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 Heart s DeUght. 
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 Robin Gray, 
 
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 Queen of the Meadow. 
 
 Flower of the Forest. 
 
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 Ellics Quentln. , Miss Cadojna. 
 
 Sebastian Strome. I Love— or a Name. 
 
 David Poindexters Disappearance. 
 The Spectre o> the Camera. 
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 Women are Strange. I The Hands of Juatlca. 
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 Schools and Scholars. 
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 Round the Galley Fire. | On the FoTisle Head. 
 In the Middle W atch. | A Voyage to the Capo 
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 ' By G. A. SALA.-GasUght and Daylight. 
 
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 One Against the World | The Two Dreamers. 
 Guy Waterman. 
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 Margaret and Elizabeth. 
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 Open t Sesame I I Written In Firs. 
 
 F^htlng the Air. I Harvest of Wild Oati. 
 
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 Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion. 
 
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 Hathercourt Rectory. 
 
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 A Life's Atonement, i BytheOate of the Sea. 
 
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 Coalp nf Fire. Bit of Human Nature. 
 
 First Person SlnguUr. Cynic Fortune. 
 
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 The irnforeseen. | Chance 7 or Fate? 
 
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 Wblteladles. | The Primrose Path. 
 
 The Greatest Heiress In England. 
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 Held In Bondage 
 Btrathmore. 
 Chandos. | Idalla, 
 TTnder Two Flags. 
 Cecil Castlemaine. 
 Tricotrln. | Puck, 
 FoUe Farlne. 
 A Doc of Flanderi. 
 
 Pascarel. | Slgna. 
 In a Winter City. 
 Ariadne. ; Moths. 
 Friendship! Piplstrello. 
 A Village Commune. 
 Bimbl. I In Maremma. 
 Wanda. | Frescoes. 
 Princess Naprazine. 
 Othmar. 
 Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos. 
 By JAMES PAYN. 
 
 Lost Btr Massingberd. 
 A Perfect Treasure. 
 Bentlnck's Tutor. 
 Murphy's Master. 
 A County Family. 
 At Her Mercy. 
 
 A Marine Residence, 
 
 Married Beneath Him 
 
 Mirk Abbey, 
 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 
 £200 Reward. 
 
 Less Black than We're 
 
 Painted. 
 By Proxy. 
 Under One Roof. 
 High Spirits. 
 Carlyons Tear. 
 A Confidential Agent. 
 Some Private Views. 
 From Exile. 
 A Grape from a Thorn 
 For Cash Only. 
 Kit. 
 
 The Canon's Ward. 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 
 Foster Broi 
 
 Found Dead. | Halves 
 The Best of Husbands. 
 Walter's Word. 
 Fallen Fortune*. 
 What He Cost Her. 
 Humorous Stories. 
 OwendoHne a Harvest. 
 The Talk of the Town, 
 Like Father. Like Son 
 
 The Mystery of Mirbridge, 
 By C. L. PIRKIS.— LadyLovelac*. 
 By E. C. PRICE. 
 Valentlna. I The Forcignori. 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. | Gerald. 
 
 By CHARLES READE. 
 Rever too Late to Mend Course o' True Love. 
 Hard Cash. j Autobiog. of a Thief 
 
 Peg Wofflngton. ATerribleTemptatlon 
 
 Christie Johnstons. The Wandering Heir, 
 
 Griffith Gaunt A WomanHater. 
 
 Put Y'reelfm His Place.! A Simpleton, 
 The Double Marriage, i SlngleheartiS; Double 
 Love Little, Love Long. face. 
 Foul Play, Good Stories. 
 
 Cloisterand the Hearth. Tbe Jilt | Seadlaua, 
 
 Tales of To day. 
 
 By ARTHUR SKETCHLEY. 
 
 A Match in the Dark, 
 
 By T. W. SPEIGHT. 
 
 The Golden Hoop. | By Devious Way». 
 
 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 
 
 By R. LOUIS STEVENSON. 
 
 New Arabian Nights. | Prince Otto. 
 
 By BERTHA THOMAS. 
 
 Cresslda, I Proud Malsle. j The Violin-Player, 
 
 By WALTER THORNBURY, 
 Tales for the Marines, | Old Stories Re told. 
 T. A. TROLLOPE.-Dlamond Cut Diamond. 
 ByJ\NTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 The Land-Leaguers. 
 
 Scarborough's 
 Family. 
 John Caldigate. 
 The Golden Lion. 
 
 The Way We Live Now. 
 American Senator. 
 Frau Frohmann. 
 Marion Fay. 
 Kept in the Dark. 
 
 By FRANCES ELEANOR TROLLOPE. 
 Anne Fnmess. | Mabels Progress. 
 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.— F.arneirs FoUy. 
 
 By MARK TWAIN. 
 Tom Sawyer. i APleasure Trip on the 
 
 A Tramp Abroad. Continent of Europe 
 
 Stolen White Elephant. Huckleberry Finn, 
 Life on the Mississippi. I Prince and Pauper. 
 By C. C, FRASER-TYTLER. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 By SARAH TYTLER. 
 WhatSheCameThroughl St. Mungos City, 
 Beauty and the Beast, Lady Bell, 
 Noblesse Oblige Disappeared. 
 
 CItoyenne Jacqueline Buri d Diamonds, 
 The Bride's Pass. I The Blackball Ghosts. 
 
 By J. S, WINTER. 
 
 Cavalry LU«, j Recrimental Legend;. 
 
 By H. F WOOD 
 
 The Passenger from Scotland Yard, 
 
 The Englishman of the Rue Cain. 
 
 By EDMUND YATES 
 
 The Forlorn Hope. | Land at t-ast. 
 
 Castaway, 
 
 London: CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, Piccadilly, W, 
 
FALLEN FORTUNES 
 
FALLEN FORTUNES 
 
 ^ 0^O\>t\ 
 
 By JAMES PAYN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ROXY," "Walter's word," "the best of husbands," "halves, 
 
 "UNDER ONE ROOF," " WHAT HE COST HER," ETC. 
 
 4 NEW EDITION 
 
 V, ants an: 
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 i8gi 
 

 I. 
 II. 
 
 in. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VIL 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XL 
 
 XIL 
 
 XIIL 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXL 
 
 XXIL 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVIL 
 
 CONTENTS. A" /^ 
 
 After the Charades , » . . ^ ;? . 1 
 
 Teacher and Pupil 11 
 
 In the Rose-garden .....?. 24 
 Mrs. Campden orders the Pony-carriage . . 31 
 Mk. Campden orders the Barouche .... 35 
 
 The Guide Race 38 
 
 Making the best of it 49 
 
 Job's Comforter 59 
 
 Wormwood 66 
 
 A True Wife ........ 76 
 
 Mr. Holt's Advice . . . . . . . .83 
 
 Sympathetic Ink 91 
 
 Jenny's Suspicions 99 
 
 How Dr. Curzon's little Account avas Settled . 106 
 
 On Board " The Mary " 122 
 
 To BE or Not to be ? 134 
 
 The Anonymous Letter 143 
 
 Resuscitated ...,.,., 150 
 Dalton goes his own Way .,..,. 157 
 The Power of " Old Times " . . . , . 165 
 Mrs. Campden's Vieav OF THE JlAiLi;!; .... 173 
 
 A Patroness 181 
 
 Advice Gratis 196 
 
 Second Class ..»',... . 204 
 
 The Worm Turns .. ,,,,,. 209 
 Last Days . . ....... 223 
 
 Farea^lls 229 
 
 'J 
 
 588 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 CSAP. 
 
 XXVI II, Mr. Holt asks Maiu*a 
 XXIX. Mr. Holt departs wrni JfLriNG Colour 
 XXX. Kealities .... 
 XXXI, Lady Skipton's Charity , 
 XXXII. Evil Tidings 
 
 XXXIII, A Catastrophe . , 
 
 XXXIV. Toxy's Expedition; 
 XXXV, Bereaved . . „ 
 
 XXXVI. Jenny at Bay . ,,• 
 XXXVII. A Lover Dismissed . 
 XXXVIII, Kitty's Dream . 
 XXXIX, An Author and his Eiimo:^ 
 XL. The Exodus 
 
 XLI. The Swing of the Penduli .\r 
 XLII. How the Premium was Paid 
 XLIII. In the Coffee-house 
 XLIV. Eetrospective . . . 
 XLV, In Brazil 
 XLVI. Mine and CouNTKEMr>;E . 
 
 XLVII, Breaking it 
 
 XLVIIL Does Kitty KMW? . ... 
 XLIX. Mr, Holt makes Jeff his Confidant 
 L. How Mr. Holt hastened Matters 
 LI. How TiiEY Lived fater Afterwards 
 
 251 
 253 
 
 2G7 
 
 28() 
 294 
 301 
 310 
 319 
 3:i9 
 333 
 344 
 354 
 362 
 3G7 
 369 
 374 
 380 
 SS4 
 333 
 
FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AFTER THE CHARADE?!. 
 
 It is iiiglit, and tlic moon is rising over crag- and coppice in its 
 fulness, making all things, as is comraouly said, " as liglit as 
 day." Its silent, silvery splendours do not, however, vie wit]i 
 the golden glories of noonday, l)ut have a radiance of their 
 own, infinitely more enchanting as it gleams on wood and 
 wave. Never does Nathay look so charming as when its smooth, 
 swift stream mirrors the moonbeams, or steals coyly from them 
 in eddy and pool beneath its bush-fringed banks. Never do tho 
 tall crags of Bleabarrow stand so grandly out as beneath this 
 harvest moon. How distinctly does every giant boulder assert 
 itself, every heather-clad knoll, and every mountain ash that 
 leans aslanc out of its rocky cleft, like a flag at a ship's stern 
 in calm ! To ono who observes her closely, Nature has at this 
 time a listening air ; the giant boulders, in their statuesque 
 magnificence, seem to be awaiting something, the utterance, it 
 may be, of some magic charm that shall confer a wondrous trans- 
 formation ; the ash is leaning and listening; even the tufts of 
 heather stand sti'^V up, as though in expectation. If he be 
 alone in such a scene, Man himself mechanically listens also; 
 and to some a voice is vouchsafed — uncertain, vague, yet 
 pregnant, so it seems, with eternal mysteries ; and by others 
 there is no sound heard, save the whisper of the wind among the 
 trees, or the mui-mur of the stream as it hurries to the fall. 
 
 " Listen, Kitty, listen ! Is it not pleasant to hear the Nathay 
 tumbling over the weir in a night like this ? " 
 
 The speaker is a plump, fair girl in a housemaid's dress, 
 who is standing at an open window of a mansion commanding a 
 view of the weir, and she addresses one of her own age and sex 
 who is leaning over the window-sill beside her. To judge from 
 the attire of the latter, which is a neat and cheap one, such aa 
 is bought for solid merit, as respects its washing qualities, 
 Father than for pattern and texture, and by the little apology 
 
 B 
 
3 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 vor a cap, made out of imitation lace, that crowns her rlc!i 
 brown liair, you would conclude her to be of the same station 
 as her companion ; but Kate has an air of refinement that the 
 other lacks. They are both, however, what even bachelors, who 
 have arrived at the critical age, would term pretty girls ; and 
 if Mary (for that is the speaker's name) is inclined to be stout, 
 that is no defect, so far as my poor judgment goes, in a pretty 
 housemaid, but generally bespeaks content and good-nature. 
 She is evidently one of those who do not " work their fingers 
 to the bone " in the performance of her household duties, for 
 her hands are smooth and delicate, while it is equally plain that 
 her occupation lies within doors, for her complexion is as soft as 
 cream, and almost as white. Her neck, too, though marred by 
 the presence on either side of it of a large blob of mosaic gold 
 in the shape of an earring, is free from roughness or sunburn ; 
 and its delicacy contrasts prettily enough Avith the gay cotton 
 handkerchief pinned above her bosom, in that old-world modest 
 fashion which is rarely seen in these days, even when modestv 
 is affected, as iijDon the stage. Upon the whole, we would say 
 that Mary is a superior young person in her rank of life, and 
 that her mistress is an easy one, and leaves her plenty of leisure 
 to adorn and preserve her charms ; and woe be to the susceptible 
 head gamekeeper (one would go on to prophesy) who, in his 
 watchful rounds to-night, should behold that pleasant vision as 
 she gazes out oa Nathay's stream and crags. Kate, like Mary, 
 is a hlonde ; but the resemblance between the girls goes no 
 further. She is a year or two younger than her companion — 
 indeed, unusually young for one in domestic service — and has 
 an air of delicacy so pronounced, that it only just falls short of 
 the appearance of ill-health. Her cheek-bones might be termed 
 too high, and her frame too angular, if it were not that Nature 
 has not yet done with her. Her beauty is at present in the 
 budding stage, though it gives promise of great perfection ; and 
 her eyes are too soft and spiritual, one would say, for the task 
 of looking for cobwebs or dusting china. If she is to be up 
 betimes to-morrow, and go about her work as usual, it strikes 
 one that they ought long ago to have been closed in sleep, 
 instead of looking on rock and river with such a thoughtful 
 and impassioned gaze. 
 
 "You hear the weir, don't yon, Kitty," continued Mary, 
 "though it seems you don't hear 7)ie .'"' 
 
 " A thousand pardons, Polly. Oh, yes, I hear it well enough, 
 ftnd I heard your question tco ; but, somei:ow, on anight like 
 
AFTER THE CHARADES. 3 
 
 this, one likes to think, and not to talk. It was very selfiNh of 
 me not to answer you ; but I was wondering how long yon river 
 had run on like this, how many generations of men and women 
 had listened tx) it, and how many more will do so, when you and 
 I shall have no ears for its ceaseless song." 
 
 " N"o ears, dear Kitty ? what a funny notion ! Oh, I see ; you 
 mean Avhen we shall both be dead." 
 
 " Yes ; dead and gone, Maiy. The moon will shine as calmly 
 as it does now, yondei*, glistening on those crags we know so 
 Avell ; the sky will be just as blue and beautiful ; the ti-ees will bo 
 even grander and larger ; but we shall never see tbem more." 
 
 " Well, of course not ; we shall be enjoying something better 
 in heaven — at least, I hope so." 
 
 " Do you really hope so, Polly ?" asked the other, earnestly ; 
 *' or is it only that you hope you are not going to the bad place ? 
 I cannot help thinking that we often pretend '.ve want to go to 
 heaven, when we have in reality no expectation of the sort." 
 " Oh, Kitty, how can you be so wicked ?" 
 " But is it not wicked to pi-etend such things ? It seems to 
 me to be attempting to deceive not only ourselves, but Him who 
 imade us. Now, on a night like this, and looking on so fair a 
 scene, I almost feel as if I ivas in heaven ; as though, at all 
 jevents, I was not of the earth — earthy — but was projected 
 somehow — I don't know how — into some diviner sphere. Thero 
 seem influences about us such as are not perceived at other 
 times, if they then exist ; a sort of communion appears to bo 
 established between our souls and Nature herself — — " 
 
 " You are ' projecting' me, dear Kitty," interrupted the other, 
 laughing, " very much beyond my depth : for my part, I am quite 
 content to leave speculation alone, or, where there seems a hitch, 
 to trust to the clergyman." 
 
 " That is because you are conscious of being so comfortably 
 located, that the very idea of change, even in one's ideas, annoy .^ 
 you. From your cradle to your grave, you will, in all human 
 probability, be out of the reach of adversity; and therefore this 
 woi'ld seems sufficient for all your wants, if not 'the best of all 
 possible worlds.' " 
 
 " For that matter, you will be just as well off as I, Kitty." 
 " So far as material wants are concerned, I suppose I sliall ; 
 but I cannot shut ra.j eyes to the position of those who are less 
 favoured by fortune. I often wonder if one were poor, and 
 looked down upon (as poor people are, whatever we may f-ay), 
 and conscious of injustice and contempt, whether one's views of 
 
4 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 ibe future vrould not be altered as mucli as one's views of the 
 present. It seems to me that it is much easier for the rich to 
 be what is called orthodox — to pronounce whatever is to be 
 right, and to take matters as they find them mapped out for 
 them, both here and hereafter — than for the poor." 
 
 " Yet I am sure some of our poor people here — I meat: •^f 
 those that belong to the estate " 
 
 " A very diffei'ent thing from the estate belonglug to i]icu\., 
 Polly," interrupted her companion, drily. 
 
 " Of course it is. Providence has placed them va a sub- 
 ordinate positio.n ; but yet they ai'e often better people — I have 
 lieard the rector say so — and more religious-minded, than their 
 )nasters. They are ill-lodged and ill-fed, rheumatic, and Heaven 
 knows what else ; but yet they never complain, nor seem to 
 think it hard, though they see others so much better off." 
 
 " Still, I confess I should feel it bitterly, Polly, if I were in 
 their place," answered the other, earnestly. " I am afraid I 
 fihould be a radical and an infidel, and all that is bad." 
 
 " Well, then, I am very glad that you are not likely to be 
 exposed to the temptation, cousin,'' was the laughing reply. 
 " If your papa gets into Parliament, he is quite clever enough 
 to become a Minister-, and then you will be a great lady ; when 
 you will soon get rid of all these socialistic sort of ideas, and 
 begin to patronise us all." 
 
 " Patronise ! " exclaimed Kate ; " that is another thing that 
 seems to me to embitter the position of the poor almost beyond 
 endurance. There are people in our class even who seem to 
 imagine that they have bought their fellow-creatures out and 
 out — body and soul — with a few yards of flannel, or, very 
 literally, a few 'messes of pottage.' Even if they had settled 
 a comfortable annuity upon their unhappy victims, they could 
 not have the right to treat them as they do ; but to have bought 
 them so cheap, and then to give themselves such airs of pro- 
 prietorship, is to my mind a very offensive spectacle." 
 
 " My dear Kitty," cried the other, laughing, " if you are not 
 of a more ' umble ' spirit, and do not feel more grateful for your 
 perquisites than your language seems to promise, you will never 
 get an * upper ' situation. Even as it is, you know, it w n 
 noticed by Mr. Holt in the charade to-night that you looked 
 •above your place." 
 
 " I daresay I should be very unfitted for it," was the grave 
 rejoinder, " as well as for anything else that was really useful. 
 I oft^n wonder — " 
 
AFTER THE CHARADES. 5 
 
 " What is the good of it ? You are always wondering, 
 Kittv," broke in the other girl. 
 
 " i can't help it; and I have heard it said that wonder is a 
 stepping-stone to understanding. I say I often wonder, if papa 
 and mamma were to be ruined, what use I could possibly be tc 
 them. HoAV could I get my own bread, even, except by the very 
 occupation we have been playing at to-night — that of domestic 
 service ? As to going out as a governess, for example, what 
 qualifications do I possess for such a post ? " 
 
 " Oh, that is no obstacle, my dear Kitty, for I have had half- 
 a-dozen governesses, and not one of them knew what she pro- 
 posed to teach." 
 
 " Well, I told YOU I thought it wicked to * pretend,' and so I 
 do ; so that the profession of teaching would be out of the ques- 
 tion, so far as I am concerned. What on earth, then, should I 
 do if I was penniless ? " 
 
 " I will tell you. You would send an r npaid letter to Miss 
 ]\[ai'y Campden, Riverside, Bleabarrow, Derbyshire, telling her 
 Jiow matters stood; and as soon as steam and wheels could take 
 her, she Avould be Avith you ; and this would be her answer : — 
 ■'Come to Riverside, Kitty, and for the rest of your life make it 
 ;;Our home. We have always been sisters at heart, though only 
 cousins by birth ; let me now prove how much I love you.' " 
 
 As Polly said these words, her pretty face was lit up with tlie 
 brightest of smiles, and her A'oice had quite a touch of generous 
 welcome. 
 
 " My dearest Polly, how good you are ! " said Kitty. 
 
 " And you would come to me, would you not, and make this 
 your home for life ? '' 
 
 " Well, you sec, there would be papa and maniuui, and poor 
 Jenny and Tony. I could never leave them, and live in luxury, 
 while they were poor." 
 
 "But we should never let them be poor, of course ; I mean 
 my papa and mamma would not permit it. Even if you wero 
 not, all of you, the dearest friends we have in the world, blood 
 is thicker than water, and has indisputable claims." 
 
 " Then how is it that neither your people nor mine ever take 
 any notice of Uncle Philip ? " 
 
 " Oh, Kitty, you must not speak of him ; indeed you musu 
 not. He is not your uncle at all, you know, legall}^ He is i, 
 person whose name should never be mentioned ; at least by 
 young girls like you and me. W^e ought not even to be aware 
 of his existence." 
 
6 PALLlL^ FORTUNES. 
 
 " But siuce \N*c are aware ? " 
 
 " Well, then, we should ignore it. It is yonr duty, even tnorft 
 than mine ; for if the law had decided otherwise than it did, 
 your papa would have been disinherited, and this man Aster 
 would have succeeded to your grandfather's property." 
 
 " But this man Astor, as you call him, is my uncle, neverthe- 
 less," persisted Kitty ; " and it was not his fault that his mother 
 ■was not my grandmother." 
 
 " What a funny child you are ! Of course it was not ; but a 
 great many people in the Avorld are victims to misfortune. It 
 IS the will of Providence. Why, it's in the Bible itself, Kitty, 
 that the sins of the fathers shall be visited on their children." 
 
 " I know it is ; but it scorns very hard, for all that." 
 
 " But that is very wicked, Kitty." 
 
 " What ! to pity Uncle Philip ? Then I hope I shall be 
 always Avicked." 
 
 Hci-c there was a little pause. Mary knew by experience 
 that it was idle to argue Avith her cousin upon general principles, 
 and at once descended to particulars. 
 
 " I have heard that Mr. Astor is a bad man ; dissipated and 
 untrustworthy ; a sort of person quite certain to go to the 
 dogs." 
 
 ''Who told you that?" 
 
 *' One -who knows him better than anybody, because he has 
 more to do with him ; one, too, who is a great friend of your 
 father's, and a warm admirer of yourself, so that you should 
 receive his opinion Avith respect on all accounts." 
 
 " I would not believe everything Mr. Holt says, if you mean 
 him," observed Kitty, quietly; " and even if he be right in this 
 case, Uncle Philip is still to be pitied. I saw him once by acci- 
 dent when I was quite a child ; so like in face, and even in voice 
 and manner, to his brother, dear papa, and yet so different in 
 their positions in life." 
 
 " They are different every way, Kitty, if you only knew thera 
 better," answered Mary, gravely. " Mr. Astor is a mauvais 
 siijcf, a vaurien. Mr. Holt tells me he is about to leave England 
 for good and all, to try his fortune in the New World ; and 
 from Avhat he said, I am confident that that will be a happy 
 thing for all parties." 
 
 " That '-,3 Avhat people always say when they have contrived to 
 shake some responsibility off their shoulders," said Kitty. 
 
 " Nay, Mr. Philip Astor is certainly no responsibility of ours, 
 at all events," observed Mary, quickly. 
 
'^ APTER The charades. ^ 
 
 " 1 was not thinking of Uncle Philip just tlien, Polly." 
 
 " Ah, you were thinking of Geoffrey. Well, of course I 
 regret that mamma should liare expressed herself in those 
 terms to-night about him ; but it cannot be expected that the 
 lad should live at Riverside all his life ; and since he has a 
 fancy for the sea, -why should he not indulge it ? " 
 
 " But he has no such fancy ; it is only that he feels himself 
 a burden — or rather, ho is made to feel it — ■ — " 
 
 "I don't see that, Kitty; indeed, I don't," interrupted thr 
 other, sharply. 
 
 " Then you must be stone-blind." 
 
 " Oh, no ; it is merely that I look at him with ordinary eyes, 
 and don't make a fool of the boy by pretending to be in love 
 with him." 
 
 " No ; you conceal your afi^ection for him very well, it must 
 be confessed." 
 
 " I wish I could return the compliment, Kate. You makd 
 yourself quite conspicnous by your attentions to that young 
 lad. It is a very mistaken kindness in you — to say the least of 
 it. If you mean nothing by it, it is an act of cruelty to him 5 
 and if you do mean anything, Geoffrey Derwent has scarcely 
 a shilling he can call his own, and is not the sort of character 
 to make a fortune, so that he will never be in a position to 
 marry." 
 
 " I think this discussion is uncalled for, cousin," answered 
 Kitty, drawing up her slight figure to its full height. 
 
 " You provoked it yourself, Kate, by reflecting ujion mamma's 
 conduct to Geoffrey ; and while we are upon the subject, 
 I would recommend that when your father comes to-morrow, 
 you should be a little more discreet in your behaviour, for he 
 has quicker eyes than your mamma, who has not such a know- 
 ledge of the world " 
 
 " My mamma knows all that she needs to know, though she 
 knows nothing bad," interrupted Kate, in indignant tones ; " she 
 is not only the best, but the wisest of God's creatures in all 
 that He deems to be -wisdom ; and I would rather have her 
 good opinion than that of all the world beside." 
 
 " My dear Kitty, I never uttered one word against her, nor 
 have ever dreamed of doing so, so you need not be so fiery in 
 your championship ; whereas you did reflect upon the conduct 
 of my mother as respected Geoffrey ; she is not so fond of him 
 as you are, but she has done her duty by him — and more than 
 her duty — for the last ten years." 
 
8 FALLEN PCRTUNES. 
 
 "Till ct last she is getting a little tired of it," observed 
 Kate, coldly. 
 
 *' You have no right to say that, cousin ; Geoffrey has been 
 brought up like one or the family — just as though he had been 
 my own brother ; and yet he has no natural claim u])on us " 
 
 " For sLamc, Mary ! " interrupted the other, indignantly. 
 ' How can you talk like that ? D'- you suppose I don't know 
 Iiow it a,ll came about ? How old Mr. Derwent Avas youj 
 father's dearest friend, and put him on the road to fortune, 
 though he lost all himself. No natural claim ? Is gratitude, 
 then, contrary to nature ? " 
 
 " What ! do you call my father ungratcf li1, you who know 
 that Geoffrey has been educated entirely at his expense '^ " 
 
 "Heaven forbid! He is the most kind and generous of 
 men ; but I honestly tell you that I think he has done no more 
 than his duty in paying for Geoffrey's schooling. Why, I 
 have heard him say myself — and I honour him for it — that he 
 owes all he has in the world to old Mr. Derwent ; and what is 
 Geoffrey's schooling out of your papa's ten thousand a-year ? 
 Why, not so much as he pays to his second gardener ! I think 
 it unworthy of you, Mary, to adduce such a thing as evidence 
 that the poor boy has nothing to complain of, in the teeth of 
 the scene we witnessed to-day; I do, indeed." 
 
 " I think that mamma was a little hard upon Geoffrey, 
 Kate,'' answered Mary, slowly ; " but not so hard as to evoke 
 such indignation on your part. Of course if, at seventeen, the 
 young gentleman is your accepted lover, you have every right 
 to be in a passion ; but otherwise, you had better have been 
 silent — at least to my mother's daughter." 
 
 " I am not in a passion even nov:, Mai*y ; though what you 
 have just said was designed to put mo into one. It I know 
 myself, I should have been just as angry to have seen any 
 utlicr person in a dependent position so contemptuously treated 
 as GeolTrey Avas ; but if I have said anything disrespectful of 
 your mamma to you — though I am not aware of it — I am veiy 
 sorry for it. It \v m altogether wrong of me, and Avould have 
 been so had 1 so spoken other to anybody — far more to you. 
 Mrs. Campden has been always most kind to me, I'm sure ; 
 and a kinder hostess to us all it is impossible to picture." 
 
 " Of course she is, because she loves you all ; not that she 
 does not love Jeff too ; only she has such a notion of discipline, 
 and of boys making their own way in the world. I think the 
 only exception is your Tony, whom she certainly c^oes spoil ; but 
 
AFTER THE CHARADES. 9 
 
 hobotly Caa help spoiliiic^ Tony. How you Avill rniss liim, wLcn 
 lie goes to Eton in October ! " 
 
 " Yos, indeed ; and how dear mamma will miss him, aud 
 above all, poor Jenny ! Something to love and cling to, and 
 pet, seems absolutely necessary to her existence. She is her- 
 self so dependent on others, that t^^ have some one about her 
 dependent upon lier, is an especial delight. Papa says sho has 
 taught Tony far better than his masters have done, and that 
 he has got into the upper school at his entrance examination — 
 he is but nine, you know — has been more owing to her tban 
 to them." 
 
 " What a clever family you all are, Kate ! " observed I\Iary, 
 admiringly ; " I am quite surprised that everybody is not afraid 
 of you, instead of you being such favourites. I suppose it 
 comes from your having such a clever papa. I sometimes 
 think that if I could wish my papa to change in anything — 
 which I don't — I should like him to talk, and laugh, and make 
 everybody admire him, as yours does. Is he always in as high 
 spirits at home as he is everywhere else ? I need not ask if 
 he is as good-humoured. I cannot imagine Mr. Dalton put 
 out by anything." 
 
 "Well, I don't say papa is never put out," said Kate, lauo;h- 
 ing for the first time, as though the topic of talk had begotten 
 merriment ; " but he is so soon all right again, that we rarely 
 notice that there has been any interval of gloom. We have 
 not seen so much of him at home of late, as usual, and we miss 
 him sadly. I am sure, so far as mamma and we are concerned, 
 we would much rather that he was not made a Member of Parlia- 
 ment, for that will take him more away from us than ever." 
 
 " Oh, but then think of the position, Kate, and tlie great 
 tliiugs to which, in his case, it may lead." 
 
 "I am afraid I am not ambitious, Polly," sighed Kale; 
 " and from what I have seen of ambition in papa's case — that is, 
 since he began to sit on ' Boards' — which, however profitable, 
 must be very uncomfortable — and to take the chair at this 
 meeting and that, and to busy himself in public affairs, I think 
 it would have been better for him to have remained as he was." 
 
 " But the law was not to his taste, Kate ; and though it is 
 true he had a competency of his own, it seemed like hiding his 
 candle under a bushel to remain a briefless barrister all his 
 days. If I were you, I should be so proud of him." 
 
 " You cannot be more proud of him than I am, Polly, or so 
 pro ud as dear mamma is ; but for the reasons I have men 
 
lo FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 tioiied, I regret, and so does slie, I know, though sTco tvould 
 never confess it, that he is standing for Bampton. Since hf* 
 wishes it, we prefer, of course, that he will succeed ; but so far 
 as we are selfishly concerned, if he fails to do so it will be no 
 disappointment. " 
 
 " Oh, but he will not fail ; he is far too clever, and he hog 
 laid his plans too wisely for that ; and though it will cost him 
 a good deal of money, it is most important to his interests — so 
 Mr. Holt assures me — to secure a seat." 
 
 " Mr. Holt seems to have told you a good deal ; I wish he 
 would mind his own business. It is he who persuades papa to 
 * go into ' this and that, as he calls it, and tells him of ' good 
 things,' which I fancy don't always tura out as good as they 
 look. Mamma dislikes the man, I know, and distrusts him." 
 
 " But, then, dear Mrs. Dalton is not a woman of business." 
 
 " I don't know about business, Mary ; mamma is the best 
 manager of a household I ever knew, which is woman's business, 
 I suppose ; and as to people, though she does not talk much, 
 and never says an uncharitable word, her instincts are always 
 right ; and in this case my own agree with them. I don't 
 admire this Mr. Holt at all, and am very sorry your good father 
 asked him down to Riverside, at least while we were stopping 
 with you. I am not proiid myself, you know, and care very 
 little what occupation people follow, so long as they themselves 
 are nice ; but I am surprised that Mr. Campdeu should have so 
 ' cottoned,' as Jeff calls it, to a man like that, who is also, I 
 believe, a stockbroker." 
 
 Not a word was spoken for some moments; nothing was 
 heard but the murmur of the weir, and the melancholy tuwhit- 
 tuwhoo of the owls, as they called to one another aci'oss the 
 unseen mere above, from Avhicli it flowed ; then once more Mary 
 broke silence with: "What is a stockbroker, Kitty, dear?" 
 
 If she had asked, What is a stock-dove ? the inquiry would 
 have been pertinent enough to such a scene ; but as it was, the 
 question was so ridiculously inappropriate, that Kitty broke 
 into a silvery laugh that woke the echoes ; it also awoke some 
 one else, for a window was thrown up, immediately beneath that 
 which the two friends occupied, and a thin but decisive voice 
 cried : " Mary, your father says that there must be no more 
 charades if tlaey lead to all this discussion afterwards between 
 you girls ; I must insist upon your going to bed." 
 
 " Indeed, Mrs. Carapden, I am afraid it was ray fault, not 
 Mary'6," answered Kate, penitently, from above. 
 
Teacher and pupil. tt 
 
 .. " No, tiO • 1 know it is not you, Kitty. Maiy would sit up 
 ill night, and perhaps be no worse for it ; but you are much too 
 delicate for such imprudences " 
 
 " I'll have both those young hussies discharged in the morn- 
 ing," broke in the bass notes of the exasperated Mr. Campden ; 
 " their tittle-tattle robs me of nay beauty sleep," 
 
 " Y/hat a nice dear old thing your papa is !" laughed Kate, 
 as she and Mary softly closed their window, and prepared to 
 divest themselves of their borrowed plumes. "If I was a 
 housemaid, and he in the same service, I should certainly set 
 my cap at him." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TEACHER AND TUrlL. 
 
