floss, with shining 
 eyes. ''And mind you let him know that 
 Richard has told me everything— everything. 
 Papa knew about — about Miss Nancy, didn't 
 he ? " 
 
 In a second or two the widow was in the 
 garden, where uncle Alexander with his quick, 
 shuffling little step, was pacing up and down 
 the measured path. She told him her story. 
 Uncle Alexander's instant question was — 
 
 '' AVell, how much had you to pay ? " 
 
 '' I don't understand you," the widow said, 
 truly enough. 
 
CHECKMATE 283 
 
 " How mucli had you to pay ? " tlie liypoclion- 
 driac repeated testily (for he had been inter- 
 rupted, and had forgotten where he was in his 
 prescribed laps). " What money did you give 
 the girl ? It was my proposal originally ; I 
 must reimburse you. I dare say you gave her 
 far too much ; but never mind ; I'm glad Floss 
 is going to be taken off my hands — she worries 
 me. What money had you to pay ? " 
 
 " Why, we never offered Nancy a half- 
 penny ! " Mrs. Kingston exclaimed, but she was 
 far too happy to take offence. " We could not ! 
 She married a young man in a very good 
 position, of excellent character, and with the 
 most favourable prospects. But I will say this, 
 uncle Alexander," continued the widow, grown 
 bold. ^' If you are generously minded about 
 her, give me a certain sum, and I will add a 
 similar amount ; and when Eichard and dear 
 Florence go up to town with us next week, they 
 can look about and buy something to send to — 
 to Nancy." 
 
 " Very well, very well," said uncle Alexander 
 — and away he went on his shuffling pedestrian - 
 ism again. 
 
 About half an hour thereafter Mr. Eichard 
 
284 NANCIEBEL 
 
 returned to Woodend — lie had been into Strat- 
 ford about some small matters. Cousin Floss 
 tripped off to meet liim in the hall. 
 
 " Oh, cousin Dick," said she, '' do you know 
 what has happened now ? " 
 
 '' Has the sky fallen ? " said he. '' And have 
 you caught any larks ? " 
 
 "Oh, you will be quite sufficiently surprised," 
 she said, confidently. " For papa has been told 
 everything ; and he has not cut off my head ; no, 
 his plans are quite different. Do you know the 
 very first thing you and I have to do when we 
 go up to town next week ? We have to look 
 about — in Bond Street, I suppose — for something 
 very nice, and very handsome, and very useful ; 
 and papa and your mother are going to pay for 
 it between them. But you couldn't guess what 
 this wonderful thing is wanted for — no, you 
 couldn't." 
 
 " "What, then ? " he demanded. 
 
 '' Why, a wedding-present for Nanciebel ! " 
 
 THE END. 
 
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