 ThKUE are, no doubt, attractions of a sentimental kind that cliug 
 to tine old couotry houses, with which no other habitations can 
 compete. " I like your England only pretty well," observed an 
 American lady to me on one occasion ; " but I do love her 
 ruins." Historical association was what her own land did not 
 possess, and she valued it accordingly ; and, indeed, it has charms 
 ior most of us. It is something to dwell under the same roof 
 which has sheltered Queen Elizabeth in her progress, or Charles 
 II. in his wanderings ; and perhaps even to sleep in the same 
 bed that was once occupied by the Royal Martyr. But there 
 are objections to these stately ancestral homes, Avhich make them 
 more pleasant to "go over" as a tourist, with a half-crown in 
 your hand, destined for the housekeeper, than to reside in as a 
 guest. The rooms ai'e stuSy, and the ventilation most observ- 
 able in draughts under the doors ; the windows are small, and 
 do not conveniently open ; there is generally a reputed ghost or 
 two — which, however much we laugh at in broad daylight, is 
 apt to appeal more strongly to the imagination when we are 
 lying awake, during the small hours, in an antiqttated fonr- 
 postcr. Lastly, the " Castle," or " Hall," or " Tower," or 
 whatever imposing name it may bear, though genei'ally what 
 the auctioneers term "finely situate," is by no means always 
 placed in the most picturesque spot of those which its extensive 
 lands afford for building purposes. In the good old times, when 
 everybody was for interfering with his neighbour, or for 
 avoiding beii g interfered with, the architect of the period was 
 lUDre intent upon preserving the personal safety of his employer, 
 and making him inaccessible to the general public, than in 
 
ta FALLEN FORTi'AES. 
 
 providing liim with an attractive out-look ; and v,-e often sigb, 
 as we contemplate some stately home, moat-iinged, as though 
 wedded to old Time himself, "Oh, why was it not built there, 
 or here ? " It is for these reasons that I prefer to be a guest — 
 for in my wildest dreams I have never pictured myself as the 
 proprietor thereof — at some modern mansion, though owned 
 perchance by a City millionaire of yesterday, than to be enter- 
 tained iu v/iiat I have heard a certain gilt but irrevere^J; youth 
 — himself the lord of such a feudal residence — term a " ghost 
 box." I can fancy few pleasures more solid and satisfactory 
 than that of going about this fair land, with a hundred thousand 
 pounds in one's pocket or so, looking out for an estate with an 
 eligible site to build a house npon after one's own fancy — or, 
 perhaps still better, to purchase one ready built. George 
 Campden — a fortunate man in many things — had been lucky 
 enough to find in Riverside a ready-made residence that suited 
 his taste exactly, save in some particulars which his riches easily 
 enabled him to make conformable to it. It had been built but 
 a few years by one who had risen on the flood of Fortune only 
 to be dragged down with its ebb ; and yet it had no objectionablb 
 trace of newness. How could it do so, indeed, when the flinty 
 bowels of old Bleabarrow had supplied its walls, up which the 
 creepers had been as prompt to climb as heath and wild-flower 
 were to deck the crags themselves ? 
 
 There was an afiinity between stone and plant at Riverside 
 Hall Avhich I have seen nowhere else, and which made the 
 whole edifice less like a production of art than nature. Yet art 
 — and that of the most modern kind — was everywhere visible 
 about it, from the divan-like billiard-i'oom, with its electric 
 maridng-board, to the gilt gas-lamps fringing the garden p,ath 
 that led to where the steam-yacht was housed -a boat- house 
 like a Chinese palace. The lamps were by no means superfluous, 
 though the steam-yacht might certainly have been termed so, 
 since it was only after much rain that the Nathay would admit 
 of its reaching Bleabarrow Mere, under pretence of navigating 
 the Avaters of which that ambitious vessel had been purchased ; 
 but the sailing-yacht, which the Chinese palace also contained, 
 in addition to half-a-dozen pleasure-skiffs, w^as often put in 
 requisition ; and, after a late picnic, or protracted voyage, the 
 miniature lighthouse at the head of the boat-landing was nseful 
 enough, and the lamps beside the winding pathway saved many 
 a bed of costly flov/ers from invasion and damage. 
 
 The house was built upon elevated f|;round, that gradually 
 
TEACHER AND PUPIL. I3 
 
 sloped up to ifc from the river ; but at its back, and slieltorlnor 
 it from the north and east, a hill arose, so hic^-h tliat it 
 could almost be termed a mountain, and yet so fertile tliat 
 great trees grew almost to its sumnait, beneath which tbe 
 insatiable sheep cropped the rich grass; while lower down 
 clumps of tame deer wandered from shade to shade, with 
 twinkling ears. The whole place, without and within, dis- 
 played that perfection and wholeness which is only possible in 
 a counti'y residence when its possessor has large supj)lies of 
 ready money. It was Mr. Campden's boa*t that if anything 
 went amiss, from the bursting of the kitchen-boiler to the 
 breo.king of a window-pane, the mischief was repaired upon the 
 inst.int. 
 
 " Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men," might not indeed 
 ■wait "the beck of the warders ten;" nor "thirty steeds, both 
 fleet and wight," stand " saddled in stable day and night," as 
 the poet tell us "was the custom in Branksome Hall;" but 
 there were steeds and serving-men in plenty at Riverside ; and 
 man and horse wei-e despatched to the county town with equal 
 
 eed, and certainly on much less emergencies than were wont 
 to send them forth from that Border tower. No guest ever 
 bad it bi'ought home to him that he was sojourning at a 
 ttounti'y house from the occurrence of an inconvenience that 
 «}xtended beyond the hour; while every luxury was supplied to 
 him that London could produce. Even the lettuces in the 
 salads were almost as good (though, if there was a weak point: 
 in the Riverside commissariat, it was that which is common to 
 all country places whatsoever — the lettuces) as those bought in 
 Covent Garden itself ; while the asparagus Avas infinitely better. 
 Not a bottle of champagne was ever opened that had not been 
 duly iced. The daily papers arrived by express at 4.30 from 
 the nearest railway-station, and from it was a branch telegraph 
 to the Hall, by which the morning news came down, and was 
 found upon the breakfast-table by the earliest riser. The 
 guests of the house descended to that meal at any time they 
 pleased, oi', if they preferred it, had it served to them in their 
 own apartments ; but the hours for lunch and dinner wero 
 absolutely fixed (as they must be if the cook is to respect bis 
 art), and were stated ou a printed card, and hung up in every 
 bedroom, as prices are at hotels. The wheel of existence was 
 made, in short, to move so smoothly at Riverside, that you 
 forgot the mechanism of strap and cog that are in general so 
 plainly visible, and were apt to take that as a matter of course 
 
14 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 ■wIiicTi was in reality the result of infinite pains and pi'ovision. 
 When you shifted your quarters, it is true your mistake was 
 immediately rectified ; but it was said, and said truly, by those 
 who had experience in such matters, that to be a guest w ith 
 the Campdens " spoiled you " for visiting anywhere else. 
 
 What gave Riverside an advantage, however, it must be con- 
 fessed, in such a comparison, was that it stood almost alone iu 
 being essentially a summer residence. Although the eslate was 
 large, there Avas little game upon it, and that little — tho 
 proprietor being no sportsman — was not preserved. Hence, 
 when the house was at its fullest, other country mansions were 
 standing empty, their fashionable owners having gone on tho 
 Continent, or yachting in the Mediterranean ; and when the 
 hunter's horn, or the whirring wing of the pheasant sounded 
 their recall, Riverside in its turn became vacant of guests, and 
 the Campdens came up to town for the winter months. Some- 
 times their daughter Mary would precede them by a few weeks, 
 which she would spend with the Daltons in Cardigan Place ; 
 and sometimes she would tarry behind them, to enjoy " the 
 season " a little longer, under the auspices of the same hostess. 
 
 The two families, though they called themselves cousins, 
 were only distantly related, but they lived in great familiarity 
 and friendship ; Kate Dalton, in particular, felt almost as 
 much at home at Riverside as beneath her father's roof, and 
 especially on the pi'esent occasion, when her " belongings," as 
 she called them, were her fellow-guests. She had often stayed 
 there alone, just as Mary Gampden — her dearest friend, though 
 she was her senior by two years — had stayed at Cardigan 
 Place ; but the fact was, she was never quite happy when away 
 from her family. Her mother, whom she adored, Avas herself 
 in delicate health, while her sister Jenny was a confirmed 
 invalid, afflicted with a sorb of chronic neuralgia, which at 
 times made any movement of the limbs intolerable ; and Kate 
 was eager to do her share of tendance, and also to take Tony 
 off their hands during his holidays, whose animal spirits — 
 though he, too, was far from physically strong — were at times 
 not a little " trying." It was from their mother that the chil- 
 dren, doubtless, all inherited their delicacy of constitution, for 
 Mr. Dalton was never known to have had " anything tho 
 matter with him," in wind or limb ; but for a certain nervous 
 and im]nilsive temperament, which was common to them all, 
 they had to thank, or to blame, their father. 
 
 Under an appearance of the most perfect sang-froid, it was 
 
TEACHER AND PUPIL. 15 
 
 asserted by those who ought to ha%;e known him best that John 
 Dalton concealed a sensitive and passionate natnre, and that 
 though ho was the most popalar man of his day in clubs and 
 on business committees — two very different characters rolled 
 into one — he could show " a deuce of a temper " when displeased. 
 As his wife and children evidently loved him to excess, howevev, 
 it is charitably to be believed that these paroxysms, if he leally 
 did indulge in them, were rare and short-lived. Ho has not yob 
 fa-rived upon the scene in person, but we may make some guess 
 at his character from a specimen of his correspondence, perhaps. 
 
 The morning letters, despatched in a private bag by express 
 fi^oni Bleabarrow, arrived early at the Hall, and having been 
 taken out of their repository by Mr. JMarks, the butler, were 
 carried up to their respective owners. 
 
 " There is a letter from master, ma'am," observed Mrs. 
 Dalton's maid, as she entered her apartment, and laid tho 
 missive in question on the dressing-table, at which that lady was 
 already seated. 
 
 It was, perhaps, impertinent in Lucy to say as much, but she 
 has been many years in her mistress's service, and is well 
 acquainted with all her ways, and even with some of her 
 thoughts. She concludes, for example, that she has risen so 
 early this morning from her anxiety to hear news of her absent 
 husband ; and she is quite right in her surmise. Mrs. Dalton 
 takes the letter quickly, and without any fashionable pretence 
 of not being in a hurry to possess herself of the contents, yet 
 opens it with a certain neatness of touch, of which characteristic 
 no haste can deprive her, Nay, she even takes the opportunity 
 of Lucy turning her back to set down the hot- water can, to press 
 the handwriting to her lips before reading it, like one saying 
 grace before good food. 
 
 " Bamptox, August 1," 
 began the note, which was, indeed, but a hurried scrawl — 
 
 " Mt deakest Love, — You will see me to-morrow without 
 fail ; I hope by the train that gets to Bleabarrow at 6.30. Holt 
 was over-sanguine, it seems ; and they tell me if I get in hero 
 at all, it will be a tight squeeze. The people are a roughish lot." 
 (Here the delicate pink fades from the wife's cheek, as when 
 you suddenly remove the light with which you arc showing off 
 your cup of egg-shell china : " Good Ijeavens, there is danger, 
 then [ " she thinks.) " I have been soliciting their sweet voicea 
 fo4 five hours to-day, at ono place or anoHicr, and am dead-sick 
 
l6 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 of it, and as lioarse as a raven. The whole affair is what Jnlia 
 would call 'quite too awful.' I do not myself think I shall 
 succeed, and, unhappily, it is of great importance that I should 
 do so. Do not say anything to Holt of this, however. Kiss my 
 dear ones for me, and tell Jenny I found a fern for her, while I 
 was out canvassing, which seems to mo to be rare ; but I daresay 
 it will bo at once detected by her learned eye to be something 
 
 " 1 shall see yon to-morrow, sweetheart, whether I shall hav^e 
 to be congratulated or consoled ; that is something; but ' wouM 
 it were Kuppar-l-lme and all were well.' 
 
 " Ever jours, Joirx Daltox. 
 
 "P.S — Don't say a word to Holt, or anybody, of my mis- 
 givings." 
 
 Ml'.s. Dalton read this letter again and again. There were 
 things in it that puzzled her (such as the reference to supper- 
 time. " I kope he is not hnrting himself by taking suppers, 
 which never agree with him," was her mental commentary upon 
 that passage) ; but she knew those were not of importance : 
 what gave her most uneasiness were the allusions to Mr. Plolt, 
 whose name was mentioned no less than three times, 
 
 Mr. Holt was a stockbroker, aa Kate had told her friend ; but 
 even if she could have answered ner general inquiry as to what 
 a stockbroker was, which is doubtful, she could certainly not 
 have explained the nature cf the calling of Mr. Holt in parti- 
 cular. Few persons, indeed, could have done so. His doings 
 were by no means confined to scrip and share ; he had a finger 
 in every pie from which " plums " are picked ; and wherever 
 there were wires, it was his aim to pull one. His influence 
 over her husband Mrs. Dalton was well aware was great, though 
 she did not know how it was obtained. It seemed to her very 
 strange, and almost humiliating, that her John, who was so 
 clever and brilliant, should allow himself to be persuaded into 
 this and that by such a blunt, plain man as Richard Holt, one 
 rather younger than older than himself (though he did not look 
 youuger), and who had nothing to recommend him beyond a 
 ei'iaracter for shrewdness. She wou.ld have been indignant with 
 anyone to whose opinion her husband had deferred ; but the 
 iiifiuence of this nuin was peculiarly obnoxious to her, since it 
 }iad drawn hiiu into business and politics, which she detested, 
 because they took him so much from her and home. She had 
 hitherto seen no other evil in them, and certainly no danger ; 
 
TEACHER AND PUPIL. I7 
 
 biit a pliraso in her husband's letter, or rather a WorJ in the 
 phrase, had now excited her apprehensions. " J do not myself 
 think I shall succeed " (that is, in being elected for Bampton) ; 
 "and, unhappily, it is of great importance I should do so." Of 
 course it was important that John should get into Parliament, 
 but why should he have written " unhappihj, it is of great 
 importance ? " He was wont to write rapidly, to dash ofl: his 
 words, indeed, as fast as his pen could form them ; but he rarely 
 used an unfitting word, or a superfluous one. She had not 
 thought so much of John's becoming a senator as most wives 
 equally devoted to their husbands would have done, but that 
 was because she had so high an opinion of his talents, reputation, 
 and social position that no adventitious distinction could, in her 
 eyes, make him a greater man. It was simple in her to think 
 so much of him, but it was singularly becoming. It had been 
 once said by a very great reader of mankind — one who had 
 studied " each mode of the lyre " of human life, and had 
 " mastered them all " — that Mrs. John Dalton was " the nicest 
 woman in England ; " and though that had been said at a time 
 when she was one of the prettiest, her niceness had not departed 
 •>ith the years. It might almost have been said that her pretti- 
 iless had remained with her also — as one sees her standing now, 
 with that letter in her hand, but gazing thoughtfully through 
 the open window ; only " prettiness " could not have expressed 
 that matured grace. Her once golden hair no longer ripples in 
 bright waves, and is streaked here and there with silver ; her 
 slight form has lost its comely outlines, and her whole appear- 
 ance denotes fragility ; but the love-light in her eyes shines out 
 as clearly as in her bridal days, and burns with that sacred 
 flame which years of constancy and trial alone can give it, and 
 Avhich no loss nor cross can ever extinguish ; a saint as holy and 
 as pure as any virgin of the cloister ; a guardian angel set in 
 the niche of Home. 
 
 She had not thought much, I say, of how things might go afc 
 Bampton ; but now that she heard that they might go unlLa]_)pilD, 
 her feelings changed, and the matter assumed that *' great im- 
 portance," though she knew not on what account, that it wore 
 in her husband's eyes. Everyone said, and justly, how kind and 
 unselfish Mrs. Dalton was; how tender to misfortune; how 
 gentle as well as liberal to the poor ; how ready and eager to 
 heal family differences. She had been appealed to, more than 
 once, to intercede for a spendthrift son, and once even for a 
 ruuawa-y daughter ; and not in vain ; and yet she only lived fot 
 
 c 
 
1 8 FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 her huslaud and her children. Her heart was open to all the 
 world — it was difficult to close it against even the wicked ; but 
 in her heart of hearts were the images of those four beloved 
 ones set up alone as idols. " God and my country " was not her 
 motto, though, jierhaps, she would have gone as far to serve her 
 country as the foremost of our female politicians ; but simply 
 " God and my dear ones ; " for them, however, she would have 
 laid doAvn her life without a sigh. 
 
 To no purpose she ransacks her mind for any sign that might 
 point to the cause of John's anxiety abou.t this election ; it would 
 cost him some considerable sum of money, she was aware, but 
 she also knew that he had calculated the cost, and had the 
 money to .spare. It was not usual with him to confide his 
 business affairs to her ; but he had told her so much as that in 
 answer to her gentle expostulations against his embracing 
 political life at all. The " unhappiness " could therefore have 
 nothing to do with money matters ; and yet it had certainly to 
 do with Mr. Holt, whose connection with her husband was based 
 solely upon them. They had nothing else in common, she was 
 quite sure. She had her doubts whether they were even quite 
 good friends, though they were thought to be so by everybody. 
 Indeed, she was aware that Mr. Campden had asked Mr. Holt 
 dov.'n to Riverside entirely upon her husband's account, and, as 
 she suspected, even at his express request, " Bo not say any- 
 thing to Holt, hoivever," read she again. But why sJiould she say 
 anything ? Why should John suppose that she should have 
 spoken to the man about such private affairs at all ? He was a 
 person, as her husband well knew, for whom she had no liking, 
 and whom she kept at as great a distance as politeness permitted ; 
 so that the injunction was quite superfluous ; and yet it was re- 
 peated in his postscript. "Don't say a word to Holt, or any- 
 body, of my misgivings." She would not, of course, say a word 
 to anybody, since he had forbidden it ; but without that warning, 
 she would certainly not have dreamed of saying one word of 
 John's affairs to Mr. Holt. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton has done with her letter at last, and every line of 
 it having been committed to memory, places it in her bosom ; 
 Ihcn calling up a smile upon her face, she opens a green baize 
 door, and knocks at another door behind it. 
 
 " Come in, dear mamma," answers a cheerful voice ; and she 
 enters the neat room accordingly. This is a luxuriously f ur« 
 nished apartment, hung with pictures, lined with books, and 
 evidently not intended as a sleeping room; yet there isa charia* 
 
TEACHER AND PUPlL 1 9 
 
 m» little bed in ifc, with rose-coloured curtains lianging upon it- 
 like a tent, and also an article of furniture that looks like a 
 second bed, though it is only a reclining couch of peculiar con- 
 struction. Upon this latter a young girl of about seventeen is 
 lying, propped up Avith cushions, at the window, and apparently 
 sketching the pi'ospect it affords. 
 
 " "What ! up and at work already, Jenny ? Surely that is not 
 prudent, my darling ? " There is a look of pain but not of re- 
 proof upon the mother's face as she stoops down to kiss her 
 child ; and it is reflected in that of her daughter. But the pain 
 of the former is mental, and that of the latter is physical. 
 
 " I felt rather uneasy in bed, mamma, so exchanged it for the 
 couch ; and when Lucy came she moved it to the window." 
 
 " But, my poor child, what did you do with yourself till she 
 called you ? Why did you not pull the string for me ? " She 
 pointed to a little cord that passed under the two doors, and 
 formed a communication between her daughter's bed and her 
 own. 
 
 " Oh, it was too early to wake you, mamma ; and yet it was 
 broad daylight, so that I could do my lace-work. There was a 
 letter from papa, Lucy said." 
 
 "Yes, dear. He will be here to-day, he hopes in time for 
 dinner ; he wrote but a short note, yet sent an especial message 
 to yourself. He is bringing back a little present for you ; " 
 and she gave Jenny the message about the fern. 
 
 " How good of him it was," said the invalid, flushing up, 
 " to think of me Avhen he was canvassing ! Was it not, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 " I believe your papa thinks of you at all times, Jenny. I 
 hope you will have a good report to give of yourself to him, in 
 spite of this bad night." 
 
 " Oh, the night was not bad, mamma ; only a little long ; and 
 as for me. Dr. Curzon says I am pounds better than I was when 
 I last came to Rivei-side. He told me last night at the charades, 
 that he hoped to see me act a milkmaid carrying pails next yeai*, 
 as naturally as Kitty did the housemaid with her broom. How 
 charming she looked ! did she not ? And so did Polly, for that 
 matter ; only I thought that Polly was a trifle too natural — ■ 
 looked the character to too great perfection." 
 
 " Most girls in cotton prints and flyaway caps with red 
 ribbons, would look the part that they were playing, sn^ dear," 
 said Mrs. L'alton, quickly. 
 
 " Tes, but our Kitty did not. It was easy enough, as Mr'* 
 
ao FALLEN FORTUNES, 
 
 Holfc whispered to me, to see who was the princess in disguise. 
 "That w^as a pretty little compliment, no doubt, and had tmtb 
 besides to recommend it. But do you know, mamma " — here 
 Jenny be^an to sketch most vigorously — " I don't much like 
 that Mr. Holt." 
 
 " Why not, my dear ? He seems a very inoffensive person." 
 
 "Yes, he does not bile one, certainly; indeed, the creature 
 makes ujd to us as though he had very good intentions indeed." 
 
 " The creature, my dear ! " 
 
 " Well, I should have said the man, I suppose. But even 
 you, mamma, whose good word is worth so little, as Mrs. Campdcn 
 says, because everybody has it, even you could not call Mr. Holt 
 a ' gentleman.' If you except his hat and his boots — which I 
 own are very brilliant — he can scarcely be said to * shine in 
 society.' " 
 
 " As to shining, everybody is not expected to do that, my dear 
 Jenny. But since your papa thinks him good enough to keep 
 company with /wm, Mr. Holt is good enough, I suppose, for 
 most societies," answered Mi-s. Daltou, drily. 
 
 " Well, papa can make friends with everybodj', mamma. Ho 
 is equally at home with a bishop and a bargee." 
 
 " My dear Jenny " 
 
 " Nay, mother ; I was only referring to the versatility of papa's 
 genius. Now, we are not all of us so talented in that respect: 
 and I, for my part, do not feel at ease in Mr. Richard Holt's 
 company. It is ungrateful of me, I know, because he evidently 
 intends to be extraordinarily civil." 
 
 " It is not only ungrateful, but unjust, Jenny ; it is plain to 
 me that you are entertaining an unfounded prejudice against 
 this person." 
 
 " A prejudice, certainly ; but whether unfounded or not 
 remains to be pi'oved. Lookcrs-ou, dear mamma, it is said, see 
 most of the game ; and at the game of life, I, on my couch here, 
 am fated to be but a looker-on. I am carried downstairs, and set 
 down among the rest ; but no one takes notice of me — of course, 
 I don't mean you, dear," added she quickly, in answer to her 
 mother's glance offender reproof; "nor anyone that is dear 
 to yor. ; but I am referring to strangers generally. Then I 
 amuse myself Avith making my little observations — ' the cliilA 
 amongst us takin' notes,' as papa calls me." 
 
 "Your papa spoils you, Jenny, and makes yon think too 
 much of yourself, I fear. How is it possible that a girl of your 
 years, and with so small an experience of life " 
 
TEACHEk AND PUPIL. 21 
 
 " Less than even that of most girls," put iu Jenny, quietly, 
 " by reason of my infirmity ; I acknowledge all that." 
 
 "Well, then, how is it possible, my dear, that you can judge 
 rightly of grown-up people ? " 
 
 " It is instinct, I suppose, or intuition; but papa says I liavo 
 got it." 
 
 Jenny has at all events some sagacity, thus to invoke her 
 father's authority in corroboration of her pretensions. Mrs. 
 Dalton suddenly dropped her tone of reproof, and answered 
 laughingly : " My dear Jenny, yoa are a shocking egotist ; and 
 it is useless to reason with such self-conceit. But since you have 
 already passed this infallible judgment of yours upon poor Mr, 
 Holt, may I ask you what it is ? " 
 
 " But, mamma, you won't be angry ? " 
 
 " Angry, no ; except with myself, perhaps, for putting such a 
 foolish question to a child like you," 
 
 " Well, it is my opinion that Mr, Holt is a H-U-M-B-U-G." 
 
 " But why, Jenny ? " 
 
 " Nay, I cannot say why. An oracle givea its answer, buf. 
 never its reasons; indeed, I could not give mine if I tried. I 
 have seen a hundi*ed tilings in the man — of course, but lilth^ 
 things — yet all pointing the same way. Mr. Holt is acting a 
 part, as much as Kitty was acting one last night ; ho has 
 something in view, from which he would divert the attention of 
 others. But there " — and Jenny laughed a merry laugh, which 
 had a certain goblin ring about it too — " I will say no niovis 
 except that he is a humbug." 
 
 " Considering that Mr. Holt is especially eateomeu in the City 
 for his shrewd and straightforward character, Jenny," rei^lied 
 Mrs. Dalton, gravely, " I think you have said quite enough to 
 upset your pretensions as a seer." 
 
 " That is suspicious, though," said Jenny, slily. 
 
 " What is ? " 
 
 " Why, his being so * esteemed for,' &c. How could he be all 
 that, and in the City too, unless he was a humbug ? " 
 
 " I don't understand you, Jenny. You might just as well 
 say tbat because your dear papa is so admired and beloved by 
 almost everybody, that lie is a — that very vulgar word you used 
 just now." 
 
 " Oh, papi is like nobody else in the woi*ld, and is not to bo 
 judged by ordinary rules," replied Jenny, naively. " It is his 
 mission to make things pleasant, whereas it is not Mr. Holt's 
 TOif^sioTi by any means, and his c!^deq,vQ^^s to d.o so are iflQf^t 
 
22 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 ridiculous. His attempts at a joke are like the gamboling of 
 that horse on his back yonder, all hoof and teeth, in the field ; 
 they are only laughable because they aie so clumsy." 
 
 " But everybody can't be lively aud agreeable, like your papa." 
 
 " Then don't let them try," answered Jenny, -with irritation ; 
 *' and, above all things, don't let them tiy to be insinuating, and 
 soft and tender, Avhen they are obviously rhinoceroses and 
 hippopotamuses, and cannot do it vrithout blowing into one's 
 ear. Don't let them " 
 
 Here she was interrupted by a soit drumming noise at the 
 door, which gradually rose and swelled in volume, till it became 
 an excellent imitation of a gong. 
 
 *' Come in," said Jenny, laughing; "come in, you naughty 
 boy." 
 
 Then the door opened, and disclosed a youth of about nine 
 years old, with a thin but merry face, set in a thicket of brown 
 curls, and above the curls a parcel of school-books, which he 
 held there by one hand, as a maiden holds her pitcher at the 
 well. 
 
 He closed the door softly, then took a noiseless run and slide 
 upon the carpet that landed him at the foot of the couch. 
 '■And how is my pretty mamma ? " inquired he as he kissed her 
 cheek. " And how is my venerable coach ? " added he, addressing 
 Jenny. 
 
 " Well, the coach is a little out of repair, Tony, this morn- 
 ing," answered the young girl ; " and I doubt whether it will be 
 able to carry all those passengei-s : ' Cornelius Nepos,' ' Virgil,' 
 
 ' Cfesar,' and the wicked ' Colenso ' " 
 
 "There was an old Bishop of Natal 
 Who had a Zulu for a pal," 
 
 quoted the boy gaily. 
 
 "Said the Zulu, 'Look here' " 
 
 " Be quiet, Tony ; I won't have you say such things," said 
 Jenny, sharply. " It is all very well for grown-up people, but 
 not for children." 
 
 "But Jeff is not grown up — at least so eveiybcdy says, except 
 himself — and he sings : 
 
 " There was an old Bishop of Natal 
 Whose views upon Moses were fatal." 
 
 "Hush ! " said Jenny, holding her finger up rebnkefnlly, and 
 pointing to Mrs. Dalton, who was looking out of the v-'indow, 
 apparently absorbed in thought. 
 
TEACHER AND PUPIL. 23 
 
 Pupil and teacher were very like to one another ; tht former 
 had all the hues of health, bub they were delicate hues, and the 
 expression of his thin features was feminine, though intelligent 
 in a high degree. His eyes, too, though large and lustrous, 
 were very soft, and as his curling hair mingled with his sister's 
 caressingly, the two might almost have been taken for sisters. 
 
 " What istroubliug dear mamma ? " whispered he gently. 
 
 " Hush ! Nothing. But yoit, will trouble her if you sing songs 
 like that. Why have you brought all those books with you this 
 morning, instead of your lesson ? " 
 
 " Well, I want to get all my lessons over at once. I got up 
 this morning on jDurpose to learn them ; for there are to be 
 sports at Bleabarrow to-day, Jeff says — wrestling, and leaping, 
 and all sorts— and Jeff is going to take me." 
 
 "Geoffrey would make yon as idle as himself, if that were 
 possible," said Jenny, her wan fingers playing with her brother's 
 hair ; " but I don't fancy you will be trusted to go with him to 
 any such place. What do you think, mamma, of Tony's going 
 So Bleabarrow Feast under the wing of Master Geoffrey ? " 
 
 " Indeed, my child, I don't think that will quite do," said his 
 mother, thus appealed to. " Mrs. Campden has, I know, a bad 
 opinion of such gathei'ings, and Jeff is but a boy. I am afraid 
 you must give them up, Tony, unless the sports can wait till 
 after papa comes home. I have got a letter which says Ave may 
 expect him to-night. Is not that good news ? " 
 
 "Yes, of course," said Tony, hanging his head down a little. 
 " But couldn't Mrs. Campden send Robert with me ? " 
 
 " No, darling ; a servant would, under the circumstances, be 
 worse than nobody. A child should have some grown-up per- 
 son, who is a gentleman, with him, when he goes to such places." 
 
 "Then I've got leave to go," cried Tony, exultingly; "for a 
 grown-up gentleman has promised to go with me, though I 
 would rather have gone with Jeff and Robert, if I could." 
 
 " You don't mean to say you have inveigled good Mr. 
 Campden ? " cried Mrs. Dalton, not, perhaps, displeased at this 
 proof of her little son's powers of persuasion. 
 
 " It's not Mr. Campden, mamma — it's Mr. Holt. He heard 
 Jeff say that he doubted whether Mrs. Campden would like me 
 to go with him, and offered to take me himself." 
 
 Mother and daughter exchanged a rapid glance of astonish- 
 ment, and Jenny broke oat into one of her musical but mocking 
 laughs. 
 
 " Mr, Holt in charge of a srtiall boy at Bleabarrow Feast ! " 
 
24 FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 cried she. " That will be a more amusing spectacle than any 
 the sports will have to offer." 
 
 " I think it was very good-natured of Mr. Holt," observed 
 Mrs. Dalton, gravely, "and very unselfish; for, as you say, it is 
 quite out of his line, and he has nothing to gain by it." 
 
 " I don't remember that I said tliai, mamma," cbserved Jenny, 
 drily. " Well, if you are going to these sports, Anthony, we 
 inusfc go on with our lessons." And pupil and teacher com- 
 menced their usual task accordingly. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 IN THE ROSE-GARDEN. 
 
 All rooms at Riverside Hall are good rooms, including those of 
 the servants, which, instead of being ill-lit, ill-warmed, with 
 sloping roofs and mere apologies for windows — such as avo 
 common in all those ancient mansions which we see pictured in 
 " Gentlemen's Seats" or "The Ancestral Homes of England " 
 — are comfortable, and of fair size ; but even at Riverside there 
 are distinctions. The guest-rooms appropriated for bachelors, 
 for example, thougk well and even luxuriously furnished, do not 
 look out towards the front of the house. 
 
 The penalty inflicted upon unmarried persons beneath that hos- 
 pitable roof is to have their view restricted to the croquet-ground, 
 the rosary, and the hill-park (as it is called) at the back of the 
 liouse. The stables are hidden away in akollow, and approached 
 by a secret way known only to the household, for it is not Mr. 
 Campden's habit, as it is that of many country gentlemen, to 
 lead his male friends thither after breakfast to discuss hocks 
 and pasterns, and to inhale the fine flavour of the saddle-room 
 and worse. But even this back view is not to be despised by 
 those, such as Mr. Richard Holt, who had been shut up in Abdcll 
 Court, in the City of London, for eight hours a day through 
 spring and summer, and doubtless that gentleman would have 
 been enjoying it this morning, had he not had something more 
 impoi'tant to engage his attention. A goodly batch of letter.s 
 had, as usual, arrived for him by tbe morning's post, and in 
 their contents, though lie is up and dressed, and sitting at the 
 open window, he is rapt for the present, to the exclusion of ex- 
 ternal objects. He is one of those men — if you will take the 
 opportunity of observing him — for whom the letter-bag has 
 always paramount importance ; men who do not mix readily 
 lyitn those about tliem, or find pleasure or even engrossing 
 
!N riiE rose-gardejv. as 
 
 employment in the present ; whose thoughts are semi-occupied, 
 w hose very j^aze is filmed over, as it were, with the web of their 
 projects. They are never sure of their movements, or of the 
 length of their sojourn in any place ; all must depend, they say, 
 "upon the afternoon post," as though they were in a constant 
 crisis of uflUirs, which a lino of somebody's handwriting must 
 settle for them one way or another: an unhappy class of people 
 enough, but whose anxieties, lot us hope, arc not quite £0 over- 
 whelming as they would have us believe. 
 
 It would be unjust, however, to accuse Mr. Richard Holt of 
 affectation ; he is much too sagacious to be affected, and often 
 finds circumstances much too serious to need any exaggeration 
 of their importance. Indeed, it is just now his constant en- 
 deavour to avoid that nppearance of pre-occupation peculiar to 
 weaker brethren of his kind, and to play the part of a frank and 
 easy-going man of the world — that is, of the thoughtless, high- 
 placed, and luxurioiis world in which he finds himself, to confess 
 the truth, for the first time. It must not, however, be supposed 
 that our new acquaintance is a vulgar fellow. His appearance is 
 good ; he is six feet high, and well-built ; his large features, if 
 somewhat grave and still, are capable of considerable expression, 
 and if he looks old for his age — which is five-and-forty — he has 
 looked about the same age for the last ten years, and will 
 probably look no older for ten yeo^rs to come. His eyes are 
 hard, and he knows it ; if he could make them otherwise, he 
 would very gladly do so ; he can smile and speak softly, and his 
 tongue has no lack of persuasion upon certain topics ; but when 
 his talk ranges beyond business affairs, he cannot get his eyes 
 to accompany his voice, and the result is a want of harmony. 
 People talk about the intense significance of the jaw and chin, 
 and, very possibly (for there is no limit to such folly), of the 
 lobes of the ears ; but Mr. Holt, who was no fool, and never 
 attempted to deceive himself (whatever his conduct might bo 
 as respected others), knew that his eyes were not what they 
 should be, and that it was a great misfortune to him. They 
 were not ugly, by any means : not those hard-boiled ones, the 
 balls of which project like the yolk of a stale poached egg ; but 
 long years of calculation and plodding, and standing upon his 
 guard against rogue and scoundrel, had, as it were, set them, 
 and they could never melt again either with love or pity, how- 
 ever nearly hia heart might be touched by either. However, 
 he still finds them exceedingly useful ; one glance suffices to pub 
 Uioj iu possession of the contents of most of the letters that 
 
s6 FALLEN FOR TONES. 
 
 have arrived for liim tliis morning, after bestowing -which, be 
 cither tears the communication in small fragments, or places ifc 
 in a hnge pocket-book of Russian leather, which he always 
 carries in his left breast-pocket, giving him the lopsided appear- 
 ance of an amazon. Two notes, however, afford some cause for 
 deliberation, and he gives each a second attentive perusal ; one 
 is from his confidential clerk in Abdell Court. 
 
 " Metn, — Broolcs lias cabled as folloivs : * Sell Laras : whole 
 CONCERN A PLANT,' " On another slip of paper was written : 
 " Dear Sir, on the wJiole advisable not to telegraph to you, esioecialhj 
 as the exchange had closed ivhen the neios arrived.^' 
 
 "Brand has got a head on his shouldei'S," mused Mr. Holt, 
 with a gi'im smile, as he read these words ; " almost too good a 
 head for my service. On the first opportunity I shall let him 
 run loose." 
 
 " Astor left yesterday, but with no immediate 'Intention, I have 
 reason to believe, of quitting England. I hope you, find the country 
 air is doing you benefit. — Yours truly, Robert Brand." 
 
 " Well, that is a good riddance every way, though I should 
 have felt happier had the scoundrel put the scfis between hire 
 and a certain person ; the last man in the world, however, as is. 
 happens, he is likely to foregather with. Master Philip knew 
 too much." 
 
 With a thoughtful brow, Mr. Holt takes up the second letter 
 that he had reserved from the batch, and for the second timo 
 examined the postmark, Bampton. 
 
 " This comes just in the nick of time, for the news it brings 
 will shape my views about the mine. I shall have the whole 
 day to think about how to play my fish. It was uncommon 
 Bhai'p of Brand to recollect that they had a private wire here, 
 which makes all communications public. 
 
 " ' I thought it, on the tvhole, advisable not to telegraph.'' Con- 
 found his sagacity ! I will certainly get rid of him on the first 
 oppc ftunity, and select a less intelligent lieutenant. If he does 
 not know too much, this shows he has suspicions, and I don't 
 like suspicious people about me. ' Bampton, Headquarters. — Our 
 canvass is noiv over. The contest n-ill be a narroio one. Mr. Grig/p 
 will bo the man.'' " That was all the second note contained, but it 
 seemed to affect its recipient even more gravely than the first. 
 "Things are coming, then, to a crisis," muttered he, "and 
 earlier than I expected." He sat, plunged in thought, for a i\k\\ 
 
IN THE ROSE-GARDEN. 27 
 
 minute; iTien, " The man has nobody to thank but himself for 
 what will happen," exclaimed he, in a firm voice. 
 
 If " the man " — whoever he was — had been standing before 
 him in the flesh, and accusing him of having been the cause of 
 his misfortunes, his denial could not have been more earnest 
 and explicit. As he spoke, a clear and xnnging voice made the 
 air musical without : 
 
 " Bh'ds in our wood sang, ringing through the valleys : 
 Maud is here, here, here — iu among the lilies." 
 
 He started up excitedly, his ordinary pale cheek flaming' 
 crimson, as a man flushes when another has given him the lie ; 
 but as the song went on, a curious change came over him. The 
 lines of thought and care seemed to grow faint upon his brow, 
 and the whole expression of his face to soften ; his lips parted 
 with a smile, and he lifted up his hand for silence, as though ha 
 had not been alone : 
 
 " I kissed her slender hand ; she took the kiss sedately ; 
 Maud is not seventeen, but she is tall and stately." 
 
 Holt smiled softly towards the window, and, keeping himself 
 conoealod behind the curtain, peered cautiously through its 
 folds. 
 
 In the rose-garden, as it was called, from the flowers to which 
 the little plot of ground was exclusively devoted, and immediately 
 beneath the window, stood Kate Dalton, in the act of plucking 
 a bud which she had just selected from a bunch that grew 
 above her head. Her face was full in view ; the morning sun 
 shone on her bright tresses, and transmuted them to gold ; its 
 beams darted at her eyes so lovingly that sbe was forced to almost 
 close them, so that their long silken lashes were made plainly 
 visible ; the position of the rosebud necessitated her standing for 
 an instant on her toes, and exemplified that particular grace of 
 which the employment of high-heeled shoes is supposed (very 
 erroneously) to supply an imitation ; the extended arms lent a 
 fulness to the otherwise too slender bust ; the shapely head 
 seemed to be crowned with nodding roses^ It was, indeed, " a 
 picture to make an old man young ; " and upon Richard Holt, 
 who was by no means old, according to his own reckoning, it 
 had a very singular effect — it made him giddy. His head went 
 round with him ; his heart sank, down, down, with a feeling of 
 sickness ; and for the moment he clung to the curtain to steady 
 himself, if not to preserve him from a fall. The next moment 
 bn hud stepped quickly across the room to his dressing-case— 
 
28 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 not the solid and elaborate affair tliat such articles generally 
 were at Riverside, but a mere roll of leather containing various 
 articles of the toilet — and taken from it a pair of scissors. 
 Slipping these into his pocket, he left his room, and descended 
 the stairs with hurrying steps. The breakfast-parlour, though 
 empty, save for an attendant, had all things prepared for the 
 morning meal ; but he passed by the door, and out into the hall. 
 He joansod for an instant at the hat-stand, doubtful whether ho 
 should select the "chimney-pot," which he usually Avore, and 
 which he knew suited him best, or the " wideawake," which he 
 had brought down in compliance with the fashions of the 
 country, 
 
 Uiduckily for his personal appearance, he chose the latter, 
 which had the effect ol" a clumsy disguise. It took away from 
 liim his City air, it is true, but substituted for it that of some 
 confidential servant who has tlie immediate revei'sion of his 
 master's clothes. Aristocracy has not yet issued a stamp by 
 which even the most distinguished member of it can be recog- 
 nised in a bad hat; nor is it everyone who can "cany oil'" 
 even a wideawake. The newer it is, the worse it looks on some 
 folks ; and the wideawake of Mr. Richard Holt, of Abdell Court, 
 was very new. If the handle of the joair of scissors that were 
 lying in his breast-pocket had been but visible, one would haye 
 set him down, I am afraid, as a master tailor. 
 
 It was nob in the nature of things that Mr. Holt should run, 
 but he moved rapidly aci'oss the gravel sweep, and through the 
 shrubbery that led by devious ways to the rose-garden, and 
 arrived there just in time io see Kate Dalton — kissed. It is 
 lerrible to have to record it, but it" is the truth — kissed by a 
 young gentleman. There was no time for J\Ir. Holt to rcsti-ain 
 his headlong speed, and to protend not to sec it. His position 
 was precisely that of the spectatoi described in that famous 
 ballad, of which all the verses save one have been lost in tho 
 mists of time : 
 
 " I saw Esaii kissing Kato, 
 
 And tlie fact is we all three saw, 
 For I saw Esau, lie saw me. 
 And she saw I saw Esau." 
 
 Only in this case it was not Esau ; for Esau, we have reason to 
 know, was a hairy man, and the offender on the present occasion 
 liad a cheek as smooth as a girl's. Hair is not hair (and how true 
 this of many a native-looking chignon ! ) when it is down, and 
 Jeff's lip h?.d only down to boast of. This may not seem of nnich 
 
/iV THE ROSE-GARDEiV. I9 
 
 Cohsequetice to the reader, but to E-icliard Holt it was a great 
 mitigation of the shock which he experienced. Tlio attachment 
 of a boy and girl is never more ridiculous and immaterial than 
 in the eyes of a middle-aged man who himself has only just 
 begun to feel Love's dart. Moreover, Master Geoffrey Derwent's 
 lips had only saluted Kate's fingers, and there is really nothing 
 in that ; for does not the Queen herself permit the same liberLr 
 to mayors and consuls ? Nay, even for this tran.'jgression thero 
 had been a very sufficient cause, had Mr. Holt but known it. 
 He had last set eyes on Kate, you remember, when she was 
 reaching for the rosebud, and trilling that exquisite little verse : 
 
 ' ' I kissed licr slender hand ; she took the kiss sedately ; 
 Maud is not seventeen, but she is tall and stately." 
 
 At that instant, if Mr. Holt had not been in such a hurry to 
 bring the scissors, he might have heard a merry voice chime in 
 with : 
 
 " Maud is tall and stately, but not tall enough to reach that 
 bud without assistance ; " and then a longer arm than hers 
 interposed, and drew down the flower. When he had done that 
 - — not in a hurry, you know, but v/ith a quiet deliberation and 
 ever so much solicitude to remove the thorns from the stalk — • 
 it was only in accordance with the etei-nal fitness of things that 
 he should " kiss her slender hand ;" and it is my firm conviction 
 that she would have taken it "sedately" enough, but for Mr. 
 Richard Holt's unexpected intei'vention. As ifc was, though 
 her face flushed like any rose around her, she mei'ely observed : 
 " How rude you ai-e, Jeff ;" tlien turned to the new-comer with 
 a cold " Good-morning, Mr. Holt." 
 
 If she had been seventy instead of seventeen (she was in fact 
 eighteen), she could hardly have carried off" that little incident 
 with greater sang-froid, or more perfect self-command. 
 
 Master Jcfl" on the other hand, a tall and feomely lad, with 
 light hair, but bright black eyes, glared haughtily at the 
 intruder, as though the rose-garden had been his own private 
 preserve, which the other had violated ; while Mr, Holt stood 
 dumfoundered, and slowly produced his scissors. 
 
 " I saw you from my window yonder. Miss Dalton," — he 
 looked up towards it, as though for corroboration of his story, 
 but her eye did not follow his ; she looked as though, if there 
 was one t'ling on earth absolutely indifferent to her, and 
 withoMt one scintilla of interest, it was the situation of Mr. 
 Holt's apartment J "and remarking that you had a difficulty 
 
30 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 ■with your frieuds — or, may I say, relatives ? for tliere is a strong 
 family likeness — the roses, I brought you this pair of scissors." 
 
 " Thanks," said Kate, not taking them from his hand; " but 
 I have gathered all I want." 
 
 She had but two buds, one of which she carried in her It!":, 
 hand, and the stalk of the other she Avas now tying to a 
 leaf or two with a piece of silk, obviously getting it readj for 
 somebody's button-hole. 
 
 That new word "Thanks," so common in young ladies' 
 mouths nowadays, seems, somehow, to lack the warmth and 
 grace of their old " Thank you," and to Mr. Holt's ears it 
 sounded particularly cold. 
 
 He stood snipping the scissors, for want of something to say 
 or do, and gazing longingly at the little bud, which she had by 
 this time transformed into a fairy bouquet .Kate's heart, which 
 had been hardened by his 1ua^rt-2J;•0jJ0s appearance, began to feel 
 some pity for this man, to whom she had certainly been some- 
 what discourteous. 
 
 "Mamma tells me that you have been kind enough to 
 sacrifice yourself for Tony's sake, Mr. Holt, so far as to 
 accompany him to the sports at Bleabarrow. Jenny was 
 * spurting ' him, as he calls it, through his ' Cfesar ' this morning, 
 in order that he might go off to them early." 
 
 " It is no sacrifice, I am sure — that is, if I can ever be of any 
 use to you or yours, it never seems so." 
 
 " I don't see why Mr. Holt should trouble himself," said 
 Geoffrey, " since I promised Tony to take him long ago." 
 
 "Tes; but then, you see, you are but a boy, like himself, 
 Jeff," observed Kate; "it would be like the blind leading the 
 blind, to trust you with Tony among all those queer, rough 
 people." 
 
 " I don't think them at all queer," returned the lad, brusquely; 
 " they are honest and hearty folks, who never do harm to any- 
 body, except now and then to themselves, through taking too 
 much beer." 
 
 "But then they don't know what they do," remarked Mr, 
 Holt, mildly, delighted to find Kate and himself conducting 
 this little argument in concert. 
 
 "Just so," said Kate. "Now don't bo cross, Jeff", merely 
 because you have not arrived at years of discretion, which is a 
 question of time, you know, though to some people of a very 
 long time." 
 
 At this Mr. Holt laughed approvingly, though Kate had 
 
jyRS. CAMPDEN ORDERS THE PONV-CARRUGE. %\ 
 
 I sliowu no siicli appreciation of his allusion to her likeness to the 
 roses, T,vl:icb. he had thought particularly hapjjy and oppor- 
 tune, 
 
 Jeff took no more notice ol his laugh, nor of his I'emark. than 
 if he had not been present. 
 
 " Of course, I knew that Mrs. Campden would object to my 
 going with Tony — she always does object to my doing anything 
 — but I should have thought your mother would have trusted 
 me, Kate." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear Jeff, mamma would trust you ; she 
 always says you are the best of boys. There now, you are 
 taking huff again : and here's a rosebud for your jacket — I 
 mean your coat." And with that she placed the little nosegay 
 in his button-hole, while the young fellow thanked her with his 
 eyes. 
 
 " That should make amends to Mr. Derwent for anything," 
 said Mr. Holt, significantly, as the three moved slowly towards 
 the house. '* I am sure I would submit to be distrusted " 
 
 " Or even to be called too young," interrupted Jeff, stung 
 into unaccustomed epigram. 
 
 " Certainly, I would submit to that indignity," continued 
 Mr. Holt, good-naturedly — though his unhappy eyes would not 
 look good-natured, in spite of all his efforts — " and indeed to any 
 other, for such a guerdon. You have still another flower, I see, 
 Miss Dalton, and remember, I cZic? bring you the scissors, though 
 I was too late." 
 
 " You are too late again, Mr. Holt," answered Kate, gently, 
 as they ascended the steps at the front-door ; " I have only this 
 rosebud left, and I always give one, as you know, to Uncle 
 George." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LIT??. GAMPBEN ORDERS THE PONT-CARRIAGE. 
 
 Mk. Campden was not Kate's uncle, being only, even by 
 marriage, a distant cousin ; but the relations betvreGii him and 
 the Daltons were so cordial, that the junior members of the 
 latter family always called him by that title — which I am not 
 quite sure that his wife relished, since she, who was the blood- 
 relative, was never entitled aunt. He Avas a bluff, kindly man 
 of some fifty years of age, and though he had always been 
 engaged in commerce — till fortune had filled both his pockets 
 and enabled him to retire on his gains — his appearance v/as thai 
 
32 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 of a iliorough couuLry gentleman. That lie posses'^ed sdMO 
 astuteness, bis great success attested ; -while that he had somo 
 ideas beyond mere money-making was certain, from his choice 
 of Riverside as a residence ; but these mental gifts would never 
 have been guessed at by ordinary observers; indeed, Machiavelli 
 liimself would have been puzzled to make much, of Uncle 
 George, since he rarely opened his lips save to admit his meals 
 or the end of a cigar. His existence had been, in fact, absorbed 
 by the superior vitality of his wife. It had not, indeed, been 
 always so ; there Avere some who professed to have seen hiui 
 make some show of resistance to her indomitable will ; but. 
 though her seizure of the poor gentleman had been very gradual 
 — inch by inch, as a cobra swallows a rabbit — he had nevei 
 recovered any portion of himself that had once been appro- 
 priated, and the process of deglutition had long ago been com- 
 pleted. Mr. Campden still drew hip breath independently of his 
 wife, and that was all : he never attempted to shape it, without 
 her leave and license, into a word of command, or even the ex- 
 pression of a wish ; at times, when elated, he would break out 
 into a confession of his own state of thraldom — as a helot in his 
 caps might have done — in which thei-e was a touch of humour, 
 bearing witness that he had some individuality still left in him; 
 but these little jets of independence grew every day more rare, 
 and it was plain that their source was drying up. If he bad 
 been a septuagenarian married to a young girl of twenty, his 
 thraldom could not have been more complete than it had become 
 of late, and an old friend had on one occasion taken the liberty 
 to tell him so. " I know it, my dear fellow," ho had replied, 
 without a trace of irritation at this plain speaking; "and, un- 
 happily, Julia is more than twenty." 
 
 Indeed, there was no reason — absolutely none — to a looker-on, 
 why Mrs. Campden should have got her husband so entirely 
 under her thumb. She had not been very young Avhen he 
 married her, nor very pretty, nor particularly accomplished ; 
 and whatever might have been her attractions in these respects, 
 they had certainly not improved with years ; yet every year she 
 had placed him in closer bondage, till he could now scarce move 
 hand or foot. He had still, however, a smile for everybody, 
 and it was tiniversally understood that he would do a good turn 
 for anyone, unless his wife had issued a special ukase to tho 
 contrar}^ He was amazingly popular with all young people, 
 and, indeed, with old ones also, although the more thoughtful 
 of his friends regarded his state of servitude with just contempt. 
 
MJiS. CAMPDEN ORDERS THE POXV-CAliRlAGE. %% 
 
 " ^yllen a man is downriglit licupecked," said John Dalton, " it 
 almosb always arises from his having committed peccadillos^- 
 which have come to his -wife's ears ; but poor Campden has ni 
 such ' set-off' to comfort him ; he has fallen a victim to his Julia 
 through sheer indolence." And this -was the true state of the 
 case. Moreover, it cannot be denied that Mrs. Campden 
 possessed that gift in i-eality "which is always imputed to those 
 members of our governing classes w^ho have nothing perceptible 
 to recommend them — administrative capacity. She was essen- 
 tially a managing woman, and would have swallowed everybody 
 else, inch by inch, if she had had the chance, just as she had 
 swallowed her husband ; her love of power had " stomach for 
 them all ;" and yet a more unambitious and " ordinary" looking 
 little woman than Mrs. Campden it is not easy to imagine. Even 
 now, as she sits at the head of her own breakfast-table, there is 
 nothing of despotism in her look or manner ; and only by tho 
 unusual quickness with which tho servants execute her orders, 
 and wait upon her rather to the exclusion of her guests, would 
 you guess her to be the Tartar she really is. Her skin, however, 
 though not particularly delicate, is of that unfortunate kind 
 that betrays emotion, and her pale face will glow like a peony 
 on very slight occasion ; her voice, too, which is unusually thin 
 and low, will, if opposed, become metallic. Curiously enough, 
 Ihis is the case, though in a less degree, with Miss Mary also ; 
 and when mother and daughter have their little wrangles — in 
 which the latter is always discomfited — their argument at a 
 little distance resembles the dropping of copper coin — as if they 
 were playing " odd and even" for halfpence. 
 
 This morning, however, Mrs. Campden is all smiles and 
 harmony ; she has just succeeded in persuading Mrs. Dalton, 
 who sits on her right hand, to accompany her in her pony- 
 carriage that afternoon, for a long drive ; and her victory has 
 flattered her, for she knows that Mrs. Dalton did not want to 
 go, being anxious upon her husband's account, who is sure to 
 telegraph to her at the close of the poll. 
 
 "My dear," observed her hostess, " that is just the reason 1 
 v,anted to take you ; the time will pass quickly, I hope, in 
 paying our little visits; and once away from the house, you will 
 cease to fidget about the news that may come from Bampton." 
 
 " Well, as you please, my dear Julia ; but I am afraid I shall 
 prove but a dull companion," sighs Mrs. Dalton, after somo 
 attempts at escape --as vain as those of a gold-fish iu a glasa 
 boTvl. 
 
34 FALLEN FORTUMRS, 
 
 " I have never fciuiid you ilwi., clear Edith," answers tlio 
 othex-, laughinglj. " I wish, Mr. Holt, that yoa were ascertain 
 of having a pleasant afternoon as I am with Mrs. Dal ton. I 
 fear you will find cur Bleabarrow festivities very heavy." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I am sure it is most kind of Mr. Holt to go 
 with Tony," said Mrs. Dalton ; "for though I have the utmost 
 faith in JefF " — here she slid her hand down to Geoffrey's knee, 
 •who sat beside her, and patted it, in sign of affectionate con- 
 fidence — " his good-nature has made him too much of a playmate 
 with my boy, to admit of his ever using, du© authority." 
 
 " Oh, ilicd is not to be thought of for a moment," observed 
 Mrs. Campden, austerely. 
 
 " I don't think any harm is likely to happen to my young 
 charge," smiled Mr. Holt; "unless he should insist upon com- 
 peting among the light-weights." 
 
 " And why not, if there are boys ? " inquired Touy, earnestly. 
 
 " Oh, how shocking ! " cried Mrs. Campden. " That would 
 be a pretty thing for a young gentleman to do : to wrestle with 
 all those vulgar creatures." 
 
 " It would be only excusable if he were standing forBampton 
 instead of his father," observed Mr. Holt ; " then, indeed, it 
 would go down very well, as a proof that, though a Whig, he 
 had got no pride about him." 
 
 *' By-the-bye, Mr. Holt, you have not chanced to hear any- 
 thing this morning about the election, I suppose ? " inquired 
 Mrs. Dalton ; not because she thought it at all probable that ho 
 had done so, but in order to anticipate any question upon his 
 part which it would be embarrassing to her to answer. 
 
 " Not a word," answered Mr. Holt, touching at the sanu^ 
 time — whether in proof of his veracity, or to convince himself 
 of the safety of the manuscript^ — the breast-pocket which con- 
 tained the memorandum from Headquarters. " But your hu.sband 
 is sui'e to telegraph directly the thing is certain." 
 
 "Oh, I /.-HOW," said Mrs. Dalton; "and that is why I was 
 rather wishing to stay at home this afternoon ; " and she east an 
 appealing look towards the mistress of the house. "Whatever 
 that lady had once acquired, however, whether promise or con- 
 cession, she never di^eamed of giving up again, but used as a 
 possession of her own, and a basis from ■v'i hich to start in search 
 of further gains. 
 
 "You would not object if you and ] were to lunch a littlo 
 earlier than the rest, Edith, would you, ' inquired she, " as wo 
 hove a good many calls to make ? " 
 
 i 
 
MJi. CAMPDEN ORDERS THE BAROUCHE. 3^ 
 
 " Certainly uot," said Mrs. Dalton : the earlier slie started as 
 Bhe fondly hoped, the earlier she Avould be ijermitted to return 
 and receive dear John's despatch. But she reckoned without 
 her hostess. 
 
 " That's right, my dear; I knew you would not mind ; and 
 that will jast enable me to push on as far as the Park, and call 
 on Lady Brodie, who is generally a little beyond my beat." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MR. CAMPDEN ORDERS THE BAROUCHE. 
 
 Thu3, therefore, it came about that, at the usual luncheon- hour, 
 four of the breakfast-party had gone their ways, and there were 
 gathered around the great table only the host and the three 
 young ladies — for Jenny generally made her appearance at the 
 mid -day meal. 
 
 "N'ow, Uncle George," said Kate, merrily, "I hope you are 
 going to be very polite indeed to us girls, because, you see, we 
 have no other cavalier." 
 
 "Don't say polite, Kitty," cried Jenny; " don't waste your 
 V ^portunities like that; of course he'll be polite; say devoted." 
 
 " My dears, I am devoted," said Uncle George ; " very much 
 so indeed. If I can do anything to please yon, pray nientiou 
 it." 
 
 " He is a nice old papa, he really is," remarked Miss Mary, 
 like an auctioneer who is recommending some article to an 
 audience who have doubts. 
 
 "He has done himself a mischief already, upon your account, 
 young ladies, by eating luncheon out of courtesy ; let me tell 
 you tltat" observed he. 
 
 " Oh, papa., how can you say so, when you know mamma 
 always cries out if you have two helps of meat, as you did to- 
 day ; and you had bottled stout, too ! " 
 
 " All for your sakes, my dears ; I felt that what Curzon calb 
 'support' would be necessary if I had to amuse you young 
 people. And now I am prepared for further sacrifices. Suppose 
 I take a glass of sherry ? " 
 
 It was very unusual to see Mr. Campden in such a lively 
 mood : he was generally as dumb as any china figure, and 
 almost as motionless ; now be was itoore like something in gutta- 
 percha from which a weight has been removed, and which 
 assumes its natural shape with elasticity. It was only very 
 Be'dom that his wife was away at meal- times. 
 
36 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " My dear papa, you will certainly go to sleep, and be of no 
 use at all ! " 
 
 "Not a bit of it ; I am all for exertion. Now suppose you 
 and Kitty row me about on the river, and Jenny steers. ' 
 
 "Ob, Uncle George, we have got blisters on our band.^ 
 already," said Kitty, "from rowing you about; you are really 
 very lazy." 
 
 " Well, supposing you girls dress up in Eastern costume- 
 you are fond of dressing up — and come and dance before mr. 
 Pretend to be nautcb-gii*ls (if that is the way you pronouuc; 
 it); and Jenny shall clap my hands together— if I like it — fo; 
 applause." 
 
 " It is a capital idea," cried Jenny. " Let us get out all ]\lrs. 
 Campden's beautiful Indian shawls, and do the thing com- 
 pletely." 
 
 The three glials burst out laughing, partly at the audacity of 
 this proposal, but principally at the very long face which it 
 caused Mv. Campden to draw. 
 
 '•I don't think that will quite do, my dears," said ];c. 
 "Now, what do you say to billiards? Mary and Kate shall 
 play, and Jenny shall mark ! and I will show liow you ought to 
 have played when you make mistakes. That will give me a 
 good deal to do, but I don't mind." 
 
 " You are very rude. Uncle George, instead of being politq 
 far less devoted," said Kitty. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I only throw out these ideas as mere 
 suggestions. If you arc for archery, I can pull the bow against 
 anybody, though I can never, somehow, shoot off the arrow ; 
 and as for croquet, there are doubtless more stupid games than 
 croquet, though I confess I have never seen them." 
 
 " But Jenny can neither shoot nor play croquet, papa," 
 observed Mary, softly. 
 
 " Oh, pray don't mind 9»e," said Jenny, with a little flush. 
 " I shall be very happy looking on." 
 
 " My dear Jenny, a thousand pardons," cried Mr. Campden, 
 vetemently, his ruddy face becoming quite purple. " It wH^i 
 the stout that made me so stupid. The only amends I can think 
 of is to leave our occupation fur the afternoon entirely in your 
 hands. Let the rest of us be Miss Jenny's slaves, and do what- 
 ever she pleases. What do you say, girls ? " 
 
 " That will be capital ! " cried Kate and Mary, simultaneously. 
 
 " Do you really mean it, Uncle George ? " asked Jenny, 
 gravely. 
 
Mli. CAMPDEN ORDERS THE BAROUCHE. 37 
 
 " Unquestionably, my dear. I feel already like Herod when 
 he made that imprudent promise to his step-daughter — but my 
 word is passed." 
 
 " But there are so many deliciously naughty things that 1 
 should like to do, Uncle George," said Jenny, thoughtfully. "It 
 has long been my desii'e to go out in the steam-yacht with a 
 few friends who do not in the least understand the machinery, 
 and to see what will come of it ; whether it would ever stop, or 
 not, of itself ; and what we would do beyond making it whistle." 
 
 " I am truly thankful to say," observed Mr. Campden, 
 piously, " that there is not enough water in the river to float 
 the steam-yacht." 
 
 " So am I," cried Kate and Mary, also gratefully. It was well 
 known to both of them that Jenny was afraid of nothing, and that 
 hor love of danger and excitement was in inverse proportion to 
 her feeble physical powers. 
 
 "Well, then — it is a great bathos, after my steam yacht 
 notion — but, next to that expedition, I should like us all to go 
 ■^o Bleabarrow to see the wrestling." 
 
 " Oh, how delightful ! " cried Kate. 
 
 " Oh my goodness ! " ejaculated Mary, " what will mamma 
 say ? " 
 
 Mr. Campden pom^ed himself out another glass of sherry, and 
 ran bis hands through his thin thatch of grey hair. Beneath 
 his breath he might have been heard to murmur, " Grraeious 
 heavens ! " but the expression of his face was pretty firm. 
 
 " You think jou. would enjoy that sort of thing, Jenny ? — I 
 mean these games ? " 
 
 " I am sure I should — that is, looking on at them. I should 
 not make much of wrestling myself, Jeff says it's a noble 
 spectacle ; and Jeff will be there, you know, and dear Tou}^, 
 and Mr. Holt. Fancy how sui-prised they will be to see us ! 
 They will scarcely believe their eyes. Come, Uncle George, 
 you'll keep your word." 
 
 Mr. Campden swallowed the sherry and rang the bell, for the 
 discussion had lasted long after luncheon was over, and the 
 servants had retired to their own mid-day meal. 
 
 "Jeff took the dog-cart," observed he, "and my wife tho 
 pony -carriage." 
 
 " Then we had better take the brougham," suggested Mary, 
 
 " No, my dear ; I think the barouche would be more 
 comfortable for all of us; and, besides, it will afford a befcto? 
 view." 
 
38 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " Uncle George, you are thinking of vvLat will bo more ootn* 
 fortable for me," said Jenny, softly. 
 
 " Well, it would not do to foi'get you iwlce in one afternoon, 
 my dear," was the pleasant response. " Now, go and get your 
 things on, girls, that we may start at once; and then we can 
 get back pretty early, you know — before your mamma comen 
 home. John, let the barouche be at the door in twenty 
 minutes." 
 
 He had not issued such a command without consultation with 
 that barouche's mistress, far less in direct opposition to her, for 
 twenty years. 
 
 " My dear Jenny, I am quite jealous of you," cried Mary 
 Campden, as the girls trooped upstairs together, to attire them- 
 selves for the anticipated treat. " I am sure no seductions of 
 mine would ever have persuaded papa to do such a thing. 
 Why, it quite ' partakes of the nature of a lark,' as Jeff calls it ; 
 does it not ? " 
 
 " She must have ' given him medicines,' as Falstaff says, to 
 make dear Uncle George so complaisant," laughed Kitty ; she 
 Avas a young lady wlio liked Shakespeare better than the 
 musical glasses, and had a very pretty " trick of iteration." 
 " She has certainly given him medicines." 
 
 "No, my dears," said Jenny, decisively; "it was neither my 
 charms nor my medicines — though some people do take it 
 medicinally : we owe everything- to that second glass of sherry." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE GUIDE UACE. 
 
 " Sports," as the celebration of country games is often locally 
 called, are for the most part, in Derbyshire, much the same as 
 they have now become in other places — an excuse for half-a- 
 dozen excursion trains to convey the "rough" element from the 
 neighbouring towns, and pour it over the peaceful fields, like 
 f-ewage, only by no means with the same beneficial results ; but 
 at Bleabarrow this was not the case. 
 
 The prizes offered for competition were too small, and the 
 place itself too remote, to attract much public attention, so that 
 the proceedings were of a " truly rural " and Arcadian kind. 
 The wrestlers were not attired, as they are now often seen in 
 the heart of Westmoreland, and even in Cumberland, in party- 
 coloured tights and fancy jerkins, giving them the air of street 
 ftrcrobats rather than of honest dalesmen ; no guerdon was 
 
THE GUJDE RACE. 39 
 
 offered for " the neatest Avrestling costume," but men came in 
 their workiug-day clothes, and when they stepped into the ring, 
 which was open to "all comers," merely threw down their 
 coats and waistcoats, gave their old-fashioned "turnip" watches 
 to a friend to hold, and kicked off their shoes ; then — save that 
 when their names were called they rubbed their hands in saw- 
 dust, so that they should not slip their "holt'^ — they were 
 ready for the fray. Of course, there are objections to such 
 sports in any shape, as there are to most things nowadays, 
 thanks to the very superfine tone of our public morality ; but if 
 the objectors never amuse themselves in a worse way, they 
 must be what advertising tradesmen term " a selected lot." To 
 a mere ordinary mortal, to whom a little physical rivalry seems 
 no more hurtful than any other form of the competition system, 
 they afford an innocent and agreeable spectacle, though the 
 actors are, no doubt, as Mrs. Campden described them, "vulgar 
 creatures," -whose " Sunday best " garments (if they possessed 
 such things at all) are not much better than those that they 
 cast upon the greensward. 
 
 They are, after all, fellow-creatures, and it is not uninterest- 
 ing to watch the play of human nature that accompanies this 
 exhibition of thews and sinews. How anxiously, when a com- 
 petitor's name is called, he listens for that of his rival, which, 
 like his own, is drawn at a venture from the hat ; and how the 
 face lights up if it is a green-hand, and grows serious if it is a 
 veteran whose laurels are not easily aa on. To the young ones, 
 especially, who have perhaps entered their names for the first 
 time, this in all-important, as their highest ambition is to live 
 into " the third round," and their hopes of it can only reasonably 
 lie in being opposed to antagonists of their own calibre. It is 
 very unusual, however, for anyone to give up his chance with- 
 out a contest ; a mere stripling will do his best against the last 
 year's " champion," and very tenderly the giant will take him 
 up — and in most cases lay him down. But now and then there 
 is an unexpected resistance ; the youthful aspirant is supple 
 and quick ; or the slippery grass gives him an advantage, and 
 when all eyes are expecting an easy victory, the giant falls 
 undermost instead of the pigmy. Then a shout of " Bonny lile 
 one " (for little one) breaks forth from the assemblage, that 
 startles the buzzard on the peaks of Bleabarrow ; and some- 
 times a village maiden (his betrothed) will permit herself (for 
 I have seen her do it) to be so far carried away by a natural 
 pnthusiq^sra ^s to give the " lile one " another sort of hug thj»» 
 
40 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 that wbicli lie has jasfc oxperienced, to the admiration of all 
 beholders. 
 
 No one " bites the dusi" in the Homeric way — in fact, '.hero 
 is noue to bite, save what the combatants take up in their 
 hands — and the danger, save of a " ricked " back or a sprained 
 ankle, is slight indeed ; but the strain, and the tug, and the 
 tussle — every muscle at its fullest stretch, the legs vibrating, 
 yet stiff as nails, the heart beating at highest pressure, the 
 breath coming in sobs and gasps — are grand, to see, and afford 
 the elements of an epic. 
 
 The spectacle of it all entranced young Tony to a degree not 
 attained even at the Christmas pantomimes in London, with 
 which he had been familiar fx'om very early years ; for here all 
 was reality ; and if there were no splendours in the way of glare 
 and glitter, yet the amphitheatre of sky-piercing crags in 
 which the sports were held had a certain majesty even for his 
 boyish eye, while every point in the proceedings was made 
 plain to him by Jeff (who had them at his fingers' ends), an 
 advantage which in the case of the pantomimes was often 
 denied to him, the explanation thereof being beyond the wit of 
 man. If the two youths were thus wrapt up in the combatants 
 of the ring, their elder companion was equally preoccupied in 
 another fashion : his face indeed was fixed upon the wrestlers, 
 but his mind was busy with the contents of those two little 
 notes we have seen him receive that morning ; his thoughts, sot 
 in motion by the one, crossed the far-stretching seas, and 
 lighted upon a certain valley, shadowed by a mightier hill than 
 any now beheld by his physical eyes, and canopied by a more 
 cloudless sky ; the scenery was that of the ti'opics, but the 
 skilled hand of the mechanic had been at work therein, and had 
 compelled the mountain-stream to do his bidding; there were 
 water-wheeled stamping mills, such as are used in Cornwall, 
 and all the apparatus employed in mining enterprises ; as Holt 
 beheld it, the mill-wheels were still turning, and the huge 
 hammers at work upon the spalling floors, because he was 
 but recalling a picture that had once actually presented itself 
 to his vision ; but he knew that no such busy scene was in truth 
 beiiig enacted in that far-off valley, since the Lara Mine had 
 failed to produce its yield of gold. From Brazil his thoughts 
 would leap to Bampton — for there was a connection between 
 those distant spots — where they could make no such picture 
 for him, because he had no personal acquaintance with the 
 place, but wandered vaguely ovey booths and hujitjugs, aad 
 
ri]R GUIDE RACE. 41 
 
 ercited mobs of men' — sncli as be bad seen elsewhere at election 
 times. 
 
 " The two blows togetber will bave a crusbing force," tnur- 
 niui-ed be, not witbout a toucb of pity ; " but be cannoi blame 
 me for eitber." 
 
 Tbus it happened tbat tbe first contingent from Riverside 
 Hall bad their attention so engrossed tbat they never noticed 
 tbe arrival of tbe second in the neighbourhood of the riug^ 
 where, indeed, as it bad seemed that morning, they would have 
 been as likely to put in an appearance as tbe bishop of the 
 diocese to be seen at a man-and-dog-fight. 
 
 Moreover, there were other carriages present, and some 
 with ladies in them — for the local gentry and their wives were 
 not all so exclusive in their views as Mrs. Campden — so that 
 the barouche was no very conspicuous object. Mary and Kate 
 enjoyed exceedingly the notion of watching Jeff, and Tony, and 
 Mr. Holt, as they sat, all unconscious of their pi'esence, in the 
 very primitive grand-stand — a bank of rough seats, witli a 
 slanting roof of wood — which was the place of honour; but. 
 Jenny's whole attention was directed to tbe sports. For her 
 (as she lay propped upon soft cushions, yet even then not 
 wholly free from pain) the feats of strength and agility of 
 which she was a witness had a marvellous charm. She was 
 not frightened, as her sister and cousin were, at the crisis of 
 each combat, when one put out his strength to overcome the 
 other, and to bear him to the earth ; and when the victoiy was 
 achieved, and Kate would cry, " Poor fellow ! how hard lie 
 struggled," in pity for the vanquished, Jenny's tiny palms were 
 doing their best to swell the triumph of the conqueror. 
 
 As for Uncle Geox-ge, his principal occupation was to consult 
 bis watch, and calculate bow far by this time his wife bad 
 probably progressed upon her "calls," and bow much, there- 
 fore, of mai'gin there was left for them to go home in, and still 
 anticipate her return. Presently, a short stout gentleman rode 
 up to the side of tbe carriage upon a pony, and addressed the 
 party en hloc. 
 
 " Well, I never ! Who woitld have thought of seeing yoxi 
 here? I am sure the sport committee ought to fcei flattei-ed. 
 How did you get leave, young ladies ? " 
 
 "We did not get leave. Dr. Curzon," laughed Mary. 
 " Mamma had gone out for a drive " 
 
 " Oh, I see ; when the cat's away — I mean — ahem ! " and the 
 fat little d.QCtqr rubbed his nose, which was enormous, and shot 
 
42 1^ ALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 out of liis bright black eyes a glance of sly significance at Mr. 
 Campden. 
 
 "Well, I thought there could be no possible harm in bring- 
 ing the girls," observed that gentleman, apologetically. " Wc 
 Avere only driving by — you see the horses have not even been 
 taken out — and just looked in for a few " (he was going to say 
 "minutes," for the fact is the whole speech was but the 
 rehearsal of what he intended to say, when the time arrived, to 
 Mrs. Campden herself. He would never have the courage, ho 
 felt, now that the effects of the stout and sherry had evaporated 
 from his brain, to own the whole truth) — ■ 
 
 But luckily at that moment a great shout arose over some 
 ])rustrate wrestler, and spared him further hun:i.iliation by 
 attracting his interlocutor's attention. 
 
 " Capital fall, by jingo !" cried the doctor; "and how long 
 it lasted after they got hold ! You were timing it, I see." 
 
 "Two hours and a half," said Mr. Campden, gravely, " ox* 
 perhaps even three." 
 
 " My dear sir, it was not three minutes. What are you 
 thiinking of P " 
 
 "To be sure, to be siire. I meant three minutes," stammered 
 the squire, for such he loved to be called by his Bleabarrow 
 neighbours. "A very pretty fall, indeed." He had been 
 thinking of the " margin " so exclusively that he had not even 
 xioticed the contest was decided. " Have you seen our young 
 friends yonder, and Mr. Holt ? " 
 
 " ISTot 1. I am on my rounds, my good sir — professional 
 duty ; only, as I was passing by, I thought I'd jnst look in — 
 liivc you — upon these wrestling fellows. I did not expect to 
 find my pa,:ient here ; " and he turned to Jenny with a look 
 the tenderness of which redeemed his monstrous nose and 
 purple face, and made him almost handsome. 
 
 It was a face of great intelligence, notwithstanding its colour 
 — which was solely owing to the inclemencies of the weather, 
 to which his practice exposed him ; and among the many 
 advantageous surroundings among which Mr. Campden's lines 
 had fallen, that gentleman justly counted it not the least that 
 Dr. Curzon was his neighbour. One of the greatest drawbacks 
 of a country life is inaccessibility to medical aid, and also the 
 inferior description of that assistance when it is pi'ocured ; but 
 in Dr. Curzon the tenants of Riverside Hail had a doctor in 
 whom they could have confidence, at their very doers — that is 
 to say, but half-a-dozen miles away by road ; and only h£^^ 
 
THE GUIDE RACE. 43 
 
 that distance if you crossed the river and climbeil tlie crags, 
 and so dropped down upon the doctor's cottage in Sanbeck 
 Valley. 
 
 He was welcome everywhere, not only by tba sick-bed, but 
 at the dinner table of those whose state of health never required 
 his professional presence ; and nobody that Avas not quite a new- 
 comer in the neighbourhood would have dreamed of saying 
 that it was "only the doctor" w^hen his staunch little pony, 
 with its heavy burden, came trotting up their carriage-sweep. 
 
 " Suppose we say, Uncle George, that you brought me here 
 to see the doctor!" cried Jenny, naively — " to meet him by 
 appointment at the sports ! When the people are not looking, 
 I will show him my tongue, and he shall prescribe for me. 
 Then it will be all right, you know, and no story," 
 
 "I don't think that will do," observed Mr. Campdcn, doubt- 
 fully. " No, no ! we were just driving out, and looked in ; 
 which is, after all, pretty much what happened. There is no 
 occasion to go beyond that. And I really think, my dears, that 
 we had better be turning home." 
 
 " But, Uncle George, there's the Guide Race," expostulated 
 Jenny; "you will surely not take us away before we have 
 seen that?" 
 
 " The Guide Race ! " replied Mr. Campden, mechanically, as 
 lie fingered his repeater. " What is that ? " 
 
 " Why, squire, you ought to know," put in Dr. Curzon ; " it's 
 a thing that we are very proud of in this country, because we 
 flatter ourselves it assimilates us to the mountain districts. It 
 makes old Bleabarrow hold its head up to think that it could 
 possibly require the services of a guide, like Helvellyn or 
 Sea Fell. It is but 900 feet, yet it is a stiff climb to that pilo 
 of stones yonder ; and I doubt whether any of these youno- 
 fellows will do it in — what shall we say ? " 
 
 Mr. Campden's lips were following the strokes of his repeater, 
 which was talking in his waistcoat-pocket in obedience to its 
 pressure on its handle. " One — two — three — four — aye, and a 
 «]|uarter of an hour," he answered, nervously. 
 
 " I'll bet you a shilling they don't do it under the five-and- 
 twenty minutes," replied the little doctor. " It has never been 
 done under twenty-five since Longstreet's time, the very neatest 
 
 cragsman of his time ; and the heat to-day is something 
 
 Why, what's the matter, Miss Kate? They're peeling for tho 
 pace, that's all ! it's not a fight." 
 
 ^•Yes; but look— ?oo/l-— there's Jeff amongst them. Jeft'9 
 
^4 FALLEA' FOR TUXES. 
 
 gv.in^,' to riui. Ho-.v very angry ]\Irs. Campdcn ^ill Lc ^>ith 
 him ! " 
 
 " Poob, pooli ! " answered the doctor, sharply ; "let L<->r be 
 &.nfrry — I mean she bas no right to be anything of the sort. 
 "Wi:y, it is very creditable to the young fellow to show such 
 pluck ; and I hope he won't be the last in." 
 
 '• Ob, papa ! " cried Mary, " do you see what Gooffrcy js 
 doing ? " 
 
 " I see he's taking oFi^ bis coat and waistcoat ; and I should 
 like to do the same," said Mr. Campdeu. "' I would take (^fF 
 ]iiy flesh, and sit in my bones,' as somebody says, ' this weather, 
 if the arrangements of nature permitted of it.' " 
 
 "But he is going to mn, papa." 
 
 "Ah, there I think he's a fool, Polly ; I wouldn't run." 
 
 " But be is going to join in the Guide Race n^^ the hill — to 
 run for money." 
 
 ".He is not, Mary," cried Kate decisively, "I am qaito 
 certain that JefF would not do that. The race is open to every- 
 l)ody, and he wishes to try his speed against the others, that's 
 all. You don't suppose he would take any of the prizes, evci' 
 if he won them, away from these poor people ? " 
 
 "At all events, I am sure mamma will be exceedingly put 
 out," said Mary ; " but, of course, if papa has no objection " 
 
 " Eh, ah ! " said Mr. Campden, who had once more abandoned 
 himself to his appi'cheusions. "What is that you are saying 
 about your mother ? What the deuce is the matter now ? " 
 
 " Nothing is the matter. Uncle George, except that I want 
 your arm," said Jenny, gaily. " I vnist stand up to see this, and 
 you know I can't do that without your help. There's a dear 
 good uncle ; and now don't you move one inch till all is over. 
 There are six of them, and Geoifrey makes the seventh. Now I 
 call this delightf ah There's our dear friend, Mr. Holt — how I 
 should like to see him run up the cmgs — and Tony looking at 
 Jeff as though he were a demi-god." 
 
 "And, upon my life, he looks like one," cried Dr. Curzon, 
 admiringly. " Step on the seat, my dear Miss Kitty, and lean 
 on me ; the pony will stand quite still, for he has been used to 
 be shot over, though not by such bright eyes as yours. Now, I 
 call that the model of a young fellow. Who is that he has just 
 given his watch to, to take care of ? I hope he's an honest man." 
 
 " My dear Dr. Curzon," said Mary, yeprovingly, " that is Mr. 
 Holt; a friend of papa's, or rather of Mr, Da.lton's. Did yoij 
 wot eoe him at the chai'ados laf^t night f 
 
THE GUIDE nACE: 43 
 
 " I daresay I might have seen him, Miss Mary, hut I did ixtt 
 notice him. The fact is, my attention was wholly monopolised 
 by a couple of pretty housemaids; the fairest, fiirtiest little- ■ — 
 I!n^ow, don't you push me off the pony. Mr. Campden, I a\ ish 
 you'd speak to these two girls." 
 
 '• Speak ! you might as well speak to the winds," answered 
 the squire, his large arm enfolding Jenny's waisu with clumsy 
 tenderness. "Gad! you don't mean to say, doctor, they're 
 going straight up yonder, between those flags? Why, at ihio 
 distance, it seems almost perpendicular I " 
 
 " Seems ? nay, it is" exclaimed the doctor, " as you shall >!.r. 
 Here's an opera-glass, which I brought for the very purpose ; 
 
 and if Miss Jenny will honour me by using it ■ We'll call it 
 
 a stethoscope at home, if yon please: the doctor brought Li.-5 
 stethoscope to the sports, as agreed upon. Eh, squire ? " 
 
 " Yes ; it is all very well for old bachelors to joke about other 
 people's wives," grunted Mr. Campden ; " but, by Jove ! if you 
 had married Julia, and had taken her barouuhe to a prize-fight 
 — that's what she supposes this sort of thing to be — you'd be 
 as glad of an excuse as I am. Thank goodness, they're starting at 
 last. You don't care to see more than the start, do you, girls ?" 
 
 "Uncle George!" cried Jenny, earnestly, "I ■must .jse this 
 race out ; I never felt so excited in my life." 
 
 *' Which must be very bad for you, my dear Jenny." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said the doctor; "it w^ill do her all the 
 good in the world. Guide races are recommended by the faculty 
 for her particular complaint, Avhich, as you see, is mostly 
 ' temper.'" 
 
 " He's over the wall ! " cried Kitty, enthusiastically. 
 
 '* Like a bird," ejaculated the doctor. " If it was ' Fire ! " 
 they could not have done it quicker — the whole seven — nor have 
 had much less on them," added he, -sotto voce. 
 
 " By jingo ! but they're close together ; you could cover theia 
 with a handkerchief ! " cried the squire, roused to u.nwonted 
 interest in the proceedings. " There, now they're scattering 
 a bit. Now the pace begins to tell, and the amateur to succumb 
 to the professional. It's a case of ' bellows to mend,' I fer.r, 
 with Master Jetf." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," answered the doctor, indignantly ; " he in 
 only going round the wood instead of through it, which is the 
 quicker way, although the longei". See; two of them have 
 followed his lead. Jeft' has got good wits as well as good wiuii, 
 let m« tell you." 
 
46 FALLEN- FORTUNES. 
 
 Kitty's little hand was leaning on ihe doctor's slionlder, 
 tliougli lip to this point he had scarcely been atvare of it; and 
 now be felfc it lean hard. She -vvas thanking bi i-. by tbat silent 
 pressure for his defence of ber favourite. 
 
 Tbe scene bad now become very exciting. Tie seven com- 
 petitors bad already reached tbe bigb ground, yet did not in tbe 
 least relax their speed ; a tbicket of briisbwood immediately 
 intervened, into Avhicb four plunged, wbose beads and sboulders 
 could be seen making way tbrougb it, at a diminisbed rate ; tbe 
 three others ran round, and Avere first upon the otber side, the 
 young blacksmitbof Sanbeck leading ; then Jeff; then a certain 
 gamekeeper, said to be able to tire out any sportsman upon moor 
 or fell. 
 
 Dr. Curzon gave a sbort biograpby of eacb of tbe balf-dozen 
 champions, Avith wbose career be was perfectly familiar. " I 
 shall be able to certify tbat Master Jeff's rivals Avere all emi- 
 nently respectable members of society," concluded be, slily, iu 
 Mr. Campden's ear. 
 
 " Tusb ! " said the squire ; " let me enjoy tbe race." 
 
 When tbe first climbers got to tbe steep rocks between tbo 
 flags, tbey bad become to tbe naked eye little more tban niovinj.^ 
 specks ; and Jenny alone could make tbem clearly out by belfj. 
 of tbe glass. "Tbe blacksmith is still ahead," said she; "and 
 Jeff is shoulder to shoulder Avith the other man. What did you 
 call him, doctor ? " 
 
 "Well, I saidheAvas a gamekeeper ; between ourselves, Miss 
 Jenny" (this he Avbispered), "he's a poacher." 
 
 "He's an uncommonly good climber, at all events," said 
 Jenny, admiringly, " But Jeff goes like a chamois too." 
 
 " Let me have the glass a moment," said Kitty, softly. Her 
 heart was beating almost as quickly as poor Jeff's, Avho Avas 
 doing a very nasty bit of crag- work ; it looked as steep as a 
 wall, even to ber — to the others it Avas like a Avindow-pane Avith 
 three flies upon it. Not a hundred feet above it Avas a pile of 
 stones — marking tbe summit of the hill — which eacb bad to 
 round before beginning tbe race home. She bad gazed upon it 
 from her own room at the Hall a hundred times, but hence- 
 forward it Avould have a personal interest for ber. What 
 endurance, what fatigue, Avas he not undergoing ! Matched 
 against grown men like these, and all (as she Avell kncAv, in spite 
 of Mary's ill-natured remarks) for the honour of tbe thing ; for 
 cbei'e tvas honour in it, " He's doAvn ! " exclaimed she, eagerly. 
 
 •' Who's down ? Not Jefi"! " cried Jenny. 
 
THE GVWE race: 47 
 
 "Jeff? ^N'o ! '' rcfcurnecT Kittj, contcjr.ptiiotisly ; "it's tto 
 blacksmitli.'' 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Mary ; " lie has not Imrt himself, i 
 hope." 
 
 " You had better go up and see," said Jenny, rather rudely, 
 " for my part, I should like them all to slip except Jeff." 
 
 " Oh, so would I," said Mary, " so far as that goes." 
 
 "That is the true female view of justice," chuckled the 
 doctor. " As for you, Kitty, you would like them all to have 
 apoplectic fits, would you not .? " 
 
 "No, sir; I should like Jeff to win, but to do it fairly." 
 
 The doctor patted approvingly the hand that rested on his 
 shoulder ; forgetting that Kitty had quitted her hold to take 
 possession of the glass. 
 
 " You need not squeeze ?»// fingers, Dr. Curzon," said Marj^ 
 comprehending his error. 
 
 " You need not talk about it, my dear, if I did," answered th« 
 doctor, iraperturbably ; he had been nearly half a century in 
 practice as a medical man, and was not easily j^ut out by a 
 mistake. 
 
 " He is round the stones," exclaimed Kitty ; "both of them. 
 Now they are coming to the steep place again — oh, surely they 
 won't run down iliat. I cannot look at them." 
 
 " Give me the glass," cried Jenny, importunately. It was 
 popularly understood that she was " all nerves," but her hand 
 was steady enough as she brought the instrument to bear upon 
 the returning athletes. " Jeff and the gamekeeper are far 
 ahead," said she; " they are coming like the wind. Weil done I 
 Oh, I wish I was a mau like you. Uncle George, that I could 
 add, ' By jingo ! ' " 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, lass ? " asked the squire. 
 
 "Jeff has just jumped a boulder like a deer: they are leap- 
 ing from stone to stone,. as the water comes down the fall in wet 
 weather. I would rather be able to leap like that than anything 
 in the world.' 
 
 The doctor pursed his hps, and gave a little sigh, but Jenny 
 neither saw nor heard him. 
 
 " If nothing happens, one of these two will win. Think of 
 that, Kitty ; Jeff will be second, at all events. Oh dear, oh 
 dear ! they cannot stop themselves." 
 
 "Good heavens! what has happened?" cried the squire. 
 Kitt;^ did not speak, but the doctor felt both her hands suddenly 
 elutch his shoulder. 
 
48 FALLEN PORTVNtS. 
 
 " Wlij, they'll Lave to go tkrougli the wood iustead of round 
 it." 
 
 " Is that all ? You gave me such a turn,'** said Maiy, pettishly. 
 
 " That is just what they could not give themselves" said 
 Kitty: "they are coming right through the copse instead of 
 round it.'* 
 
 " They are wise," said the doctor ; " they have the Yo'^'^^ ^^'i^i^ 
 them this journey. By Jove ! it's a fine race." 
 
 By this time the two leading figures were Avell in sight, and a 
 mighty cheer burst from the excited throng of spectators, as 
 now the one and now the other seemed to have a few feot of 
 vantage, A stone wall lay before them, then a piece of slanting 
 tiu'f, below which was a gully, into which both had descended 
 on their way up — it being of course impossible to clear it from 
 that direction. After that was the " run in " over a level grass- 
 field with another stone wall at the finish. Both topped the 
 first wall at the same instant, and then the gamekeeper began to 
 lead : it was plain that, though not more agile among the crags, 
 ho was a trifle more speedy on the turf than his younger com- 
 petitor. He Avould certainly be first at the gap that led down 
 'nto the gully, and consequently first out of it, after which, 
 barring accidents, the race would be his. The party from the 
 Hall could discern this as clearly as the umpire himself, and a 
 gloom fell upon them accordingly. 
 
 A roar of exultation suddenly arose. 
 
 " By gad ! Jeff's going to jump it," cried the squire, excitedly. 
 
 " He's going to trij it," murmiircd the doctor, mechanically 
 putting his hand to his pocket, to feci if his case of instruments 
 was in its accustomed place. " He'll break his logs, if not iiin 
 neck." 
 
 Jeff's plan was indeed a desperate one. Finding himself onf - 
 paced by his rival, he had avoided the gap altogether, and was 
 making straight for the gully at its highest point, intending to 
 treat it as a ditch. If he cleared it, he would not only save 
 somethiiig of the distance, but all the time which the other 
 would consume in descending and ascending. But if he did nuf, 
 clear it, there would be twenty feet of fall upon a stony bottom 
 — the bed, in fact, of a dry torrent. 
 
 On he came like a race-horse ; there was no time to pulJ 
 biinself together, nor even " to think about it" (as Jeff himself 
 afterwards allowed, in depreciation of his own feat) ; and the 
 aext instant, that apprehensive " Ah-h-h-h ! " arose from the 
 jpectators, such as salutes all " deeds of derring-do " while m 
 
M-AKLYG THE BEST OF IT. 49 
 
 progress, followed instantaneously by the shout which proclaims 
 success. JetF had lighted upon the tips of his toes at the very 
 verge of the chasm ; there was not an inch of margin ; but he 
 had done it ; and now he was half-way across the field before 
 his rival had emerged from the gully. 
 
 " Oh, JefF, dear Jeff", I never liked you sm much before ! " 
 cried Jenny, her frail limbs "all of a tremble," and the tears 
 running down her cheeks like rain, " Was it not plucky of 
 him, Kitty ? " 
 
 But Kitty could not have spoken had she been offered, like 
 " Conversation" Coleridge, half-a-crown for every word. Her 
 face Avas white, and her eyes seemed to start forth to meet the 
 victorious boy, as he climbed over the last stone wall, not so 
 lightly as he had crossed it last — but yet without signs of 
 positive distress — and ran in to the goal the winner by half-a- 
 dozen seconds. 
 
 " Back, back ! " cried the doctor, riding in among the people 
 that were pressing around the lad and cheering him vociferously. 
 " Give him room and air." 
 
 Then presently he reappeared at the side of the barouche. 
 
 "The boy is well enough, but awfully 'pumped' and ex- 
 hausted. It is my opinion" — and when the doctor used that 
 form of words, he meant what he said — " that he would be 
 none the better for receiving your congratulations just at pre- 
 sent, young ladies. He does not even know you're here, you 
 see " 
 
 " Ay, then we had better be off before he finds it out," put in 
 the squire, eagerly. "Then we shall get nicely home before — 
 that is, in time to receive your mother, Mary." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 . MAKIXG THE BEST OF IT. 
 
 " Some one has been to call," observed Mrs. Campden to her 
 companion, as, driving up the carriage-sweep within an hour or 
 so of dinner-time, her sharp eyes remarked the recent traces of 
 wheel and hoof. " I should not wonder if it was Lady Blanche 
 Ealing." 
 
 " Mr. Holt and the boys were going to the sports, were they 
 not ? " returned Mrs. Dalton, not, it must be confessed, with 
 any signs of overpowering interest in the question ; for the last 
 two hours her thoughts had been at home — watching for her 
 husband's telegram ; and neither the calls, nor her companion's 
 
50 FAL LEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 conversation, had been able to secure the attention wbicb she 
 v.onld fain have given to them, 
 
 "My dear Edith " — she spoke with an emphasis dictated by a 
 due sense of the fitness of things — " you don't suppose I should 
 Lave sent out anything but the dog-cart with that Mr. Holt ? 
 There has been a pair of horses here — look at the hoof-marks. 
 It is very annoying if it has been Lady Blanche, for that will 
 l)c the second time I have missed her. Such a charming person ; 
 •(he Earl of Beefampton's daughter, and, socially speaking, the 
 lady of this part of the county. Who has called, Marks ? " 
 asked she of the butler, who received them at the hall door. 
 
 " No one, ma'am — leastways, Mr. Dimple came on some 
 business about the church-sittings ; but it would do just as well, 
 I was to say, with his compliments, another day." 
 
 "But some carriage has been here, besides the dog-cart." 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am; the barouche. Master took out the young 
 ladies in it." 
 
 " Is there any message forme, Marks ? " inquired Mrs. Dalton, 
 unable any longer to bear her suspense, though unwilling 
 enough to interrupt the inquiries of her hostess. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; a telegram : Miss Jenny has it." The invalid 
 girl had been for so many years a child-guest at Riverside, that 
 in old Marks' eyes she was still Miss Jenny, and would probably 
 remain so for ever. " She is up in her own room, I think, 
 ma'am." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton flew upstairs to the apartment thus indicated, 
 where she found Jenny upon her spring-couch — the unwonted 
 fatigues of the day having somewhat exhausted her frail frame. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! there is a telegram from papa." 
 
 " What is it, child ? " inquired her mother, anxiously. Jenny 
 put the slip of paper in her hand without speaking. 
 
 " SliaU come hy the 6.30 train, as proposed. Nomp." 
 
 " Why, what does he mean by Nomp ?" 
 
 " I am afraid it means he is not elected : he wished us to 
 understand, without telling others, that he was no M.P. ; at 
 least, that is what I make it out to be." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " sighed Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 " I am very sorry, upon papa's account, mamma, because I am 
 afraid he will be disappointed ; but except for that — you know 
 we have often agreed that he will be happier as he is." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton did not reply, but withdrew at once to her own 
 room. There was somethinir in the bareness of the communica^ 
 
MAKING THE BES7 OF IT. 5 1 
 
 tion she had just received — though telegrams are not expected 
 to be effusive — that chilled her, and seemed to give an additional 
 seriousness to the missive of the morning. The latter had 
 enjoined silence upon her as regarded her husband's pntici,pa- 
 tions of the election, and even now that it was over he Beemed 
 to have a disinclination to make known the result. What did 
 this reticence augur in one who had been wont — until of lato 
 months — to be the most frank and demonstrative of men ? Ir, 
 was true that he had given utterance to no expression of annoy- 
 ance, but the brevity of his message spoke to her, in language 
 ihat she alone understood, of the chagrin and bitterness t<liat 
 he was endui'ing. " No M.P." was all he had said ; but 
 no " Form " with which the Telegi^aph Company coukl have 
 supplied her would have been sufficient to contain her para- 
 phrase of those few letters. She was consumed with vagiie 
 apprehensions upon his account ; for she knew not wliy her 
 husband should be thus cast down, and that was the most bitter 
 thought of all. She was far too wise, however, to consult upon 
 such a matter with a third person, or to allow others to read her 
 anxiety; and she presently descended to the drawing-room, to 
 await her husband's arrival, as though only dinner had been in 
 orospect. She found the rest of the company already assembled 
 there, and became at once conscious that something unpleasant 
 had occurred among them. The quarter of an hour before 
 dinner-time is proverbially an embarrassing period, but it was 
 obvious that on this particular occasion it had been a very 
 uncomfortable one. Her first glance, mother-like, was given to 
 her own belongings, and so far as ihey were concerned, it 
 seemed that the explosion — which had certainly taken place, for 
 the air was still heavy with the smoke of it — had spared them, 
 whatever harm it had wrought to others. Jenny was on the 
 sofa, with a book before her eyes, which would not have been 
 the case — for she was bold as a lion — had she been under fire ; 
 Kate, with a flushed cheek, was looking out of the window, to 
 avoid, as her mother guessed, gazing on the victim under 
 punishment ; Tony was standing by her with his hand fast 
 cluiched in hers, but his glowing face turned towards the scene 
 of action ; Mary Campden was smoothing her gown, an action 
 she used whenever ill at ease : all these, it was evident, 
 were non-combatants. At the mantelpiece, with her back to 
 the ferns and flowers which filled the useless grate, stood the 
 mistress of the house, and by her side its so-called master was 
 twirling his whiskers a.a thoutrh he would have twirled them 
 
5f FA LL EN yOR TUNES. 
 
 off ; and at some distance stood Jeff, with a pale face and angry 
 eyes. 
 
 " I am sorry to say, Edith," said Mrs. Campden, addressing 
 the new-comer, with gravity, "that my husband has tiiouglib 
 proper — if the word proper can be applied to such a proeeedinj^ 
 in any wise — to take your daughtei's with his own to Bieabar. 
 row sports." 
 
 " Dear me ! I am afraid my girls must have worried him 
 very much to induce him to do it," said Mrs. Dalton, good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 " That is just what wo did, mamma," said Jenny, looking up 
 for an instant from her book ; " it was all our fault, but mine 
 especially." 
 
 " If my husband means to excuse his conduct at the expense 
 of two young ladies " 
 
 " There were three," observed Mary, quickly; " it was I who 
 was most to blame, because I ought to have known you would 
 not have liked it, mamma." 
 
 *' I am not addressing myself to you, Mary, at all," continued 
 her mother, with dignity ; " be so good as not to interrupt me. 
 I say it was shameful to take advantage of my absence, Mr. 
 Campden, to order the barouche and take these girls on such 
 an abominable expedition. It is natural, Edith, being my 
 guest, that you should endeavour to make light of it." 
 
 "But, indeed, Julia, I don't think it any serious matter," 
 answered Mrs. Dalton ; " and, of course, the girls would bo 
 quite safe in your husband's charge, in case of any annoyance." 
 
 " Well, well ; you are easily satisfied, Edith," returned the 
 other lady, throwing up her hands ; " but if you knew what / 
 know about such places — what I can't lidi^ knowing from my 
 position here — the sort of people that attend them " 
 
 " Thei'e was LordRiversdale," observed Mr. Campden, drily. 
 
 " Indeed ! I am sorry to hear it. But not his wife, sir." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know whether she was his wife," said 
 Uncle George, still more di'ily; "there was a youngish woman 
 with him." 
 
 "Do not heighten your disgraceful conduct by disrepiitable 
 talk, I heg" answered Mrs. Campden, icily. " I am quite sure 
 that there was no lady at Bleabarrow, except those you took 
 there in my barouche." 
 
 " I really don't think that the girls can have taken much hurt, 
 dear Julia," reiterated Mrs. Dalton, the peace-maker. 
 
 " I don't know as to hurt, Edith ; but I suppose even your 
 
MAKING THE BES7 01' IT. S3 
 
 good-nafclire -would draw the line someivhere. What would you 
 have said, for instance, if any gentleman of your acquaintance 
 had not only gone to such a place as Bleabarrow, but taken 
 part in the sports ? entered as a competitor with drunken 
 
 perKons " 
 
 " My good lady, no drunken person can run up hills," remon- 
 strated Uncle George ; "you don't know what you are talking 
 about — you don't, indeed." 
 
 " Ob, thank you ! I'm sure you are the pink d£ courtesy ; as 
 polite a husband as you have shown yourself a judicious father. 
 However, I was addressing myself to Edith. I was asking 
 what she would think if you, or any one of your guests here, 
 should have taken it into their head to compete with such 
 ruffians ? " 
 
 " Well, really, I can't imagine Mr. Campden doing that," 
 said Mrs. Dalton ; " and, of course, it would be very in- 
 decorous " 
 
 " The height of indecorum," interrupted Mrs. Campden, 
 looking round triumphantly ; " there ; were not these my very 
 ■words ? You see, Mr. Geoffrey Derwent, that even those who 
 are generally most ready to excuse you, have nothing to urge in 
 extenuation of your conduct. Mrs.Dalton quite agrees with me — ' 
 that for a person in your position, an inmate of this house, and 
 who has always been treated as one of the family, to compete 
 with common men for gain " 
 
 " I did not compete for gain," said Geoffrey, indignantly ; " I 
 gave the money — it Avas three pounds — to the man that came in 
 second, and only kept the belt." 
 
 " That is, you did not take what you had really need of— you 
 threw away, forsooth, three golden sovereigns, like a young 
 millionaire — and only indulged yourself by mixing with the 
 lowest of the low " 
 
 "It was by my advice, Mrs. Campden,'' said one, in cold and 
 measured tones. 
 
 At the window, close to where Kate was, Mrs. Dalton per= 
 ceived for the first time that Mr. Holt was also standing, half- 
 concealed by the curtain folds. " I own it was foolish and 
 injudicious, but it was I who proposed that the young gentleman 
 should enter himself for the Guide Race." 
 
 " That had nothing to do with it," said Jeff, sturdily ; " I 
 always meant to run, and should have done so whether anyone 
 had proposed it or not." 
 
 " Of course you would," continued Mrs. Campden, oon- 
 
54 P ALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 temptuously ; " to mix, as I have said, witk tte lowest ol 
 the low, aud to earn their good opinion, was your only 
 motive." 
 
 " What ! has JefF been electioneering like me ? " cried a lively 
 and genial voice. The speaker, who stood at the open door, had 
 a bright and buoyant look, Avhich, by contrast with the fa„es 
 around him, seemed to typify good-humour and ignore all angry 
 passion. 
 
 "Oh, John, how glad I am to see you!" whispered Mrs. 
 Dalton, as she sprang into his arms. 
 
 " Oh, papa ! " cried Kate, delightedly. Everybody in tho 
 room, including, perhaps, even Mrs. Campden herself, who had 
 shot off all her sharpest arrows, seemed pleased to see John 
 Dalton at that moment. 
 
 Having kissed his wife, he turned at once to Jenny, topi'event 
 her rising to receive him, and embraced Kate and Tony, aud 
 then made his salutations to the rest, like one who is used to bo 
 welcomed. A more conventional man would have addressed his 
 hostess first, and his own family afterwards; but Dalton always 
 behaved as his instincts prompted him, and they fortunately 
 happened to be good. He had not a handsome face, nor even an 
 aristocratic one, yet it was one Avhich attracted every eye. If 
 jou had seen him in the pit of a theatre (where, however, you 
 never ■would have seen him, for he was not a man to patronise 
 the pit), or on the crowded platform of a public meeting, you 
 would have asked straightway, "Who Is that man ? " He had 
 passed middle life, and his face and forehead were deeply lined ; 
 but neither, as you would have said, by thought, nor care, so 
 genial Avas the smile upon his lip, so lively the sparkle of his 
 eye. His complexion was dark to swai'thiness ; his hair, worn 
 much longer than was customary, though he had neither 
 moustache nor whiskers, was black as jet ; yet so far from this 
 producing a sombre effect, his appearance suggested gaiety. If 
 he was not laughing, he always looked about to laugh, nota< but 
 vnih you ; his air and manner suggested not only the desire to 
 please, but sympathy, and the readiest comprehension of your 
 tastes and character. He was not conciliatory, for if you showed 
 antagonism — or even a slowness in reciprocating his advances — 
 the sunshine left his face at once, and he set you down as a fool 
 or a knave. I am bound to say, though sometimes guilty of a 
 grave ir-ustice in these hasty judgments, he was generally right. 
 It wiis said by morose and ill-natured persons that John Daltou 
 could be a;i " nasty " in temper as anybody ; but this was not 
 
MA ICING THE BEST OP IT. 55 
 
 true ; he was liasty, however, and impetuous, and holding a 
 tk'ep-seaied conviction that the man -who could quarrel with so 
 figreeable a fellow as himself must needs be a scoundrel, he 
 behaved towards him accordingly. This conviction was a dogma 
 of -which — though more true than most dogmas — he had not 
 been persuaded in a moment ; a long course of social success 
 had induced it. Dalton had had neither high birth nor much 
 money to recommend him to the notice of the world, yet had 
 possessed enough of both to render a struggle for existence or 
 position unnecessary ; he had not wasted time in setting his feet 
 on the lower rungs of the ladder, but had had them placed there 
 by his father, who had been a man of fashion and a hanger-on 
 of the Court for a quarter of a century before his death. The 
 sayings of " Tom Dalton " had been considerably quoted before 
 the reputation of his son in the same line of business had caused 
 them to pale and fade away from the recollection of Pall Mall. 
 Some old fogies were still found in that cynical neighbourhood 
 who averred that John Dalton was not, after all, so clever a 
 bellow as his father; but such remarks were justly ascribed to 
 ehe disposition of persons of a certain age to praise the past at 
 the expense of the present. He did not, indeed, possess the 
 biting satire for which his parent, the friend and rival of 
 Brummell, was distinguished — though if you trod upon his tail 
 ever so slightly, he could give an epigrammatic snap that had 
 marked more than one heedless gentleman for life — but his 
 ordinary talk was bright and vivacious, and he was voted " good 
 company " wherever he went. By profession he was a barrister, 
 but he had never practised, or given himself the chance of 
 practising. He had never done anything but please himself iu 
 all his life, yet in so doing had somehow contrived to please 
 everybody else ; not so much from his kind heart nor his good- 
 nature (though he could boast of both) as from a certain name- 
 less charm of manner, which Avon over to him both man and 
 woman. He was not a hero, nor anything at all like it ; but if 
 he had been one, his calet de chamhre would have been the first 
 to acknowledge it. He was not a prophet (for he little knew 
 what was at this moment awaiting himself) ; but if he had been 
 one, his own people would not have denied him honour. His 
 wife was devoted to him, his children adored him; and their 
 sentiments had his fullest concurrence. "If people are only 
 nice to me," he once confided to a friend, " I am the nicest 
 fellow people can meet." 
 
 Unhappily, there are some people that cannot be nice,- however 
 
56 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 certain may be the reciprocity ; and Mr. Jolm Daltou had just 
 been experiencing that fact during his canvass of the electors of 
 Bampton. 
 
 " Well, Dalton, may we congratulate you as a British senatoi-, 
 or not?" was Mr. Campden's inquiry as he shook hands with 
 his guest. 
 
 *' You may congratulate me, my dear fellow, as having escaped 
 being the representative of the most rascally constituency in 
 England. It Avas a very narrow shave, howevei'," added tho 
 speaker, briskly ; " another half-dozen votes would hav« done it." 
 
 Mr. Campden whistled mournfully, and the rest began to 
 cxpi'ess their condolences after their several fashions, when Mrs, 
 Ddlton bro.ke promjitly in with " John, dear, there is scarcely 
 time, even as it is, for you to dress for dinner." 
 
 " I know that, my darling, aud therefore I am not going to 
 do it," whispered he. 
 
 "But Mrs. Campden is so particular." 
 
 " I know that, too ; but I'm not going to dress. Pray do not 
 wait for me one minute, ladies and gentlemen," added he a.loud, 
 and then left the room ; not sorry, perhaps, notwithstanding all 
 his presence of mind, that he had got over the declaration of 
 his failure. 
 
 " My husband hopes you will excuse a morning costume 
 to-night, Julia," said Mrs. Dalton. "Nothing distres.ses him 
 so much as coming in late for dinner, or keeping anybody 
 waiting." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," returned Mr.s. Campden, with a stately 
 inclination of her head. She was pretty well aware how the 
 ease stood, and felt satisfied to get an apology out of Mr. Dalton 
 even by proxy. He was indolent, as regarded all physical exor- 
 tiou, and despised tho small conventionalities on Avhich hi , 
 hostess set such store. She knew, or thought she knew, tli;i 
 all tho members of " county families" dressed for dinner cvei y 
 night, and was therefore resolved that her own folks should do 
 MO. So poor Uncle George — who during his early life had never 
 worn "black things," as he called them, except on the rarest 
 occasions — had every day to divest himself of his light summer 
 clothing and put on broadcloth. 
 
 Mr. Holt was always attired with the most scrupulous regard 
 to the fitness of things; aud Dalton, as her guest, ought to have 
 been amenable to her wishes in this respect ; but it was really 
 very difficult, she complained, "to get him to conform to the 
 most oi'dinary usages of society." She did not dare to be 
 
MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 57 
 
 imperative with liim, for lie was one of the few people of wLom 
 she stood in dread ; and wlien she had once attempted to what 
 she was pleased to call reason with him, he had overset her with 
 an epigram, which, if she had understood, she would have termed 
 "very conceited." " Madam, nobody minds what is one's suit 
 BO long as one is a trump." Upon the whole, Mrs. Campden 
 had her reasons for not hking Mr. Dalton, but she liked to have 
 him at Riverside, from the popularity which his presence con- 
 ferred upon it. She had more invitations from the county 
 families — who, she had her suspicions, looked down upon her 
 liusband for being a nouveau rlche — when the Daltons were with 
 them, and a Letter chance of getting a morniug call from Lady 
 Blanche Ealing ; nor was it without some gratification that she 
 found John Dalton taking her in to dinner, though his conversa- 
 tion flew over her iiead, and did not interest her half so much as 
 the proceedings of the servants, or the state of the entrees. On 
 •the present occasion he was full of the topic oFthe election — 
 not that he liked it, but lest he should be supposed to shrink 
 from it as a sore subject — and very amusing in his description 
 of his rival (and conqueror), one Mr. Griggs. This gentleman, 
 who was no great orator, had accused him of " la,bouring 
 under the advantage" of being a skilled legal debater, which 
 was certainly a most unjust imputation, as Dalton had but once 
 opened his lips in court in his life, and then only to move for 
 a rule. 
 
 Griggs had also described Mr. Disraeli as being " the greatest 
 living statesman of this or any other age," And Griggs had 
 also told a story on the platform so discursive that it had touched 
 upon almost everything, yet had somehow not arrived a-t the 
 point. During the progress of it a voice — a somewhat thick and 
 drunken voice, but still one with an evidently Liberal tone — had 
 interrupted this narrative by a conversation with an imagincry 
 friend, one " tSamuel," supposed to be at the other end of the 
 town-hall, which was crammed with Griggs' supporters. As the 
 story went on and on, the voice grev/ more and more dolorous, 
 and at last inquii'cd : " Samuel, do you UL-a this story ? " — a 
 question answered by such a peal of laughter, even from his 
 best friends, as to destroy Mr. Griggs' eloquence for the re- 
 mainder of that evening. 
 
 It was by no means John Dalton's habit to monopolise the 
 conversation, and it was only by jDublic request that he now 
 communicated these particulars ; but he had never seemed in 
 bigh(?r spirits. Only two persons at table were aware that ho 
 
58 FALLEN 1^0 R TUNES. 
 
 was acting a part, nor coiild one of these have detected it, but 
 for certain exclusive information that he possessed. Mrs. 
 Dalton, on the other hand, knew that her husband was ' not 
 himself," althoui^h ignorant of the precise nature of Avhat 
 troubled him. Behind those sprightly tones, the joyous laugli, 
 she detected that Black Care was sitting. The subtle instinct 
 of much love had discovered it to her, else there was nothing to 
 indicate it, except perhaps an unwonted grimness in her hus- 
 band's humour. 
 
 For example, Mr. Campden had inquired of him, since he had 
 been last in London, whether town was empty. 
 
 " No, sir ; there are still several toiling millions there, of oni* 
 own flesh and blood." 
 
 The toaie of the Platform, the air of the would-be Representa- 
 tive, were admirably assumed : it was evident that the speaker 
 was still contending with Griggs for the suffrages of the 
 Bampton freemen. 
 
 "The club, howevei', had nobody in it, I suppose," continued 
 the laughing host, " except Disnay ? " 
 
 " Disuay is out; of town." 
 
 " Oh ! that is impossible, Dalton : he told mo himself that he 
 had not left London for a quarter of a century, and then only to 
 visit Brighton. Oh ! Disnay caitt be out of town." 
 
 " He is, however, I do assure you — since there are no intra- 
 mural interments — for he is dead ! " 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Dalton, how shocking ! " ejaculated Mrs, Camp- 
 den. 
 
 *' Yes, indeed, madam ; but the gentleman could not help it. 
 If you had known him as well as your husband and myself did, 
 you would feel sure of that. He had no desire for change — • 
 except in one respect. Even when he dined alone on a mutton 
 chop, he would always dress for dinner." 
 
 "And very right, too, I think, Mr. Dalton." 
 
 " No doubt, madam ; and I hope he is at this moment reaping 
 the reward of such uudeviatino: propriety." 
 
 " Well, I am sofry poor old Disnay is gone," sighed Mr. 
 Campden. " We might better have spared a better man." 
 
 "I can't understand how that can be, George," observed the 
 hostess, severely. 
 
 " When did the poor old fellow go off the hooks ? " asked Mr. 
 Campden, too affected to notice a reproof which, under other 
 circumstances, would have reduced him to silence. 
 
 " Well, his ghost was seen at half-past seven laet Thursday." " 
 
JOB'S COMFORTER. ^0 
 
 •• His ghost ! " echoed several voices. 
 
 "Yes, it was seen coming into the clab at what had been his 
 ■usual dinner-hour." 
 
 "Oh, what nonsense!" cried Mrs. Campden. "How did 
 they know it v-ns his ghost F " 
 
 " Well, they knew it Avas not himself, because he was in 
 morning costume. Everybody said that Disnay must be dead ; 
 and what everybody says must be tru.e." 
 
 I don't think Mrs. Campden "liked that story," any more 
 than friend Samuel liked that narrative of Mr. Griggs ; bat to 
 the rest of the company it seemed droll enough. 
 
 When the ladies had withdrawn, John Dalton was even still 
 more amusing ; but it is ray opinion that the talk of us men 
 "after dinner" sliould be as sacred as the conversation in the 
 drawing-room, that takes place during the same period among 
 the fair sex, and which has never been revealed to mortal 
 man. The talk was mainly between John and his host, for 
 Mr. Holt said little. He was turning over in his mind what 
 he should say presently in the smoking-room, or rather how 
 he should say it, when he and Dalton should be left alone 
 together. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 job's comfoeter. 
 The question of whether a " little music " after dinner '\^ 
 socially a desirable thing or not, has been much debated ; we 
 know what a certain statesman thought of it — but then he was 
 very bitter against every species of occupation that was not 
 " improving." Musical people, of course, like to hear the piano 
 going — -if the performer understands her art — and there are a 
 number of other persons who like to be thought musical, even 
 if they are not, who hold their fingers up, and whisper 
 " Hush!" during the performance, and when it is over exclaim, 
 "Oh, tha^ilc you;" as if the notes had been five-pound ones, 
 and they had pocketed them all. Nor do the rest of the com- 
 pany much mlad it, if the pieces played are not too long. Old 
 gentlemen will go on with their gossip much as usual, and old 
 ladies will keep time with their heads quite cleverly, until they 
 drop asleep, to be presently awakened by the sudden silence. 
 But if there are any present with a hidden care, it is curious 
 how often their secret is disclosed by a few bars o£ music. 
 They can no longer laugh and talk, but are left the prey of the 
 
&3 FALL^M FORTUNES. 
 
 anxiety witliiii, and it cornea out in the expression of their f&ce, 
 and in their very posture. Those earnest lines — 
 
 "Dear friend, whom, grave or gay, we seek, 
 Heaven-holding shrine. 
 I ope thee, touch thee, hear thee speak. 
 And peace is mine " — 
 
 were addressed to his piano, by a true lover of it ; and such 
 persons, even when dejected, may be soothed by its sweet 
 tones ; but that is not the case with those who have no par- 
 ticular taste for music. It makes (heir sad thoughts more 
 gloomy, while it takes away from them the opportunities of 
 disguise. From John Dalton's face the smile has fallen away 
 like a dropped mask, as he leans an elbow on the mantelpiece, 
 and listens, or seems to listen, in the drawing-room at River- 
 side, to his daughter's singing. Kitty has a fine voice, which 
 goes a great way up, and comes a long way down, and goes on 
 without stopping for breath almost as long as a camel can go 
 without water. Mr. Holt, who is turning over her leaves, finds 
 that post no sinecure, and being utterly ignorant of music, is 
 never quite sure when she has reached the bottom of the page. 
 Moreover, he cannot keep his eyes from wandering to that 
 statuesque figure by the fireplace, that looks so cast down even 
 now — when it has not yet heard the worst, nor even half the 
 worst, that must needs be told to-night. Others in the room 
 have their troubles : Jolf, pretending to be immersed in a book, 
 is frowning over the top of it at Mr. Holt, who must, he thinks, 
 be an idiot not to see when a young lady would rather turn 
 over her leaves for herself ; and Tony, only enduring the music 
 as a lesser evil than going to bed, which, as he is well aware, 
 would be the alternative. The windows are open, and he 
 would gladly 1)C in the open air ; but the rain is falling, as it 
 oj'lcn does at Riverside, lio that that avenue of escape is barred. 
 Mr. Campdeii has fallen asleep, which is foolish of him, as he 
 will be all the more wakeful when the time arrives for his 
 curtain-lecture, when all the wickedness of his afternoon's 
 expedition will be expatiated upon over again ; but the rest of 
 the company are enthralled by the melody. Jenny is lying ou 
 the sofa with her eyes closed, in silent ecstasy, for the voico 
 and instrument are both perfection in their Avay ; ]\[rs. Camp- 
 den and Mary give still moi'e demonstrative signs of approval; 
 and Mrs. Dalton has yet an added bliss as the mother of the 
 singer. Every now and then, however, she steals a glance at her 
 husband, and then that look of maternal triumph fades away. 
 
JOB'S CO^f PORTER. 6l 
 
 "John, dear, you must be very tired," she says, tenderly, 
 wheu the little concert is over, and the ladies are retreating- 
 " I hope you will not have more than one cigar to-night." 
 
 " I had some sleep iu the train, and feel dreadfully lively," 
 he answers, brightening np ; " and I have got some business to 
 discuss with Holt, so I am afraid I shall nob be very early ; bo 
 sure you do not sit up for me, darling." 
 
 "George," says Mi's. Campden, "you hear that Mr. Dalton 
 and Mr. Holt have private affairs to talk about, so that there is 
 no excuse for you spending half the night in the smoking-room, 
 I am astonished at your permitting Geoffrey to accompany you 
 to such a place at all." 
 
 "I do it as a warning," answers the host; "that he may 
 observe for himself thus early the pernicions effects of 
 tobacco." 
 
 " It is easy to joke upon all su.bjects ; but you are giving 
 him a taste which is deleterious in itself, and ^vhich, in after- 
 life, he will not be in a position to gratify." 
 
 " My dear, he has got it already," replies Mr. Campden, as he 
 troops off with the other males to the divan. 
 
 Under the apprehension of punishment. Uncle George would 
 sometimes break into what those who did not know him would 
 deem next kin to rebellion, but which was, in fact, only that 
 state of wildness which prompts a man in for a penny to go 
 in for a pound. There was still a cigar — which habit would 
 enable him to enjoy — between him and the curtain-lecture. 
 
 The smoking-room at Riverside Avas a model of what such a 
 place should be ; it was on the upper floor, yet not so high up 
 as to inconvenience those of mature age and impaired digestion 
 who sought ib after dinner ; its windows commanded a glorious 
 view of hill and river, when to look out was pleasurable ; and 
 when snugness and warmth were desirable, ib possessed every 
 element of comfort. It had lounging-chairs, rocking-chairs, con- 
 versation chairs ; and three sides of the room were lined with 
 books, bound with great elegance, but all of small bulk, so as to 
 be easily held in the hand. It was said by Mr. Campden's 
 detractors that his upholstex'er had supplied these books witli 
 the rest of the fittings ; but that was of small consequence, if 
 he had not written them ; they were, at all events, far better 
 chosen than what we find on the bookshelves of most smoking- 
 rooms, which are but too often the " Sporting Review," in titty 
 volumes, and the old " Gentleman's Magazine." There was a 
 sunlight in the ceiling, for use on winter-nights ; bat at present 
 
6a FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 the apai'fcmenfc ^Yas lit by sliaded lamps, placed on small round 
 tables. 
 
 "Well, as tliese two gentlemen want to talk business, Jeff," 
 Baid Mr. Campden, as they all lit their cigars, " you and I will 
 have a turn at billiards." 
 
 The billiard-room and the smoking-room communicated with 
 one another by double doors, one of which was of green baize, 
 and through these the host and his young friend at once dis- 
 appeared, leaving Holt and Dalton together. They sat down 
 opposite to one another, at a table by the open window, with 
 their legs stretched out before them, and their coffee by their 
 side ; to all appearance, a very cosey couple. In front of them 
 rose the crags of Bleabarrow, just silvered by the rising moon. 
 For a minute or two nothing broke the silence save the babble 
 of the river, and the dull and almost noiseless click of the balls 
 in the next room ; both men's faces lay in shadow, but it could 
 be seen that Dalton was gazing on the scene without, while 
 Holt's elbow leaned on the table, and his eyes were shaded by 
 his hand. 
 
 " This Bampton business is a devilish awkward one for m?, 
 Holt." 
 
 " Yes, indeed." 
 
 " I fear it will have a bad effect with some of the doubtful 
 ones. It was so important to appear to be important just at 
 this crisis. And I spoke so confidently about the matter at the 
 Board." 
 
 "You had a right to feel confident." 
 
 " Of course I had. If a score of those fellows had not turned 
 out to be the greatest liars upon earth — Jenkins and Fuller, for 
 example, voted dead against me, though I had their written 
 pi'omise. I have got evidence against Griggs with respect to 
 Fuller. There never was a clearer case of bribery in this 
 world." 
 
 " Yon are not thinking of a petition, however, are you ? " 
 
 " Well, no ; that would, under the circumstances, loe sending 
 good money after bad." 
 
 "If you unseated Griggs, they would have a shot at you, you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Perhaps ; though I don't think they would hit me ; but the 
 fact is, I h.ave got no money to petition with." 
 
 " The thing stood you in more than you expected, then ? " 
 
 " My good sir, it cost me twice as much — three times. When 
 it came to the last pinch, neither of us cared how deeply we 
 
JOB'S COMFORTER. 63 
 
 •w-ere dipped. It was like being ' pricked ' at whist. I could 
 not have imagined that there was such an excitement in the 
 thing." 
 
 " Many a great family has been crippled for generations, my 
 dear Dalton, at the same game." 
 
 " That is no sort of consolation to nae." 
 
 " Of course not ; I only meant that you showed no unur.ual 
 weakness in putting the pot on ; that you have nothing, in fact, 
 to reproach yourself with." 
 
 " By heavens ! but I have. Holt. It was not ambition, it is 
 true, that sent me down to Bampton, but it was a piece of 
 business of a very speculative kind. I feel that now, when the 
 thing has gone the wrong way, I do assui'e you. J\lind, I don't 
 blame you, but I ought never to have risked it." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear Dalton, yon should not blamo me : mv 
 ideas, as you know, by no means coincided with yours upon the 
 matter." 
 
 A short, sliarp laugh broke from Dalton's lips. " You are 
 Hot going to say that you always advised me not to go to 
 Bampton, and prophesied what would come of it, are you ? " 
 
 '' Not at all, ray good friend. But I protest against being 
 «onsidei'ed the cause of your calamity. For my part, I thought 
 ■"j/our election a certainty, and, considering your position and 
 prospects, well worth, any reasonable sum. Yoila tout." 
 
 "Let's stick to plain 'English,'" answered Dalton, sharply, 
 " which anybody can perceive is your mother-tongue." 
 
 Mr. Holt's pronunciation of the French language was 
 imperfect, and the way he threw his hands out in deprecation 
 of his friend's remarks was certainly not a good imitation cf 
 continental "action;" but the reproof seemed unnecessar:.!y 
 severe. 
 
 " It is plain that you are out of temper, Dalton, and therefore 
 unfit to discuss business matters, else I had something serious r:o 
 say to you." 
 
 " That is, you have some bad news to communicate." 
 
 " I am sorry to say I have." 
 
 "Well, spare me it to-night, at all events. I beg your pardon. 
 Holt, if I said anything offensive ; but the fact is I hardly knov/ 
 what I say. When I think of what this infernal election will 
 cost me — close upon four thousand pounds." 
 
 ^''What! " exclaimed the other, in horrified accents, 
 
 " Not a penny less, upon my honour ! I say, when I (liir.k ->f 
 the mc-"ey I have thus flung away for nothing, and v:hase money, 
 
64 ^A LLEN FOR Tl hVES. 
 
 1 feel as tnougli I could blow my brains out — tlmt is, if I hrTe 
 any brains, which, aftei' such a piece of folly, may well he 
 doubted. I felt asliamed, when I came back to-night, to loo',.: 
 my own wife and children in the face." 
 
 "Yet, you were doing what you thought the bos't you ccali^ 
 for them." 
 
 " No, I wasn't," answered the other, impetuously. "Iw.i^ 
 gambling with the money I had stolen from them, in hopes t i 
 get it back again; just as the shop-boy does who robs his 
 master's till ; and then, to make restitution, goes to a betLi: < ■• 
 office and backs the loser." 
 
 " Nay, nay ; you stole nothing, and have robbed nobody, 
 Dalton ; so much, at least, you may comfort yourself wi/b, 
 under all circumstances. What you have done was, at worst, :i\: 
 error in judgment." 
 
 "An error that will bring down those belonging to me, how- 
 ever," went on the other, vehemently, "from competence, \o 
 what, by contrast, they will feel as poverty. What a dolt, whni 
 an idiot, I have been ! To imagine that I was fitted to becomo 
 a Leviathan of the City ; that I could make a colossal fortune l^j 
 mere wits and common honesty ! " 
 
 " You have been honest enough, Dalton," answered the other, 
 drily ; " and that, as I say, should always be a comfoi-t to you." 
 
 " Comfort ! How can you talk such stuff as that, when I tell 
 you what has happened. You have no ties, no responsibility of 
 your own, or you could not do it. I tell you, when I have paid 
 this Bampton bill, I shall have frittered away, from first to last, 
 three-quarters of my fortune — nay, of my children's fortune. I 
 don't know what your bad news is, though I suppose it is more 
 trouble about the Board; and if I lose my directorship — which, 
 with this fiasco at Bampton, is more than likely — I have only 
 one good horse left out of the whole string — the Lara. I 
 snatched a look at the paper yesterday, and found the shares 
 ijteadily rising. If that goes on, I may still recoup myself. I 
 am bound to say you did show good judgment ilierp, Holt." 
 
 " To buy, and then to sell out ; that is what I did." 
 
 "I did not know you had sold out; but, at all events, you 
 must ha,ve made a pretty penny." 
 
 " Dalton," said the other, gravely, "my bad news is about the 
 mine." 
 
 " The mine ! " cxc-^aimed the other, starting from his seat, 
 and turning deadly pale. " The Lara! You don't mean to teli 
 me that anything has happened to that ? " 
 
JOB'S COMFORTER. 65 
 
 "I got this from my clerk this morning," replied Holt, 
 prodacing one of the little notes, with the contents of whir^h we 
 are already acquainted, from his pocket. " Of course, thing.s 
 may not be so bad as they seem." 
 
 Dalton snatched the slip of paper from his hand, and read 
 aloud: "illem. — Bronhs has cahlod us folloivs : * Sell Larae ; 
 whole concern a jjlant.^ " 
 
 "Brooks! "Who is Brooks?" 
 
 " He is the local agent at St. Jose. The news is but too true. 
 I fear. Brand is very careful." 
 
 "Good heavens! you talk as if I had but fitieen poan'i-; ai 
 stake, instead of fifteen thousand. A plant ? That means a 
 swindle. Did you hnoiv it was a swindle, sir ? " 
 
 " I will not answer such a question, Dalton, I can make 
 every allowance for your excitement, but I will not submit to 
 insult. I believed in the mine as much as you yourself did, up 
 to six hours ago ; and I had at one time almost as much money 
 in it as you had. I always warned you to be content with a 
 good premium, and to realise." 
 
 Dalton did not appear to hear him, but kept his gaze still 
 fixed upon the memorandum, with its few fatal words. " Sell 
 Laras. What does the man mean by that ? How can I sell 
 them when I know the scrip is but blank paper ? " 
 
 "Just so ; and especially when everybody else knows it. But 
 brooks is Brazil bred, and has a Brazilian standard of com- 
 mercial life. It is too late, of course, to do anything of the soit, 
 even if you would. There have been other telegrams besides 
 this man's. I read in the City article of The Times— \t lay 
 within your reach in the drawing-room to-night, and I trembled 
 lest you should have cast your eye upon it — that the shares had 
 become unquotable." 
 
 " Fifteen thousand pounds," groaned the unhappy Dalton ; 
 " and four thousand this week ! Good heavens ! they will have 
 nothing to live iLpon — my poor, poor darlings !" It was strange 
 to see how the loss had stricken him. The lines in his face 
 seemed to have already deepened, and of the gay dehmnaire 
 expression that had so characterised his features, there was 
 nothing left. Holt, too, was by no means unmoved. His face 
 had paled, and if there was no pity in his eyes, that may havo 
 been through their incapacity of expression ; his tones had pity 
 in them as he replied : " They have a friend in mc, Dalton, 
 please to remember — if I may venture to say as much. What* 
 ¥er I can do " 
 
66 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 At this moment there was a knock at the billiard -room door, 
 evidently administered with the butt-end of a cue; and Mr. 
 Campden's voice was heard bidding them good-night. 
 
 "I won't disturb your confab; but I'm off,' he said, rather 
 lugubriously, for the time had come when he m ist needs suffer 
 avenging firts for the transgressions of the day, 
 
 Dalton waved his hand impatiently; and Holt, understanding 
 the gesture, answered for him, " Grood-night." He waited a 
 little for his companion's acknowledgment of his offer of friendly 
 aid, but since the other did not speak, he again addressed him : 
 " What I wish to say to you, Dalton, is, that I am a rich man. 
 I got ' a pretty penny,' as you have suggested, by selling out of 
 the Lrtra, as I wish from my heart that you had done; and my 
 purse was tolerably well-lined before. I beg to offer it — to any 
 reasonable extent — at your disposal ; to assist you, and thoso 
 dear to you jN^ay, I mean no offence " 
 
 *' There is offence," exclaimed Dalton, vehemently. *' Every- 
 thing from you is an offence just now. One thing only you can 
 do — this moment — for which I will thank you." 
 
 " Consider it as already done ; what is it ? " 
 
 *' Leave me." 
 
 Holt rose at once. " You will shake hands, Dalton, at least. 
 Though things have gone wrong with you it is not my fault." 
 
 Dalton neither moved nor spoke ; but his eyes, still fixed 
 upon the crags without, looked fierce and hard. 
 
 "You will think better of this as regards myself to-morrow, 
 old felhjw ; I make every allowance for your feeling sore with 
 everybody at this moment, even with a true friend." 
 
 He threw a sharp glance round the room — the tables, the 
 mantelpiece, the very book-shelves were all swept by it. 
 " Thank goodness, there are no knives about," he murmured ; 
 then softly closed the door, and left the ruined maxi to iiis own 
 thoughts. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WOEMWOOD. 
 
 For many minutes after his companion had left the room, John 
 Dalton sat in the same posture, his hands lying idly before 
 him, and his mind busy with the past. He had been a fortu- 
 nate man all his life — so his friends said ; and up to within a 
 year or two he had had no reason to disbelieve them. He had 
 always had enough for his needs, and for the needs of thoso he 
 
WORMWOOD. 6v 
 
 loved, and these had not been of a simple kind. He had never 
 been ostentatious, but he had mingled with the best society, 
 without any outward sign of inferiority as regarded means, 
 while in other respects he had stood high in it. His company 
 had been always sought for, but not as that of a mere raconteur 
 ami dinner-wit, th' ugh he had the name of being such ; he had 
 been invited everywhere on equal terms. In such a circle he 
 had had, of coarse, no reputation for wealth, but his circum- 
 stances had been more than easy ; he had had no lack of ser- 
 vants and carriages ; and if his home entertainments had not 
 been upon so splendid a scale as that of most of his acquaint- 
 ances, they had been sought after for their intrinsic goodness, 
 as much as for the genial reputation of the host. Mrs. Dalton 
 possessed tact, in addition to much better qualities ; and though 
 caring nothing for such matters herself, had looked after the 
 little dinners in Cardigan Place with her own eyes, because 
 she saw that her htisband wished them to be perfect. She had 
 been an " excellent manager " — but by no means in the sense 
 used by the compilers of cheap cookery-books. She had taken 
 care in the first place that things should be good — the best of 
 their kind ; and after that — but at a great distance — had made 
 provision for economy. Her girls had been brought up sensibly, 
 lor the sphere in which they moved, but in a manner which by 
 no means fitted them to endure poverty ; and it was poverty — 
 and worse than poverty, ruin — which their father had brought 
 upon them. Of course he had not thought such a catastrophe 
 possible when he had commenced his speculative career; he 
 would not even have admitted that he was plunging into specu- 
 lation ; all had looked safe and smooth ; nothing had seemed 
 to be wanting but a little happy audacity to place a man of his 
 ability and connections in the very first rank of "business 
 men." He had always despised the class so termed, finding 
 them, as he generally did, so much slower, duller and more 
 ignorant — except upon one or two special subjects, such as a 
 man of quick intelligence could master in a week — than him- 
 self ; and his failure would have been galling to him, had there 
 not been a score of other and more cogent reasons for his bitter- 
 ness of spirit. As it was, the injury to his mnour pwpre was 
 not felt at all, in the agony of his deeper wounds. His pi'ido 
 — and John Dalton, though such " good company," and " hail 
 fellow, well met" with all degrees of men and women, was a, 
 very proud man — was, indeed, humbled to the dust ; but that 
 was nothing in comparison with the humiliation he had wrought 
 
68 FA LLEX FOR TUNES. 
 
 with those whom — to do him justice — he had ever loved better 
 than himself. What would now become of bis wife and 
 children ? was the question which beat importunately at the 
 door of his brain, but which for the moment he was shutting 
 out by reminiscences of the past, hardly less bitter. When and 
 how was it, reflected ho, that he had first been tempted to leave 
 his former mode of life and to embark upon this sea of troubles ? 
 As to who had been his tempter, he had no doubt ; but where 
 had he first encountered him ? It was at a dinner to which he 
 had been invited by a bachelor friend — a Guardsman — at 
 Greenwich. The company had been mostly younger than 
 himself, as was often the case, for his wit and animal spirits 
 recommended him to the young ; and the only one present who 
 was his senior, or rather had appeared to be so, had been 
 Richard Holt. This man, it was evident, was not of the same 
 class as the rest ; and beyond a passing thought of how the 
 deuce he got there, Dalton would probably not have troubled 
 himself about him, but for a circumstance that took place after 
 dinner. One of the guests, a young man of title, had drunk 
 rather too freely, and over an argument, in which he was 
 clearly in the wrong, with Holt, used some contemptuous 
 expression, reflecting upon his calling as a stockbroker. 
 
 Holt behaved very well, putting much apparent restraint 
 upon himself, for his host's sake ; and Dalton, always generous 
 and impulsive, had taken up the cudgels for him, and silenced 
 )iis assailant. 
 
 " You have made a friend of the best fellow in England to 
 help you out of a scrape," whispered his entertainer, when the 
 party was breaking up ; but as Dalton was not in the habit 
 of getting into the sort of difficulties to which he knew the 
 other alluded, he saw no reason to congratulate himself upon 
 the alliance. However, during their drive home on the drag, 
 it so happened that he found himself next the stranger, and a 
 good deal of conversation took place between them. The topic, 
 which Dalton himself had introduced in order to put the other 
 at his ease, was commercial affairs, with which Holt showed 
 himself thoroughly acquainted. He spoke of his own misfor- 
 tune in having been all his life connected with them, which 
 had produced his wealth, without the power of enjoying it in 
 the way he desired. " I find myself cut off from society, except 
 that of such young gentlemen as these," said he, " who make 
 use of my services without permitting me to pretend to their 
 friendship." He spoke with a certain mixture of pride and 
 
I^ORMIVOOD^ , 6$ 
 
 liniiiility -vVliicli prepossessed the other in his fa^•our ; 'while his 
 references to City matters inflamed Dalton's ambition Avith 
 that idea of " growing rich beyond the dreams of avarice " 
 from which much better balanced minds are not altogether 
 free. 
 
 " With your manners and your connections, Mr. Dalton, 
 success would indeed be easy," Holt had answered when sounded 
 on this point : " such an address as yours, if you will permit 
 me to say so " (a favourite expression of his new friend's), 
 "would fetch a very high price east of Temple Bar; we are 
 cunning enough, but without the tact that at once persuades and 
 conquers." The flattery was coarse, but, administered after a 
 Greenwich dinner, on the top of a drag, it was not found fault 
 with ; their acquaintance throve apace, and before they reached 
 town, Dalton discovered — he never quite knew how — that a 
 certain connection already existed between himself and his com- 
 panion, which at once established confidential relations between 
 them. This bond of union was that Philip Astor, Dalton's half- 
 brother, of whom we have already spoken. That Astor was not 
 a legitimate son of Dalton's father was now incontestable, for it 
 had been so settled by the law ; but it was admitted even by the 
 legitimate branch of the family that his case had been a hard 
 one. He was by many years John Dalton's senior, and until his 
 father's second marriage — which was in fact his first — had sup- 
 posed himself to be the son and heir. Not till he was almost of 
 age had he been made aware of his true position, and the dis- 
 covery had acted fatally upon his character. He had become 
 reckless and improvident ; and though a considerable pecuniary 
 provision had been made for him, ho had squandered all his 
 means long before his father's death, which had not taken place 
 till John had himself arrived at man's estate. Then it was that 
 Philip brought his lawsuit, and lost it ; but so far from feeling 
 bitter against his left-handed kinsman, John had offered to assist 
 him from his own purse. The two brothers had met, and though 
 the interview had been a stormy one, they had parted with less 
 of ill-feeling than might have been expected. The one could 
 only proffer as a gift what the other would only accept as a 
 right ; and so John's generosity came to nothing. But he had 
 always entertained a kindly feeling for poor Philip, and had 
 contrived, unknown to him, to procure him the means of liveli- 
 hood as a merchant's clerk. This situation, however, upon dis- 
 covering to whom he was indebted for it, Astor had thrown up, 
 and down to that very night, John knew not what had become 
 
yo PALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 of him. To his great surprise, Holt now informed Lim tlitt 
 Philip had been employed in his office for some years. 
 
 Such had been the first introduction of the man of business 
 to the man of fashion, and it had soon ripened into intimacy. 
 As to Philip, he had doggedly refused, according to his present 
 employer's account, to hold any intercourse with his half- 
 brother ; so no more was said about that matter. But Dalton 
 and Holt did a good deal of business together — or rather in 
 concert. Whether the latter had inoculated the former with the 
 love of speculation, or whether he originally had it in his blood, 
 is doubtful, though Dalton was now ready to put all the blame 
 upon his late ally ; it is more probable that Dalton was eager, 
 and that the other did but stimulate his wishes. But they 
 had gone into a good many " likely things " togethei* — doubt- 
 less by Holt's advice — and for a little time matters had gone 
 veiy well with them. In return for his assistance in this way, 
 Holt had suggested, rather than stipulated, that his new friend 
 should introduce him, upon as equal terms as might be, into 
 society ; and this Dalton had done. It was no small proof of 
 his own social influence that he had brought Mr. Richard Holt 
 into more than one exclusive circle, and kept him there, under 
 what Avere certainly disadvantageous circumstances. The 
 Campdens, though thei-e was nothing absolutely vulgar about 
 them, had nothing to boast of in the way of birth or breed- 
 ing, nor was their jDOsition in the county so assured that they 
 could afford to have a man like Holt living with them almost 
 en famille ; he would never have found himself at Riverside 
 but for his friend's good offices. In more than one case Dalton 
 had had cause to lament the fate which had thus made him a 
 sort of Siamese twin of the prosperous stockbroker ; for the 
 slights that had been inflicted upon the latter, or which he had 
 more often brought upon himself, he had in some degree 
 shared ; but his bitterest regret was that he had permitted this 
 man to gain a footing in his own family. The thing had been 
 unavoidable if he was to retain his alliance, but it had been done 
 against the grain — so grudgingly that the other had scarcely 
 thanked him for it — and it had turned out even worse than he 
 had anticipated. Mrs. Dalton was a woman always ready to wel- 
 come her husband's friends, and make them, so far as was possible, 
 her own. His social success owed more to her tact in this 
 respect than perhaps he would have been ready to allow ; but 
 she could not welcome this man, who was not his friend, but 
 only his business ally. She had disliked him before she saw him, 
 
WGRMIVOOD. 71 
 
 as the pei'son wlio liad seduced her liusbatid from Lis former 
 pursuits — if suck they could be called ; had persuaded him to 
 exchange his role as a charmer of society, but one who, never- 
 theless, spent much of his time at home, for what she would have 
 called in another a sordid ambition. She did not want him to 
 get nioi-e money, and certainly not by associating with com- 
 panions such as tliis man, whose manners and appearance were 
 to her mind, though she did not speak her mind, by no means 
 the worst of him. Kate did not like him, it was plain, and stiP 
 less Jenny — Jenny, the invalid, who, though so fragile of frame, 
 had so keen an eye and sharp a tongue ; and yet, with all these 
 members of his family, as it seemed to Dalton, this fellow had 
 affected a certain intimacy. 
 
 When he had talked just now of " those dear to him," and 
 had offered to be their friend, as though it were a favour on his 
 part, he had felt inclined to knock him down, And yet, in truth, 
 it had become necessary that somebody should befriend 'hem. 
 He fiimself was a hopelessly ruined man, wliile Holt; was, by 
 his own confession, very rich. He could not say that he had 
 become so at his expense ; nor, indeed, had his own losses, so far 
 as he knew, been of the least advantage to the other ; but, 
 somehow, he felt as though he had been the man's cat's-paw. 
 As to the Lara, the speculation had been brought under his 
 notice — like all the rest — by Holt, but in a more private sort of 
 way ; it was a pet investment of Holt's own, and at one time 
 they had possessed nearly the whole mine between them, Theu, 
 as the shares rose. Holt had, it seemed, sold out — as, indi ed, he 
 had advised Dalton to do — while he had held on ; and the end 
 was that the one had come out of it all pafe, and with a large 
 sum in pocket, while the other had lost his all, and more than 
 his all ; for Dalton had not only lost his own money, but that 
 of his wife, which, by her own wish, and from her unbounde 1 
 confidence in him, had not been settled upon her at their mar- 
 riage. His shame and horror were so great, that for the moment 
 he had not dared to look that part of the matter in the face, but 
 had forced his thoughts, as we have said, to travel back over that 
 fatal part of his life's journey on which Richard Holt had beconio 
 his companion. He had felt of late monhs that companionship 
 growing more and more distasteful to him, but at the same time 
 more indispensable; he distrusted him in his heart, thougli, a.^ 
 reason told him, without any j at<tificatiou for such a ft eliug. iJe 
 had begun to hate the man because he thought he saw he had 
 had the audacity to look even beyond his friendship ; and though 
 
72 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 up to that night he had been able to regard his pretensions with 
 grim contempt, he conld not do so now. It was that reflection 
 which had, in fact, made him so rude to Holt at parting an 
 hour or so ago — for so long had he been chewing the bitter cud 
 of memory — and which now made the man so loathsome to him. 
 And yet his mind preferred to dwell upon him, and his relations 
 with himself, rafher than upon his own ruin, and the effects 
 that must necessarily result fi'om it. For what was underlying 
 all his thoughts, and tincturing their sadness with a bitterness 
 far beyond that of the waters of death, was the consciousness 
 that when he left that room it must needs be to seek the presence 
 of his wife, to tell that dear one of the blow which had hurled 
 her and hers from Avealth to poverty, and that it was his own 
 hand that had inflicted it. 
 
 How cold and cruel, in her stately beauty, Nature looked tha ;• 
 night ! how unmoved by the agony of his soul ! How peacefully 
 slept the moonbeams on the crags, as though to the lullaby of 
 the river's song ! If he shot himself, or cut his throat, she 
 woiild still smile on. If he shot himself ! The thought recurred 
 to him with a terrible impetuosity, before which all mere sen- 
 timental reflections vanished. Would it not be better to put j* 
 bullet through his brain, and have done with life, the sweets of 
 which had been squeezed out, and nothing left but the bitter rind ? 
 He could do no good to his Avife and childi'en by living on, for he 
 could never be their bread-winner. How could he — h& who had 
 done nothing from his youth up but fare of the best, without 
 toil of brain or muscle — he who had paid nothing but a light 
 jest or two for his place in the world — hope to support these 
 helpless ones, being himself so helpless ? Nay, he would be a 
 burden on them, rather, for a woman and children might find 
 shelter which could not for very shame be accepted by a man 
 like him. In all respects it would be better for them that ho 
 should die. As for the sin of it, and his own punishment here- 
 afttr, it did not at that moment enter into his calculations; if 
 he thought of himself at all, it was to reflect that if he killed 
 himself then and there, he should be spared the interview which 
 was awaiting him below-stairs. He threw a glance round the 
 room, just as Holt had done upon leaving it ; but it fell upon 
 nothing in the way of weapon, unless a gilt paper-knife, with a 
 tiger's tooth for handle, could be called so, with which he re- 
 membered, with strange distinctness, cutting " Blackwood " the 
 last time he had visited Eiverside in the spring. The magazine 
 tad contained E.xjmc forecast of the coming general election, and 
 
IVORMIVOOD. 73 
 
 amongst otlier places had mentioned Bampton as wavering in 
 its allegiance, and likely, though after many years of fidelity, to 
 return a Liberal candidate. The vacancy in the borough had 
 taken place through the death of its representative — the con- 
 stituencies in general not having as yet been appealed to ; but 
 the apprehension expressed by the reviewer had proved ground- 
 less, to his cost. How Campden and himself had smiled over 
 it at the time, and how confident he had been of the contrary 
 issue — for Bampton had even then been in his eye, although 
 vaguely — and how valueless and utterly uninteresting the whole 
 subject had now become ! If he had been a Member of Parliament 
 even, instead of a rejected candidate, it would have availed him 
 nothing, but only have made his fall the greater. It was not 
 probable, thought he grimly, that any difference would be made 
 in the manner of his reception in the next world, from his 
 having been chosen by the electors of Bampton or not. A 
 tiger's tooth ! It was not by a bite, as he had read, that the 
 tiger killed his man, but by one blow of his mighty paw. That 
 must be an easy death to die ; but the method was exceptional, 
 and not within his reach. He took from his pocket a little pen- 
 knife ; its handle was of tortoiseshell, inlaid with silver, and 
 upon it was a date engraved. Jenny had given it to him upon his 
 birthday, years ago, when she was quite a child, ailing in health, 
 indeed, but before her disease had declared itself. " It will not 
 cut OUT love, dear papa," she had said, alluding to the proverb and 
 her present. His hand trembled for a moment, and he felt that 
 sting in his eyelids which is the precursor of the bitterest tears, 
 but no tears fell. Since he loved her so much, it was the more 
 necessary that he should do the best ho could to smooth her life 
 path ; and the best he could do was to die. That he honestly 
 believed, for he was probably uuaAvare how forcibly his own 
 oersonal misery was impelling him to such a course. The blade 
 was as keen as a razor, and had a sharp point. If he had been 
 a doctor, or had had any scientific knowledge — whereas, thought 
 he, bitterly, " I know nothing " — he would have known exactly 
 where to strike, and all would have been over in a moment. He 
 had read about "the jugular vein," but he could not work 
 up his mind to cut his throat ; he was not afraid to do so, but 
 che idea shocked his fastidiousness. " What a fuss that woman 
 would make about her carpet ! " was a reflection, too, that 
 characteristically crossed his mind. He remembered to have 
 seen a surgeon of his acquaintance indicate the exact spot in 
 the left side where even the thrust of a needle would cause 
 
^4 Pallet fortunes. 
 
 instant death ; if tbat was the case, surely a knife like this — — 
 Here a circumstance occurred which disturbed him beyond 
 measure. He heard the door behind him open and shut, and 
 felt that he was not alone. Was it possible that his wife, 
 alarmed by bis prolonged absence, and knowing that the others 
 had long since retired, had come up to look after him ? His 
 face grew damp, and, the night air blowing cold upon it, he 
 began to sh ver ; his hand became so unsteady that he could 
 scarcely hold the knife, with which he now pretended to be 
 paring his nails. 
 
 " I hope I have not disturbed you, Mr. Dalton," said a cheer* 
 ful voice. 
 
 " Thank heaven ! it is only Derwent," muttered the wretched 
 man. 
 
 " I came up for a book that I had forgotten," continued the 
 vonng fellow, "and had no idea that you were still here. 
 Your cigar is out-, shall I give you a light ? " 
 
 " No, Jefi:", thank you." 
 
 There was something of sadness in the tone, that struck the 
 lad's keen ear. 
 
 " Can I do nothiug for you ? You are not ill, I hope ? " 
 
 " Not I, my boy ; only a little down in the mouth, from being 
 the rejected of Bampton. If you had had a vote, you would 
 have plumped for me, would you not ? " 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Dalton, I would plump for you for every- 
 thing!" 
 
 The genuineness of the young fellow's speech, and its sim- 
 plicity, were such as a man like Dalton could not fail to feel, 
 even in his present condition. 
 
 " I have no doubt of that, Jeff," he replied, kindly. " You and 
 I have always been good friends." 
 
 "But the goodness was on your side," answered the boy, 
 gravely. " It is to no one's advantage in this house to be a 
 friend of mine. It is everybody's advantage to be a friend of 
 yours." 
 
 Dalton laughed so mockingly, that the other paused in 
 wonder, and when he continued, his voice had a still more 
 earnest gravity. It was evident that he saw something was 
 Tery wrong. 
 
 " I am so powei^less, Mr. Dalton ; but if the most I can do can 
 be of the least service to you or yours, you will not forget to 
 make use of me. I have thews and sinews — but that is all, I 
 am afraid." 
 
iVOHMlVOOD. J5 
 
 "Aid -wind, Jeff— excellent wind, if what Tony was telling 
 me to-night was true. You got into trouble about it, I hear, 
 but jou won the Guide Race." 
 
 " Yes ; I came in first, though it was almost by a fluke. If 1 
 had not gone at the brook, I should have been beaten. Here is 
 the belt." And the lad exhibited that token of his prowess — 
 which vanity had caused him to buckle round his w»ist, a br. ad 
 leathern strap with a silver clasp — with conscious priae. 
 
 " And did you get a prize in the wrestUng-ring also ? Were 
 you Hercules as well as Hippomenes ? " 
 
 " No ; Mr. Holt said he thought that it would be considered 
 * unseemly ' — he meant, I suppose, caddish — and yet I almost 
 thought that Tony would have persuaded him to try a fall 
 himself. He will do anything for Tony, or for the girls, or for 
 Mi's. Dalton — that I will say for him," 
 
 " What a pity he did not wrestle," observed Dalton, grimly. 
 " They might have given him a cropper, some of them, big as 
 he is." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; but he laughed it off by telling Tony that he 
 couldn't do it because his hfe was not insured ; though of course 
 he never meant to. I suppose I must thank him for sticking 
 up for me to-night, and saying that it was by his advice I 
 entered for the Guide Race : though it was not true ; and he 
 only said it to please Kitty." 
 
 At any other time that suggestion would have excited Dalton's 
 wrath; but he had not heard the boy's last words. A sentence 
 that had just before dropped from his lips quite accidentally was 
 ringing in his ears, and made him unconscious of the rest. 
 
 " Well, Avell, JefF, we must not talk any more to-night, or 
 Mrs. Campden will be accusing me of teaching you more bad 
 habits — sitting up till the small hours for one thing. Good- 
 night, my lad." 
 
 " Good-night, Mr. Dalton." As the boy withdrew, he noticed 
 how his companion's face fell forward on his hands, and felt 
 that he was in sore trouble. It was so strange to see the man, 
 whom he had always known so light and gay, in this sad case, 
 that he was loath to leave him, even at his own request. Yet 
 lie felt he had no choice. He could not cure his grief, whatever 
 it might be, or even soothe it, being, as he had said, so powerless. 
 He never knew that — powerless though he was — his entrance 
 into that room had saved a fellow-creature from self-destruction. 
 The words he had quoted from Holt's mouth, " Because my lifo 
 is not insured," had reminded Dalton, who in his agony of regret 
 
96 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 and stame had clean forgotten the fact, that his own life Wa3 
 insured, and that the policy would be made void by his suicide. 
 
 There was no escape left for him in his wretchedness, even in 
 death itself. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A TRUE WIFE. 
 
 When we poor sons of men are miserable, we are prone to think 
 that we have reached a depth of distress beyond that which the 
 experience of others has sounded, and approaching the very 
 limit — and even exceeding it, since in despair we often seek 
 refuge in the grave — which human nature can bear. The gen- 
 tleman who has just been black-balled at the long-desired club ; 
 the lady to whom the Lord Chamberlain has refused permission 
 to present herself at Her Majesty's Drawing-room ; the business 
 man who finds himself unable to meet his engagements on the 
 morrow ; the wife who has just discovered the unfaithfulness of 
 her husband : all these, although suffering such different degrees 
 of woe, imagine that not in the condemned cell of Newgate itself 
 is to be found a mortal so utterly forsaken by the gods as they. 
 It is the poor privilege of the wretched to exaggerate their ca- 
 lamities, and perhaps John Dalton indulged himself in this way 
 iiike the rest. Yet it is difficult to imagine that that autumn 
 morning dawned upon a human creature more wholly miserable 
 than he, as he crept down the thick carpeted stairs and along 
 the painted curridors of Riverside to his own room. Everything 
 about him breathed of wealth and luxury, while eveiy thought 
 within him pictured ruin. Hour after hour he sat alone, till the 
 cold grey light had broken over the crags of Bleabarrow, but 
 not one ray of comfort had fallen upon him ; he had racked his 
 brain for a single gleam of hope wherewith to mitigate the gloom 
 of that confession which he must now needs make to his unsus- 
 pecting wife, and had found none. He had prayed, and his 
 prayer had come back to him, as it seemed, rejected. There 
 are agonies in which the impatient soul demands some visible 
 sign of God's good providence, and being denied it, it dares to 
 question His existence. There was no help for him, he cried in 
 his exceeding bitterness, in God or man. As for himself, he 
 was ready to own that he did not deserve such help ; and if he 
 had stood alone in the world, he would have taken his punish- 
 ment, doggedly perhaps, but without repining or complaint. He 
 was no coward, though in that dark hour (as generally happens) 
 
 I 
 
A TRUE WIFE. 77 
 
 his very vivacity of spirits, quickened by long years of prosperity 
 and success, showed his seamy side, and made him proportion»hly 
 prone to despondency ; but his apprehensions for the fate of 
 those he loved, and -whom his folly had dragged down to the 
 dnst, were overwhelming. 
 
 His delicate and devoted wife; Kitty, with her beauty and 
 expectations; Jenny, prostrated by her illness, and for whom 
 until now everything had been done to prevent even the winds 
 of heaven from visiting her too roughly ; little Tony, with his 
 education but just begun, and looking forward to being an Eton 
 boy : each of these pictures, to gaze on which had hitherto been 
 the pride of his life, was now become to him terrible to look 
 upon ; and yet, alas ! they were living realities. The prospect 
 was not to be evaded or shut out ; not one of these beloved 
 portraits could he turn with its face to the wall. 
 
 As he drew near his dressing-room, his step fell more lightly 
 on the carpet, and he turned the handle of the door very softly, 
 lest his wife, who slept in the next apartment, should be disturbed. 
 His intention was on no account to waken her, but to suffer 
 her to sleep on until near her usual hour for being called, when 
 he must needs tell her his ill news. It would be the last sleep 
 free from care that she would ever have ; and as for him, there 
 |Was small chance of his losing consciousness of his woes even for 
 a moment. To his surprise, however, on entering his dressing- 
 room, the window-curtains of which were of course closed, ex- 
 t>luding the dawn, he perceived a strong light under the door 
 that communicated with the next apartment. At the same 
 moment he heard his name called in those dear accents, the 
 sound of which had hitherto been ever as music to his ear. 
 Now, they only evoked a shudder. Without trusting himself to 
 answer, for he was sensible that he had lost control over his 
 own tones, he summoned up a smile, and opened the door. To 
 his great distress, he found Mrs. Dalton had not retired to her 
 couch, but was sitting in her dressing-gown, awaiting him — as 
 she had doubtless been for the last six hours. 
 
 " My dearest love, how can you be so imprudent ? " 
 
 He was careful for her health at all times, and there was an 
 especial reason for her taking care of it for the next few months 
 to come ; for the moment, he only thought of that, and not of 
 the sad burden of woe which he had come to share with her. 
 
 "I could not sleep, dear," said she, tenderly, "until I had 
 seen you, and heard from your own lips what it was that has 
 troubled you so." 
 
78 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Here, as it might seem, was liis opportunity of gently breaking 
 to her his terrible news ; but no sooner did it present itself than 
 his courage failed him. What hurry was there, after all, to 
 introduce this innocent and unsuspicious creature to irreparable 
 calamity ? He had made up his mind, indeed, to do so that 
 very morning, but it now struck him that there was no need for 
 such great haste as that. The blow, indeed, must fall ; but it 
 W(juld not do so immediately, and it was his duty to prepare her 
 for it by gradations. Any sudden shock to one in her delicate 
 situation might have a serious effect, and was to be avoided. 
 Though death was sweet to himself, because of the evil that he 
 had wrought her, he shrank from contemplating it — miserable 
 though her life might be — in connection with lier. 
 
 " My darling, you alarm me beyond measure : to lose your 
 natural rest is to do yourself, just now, a serious injury. My 
 news, whatever it be, might surely wait for the morning." 
 
 " I must know what it is, John — I must, indeed," pleaded 
 she ; and she rose from her chair, and placing a thin white hand 
 upon each of his shoulders, looked straight into his eyes. " Do 
 not tell me it was the election only. Have I known and loved 
 you all these years not to know better than that ? Thank God, 
 you are well ! — in health at least — and the childi'on ai^c well. 
 If I had not had them under my own eye to-night, I should 
 have thought, when I looked upon your face, that there was 
 something amiss with ilicw.. What else, John, can have hap- 
 pened to so change you ? " 
 
 " To change me, Edith ? I flattered myself my manner was 
 much the same to-niglit as usual. But it is quite true that 
 something has happened to trouble me." 
 
 " Then it is a mere money trouble ? " 
 
 " It is a money trouble, but a very severe one." 
 
 " Thank God, thank God, it is no worse ! " said Mrs. Dalton, 
 fervently. " That nothing of blame or shame could be laid to 
 your door, I knew ; but I was apprehensive — I always have 
 been — that your connection with Mr. Holt might lead you into 
 some painful position. Your reference to him in your letter of 
 this morning made me uneasy. None of us like the man ; we 
 are only women, moved by instinct, and not by reason; but 
 since such a feeling was common to all three of us " 
 
 " There seemed something in it — eh, my darling ?" observed 
 Dalton, finishing the uncompleted sentence. He found his task 
 much easier now than he could have hoped for. What his wife 
 had said was strangely consonant with his own recent thoughts 
 
A TRUE WIFE. ^9 
 
 He knew that Holt was no favourite with ber or with the g'irk, 
 but he had no idea that they entertained any such suspicions 
 of him — unreasonable, as she herself had said, yet suspicions 
 which he shared. In her case, however, he did not wish that 
 they should be corroborated ; it was better she should feel he 
 had been ruined by his own folly than another's fraud, even if 
 there had been fraud. 
 
 '* I know nothing against Holt's honesty, nay dear," cnntin".ed 
 he, gravely. " But I did not wish you to speak to him about 
 the election, lest you should have heard somethiug from his lips 
 which should be told only by my own. It was most essential to 
 me, as I thought when I wrote that note, to succeed at Bamp- 
 ton ; my credit — by which I mean my commercial importance 
 — would have been seriously affected by the result; but now 
 all that has sunk into insignificance in the j^resence of an over- 
 whelming calamity." 
 
 " You have lost your fortune, John ! " Her tone was grave, 
 but very soft and gentle, and there was a smile of content upon 
 her face, very strange to see at such a time. 
 
 " Yes, dear, I have — God help me ! — every farthing of it." 
 
 *' But you have not lost us, John ; I am still with you " — her 
 voice trembled a little, but she went bravely on — " and the dear 
 children." 
 
 " Yes, darling ; it is on your account and theirs — not on 
 mine, God knows — that this has unnerved me ; that the burden 
 seems more heavy than I can bear." 
 
 " Then let us help you to carry it ; what is he 'vy for one is 
 light for four. The girls are old enough, and wise enough, to 
 bear their part. What is the loss of money when love is left !" 
 
 " Edith, Edith ! you know not what you say ; you have not 
 pictured to yourself what ruin is. Did you not hear me say 
 that I have lost my all ? — and. Heaven forgive me, youv all 
 also ! " 
 
 She sank down in a chair, for her limbs had failed her, still 
 retaining his hand within her own. " I did not understand," 
 said she, in a faint voice; *' God help us ! " 
 
 " Even she, devoted as she is, cannot image to herself," 
 thought he, " my fatal folly, and forgive it ; such a baseness as 
 I have committed is inconceivable to her innocent and unselfish 
 nature ; I am condemned by the sole judge to whom I could 
 have looked for mercy." How wrong he was, how little ho 
 knew her, notwithstanding that he loved her so ! When we 
 Btand before the judgment-seat of Heaven itself we may knovr 
 
8o FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 — I trust we sliall — a diviner pity, but here on earth there is no 
 such unstinting fount of pity and forgiveness as the heart of 
 woman. 
 
 " Pardon me, dear John," were her first broken words ; " tho 
 weakness has passed now, and 1 feel as befits your wife. Yes > 
 and I would not change my place to-night, this moment, 
 taking his head within her hands, for he had cast himself upon 
 his knees at her feet, and hidden his face in an agony of 
 remorse and shame, "with that of any woman in the world, no 
 matter how rich — how prosperous ! And I love you, John, 
 better in your poverty and your ruin than I ever loved you yet ; 
 and I will be true to you, and be your help — as help may be in 
 me — and so will Kate and Jenny." 
 
 Then she broke down. She could have borne all herself, but 
 the thought of her children, and what they would have to 
 bear, was too much for her mother's heart. Husband and 
 wife mingled their tears together — bitter tears of self-con- 
 demnation in the one case, and of tenderness and pity in 
 the other. " Hush !" said she — for a man's grief who has not 
 shed a tear since childhood is always loud — " Jenny is a light 
 sleeper," and she pointed to the door that led into the room 
 of the invalid. "Now tell me all about it, John; I can bear 
 to hear it much better than I can bear to wait. I know the 
 v/orst ; how can it hurt me, then, to know the shape in which 
 it has come ! Nay, it is idle to talk of rest, of sleep ; I pray you 
 tell me." 
 
 So, sitting hand in hand, John Dalton told her all, omitting 
 only his suspicions concerning Holt. 
 
 She listened attentively — asking a question calmly here and 
 there, when she required some matter of business to be ex- 
 plained — to the bitter end. 
 
 " Then if the bad news about the mine should not be con- 
 firmed," said she, "our affaii's would not bo so desperate ?" 
 
 " They are already confirmed, Edith ; do not, I beseech you, 
 indulge in any hope on that head. The mine was a swindle 
 from the beginning." 
 
 " Yet Mr. Holt persuaded you to invest in it ? " 
 
 *' Certainly; he thought it a genuine thing and a very good 
 l.hing; he purchased largely in it himself; that I know of my 
 own personal knowledge." 
 
 " And yet he sold them afterwards ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but at a high premium. If I had followed his advice, 
 I am bound to say I should liaYe made money by it. I had 
 
J TRUE WIFE. & 
 
 taken — I dou't know why, unless it was from what he had 
 originally told me — a fatal fancy to the investment." 
 
 " And to whom did Mr. Holt sell his shares ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; it was doubtless done through a brokei*, aud 
 he may not even know himself. Why do you ask that 
 question ?" 
 
 " From ignorance, my dear. I understand no more of sush 
 matters than our little Tony." 
 
 " Poor boy!" sighed Dalton, despondently. The mention of 
 his son brought keenly to his mind that sense of ruin which 
 this discussion about the liar a had for the moment diverted 
 from it. 
 
 "Well, darling, we must look about us," said Mrs. Dalton, 
 cheerfully, "and plan what is to be done. A man of your 
 talents, who has got so many influential friends, need not, 
 surely, long remain without any lucrative employment." 
 
 John Dalton had had some experience of place-hunting, 
 though not upon his own account, and he knew that in that 
 desci'iption of sport the " blank days" were many, and that those 
 even of the most skilful huntsmen who "find" at all are few. 
 The humiliation of beggary would be terrible to him, and how 
 often would he have to beg and be refused. 
 
 " There are the Skiptons, you know, darling ; they have 
 always been such friends of ours, and Sir William, who is in the 
 Ministry, would sure exert himself for your sake." 
 
 Her husband shook his head, as though he did not entertain 
 much hope of assistance from that quarter. Sir William, al- 
 though he was the. Attorney-general, was a dull man, and Dalton 
 had more than once expressed his opinion to that eifect — of 
 course in the politest jDOSsiblc manner — when they chanced to 
 diifer. Their families were very intimate, but the men them- 
 selves were as opposite as the poles, and had no very high 
 opinion of one another. Twenty-four hours ago, it would have 
 Geemed as impossible to Dalton to have asked a favour of Sir 
 William Skipton as to pick liis pocket ; he wotild not have done 
 it had he been starving. But the question now was whether he 
 could bring himself to do it, to provide bread for his children. 
 
 "Then there is Cousin Tatham, John; I am sure he has 
 always expressed the highest admiration of your talents.'* 
 
 Poor Dalton winced at this. Lord Tatham, a distant relative 
 cf his wife, was a venerable nobleman who enjoyed a certain in- 
 significant appointment about the Court ; and though, from his 
 appearance of wisdom and gravity, he might have sat upon tho 
 
82 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 •Vvoolsack to represent the Lord Chancellor in Ills absetice, lio 
 ■\vasj in fact, a uouentity ; a mere stuffed personage with a bag- 
 ivig and sword. He was, it is true, always talking about his 
 patronage, but it was only the appointment of the royal footmen 
 that lay within his gift. 
 
 While Mrs. Dalton thus imagined to herself that the Cour'u 
 and the Ministry would both be interested in her husband'.- 
 favour, he himself was rapidly reviewing in his own mind all 
 the really possible chances that Avere open to him, and thoy 
 seemed few indeed. He had friends, it is true, upon whom he 
 could rely for sympathy, and even, perhaps, for material aid — 
 though in a shape which, even now, he could not conceive him- 
 self capable of accepting--but they were men of his own style 
 and character, genial, agreeable fellows, and who had, w^ith \id\< 
 exceptions, never sought to burden themselves with the duties, 
 and therefore the privileges, of office. He felt that they could 
 have nothing to give him in the way of employment. He had 
 a slight acquaintance, indeed, with a Minister or two beside Sir 
 William, but he had always attached himself to the other faction 
 in politics, and it was unreasonable to exjjcct that his late 
 attempt upon the virtue of the borough of Bampton, though it 
 had failed, would recommend him to their good offices. 
 
 Nothing very practical, indeed, came out of the long discus- 
 sion that took jjlace that weary morning, concerning future ways 
 and means, between husband and wife, yet Dakon found an 
 unexpected solace in it. 
 
 He had never before taken Edith into his confidence upon the 
 state of his affairs ; and her sagacity and common-sense, wherc- 
 ever her knowledge of the grounds upon which to build was 
 equal to his own, surprised him. We do not give the angels 
 such credit for aptitude for worldly wisdom as perhaps they 
 deserve. Mrs. Dalton's views were doubtless sanguine ; she 
 had much more confidence, not only in her husband's Iriends, but 
 in his own abilities, than ho had himself ; but if sympathy is 
 not help, it is next akin to it, and hope begets ho]ie ; and before 
 their talk was over, Dalton was certainly in a less despairing 
 mood than he had been some hours ago. 
 
 Though his wife had suggested much, she Lad stipulated but 
 one thing^namcly, that their misfortune should, if possible, be 
 kept from the knowledge of their children until they return to 
 their own home. " Let them enjoy themselves for the few days 
 that remain of our visit here, John ; it will be easier to break 
 this news when we are all together under our own roof ; nor d» 
 
MR. HOLT'S ADVICE. S3 
 
 I wish, unless yoU see auy good reason to the contrary, iliafc our 
 host and hostess) should learn what has befallen ns, while we 
 remain their gttests." 
 
 It was out of the true mother's heart, we may be sure, that 
 tlie first advice was given ; but of the source of the second I am 
 not so certain — perhaps it was a little womanly pride. Her 
 connection with the Campdeus had always been on equal terms, 
 and she shrank, though the change must needs come sooner or 
 Inter, from its being jjlaced on another footing. Or, perhaps, 
 she thought that Julia would not prove the most sympathising 
 of friends at such a crisis. 
 
 To both conditions Dalton would have willingly assented, but 
 he feigned objections in order to gain compliance, by giving 
 way, with a stipulation of his own — namely, that Edith should 
 retire to rest for the little time that now intervened before her 
 usual hour for being called. To this she was with difficulty per- 
 suaded, and presently, worn out with watching, and weariness, 
 and woe, she fell asleep. 
 
 As the daylight struggled in, and lit up her delicate wan face, 
 as it lay beside his own, a new fear crept into his aching heart, 
 and mingled with its other tenants. Supi30se that his faithful 
 and beloved companion should perish in her coming trial, and 
 leave him alone in the dark days to come ! The thought was 
 agonising, but only in consonance with those which already 
 beset him. That worst, at which, when we have arrived, it is 
 said that " things must mend," he felt was limitless in evil. 
 There are times when poor humanity rejects the smooth pro- 
 phecy, " Heaven will never desert me so utterly as to suffer this 
 to happen or that ;" but, with sickening fear, expects the utmost 
 cruelty of Fate. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Mil. holt's advice, 
 WiiE^ we lose one very dear to us, by death, the agony culmi- 
 nates at once ; there is nothing more dreadful to be felt than it 
 —it will break out again and again with intense severity, but 
 always with a less violence than in the black hour of bereave- 
 ment, and a day comes, sooner or later, when our friends — the 
 best of whom do not know us half so well as we kno^v ourselve.s 
 ■ — remark to one another : " He has got over it." The effect of 
 B great stroke of ill-luck — of a very heavy pecuniary misfortune, 
 for example — ia generally quite different. The blow prostratea 
 
54 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 U9 for tlie moment, but almost directly afterwards vitulity 
 asserts itself ; we are revived by a liost of hopes, each insigni- 
 ficant in itself, and which, since they cannot coalesce, have really 
 no practical value ; but they inspire courage. A drowning man 
 is said to catch at a straw, and ten thousand straws floatinf^ 
 about him v/ould doabtless proportiouably «xcite his hope, though 
 they would be of no more help than one, unless they could be 
 formed into a straw rich. And thus it was with John Dal ton, 
 when he woke — for "merciful nature " had given him nearly an 
 liour's forgetfulness — to find himself, for the first time, a ruined 
 man. We say " for the first time," because many respectable 
 persons are ruined many times, and to them the picture I have 
 painted of this man's Avretcheduess will doubtless have appeared 
 too highly coloured. Nay, they will assert, "Not even at first 
 did we give way in such a miserable manner." Very likely, my 
 friends. Are you quite sure that you really lost anything ? Had 
 you anything of your own to begin with ? And did you not go 
 into that particular line of business which proved so unfortunate 
 with this catastrophe already more or less before your eyes ? 
 Now, John Dalton could scarcely have been more astonished at 
 what had befallen him had he suddenly found himself changed 
 into a bird or a beast. 
 
 He had left his own line in life, and entered into " commercial 
 enterprise," it is true, with no higher aim than his own butler, 
 who would doubtless now take a public-house with the money 
 «aved in his own service, namely, to " better himself ; ' but he had 
 had no idea of risking his all upon the result ; and the shock — 
 now he found that he had lost his all — was by consequence the 
 greater. Still, as we have said, the clouds seemed to lift a little 
 that morning. He was able to put in a cheerful appearance at 
 the breakfast-table ; nor throughout that day, except that he at 
 times appeared pre-occupied, could you have guessed the load of 
 care he bore upon his shoulders. The Tall Mull confirmed the 
 news of the previous morning, however — another coramorcial 
 collapse, though, fortunately, it was understood to affect only a 
 limited circle, had taken place in the case of the Lara mine ; it 
 had been egregiously puffed, but had now gone the way of most 
 mines ; the expert sent out by the committee of English share- 
 holders had " cabled " news that the speculation was nest door 
 to worthless ; that the proceeds of the mine would not even pay 
 for its working. The shares, which but the other day had been 
 at a high premium, were now quotable. The fifteen thousand 
 pounds Avhich Dalton had invested in it, and which repvcseuted 
 
MR. HOLT'S ADVICE. 85 
 
 about half the value of the English shares, were irrevocably 
 gone. 
 
 Convinced of this, he did not lose a post in privately com- 
 municating with such friends as he thought might have the 
 power to serve him. He was frank with them, and yet concise. 
 " I have lost all my money, and urgently i-equire some employ- 
 ment — the more lucrative the better," was the burden of each 
 note. After despatching them he felt relieved, as a man will do 
 v,'ho has done his best to help himself. 
 
 "From so large a principal of good-will," thought he, "I 
 shall surely get a sufficient return of interest for my needs." 
 Nor did he in this calculation ovei'-estimate his popularity ; 
 almost everybody liked John Dalton, and would have done him 
 a good turn if they could. 
 
 At dinner he was exceedingly amusing, and excited Mrs, 
 Campden's indignation by a spirited defence of the Indian 
 system of suttee. The chief objection to death, in the case of 
 comparatively young persons, he ai'gued, was that no dear ones 
 have preceded them into the dark and silent land ; wherea< the 
 old may flatter themselves with the idea of rejoining their kins- 
 folk and acquaintances. Thus, althoiigh it might be a little 
 selfish in His Highness, nothing was more natural than that an 
 Indian prince, finding himself on the point of departure from 
 this world, should requii'e his favourite wives and servants to 
 accompany him upon his journey to the other, where it was only 
 *oo probable that he would not find persons to understand his 
 little ways, and make him comfortable. 
 
 " I call it most abominably wicked," said Mrs. Campden. 
 
 " Doubtless it is, my dear madam ; I only said it was natural, 
 Avhich, indeed, corroborates th» view of the Church of England 
 upon original sin." 
 
 Mrs. Campden did not quite understand this logic, but she 
 had a strong suspicion that her guest was joking — a thing which 
 in itself she detested — and, what was worse, that he was joking 
 at her own expense. She showed considerable annoyance ; nor 
 could Mrs, Dalton avoid casting a reproachful glance at her 
 husband. " Is this a time," it seemed to say, " to give offence 
 to friends, when it is so necessary to rally them round us ? " 
 But the fact was that it was the very consciousness of that 
 necessity which tempted Dalton to show his independence, by 
 carrying to some extremity that guerilla warfare which had 
 always existed between his hostess and himself. 
 
 ^'Irs, Campden had her revenge, if she had only known it; fpp 
 
86 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 plio was very loquacious about certain plans for the future, in 
 which Mrs. Daltou and her daughters had their share, with 
 i-espect to her next visit to London. Mary, as had been 
 arranged, was to stay with the girls in Cardigan Place for some 
 weeks, during which all sorts of gaieties were to be enjoyed ; 
 and then Mr. and Mrs. Campden were themselves to come u]) 
 1o town, and exchange their present position as host and 
 liostess for that of guests. In all these projects the whei-e withal 
 uas, of course, taken for granted and as a matter of course ; and 
 ifc cut Dalton to the heart to hear the eagerness with v/hich his 
 daughters entered into them. In a few weeks' time, as he 
 liitterly reflected, there would be no home, even for themselves, 
 far less to offer to others. 
 
 His position during this unhappy day was, however, a less 
 painful one than that of his wife ; for she could not escape 
 ^vithotlt attracting notice from the society of those dear ones 
 whose unconscious gaiety inflicted upon her a thousand stabs, 
 while her husband could seek solitude or the companionship of 
 those comparatively indifferent to him, under pretence of 
 transacting business. Indeed, he found some relief from his 
 pressing anxieties in conversation with Holt himself, notwith- 
 standing the unfavourable light in which he had begun to 
 regard him. The man had a clear head for affairs, and was 
 able to place his position and obligations before him with a 
 greater definiteness than lay in his own power. 
 
 It is something to know where you are, however uncomfortable 
 may be your predicament ; and with this information Dalton 
 was by this means supplied. If ho was " sold up to-morrow," 
 there would be three thousand pounds left for the support of 
 his wife and family ! a sum which had hitherto about represented 
 his annual income. 
 
 " So you can live a whole year, my good fellow, as you have 
 been accustomed to do," said Holt, cheerfully ; " and, in tho 
 meantime, the deuce is in it, if, with such influential friends as 
 jou possess, some post is not offered you." 
 
 There were three thiugs in this speech that annoyed Dalton 
 excessively. 
 
 In the first place, he did not like the familiarity of it — Iho 
 phj-ase "my good fellow " had not often been in Holt's mouth, 
 eve a if he had ever before used it ; it seemed to him that the 
 man was taking liberties with him because of his downfall. 
 Secondly, he thought he detected a sneer, in the tone in which 
 Jiis " influential friends " were mentioned. It had been tbe^ 
 
MR. nOLTS ADVICE. 8j 
 
 object of Holt's ambition to be inti'oducecT to tliese friends, but 
 their acquaintance could scarcely have been satisfactory to him, 
 and it seemed probable that he meant to imply that they "vvere 
 broken reeds to lean upon, taking it for granted that they would 
 be no more symjiathetic with Dalton than they had been to 
 himself. Thirdly, and most of all, he was irritated at the man's 
 supposing" he could be so madly selfish as to continue the same 
 course of life, under his changed circumstances, as he had 
 hitherto done. Nevertheless, he restrained his passion. 
 
 " You must take me for a very phlegmatic fellow, Holt — not 
 to say a knave and a fool — to suppose I could enjoy such a year 
 of prosperity as you suggest.'' 
 
 " Indeed, I meant no offence. I have known many a man, in 
 a worse pickle than you, go on precisely the same way as though 
 lie had not lost a shilling ; and in the end, none but himself and 
 one or two more ever knew that he Jiad lost one. With a year 
 to turn about in " 
 
 " Don't talk such sheer nonsense!" interrupted Dalton, im-^ 
 patiently. "Such a phrase may mean something with your 
 ■"^ity friends, who have always got some scheme or another of 
 enriching themselves at the expense of the public ; but as 
 addressed to me, you must know it is mere moonshine." 
 
 " Live on fifteen hundred, then, for double the time. Surely 
 in two years " 
 
 "No!" broke in the other. "I am not likely to act a lie 
 any more, I hope, than to tell one. I shall make no secret to 
 any one, after I have left this house, of the ruin that has befallen 
 me." 
 
 " You will do as you please, Dalton, of course ; but I see no 
 reason why you should cry stinking fish. Nobody likes a man 
 the better, or feels more inclined to belp him, because he is 
 poor ; and then there is jouv family to be considered." 
 
 " Sir!" cried Dalton, sternly, "I beg you will confine your 
 observations to those affairs in which I have asked your advice. 
 My wife and children will be guided by my own judgment in 
 this matter, and by it alone." 
 
 Mr. Holt shrugged his shoulders, and threw his bauds up (in 
 the style that he believed tq be continental) with an air so 
 peculiarly vulgar, that it would have aroused Daltou's disgust 
 under any circumstances ; as it was, he felt his contempt for 
 this man fast changing into a consuming hate. " It is im- 
 possible to discuss this question, Dalton, if, in every suggestion 
 of pqiuo, you are determined to find some ground -of c^uarrel, In 
 
SS FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 iny humble opinion, to inform the -world of your ruin Is to make 
 that ruin certain. Men put water into a pump to make it draw ; 
 hut if they know there is nothing in the well, they spare their 
 labour. Except in the way of charity, no moneyed man will 
 help you if you begin by acknowledging yourself bankrupt." 
 
 " And who told you, sir, that I was going to ask any man for 
 his monev ? " The tone and manner of Dalton were so threaten- 
 ing, that Holt, who had recommenced his continental shrug, de- 
 sisted from it half-way ; his shoulders went up, but did no' 
 come down again, so that he remained like the famous jumping - 
 frog, who could not start by reason of the small shot in his 
 inside. 
 
 " I did not mean that you were going to beg, of course ; but 
 money or credit may certainly be very necessary for you, and 
 that at once, supposing there is bad news from Brazil." 
 
 " Bad news from Brazil ! Do you mean as respects the Lara ? 
 Why, we have had such bad news already, that I don't see how 
 it can be worse. I take it for granted that the shares must bo 
 paid up in full, and are worthless, and that all my fifteen thou- 
 sand pounds arc gone." 
 
 " That is certain. But is it possible you have forgotten the 
 fact that the liability is unlimited ? " 
 
 The conversation we have been describing took place in the 
 library at Riverside — a magnificent room, so contrived that to 
 those within it there appeared no door at all, all the walls being 
 lined from floor to ceiling with splendidly-bound books. These 
 gorgeous volumes, all gilt and colour, as well as the three largo 
 .vindows on which the afternoon sun was shining, now began to 
 revolve before the unhappy Dalton's eyes ; the world spun round 
 with him, and that so fast, that it seemed he had no breath to 
 reply to his companion's words. 
 
 "You did know that they were unlimited, of course ? " con- 
 tinued the other, after a long pause. 
 
 " T did ; but you. told me — you yourself — that they were only 
 nominally so ; that the operations of the mine were on a com- 
 paratively small scale, and that we should never be requii-ed 
 to pay up the shares in full, much less to become liable for 
 more." 
 
 " I daresay I did, my good fellow ; but then I was deceived, 
 like yourself. How could I know that the speculation would 
 turn out to be so disastrous ? " 
 
 " You mean that you did not know that it was a swindlo p '• 
 
 " \YelL a swindle i.s a hai-sh term." 
 
MR. HOL T'S AD VICE. Z<) 
 
 " It is tlie name, you have read, which the expert sent out by 
 the committee has given to the whole concern : he says there is 
 no gold worth speaking of, and that an attempt was made to 
 ' salt ' the mine, in order to deceive him. In my opinion, to call 
 men rogues who are capable of such a plot as that, is to pay 
 them a compliment. They are unmitigated cheats and scoundrels, 
 Avho deserve to be laid by their heels in jail, and would be likely 
 to contaminate those they found there." 
 
 " My good friend, one must take matters as one finds them. 
 If I could have foreseen that the promoters of the enterprise 
 wore such as you describe, you may be sure I should not have 
 invested my own money in it, even for a day. It is no use 
 crying over spilt milk; let us look at the matter like practicnl 
 men. It is quite possible that the paid-up shares may cover all 
 expenses ; but, on the other hand, they may not ; in which case 
 it will be necessary that your friends should stand by you. I 
 beg, my dear Dalton, that you will consider me as one of them, 
 and certainly not the least interested in your welfare. I will 
 myself be responsible for any liability you may incur in the Lara, 
 over and above the amount of the shares. If you doubt the 
 genuineness of my offer, let me put it on paper." 
 
 " You are very good, I am sure," returned Dalton, keeping 
 his eyes fixed upon the carpet, and speaking as if every word 
 was dragged from him by force. " Your word is quite a suffi- 
 cient guarantee of your wish to serve me." 
 
 Whatever happened, he was resolutely determined that he 
 would never lay himself under an obligation to this man. 
 
 " Good ? Not at all, my dear fellow," replied the other, 
 cheerfully ; " it is in such circumstances as the present that a 
 friend should show himself friendly. There is many a one who 
 will lend you money, I don't doubt ; but come to me first, I beg 
 of you. As to security, be sure I shall never look for it ; and as 
 to iiiterest, I hope I may be allowed to say that another sort of 
 interest, which I feel in the well-being of you and yours, will 
 more than repay me for either risk or loss." 
 
 "You are very good," repeatd Dalton, mechanically. 
 
 It was not a hearty acknowledgment, far less an eager 
 acceptance of his offer; but Holt seemed well content with 
 it ; perhaps he felt that it Avas something that he had been 
 allowed to say " you and yours " without awakening the pas- 
 sionate resentment that he had aroused the previous night. If 
 the gain Avas a small one, it had at least been made in a shorti 
 
go FA L L EX FOR TUNES. 
 
 " We Bhall not know about this precious mine, I suppose, for 
 certain, until next mail ? " inquired Dalton, after a pause. 
 
 " Nor even then, perhaps, as to the liability. They are sure 
 of you, you see, confound them ! or think themselves so ; though, 
 in such a case, considering how you have been imposed upon, 
 there would be ample justification for your washing your hands 
 of the Avhole matter. I know many a man that would do so, 
 nor would the world blame him." 
 
 " I don't understand you. How could I wash my hands of 
 it ? " 
 
 " Well, of course it's a matter of feeling ; I am not recom- 
 mending jou, mind, to take any steps of the kind ; but it would 
 only be acting in self-defence, if you were to say : ' I have paid 
 enough, and more than enough, for what was always worthless, 
 and I will pay no more.' You might realise Avhat you could, 
 and take yourself ' out of the jurisdiction of the court/ as the 
 phrase is — to Sweden, for example." 
 
 " What ! and leave the rest of the shareholders to bear the 
 brunt of it ? " 
 
 " That, of course, sounds like injustice ; but the question is. 
 who are the other shareholders ? There is not one of them wh< 
 has lost fifteen thousand, or five tliousand, I will answer for it, 
 beside yourself. Perhaps you are the only solvent man — I don't 
 know, mind, but it is as likely as not — of the whole lot. If you 
 were out of the way, it might not be worth their while to have 
 a shot at anybody else." 
 
 " Then you think I should abscond to Sweden with my wife 
 and family ? " 
 
 " I confess I think small blame would be imputed to you, if 
 you withdrew yourself, till matters were settled, either to that 
 country or elsewhere ; but as to your taking Mrs. Dalton and 
 the young ladies, that seems to me quite out of the question." 
 
 " It i- not more out of the question than that I should go 
 (iiystlf. Holt," answered Dalton, coldly. " Pray understand that 
 I am not yet a scoundrel, although 1 find myself connected wiih 
 schemers, such as started the Lara ; it will save you a great deal 
 of pains in making any future suggestions, if you kee}) that iu 
 mind." As he said this, Dalton rose from his chair, and pushing- 
 open the " dummy " door, formed of the backs of books, walked 
 out of the room, leaving his companion to his meditations. 
 
 Mr. Richard Holt, however, was not a man to easily take 
 offence (unless it was to his advantage— as it sometimes was — ■ 
 to do so) ; he doubtless made allowance for the soreness of onf 
 
S } 'J/'FA rilE TIC IKK. 9I 
 
 h\ wliom the sense of ruin was so recent ; and wlien lie met Lis 
 triend an hour or so afterwards in the drawing-room, it was «7ith 
 his usual air and manner. Dalton, on his part, also soon ] ^- 
 CDvered himself; he could not but reflect that he had heard He It 
 oive utterance to the like lax opinions and advice with respect 
 to others, and had not rebuked him ; so that it was not sur- 
 pi'ising he shou.ld have suggested such a course in his own case, 
 without apprehension of giving offence. In spite of his dislike 
 for the man, his company for the present was almost necessary 
 to him ; he was the only person — save his wife, who did not un- 
 derstand them — to whom he could speak unreservedly respecting 
 his afli^irs. 
 
 Holt might be useful to him yet ; he had a keen practical 
 mind, and if his advice had been at one time fatal to him, it 
 could be no longer harmful, since he had nothing to lose. So 
 much of assistance it seemed to him he had a right to claim. 
 But as to accepting from him any such help as had been sug- 
 gested, that was not to be thought of. He had never been 
 indebted to him for any favour — his instinct had warned him 
 against that from the first ; and nosv least of all, in his wretched- 
 ness and ruin, did he feel inclined to accept assistance at his 
 bauds. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SYMPATHETIC INK', 
 
 The days of Riverside went on as of old : there were croquet- 
 parties, riding-parties, water-parties, dnring the day-time ; and 
 in the evening there were dinner-parties, dancing-parties, and 
 charades. The house was neither gayer nor less gay than it was 
 wont to be, and in all these entertainments John Dalton bore his 
 part — which was always the chief part. He possessed the re- 
 putation of being the " life and soul " of every social gathering, 
 and he had to sustain it ; just as a great nobleman must "■ keep 
 up " his vast estate, although he is in reality as poor as his 
 meanest tenant. It was not so difficult a task as many would 
 imagine. The high spirits which had hitherto carried him so 
 bravely and buoyantly on the very top of the wave, it is true, 
 had vanished; but the light manner and the sparkling wit re- 
 mained — they had become as natural to him as pomposity or 
 melancholy to another ; and it needed a keen observer to note 
 that paste had taken the place of the diamond. It was only 
 remarked of him that he -\vas growing cynical, a condition at 
 
92 FAI.LEX FORTUNES. 
 
 Avhicli mosf- men of ■wit and pleasure arrive long before lils time 
 of life. 
 
 Jenny, indeed, had gravely asked: "Mamma, what is the 
 matter with dear papa ? " And when her mother had answered, 
 " Nothing, darling," she came to the conclusion there was some- 
 thing very bad indeed. But Jenny, as we have heard her observe, 
 was a looker-on at tbe game of life, and saw more of it than the 
 players. 
 
 On the third day, the answers to John Dalton's applications lo 
 his friends began to arrive ; each of them a page of human nature, 
 complete and characteristic in itself, yet differing from all the 
 rest only in degree. He was a man too popular with the crowd 
 — for the " crowd " is a term that suits with the highest fashion 
 and the most cultured minds, as fitly as with the lowest and the» 
 most ignorant — to have secured the best sort of friends. He 
 had " dulled his palm " too much with welcoming mere com- 
 x*ades, to have grappled to himself true men with hooks of steel. 
 That kind, perhaps, did not exist in the society among which he 
 had moved, and where camaraderie rather than friendship was 
 cultivated ; but such hearts as there had been to win, he had 
 really won. He did not receive one letter such as satirists have 
 described as the reply of a rich man to a ruined one. No man 
 absolutely turned his back upon him, or offered him a five- 
 pound note in compromise and farewelK 
 
 His knowledge of the world had doubtless prevented him 
 from applying to the intrinsically base. Yet these letters were 
 very various — there were some that brought the blood into his 
 cheek for very shame, and some the tears into his eyes, with 
 their outspoken tenderness and generosity. There were ap- 
 prehensive letters — or what, perhaps, his soreness only took for 
 such ; letters in which he thought he read a fear lest the wi'iter 
 should be called npon to put his hand into his pocket; and 
 there were letters in which such offers as the following wcrs to 
 be found, couched in moi'c or less delicate phrase: "As to 
 mon»y, my dear fellow, thongli you do not mention it, and I am 
 afraid would be backward in doing so, pi'ay remember, if you 
 should want a banker, to apply to me." 
 
 Three letters in which that sug-gestion was made came from 
 very wealthy men, who had never in their lives known what it 
 AV£.s to want a shilling, or a thousand jjounds. If they had mado 
 their money, their readiness to appreciate the want of it in 
 another would have been less surprisirg. As it was, their 
 generosity ovcrwhclmei him; while it pricked his pi'ide only 
 
S VAIPA THE TIC INK'. $3 
 
 i, very little, for he had not the smallest intentioB of taking 
 advantage of their offers. These last two classes were, of 
 course, at the opposite ends of the scale of his correspondents. 
 Between them came a number of replies representirc; less marked 
 varieties of character. What was most displeasing to him were 
 the conventional condolences which were expressed, and es- 
 pecially the confident expectations the writers affected to 
 entertain that all things would be well with him by-and-by. 
 " A man with ready wit like yours," some saidj " cannot long be 
 without some profitable employment ; " and one even wrote that 
 " he could hardly help congratulating a man of such abilities 
 that he would be now compelled, though the compulsion for 
 the moment might seem irksome" — ("Confound his impu- 
 dence ! " exclaimed Dalton, in a fury) — " to apply them to the 
 benefit of the State ; for, as to getting some high post under 
 Government, there could not be the smallest doubt." 
 
 As to this last, almost all his fi-iends were agreed in the sam» 
 view; they had not "the smallest doubt" that he would get 
 something — "and at once," added the more sanguine — "which 
 would relieve him from his anxieties, and perhaps place him in 
 a more agreeable groove of existence than he had hitherto oc- 
 cupied." Only a few honest friends allowed that he was " in a 
 hole," and hoped, evidently against hope, that he would be soon 
 out of it. He noticed, with a bitter smile, that these last 
 persons had themselves been iilace-hunters in their time, and 
 Auderstuod the difficulties of the pursuit. 
 
 For the rest, the answer to the main question which he had 
 addressed to each was in every case the same, and identical with 
 that given to all beggars : " I am very sorry, my good man, 
 but I have nothing for you." 
 
 Dalton felt that they had spoken the truth ; but the truth was 
 only less bitter than if they had replied : " We have something, but 
 wo will not give it to you." Such would in effect be the answer 
 of Sir William Skipton, he kncAV, no matter in what terms it 
 was conveyed, and he was not going to put himself in the way 
 of such a rebuff. He had already exhausted every channel to 
 which he might reasonably look for aid, and it was idle indeed ta 
 make application in less likely quarters. 
 
 A day or two more passed by, and the last of the replies had 
 rir-ached him. They all told the same tale. There was nothing 
 for him but to wait and not hope — there was no ground, in 
 truth, to build ever so small a hope upon. He had laid all the 
 letters before his wife, and she had perused them wittj infinite 
 
94 FALLEN PORIVNES. 
 
 care ; not glancing tbrongh tliem with a sort of scornful im- 
 patience, as lie had done, and then throwing them aside, but 
 well weighing every word, and from some extracting here and 
 there a grain of comfort. But her great consolation and hojDo 
 of help lay elsewhere altogether. 
 
 "John, dear, God will never forsake us; however we may 
 have deserved His wrath, He will never leave our innocent 
 childi^en to starve." 
 
 "You have deserved nothing but good of Him," cried 
 Dalton, passionately. " That is what makes it so bitter to me." 
 
 " Oh, John, how can joti talk so ! " pleaded she, earnestly. 
 " We have lirtle — at least I am sure that 1 have fallen very, very- 
 far short of my duty, and many times ; and even if it had not 
 been so, if I had been what your blind love supposes, does not 
 St. Paul call himself the chief of sinners ? " 
 
 "Yes, but he did not believe it; or, if he did, he had his 
 reasons : you never went about persecuting people, for example, 
 to jDersuade them to be Pharisees." 
 
 " Oh, John, John ! I beseech you, whatever happens, do not 
 give up your faith. It is certain we are all sinners." 
 
 " I am quite willing to own as much in my own case," 
 answered her husband. " I don't say I have not deserved even 
 such a blow as this ; but as for you and the children — you will 
 not tell me, I suppose, that Jenny, whom nothing but a miracle 
 could have healed from the first, and who will now perish from 
 sheer lack of means to save her, has deserved it ? There, 
 darling, I am sorry : don't give way like that. I was wrong, 
 very wrong, to talk so, but I feel at times so desperate. It is 
 over now. You shall never hear me question the decrees of 
 Fate again." 
 
 He kept his word to her from that hour ; but in his heart he 
 did still question them, and resented them; for bright, and even 
 brilliant, though it was, John Dalton had a very undisciplined 
 mind. Moreover, he had been all his life a favourite of Fortune, 
 and now that she had turned her back upon him, he was as 
 furious as a lover who has just been jilted. The Avorld was not 
 only out of joint with him, because this JjWi'a mine had turned 
 out an ill-success, but both worlds. ' The whole system of the 
 universe seemed to him either to be thrown out of gear, or to 
 be wrong ab ovo : a state of mind which will apjicar not only 
 intensely wicked, but absurdly unreasonable, to all persons who 
 have not experienced a like misfortune. In sober fact, the three 
 thousand pounds or so which still remained to him, and which 
 
^ YMPA THE TIC IXJ^. 95 
 
 eome would no doiil)t regard as a small fortune, seemed to one 
 of his habits a mere stop-gap — a halting-place upon the road to 
 ruiu ; and in his place, it would probably have so appeared to 
 most of us. Hs felfc himself "going under" — not, indeed, at 
 one plunge, but quite as surely as though it had been so, and 
 that he was dragging with him those he loved into the dej^ths of 
 poverty — a condition which they were utterly unfitted to endure. 
 Escape for himself there was none ; he no longer looked, or 
 wished for any such ; but how to rescue his wife and children 
 was a problem that was never absent from his mind. And at 
 last a plan occurred to him. He had had it, fitfully, in his mind 
 before, but had always discarded it for a certain reason ; but 
 now it w^as suggested to him anew by his host, of course, uu- 
 Avittingly, since he had not been let into the secret of his mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 Mr. Campden was a man who, though not exactly what is 
 called "self-made," had risen from comparatively smal begin- 
 nings ; his father had had a moderately good business, which 
 enabled him to send his son to college, where he had first 
 become acquainted with Dalton ; and this business — it was type- 
 founding — the younger Campden had greatly extended. But 
 the mass of his fortune had arisen — with great help from a 
 quarter already mentioned — from the eligible investment of his 
 savings. He held on to what he had once bought through good 
 report and evil report, and in almost all cases — even when the 
 stock was depreciated — had found his account in doing so. He 
 contended that in this consisted the great advantage which a rich 
 man possesses over a poor one in the matter of speculation — that 
 he can afford to hold on 
 
 He had shares in every description of property : in banks, in 
 railways, and in ships ; and taking them all round, his invest- 
 ments had been very fortunate. He was the last man to boast 
 of his wealth — purse-pride was a sentiment utterly beneath and 
 foreign to his wholesome nature ; but he did plume himself a 
 little upon those transactions which had done credit to his judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Some ten days after the misfortune that had befallen hi.i 
 guest, a certain dividend came to him by the morning post, 
 which afFoi'ded him unusual satisfaction. 
 
 He threw it across the table with a chuckle, and bade Dalton 
 look at it. How little he knew that he v.'as behaving like the 
 cruel school-boy to his hungry class-fellow : " l>o you like cake ? 
 then see me eat it." Ee would ratbei* hp.vc ctib his ^%lld oit, or 
 
$6 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 at all. events a finger, than have insulted the ruinei man r/itli 
 the display of his good fortune. 
 
 Dalton ran his eye over the sum-total, which was in four 
 figures, 
 
 " You must have a heap of money in the concern," said he, 
 carelessly, "to produce such a dividend as this." 
 
 "Not at all,'' replied the other, gleefully; "hut it has never 
 paid less than ten per cent, since the Board took my advice in a 
 certain matter. It's the Valub Branch Insurance Society." 
 
 " Indeed," replied Dalton, as coldly as before; but he felt the 
 colour rush to his cheeks, and then ebb again. The Fahi Branch 
 was the company in which his own life was insured for five 
 thousand pounds. "And how was it you raised the divi- 
 dend ? " 
 
 " Well, it was the simplest thing in the world. I had long 
 noticed that the insurance companies that were most popular 
 with the public are those which cover eveiy description of loss, 
 and which do not haggle about exceptional risks. A man don't 
 want to go to the Cannibal Islands — and as a matter of facb 
 doesn't go —but he also does not like to be told that he may not 
 do so if he chooses. Well, I, as their chairman, persuaded my 
 brother-directors to sweep all these restrictions away, and the 
 results have been sur-prisingly satisfactory. Our applications 
 for policies have almost doubled, and yet we are not a penny the 
 Avorse. A man may even join the Palm Branch, and cut his 
 throat the next morning if he pleases, and yet his widow will get 
 her money." 
 
 " And nobody has ever done it ? " 
 
 It seemed to Dalton, as he put this question, that every one 
 was looking at him, though for his part he looked at none, but, 
 toying with his tea-spoon, stared at the bottom of his cup. 
 His wife, he felt certain, had her eye upon him, and Holt 
 also. 
 
 " Of course nobody has dono it," returned his host, con- 
 temptuously ; " and it is ten thousand to one that nobody ever 
 will. If he does, so much the better for us. We should pay 
 his policy in a month by the increase of our clients. ' The Fahn 
 Branch for our money,' they will say, 'for it makes no objection 
 to anything.' Other companies are already copying us so far as 
 to allow their people to put an end to themselves after six months ; 
 bub that is a half- measure which will do neither good nor harm. 
 It is the most satisfactory suggestion in the way of business that 
 ever I made." 
 
S YMPA THE TIC INK. 97 
 
 ** t tliink ii a very horrid one," remarked Mrs. Campden, 
 sententiously. 
 
 " Then you mustn't drive your new pair of ponies any more, 
 my dear," was her husband's quiet reply, " for the price of them 
 came out of it." 
 
 " Well, I suppose it is not so bad as it looks," returned the 
 hostess, in a more mitigated tone ; " but, on the first blush of it, 
 it appears almost like a premium upon suicide." 
 
 " No, my dear, the suicide pays the premium, not we ; though 
 perhaps he may only do it once." 
 
 " I do not sec anything to joke about, Mr. Campden, on so 
 shocking a subject," observed the lady, austerely, as she rose 
 with the rest of her sex from the now finished I'epast. 
 
 " I assure you, my dear, I only wished to remove your scru- 
 ples about those ponies. They are really not the price of blood, 
 because nobody has yet reaped any advantage from our new 
 arrangement. There is, perhaps, a little temptation to some of 
 our clients when they shave ; but as to using their razors 
 for " 
 
 " Ugh! " interrupted the lady, as she swept out of the room 
 in the rear of her retreating force. " Don't talk of such things, 
 I beg. If that is what you call humour, I am glad I don't un- 
 derstand it." 
 
 " Now, my wife would drive those ponies, Dal ton — and with 
 just as great satisfaction — if half our board of directors should 
 cut their throats to-morrow," observed Mr. Campden, as the 
 door closed behind her. 
 
 " But not if the chairman did it, I hope ? " said Dalton, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Well, I think in that case she'd wait — perhaps a week," 
 answered the host, with a cheerful laugh. His dividend had put 
 him in great good-humour. 
 
 For the moment nothing more was said ; but when Dalton and 
 his host were presently smoking their cigars together in the 
 garden, the former resumed the subject. 
 
 " I suppose," said he, "this obliging permission of youi'S, to 
 all whom it may concern to make away with themselves, is not 
 retiospective ? You don't allow people to do it who have in- 
 yur(j(l with you under the old system 'i " 
 
 " Well, no; because there is nothing attractive about that to 
 7jew clients. But at the same time there is some doubt — at 
 least so our secretary thinks, who is a lawyer — whether they 
 Jiiight not take advantage of the concession if they would. It 
 
 H 
 
98 P ALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 seems deticed hard that a man who has insured tvith us for 
 twenty years, for example, may not blow his brains out if he 
 pleases, while any fellow who joined us yesterday enjoys the 
 privilege. For my part, however, I think the law would be 
 upon our side, and — setting aside that the thing is a crime — the 
 Gospel too. We have agreed Avith the old set for a penny a 
 day; and if we choose to give the new ones twopence, the former 
 have no right to complain." 
 
 "You mean no legal right?" observed Dalton, to whom a 
 parable from the Scriptures had just now no overwhelming force 
 of conviction. 
 
 " Well, yes. Of course there Avould be something to be said 
 morally — if the subject admitted of morals — upon the other side. 
 Tlie man Avho had insured with us for twenty years, for example, 
 would certainly not be as guilty of fraud, if he were to commit 
 suicide and to conceal it, as he would have been had our new 
 system never been inaugurated. There would, at all events, be 
 more excuse for him, since his case would, by comparison, be a. 
 hard one." 
 
 " And yet I suppose you would not pay a policy thus for- 
 feited ? " 
 
 "Yes ; I should recommend it to be paid, because I think it 
 would be our policy to pay it. It Avould be a most splendid ad- 
 vertisement, and would not cost more than the usual method of 
 advertising. You have no idea what a lot of money is spent in 
 that way, even by an insurance company." 
 
 And Mr. Campden went off into statistics upon that subject, 
 and the topic of life-insiirance was dropped. 
 
 Mr. Campden was a man of large ideas in business transac- 
 tions, and hated details, unless they were of real importance ; 
 he had never had the curiosity to j^eruse the list of policy- 
 holders in the Palm Brancli, and was quite ignorant that his 
 guest — who, on his part, never troubled his friends with his ovrn 
 affairs — was insured in it. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton, Avhose parents had died Avhilc she avus little more 
 than a child, had come of age shortly before her marriage, and, 
 as Ave haA'e said, had refused to have her fortune of ten thousand 
 pounds settled upon her in the usual Avay, but had given the 
 absolute disposal of it to her husband ; and he in his turn — 
 though at that time he ho.d thought the money as safe from any 
 act of his as though it had been tied up by the most stringent f.f 
 deeds — had insured his life for half that sum, namely, five thou- 
 sand pounds. He had not dreamed, although the thing had 
 
jexjVY's suspicions. ^ 
 
 elms been done ia the way of a " set off," that tnis provision for 
 his family would ever be a matter of great moment ; but its im- 
 portance, if "anything should happen to him," had now become, 
 paramount. This sum, added to the three thousand, poundfi 
 which he still possessed, would secure them a competency. On 
 the other hand, if he should continue to live on, the three thou- 
 sand pounds would be spent all the quicker, for instead of being 
 the bread-winner of his family, he would only be the largest 
 consumer of their bread ; while the insurance itself would be a 
 millstone about their necks, by reason of the yearly premiums, 
 one of which, as it happened, was due in a month's time. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 jenny's suspicions. 
 Although the affliction from which Miss Jenny Dalton suffered 
 was not one which, the visits of general practitioners (or even of 
 physicians) could appreciably benefit, the family doctor Avas 
 accustomed to call upon her daily in Cardigan Place ; and even 
 in the country it had been some source of comfort to her mother 
 that good Dr. Curzon should "look in" and see how matters 
 were going on with the invalid, at hast once or twice a week. 
 He was as kind as he was clever, and his kindness, at all events, 
 seemed to do her good. Jenny "believed in him " implicitly, 
 though her faith was by no means lightly won. He never in- 
 dulged in the commonplaces of his craft, or prophesied smooth 
 things to her. She might get a little better, he told her ; but 
 lie never held out any expectation of her getting well, which 
 indeed, if it had happened, would have been a miracle. To a 
 looker-on, her condition seemed not only hopeless, but neces- 
 sarily unhappy. To move with pain, and often to be unable to 
 move, without assistance, at all; to pass bright summer days 
 stretched u.pon a sofa, and to lie awake, sometimes in pain, 
 through weary nights ; to see gii-ls of her own age busy with 
 their mallets in the croquet-ground, or taking the wholesome 
 kisses of the air on horseback, while she had to content herself 
 with books or lacework, seemed a hard lot. The future, too, ap- 
 peared to be more full of vain regrets and sad comparisons than 
 the present ; it was certain that she would never feel a lover's kiss 
 or know a husband's love. The dreams and hopes of girlhood 
 were not for her, and yet Jenny was far from being unhappy. 
 
 Her intellectual tastes were catholic, and she was an om- 
 niverous reader. In her huge mahogany desk — she had others, 
 
100 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 of rosewood and mother-of-pearl, but this one, a gift of her old 
 nurse, Haywood, years and years ago, was her special favourite 
 — she kept a store of treasures hidden from every eye, the 
 laying up of which was more delightful to her than the growth 
 of a miser's store — precious manuscripts in a fast-flowing hand 
 — " tragedy, comedy, pastoral, pastoral-comical, scene iudivi- 
 dable, and poem unlimited " — all the various coin that comes 
 from the mint of the teeming brain of youth. If she could not 
 mix with the world around her, she had a world of her own, 
 peopled by creatures of her own invention, into which no mortal 
 could intrude without her leave. 
 
 When others thought her wholly wrapped up in weaving that 
 fairy filigree of lacew^ork which was so greatly admired and 
 extravagantly estimated by amateurs, it was often only her 
 lingers that Avere thus employed ; her brain was busy with that 
 other work, of Avhich no one knew the secret, though perhaps 
 one — so keen is a mother's love — had guessed at it. 
 
 Concealment is not always like the worm i' the bud ; in the 
 case of the literary aspirant, it is a wholesome sign, and has a 
 wnolesome effect ; the scribbler and the witling pine for fame 
 and the immediate fruition of their gifts, and shrink only from 
 the critic ; but modest worth, ere its blossom blows, shrinks from 
 the very eye of day. 
 
 If Dr. Curzon had known how his patient employed herself — 
 not only in times suitable for study, but not seldom m the weary 
 watches of the night — he would perhaps have forbidden such 
 employment ; but as it was, being totally ignorant of the well- 
 spring of her content and patience, Jenny was simply a phy- 
 siological marvel to him, the cheerfulest caged and suffering bird 
 he knew. 
 
 "Doctor," said Jenny, one morning, when he had concluded 
 his professional inquiries — such as they were — and had touched, 
 in his funny way, upon all his several topics — lacework, litera- 
 ture, Tony, and the condition of some of his ow^n poor folks 
 whom Jenny had privately under her wing, so far as it could 
 shield them — " Doctor, can you keep a secret ? " 
 
 " My dear," returned he, "I was born for that very purpose j 
 Mumm's champagne is not so still." 
 
 " But, dear tloctor, I am in eai'nest. It is a serious matter, 
 and one w hich, perhaps, since he himself has not spoken to you 
 about it, 1 ought not to mention ; but it is my belief that papa 
 is ill." 
 
 "Your papa ill ? Well, he ought to be, no doubtj considering 
 
JENNY'S SUSPICIONS. joi 
 
 tlie rich men's feasts at wliicli lie has sat so constantly for the 
 "Jast twenty years; but I have Yev\j little hopes of it." 
 
 " Hopes of it ! " 
 
 " I speak as a professional man, my dear. As a friend, of 
 course I should be sorry to see any signs of a break-up in his 
 system ; but he seems to me to be made of iron." 
 
 " On the contrary, I am convinced that he is very unwell. 
 He has no appetite ; his spirits are forced ; his manner is 
 wholly changed. I don't think he hears what is said to him 
 once out of three times." 
 
 "Liver." 
 
 " Perhaps ; but, at all events, it should he looked to. He 
 will never tell you a word about it of himself. He only believes 
 in doctors for other people, you know." 
 
 " That is something, however; I have met wretches who have 
 not even that faith by prosy. "Well, am I to ask your papa to 
 be a good boy, and put out his tongue ? Nothing can be done, 
 you know, without that." 
 
 "You can find out what is the matter, without appearing to 
 be inquisitive, doctor, as I know very well." 
 
 " But do you mean to say that your mother is ignorant of 
 this indisposition — that is, supposing that there is really any- 
 thing the matter ? " 
 
 *'No, indeed ; she is quite aware of it, but has been forbidden 
 to speak. I know her so well, and also how papa dislikes any 
 fuss made about himself. It is making her very wretched, I 
 can see. We go to town next week, and then he will fall into 
 the hands of Dr. Jones — if he ia persiiaded to consult anyone — 
 and I don't believe in Dr. Jones." 
 
 " Quite right ; vote for Cnrzon and country air, my dear." 
 
 "Well, at all events, papa has confidence in you, and will 
 listen to what you say ; yon have tact, as I have said, and our 
 medical friend in town has none. It will be very bad for 
 mamma, in a few months' time, if papa was to have a bad 
 illness." 
 
 "So it would, no doubt. She is not one to bear much worry 
 at any time. I mean, she would bear it — God help her ! — like "a 
 hero, only it would kill her." 
 
 " Oh, doctor, don't say that ! " cried Jenny, quickly. 
 
 "Nay, my dear; don't be frightened. Even if your father 
 had a fit of the gout, your mother would get over it, and he is 
 pot likely to have worse than gout. I was, of course, only 
 ppeaking of some very serious trouble, such as, let us hope, ja 
 
to2 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 no' likely to befall either her or hers. She takes things to heart 
 too much, and at the same time is inclined to keep all her 
 miseries to herself. That is my view of her." 
 
 " I cannot say what is my view, doctor, it keeps changing so„ 
 It seems to me, lo-day, that I cannot love her more — that she is 
 all perfection ; but to-morrow I shall have found out some fresh 
 excellence in her, I know, which will lay upon her children a 
 new debt of gratitude and affection. I have had no experience 
 of angels, but I shall be quite content if I find heaven peopled 
 by such folks as my mamma." 
 
 The doctor smiled, and laid his hand upon Jenny's luxuriant 
 tresses, in tender approval. 
 
 " And you tremble lest this mother, to whom you are so justly 
 devoted, should be soon going to heaven, Jenny ? " said he, 
 gravely. " Am I not right ? " 
 
 "Yes, doctor," answered she, in a half-choked Avhisper. 
 " Such is my selfish fear. I dread her exchanging- this world 
 for eternal happiness in the next, where, perhaps, I shall not be. 
 doctor, tell me truly, do you think she is going to leave us ? " 
 
 " No, Jenny," was the quick reply. " I see no reason for any 
 such apprehension. She is delicate, of course — almost as fragile 
 as yourself ; and she has a trial before her which I wish she 
 could be spared ; but so long as she has no anxieties — and she 
 has none now, for you are certainly getting stronger — and caij 
 keep her heart up, she will do well enough." 
 
 " Then that is only another reason why papa should take care 
 of himself, or rather be taken cai'e of. I am, I repeat, quite 
 confident that he requires care. That lie should fail in spirits is 
 a portent that it is impossible to disregard, if there were no 
 worse symptons." 
 
 " But that may bo from other causes than physical indisposi- 
 lion. He has his troubles, of course — for all his mirth and 
 brightness — like other people ; perhaps they are just now a 
 little thicker than usual. There was that disappointment dowii 
 at Bampton, for example." 
 
 " I thought of that, of course, doctor ; but I have made 
 certain it is not Bamp*-on. I have heard him say myself, in a 
 manner that I am sxire was genuine, that he docs not regret 
 his defeat, except, of course, for what it cost him ; and tho 
 money, as I know, he made up his mind to spend." 
 
 " Well, well, my dear, I Avill do my best to physic your papa, 
 if he really needs it, in spite of himself ; you shf^ll -work it up in 
 his food for him, like the poisoners." 
 
JENNY'S SUSPICIONS. 103 
 
 But in spite of his light way of treating the affair — which 
 was indeed natural with him — the doctor knew Jenny far too well 
 to doubt that there was something really wrong with her father, 
 though he was not so ready as the majority of his calling 
 would have been to set it down, as he had pretended to do, to 
 " liver." 
 
 The fact was that Dr. Curzon — than whom a discreeter iir 
 more prudent man was not supposed, in that part of the counti y, 
 10 exist — had himself once lost five hundred pounds, his entire 
 Ravings for many a long year, in " a perfectly safe investment ; " 
 and knowing the strength of that sort of temptation, if he had 
 heard that the Archbishop of Canterbury had been obliged to let 
 Lambeth Palace ibr the season to some opulent Hebrew, on 
 account of speculation in *' Turks," he would not have been 
 astonished. In the case of an idle and extravagant man like 
 John Dalton, it seemed to him the most natural thing in the 
 world that he should have " burnt his fingers '' with some at- 
 tractive speculation or another, and that the loss had affected 
 his appetite. Perhaps the good doctor was not wholly free from 
 that sense of pleasure said to be excited by the misfortunes of 
 'jur friends ; Ijut if it was so, this, in his case, solely arose from 
 the complacent satisfaction he derived from so sharp a fellow as 
 jDalton having fallen into the same pit as himself. He had no 
 idea, of coixrse, of the depth he had fallen, nor how much he 
 had hurt himself, or there would have been no room in his kind 
 heart for anything but the sincerest sympathy. If this was the 
 nature of his friend's ailment, he could indeed do nothing in the 
 way of help ; so that, tipon the whole, he would have com- 
 pounded for him to have been menaced with a good sharp 
 attack of gout or rheumatism, against which his professional aid 
 might be of use. It was hardly more likely — as he was well 
 aware — that Dalton should consult him in the one case than in 
 the other ; but as he happened to have an opportunity of being- 
 alone with him on that same afternoon, he thought he would 
 "just have a shot at the ducks" — a playful expression he was 
 accustomed to apply to all experiments of an empirical nature. 
 
 " My dear Dalton," said he, "now we have done talking of 
 , your daughter, I should like to say one word about yourself. 
 She has told me — quite in confidence, indeed she has told no 
 one else, not even her mother — that you have been getting out 
 of sorts lately." 
 
 "What on eart^h. makes her think that?" replied Dalton, 
 laughing. " I am as hard as nails, and as fresh as paint." 
 
1 04 FA LLEN FOR TUXES. 
 
 " TliGM I am soriy I spoke," said the doctor, drily, 
 
 " Yon need not be that, Curzon. Of course I sl*all not tell 
 Jenny that you mentioned it." 
 
 " I was not thinking of Jenny. I said I am sorrj, because, of 
 course, I have no right to pry into your private affairs ; and 
 since you tell me you are not ill, it is clear that you have some 
 serious trouble. I am quite sure Jenny has made no mistake as 
 to soinetJiinr/ being the matter." 
 
 " Well, then, I have a trouble," said Dalton, quickly ; " and I 
 have no objection to reveal its natvire to yon — provided that it goes 
 no farther. If it was to be known, I should lose, for one tiling, 
 my self-respect." 
 
 " I hope that is an exaggeration," answered the other, gravely. 
 " It is not uncommon with men to accuse themselves of havii'g 
 acted improperly, when they have, in fact, only made an erroi 
 in judgment that has cost them dear. Nevertheless, if you feel 
 it a humiliation to speak of the matter, do not do so." 
 
 Dalton smiled. " I am grateful to you for your delicate con- 
 sideration, my dear doctor ; and am quite ashamed to hav^ 
 evoked it by what, I fear, you will consider to be false pre- 
 tences, ^ly ailment is very slight, though I allow I have one. 
 The fact is, I have been Avorried day and night for the last week 
 by toothache. I am a shocking coward not to have it out, of 
 course, and that is just what I don't want people to know ; and 
 +hat is the long and short of the whole matter." 
 
 " Let me look at the tooth." 
 
 " Not I," said Dalton, stepping back with a light laugh. 
 "Your fingers shall not come near it. I don't doubt that yon 
 have some tei'rible instrument up your sleeve at this very 
 moment. At all events, I won't trust you. I daresay a less 
 excitable man would think nothing of it ; and I could grin and 
 bear it myself — indeed, I thought I had done so pretty well, 
 only it seems Jenny's eyes were too sharp for me — if I could only 
 sleep o' nights." 
 
 *' It's so bad as that, is it ? " 
 
 " It is. I have absolutely no rest. My nppetite too, I daresay, 
 seems to have fallen off ; but that is because I am afraid to eat. 
 There is no pleasure in life while this thumping and jumping 
 are going on in one's jaw." 
 
 " You have the character of being a very clover fellow, 
 Dalton " 
 
 *' Oh, never mind that," interrupted the other, " I may bo 
 twice as clever as Dizzy tjimself, but vou may be ^^uro of ov^ 
 
JENNY'S SUSPICIONS. 105 
 
 filing — that. I won't have it oat. I have had a tooth out before ; 
 a double orie^, just like this. The first pull was only torture ; 
 the second I thought was the end of the world ; the third, the 
 man broke my jaw. Of course there is such a thing as chloro- 
 form, but I have reasons for objectiug to chloroform." 
 
 " I was about to say, Dalton," observed the doctor, coolly, 
 *' that although you were such a clever fellow, } ou have, in this 
 instance, fallen into a mistake, from which your intelligence 
 Bhould have preserved you — the mistake of undervaluing the 
 wits of others. I am country-born and country-bred, and, I 
 have no doul)t, very inferior to youv London men of the world ; 
 but I am not quite such a fool as you seem to have taken me 
 for. It would have been wiser in you — and, I venture to add, 
 more friendly — to have told me the truth about yourself, or i o 
 have told me nothing." * 
 
 "But, upon my word and honoui', I have the toothache." 
 
 " I don't doubt it ; I did not pay you so bad a compliment as 
 to suppose you capable of a downright falsehood. But when 
 you said, ' I will tell you what is my trouble,' I expected to 
 hear it, and not merely what is doubtless an aggravation of it , 
 but still " 
 
 "My dear Curzon, I scarcely know what I say," interrupted 
 the other, gloomily. " For Heaven's sake, bear with me, for I 
 am sick at heart." 
 
 "You? Of all men, I should have said you were the least 
 likely to be that. You have a wife, of whom any man may 
 well be proud ; your children are just the brightest and the 
 dearest " 
 
 "Don't speak of them, Curzon ; it is upon their account — 
 God help them ! — that I am so unmanned." He pushed the 
 still plenteous hair back from his broad forehead with both his 
 hands, and paced the room with rapid strides. " It is curious 
 that you should have spoken to me this afternoon upon the 
 very subject that I have been wishing to speak to you for many 
 a day. I want your advice, doctor ; your best advice, upon a 
 matter of which, as I believe, no one has as yet any suspicion. 
 We are liable to interruption here ; and if I consulted you up- 
 stairs, it would excite remark." 
 
 *' You wish to speak with me, then, professionally ? " 
 
 " Of coiirse. How else should there be any secret about it ? 
 When am I most likely to find you at home ? '"' 
 
 " I will make a point of being so at any time you please." 
 
 *f Jjofc us say at neon to-morrow, then, I will take the boq,t 
 
lo6 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 over, and drop down on you over the crags, I can go that way 
 without any one suspecting it, and be back at luncheon without 
 being missed. Perhaps you will think of something in the 
 meantime for my toothache — a drop or two of lau.danum at 
 bed-time, for example, will give me a night's rest." 
 " I'll send my boy over with some this evening." 
 " No, no ; don't trouble to do that. I don't want my wife' to 
 know that I have said a word about ray health ; and the arrival 
 of any bottle from your vineyard would be very suspicious. I 
 would rather bring it back myself to-morrow." And so the 
 matter was arranged. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HOW DU. CUEZON'S LITTLE ACCOUNT WAS SETTLED. 
 
 An American philosopher has likened the position of a man 
 " waiting for something to turn up " to one who goes into a field, 
 and sits with a pail between his legs, expecting that presently a 
 cow will back up to him to be milked ; and though John Dalton 
 was unaware of the metaphor, his sensations were identical with 
 that of the man with the pail. Indeed, they were still less 
 sanguine, for, to his eyes, there was no cow in the field at all. 
 He had hitherto — save with respect to the state of health of his 
 wife and Jenny, about which he was always more or less appre- 
 hensive — been a stranger to anxiety. He had had no grounds 
 for it in any direction. His position and income had been as- 
 sured. He had not been an extravagant man, but had always lived 
 up to his means, without saving a penny ; for there had been wo 
 need to save. He had not laid up anything against a rainy day, 
 because his atmosphere — like that of some tropical regions — 
 seemed incapable of rain. And now a deluge had fallen, the 
 unexpectedness of the catastrophe had overwhelmed him, quite 
 as much as its magnitude. Moreover, bad as things were, it was 
 certain that they would become worse ; it was only a question of 
 time as to its being all over with him and his. His condition was 
 precisely that of one who stands upon a rock at present a little 
 above the waves, but which the advancing tide is as sure to 
 cover with eight feet of water as is the sun to set or the moon 
 to rise. Some men — perhaps most men — would stick to that 
 temporary refuge, wet and shivering, to the very last, while 
 limb after limb was being submerged; but others, though they 
 could not swim a stroke, -\vould " take arms against that sea of 
 
DR. CURZON'S LITTLE ACCOUNT. 107 
 
 troubles, and bj opposing, end tliem " — would plunge in, and 
 anticipate their doom. 
 
 To one of Dalton's sensitive and nervous organisation, sus- 
 pense would perhaps in any case have been harder to endure 
 than calamity ; but his was suspense which could only have one 
 end — that of hopeless ruin ; and meanwhile, the ruin was always 
 before his ejes. Already he saw his wretched store dwindling 
 day by day till nothing was left ; his delicate wife, his ailing 
 child, sufiering all the inconveniences of jjoverty, the hardships 
 of want, and then the pangs of destitution. As a matter of fact, 
 the last was out of the question, for two reasons : they would 
 never live through the two first stages ; nor would their friends, 
 even the least genuine o£ them, have permitted the third. But 
 the only alternative was the humiliation of dependence, the 
 bitterness of beggary. And this was supposing that the three 
 thousand pounds on -u-Tiich he had calculated would remain 
 intact ; that there would be no further liabilities for the Lara 
 mine than the shares in full. He fed upon these miserable 
 thoughts both night and day, and upon the top of it all was the 
 necessity of appearing calm and free from care — nay, of even 
 keeping up his character for high spirits. A duller man would 
 have taken matters more quietly ; a wiser man would have 
 called in some philosophy to his aid, and would certamly not 
 have abandonedhope ; but with this man — with hislight ways and 
 undisciplined mind — it was as though a butterfly had been caught 
 in the "frozen palms" of winter. It was not to be wondered at, 
 ander the circumstances, that life was growing intolerable to 
 John Dalton. There had been rain for a day or two which had 
 swollen the Nathay to unusual dimensions, and Uncle George 
 proposed at breakfast one morning that they should take the 
 steam-yacht up to the mere — a suggestion that mot with great 
 applause from the young people. It was the fir£;c time that the 
 A^oyage had been practicable since the Daltons had come to 
 Riverside, so that to Kate and Jenny and Tony it had all the 
 charm of iiovelty. Indeed, the Campdens themselves had as 
 little pleasure out of their steam-yacht — save what they might 
 derive from the mere possession of so fine a toy — as it is possible 
 to imagine ; and even on the present occasion the water in the 
 river was said to be falling so rapidly that it was necessary they 
 should start at once, while there was yet enough of it to float 
 the vessel. If they waited till the afternoon, they might reach 
 the mere, but would scarcely get back again, was the verdict of 
 the Admiral of the Fleet, as the chief man in charge of the boats 
 
I08 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 had been called by Jenny ; so that there was no choice about the 
 matter, 
 
 " papa, can you really not come with us ? " excla tued Kitty, 
 piteously. 
 
 He hud already taken caro to explain that he would be engaged 
 that morning, in order to be free to keep his appointment with 
 Dr. Curzon ; and the proposed expedition was welcome to him, 
 pince it would secure his departure from observation. 
 
 "No, my darling; indeed, I cannot," said he. 
 
 " But your company is half the battle," observed ifrs. Camp 
 den, graciously. 
 
 "Nay; you will have no battle at all without me," replii'd 
 he, in Janghing allusion to his frequent combats with his 
 hostess. 
 
 " I mean, sir, that we shall never get on without you," 
 
 '•' But, my dear madam, you never get on n-'dh me." 
 
 It is impossible to describe in words the air and manner 
 which made Dalton's speeches void of offence ; but even his 
 enemies allowed that he had an " agreeable insolence," which it 
 was very difficult to resent without being put entirely in the 
 wrong. If he had made up his mind not to do a thing, it was 
 known for certain by those who knew him — though he never 
 gave a flat refusal — that he would not do it ; and his hostess 
 made no further effort to persuade him to join the watei'- 
 party. 
 
 He retired to the library after breakfast, iu accordance with 
 his pretence of writing letters of business ; but he had, in facf, 
 no business now, while of writing letters he had had of la<t' 
 more than enough. He was indeed only waiting until the 
 others should be off and the cost clear for him to start upon liis 
 visit to the doctor. Now he would pace the room with impatient 
 strides, and now — when a footstep came near the door — would 
 seat himself quickly at his desk with the paper and pen before 
 him ; and now he would start up again and resume his walk ; 
 sind now would aimlessly take down from the well-lined walls a 
 book, and read a few lines, then put the volume back mechani- 
 cally, like one in a di-eam. He felt that he was losing his 
 volition ; that except for that certain line of conduct which he 
 had marked out for himself, and which, since yesterday, was 
 ever present to his mind, he had no adaptability, nor foi'ce, nor 
 will. Everything else Avas outside of him, as it were, and 
 possessed no interest for him. It had been Avith the utmost 
 difficulty, when, at breakfast-time, his host had asked his 
 
t>R. CURZON'S LITTLE ACCOUNT. to0 
 
 ftplmon concerning some Cabinet question treated of in the 
 laewspaper, that he could gather his wits together to express his 
 ■views. The difference between Whig and Tory had become 
 even less to him than that between Tweedle-dum and Tweedle- 
 dee. He was above all things, in his political feelings, an 
 Englishman, and yet he felt that if news had come that morning 
 that his country was at war, it would not have quickened his 
 pulses by a single beat. Only one thing gained his attention 
 for a moment — a volume of the " Annual Register " had been one 
 of those which he took up, and in it his eye chanced to light 
 upon a strange tragedy that had, yeai'S ago, taken place in 
 France ; it was the story of a humpbacked boy, a mere child, 
 who had lost his parents, and been left dependent upon an 
 uncle for subsistence. This man had worked him like a slave, 
 yet was always beating and ill-treating him ; and when the poor 
 child was away from his wretched home, the boys in the sti-eet 
 would jeer at him, because of his defect in shape. At last, 
 wearied out by toil and ill-usage, and the universal contempt, 
 the humpback had ended his misery by hanging himself in a 
 wood near Paris. At the bottom of the tree was found a scrap 
 of paper with these words upon it, "I have had enough of it," 
 signed with the little fellow's name. 
 
 The whole story Avas contained in a paragraph, but it was the 
 tragedy of a human life. Under other circumstances, Daltou 
 would have given a sigh of sympathy for the victim, uttered a 
 curse against his persecutor, and have forgotten the wretched 
 tale as soon as possible. But now it clung to him like 
 a very shirt of Nessus, and filled him with poisonous thoughts. 
 Here Avas a child, sent into the world deformed, to be tortured 
 in body and mind until he was driven to put an end to himself. 
 Where was justice i Where was mercy ? Where was Provi- 
 dence ? Some persons in Dalton's case would perhaps have 
 comforted themselves with the reflection that, however un- 
 ])leasant their Imcs in life had fallen, they were, at all events, 
 far preferable to those of the poor hunchback ; they would have 
 extracted consolation from the fact that they had deserved 
 worse things than this unhappy child, yet had experienced 
 better, and would perhaps even have felt gratitude on that 
 account. But Dalton took up the cudgels against Fate itself, 
 upon the child's account, almost unaware that he was moved to 
 do so by his own consciousness of wrongs ; indeed, to do him 
 justice, he had not himself, but only his belongings, in view. 
 He was ready to own that he deserved considerable punishment 
 
» lo palLen for tunes. 
 
 — not pei'haps quite so severe as had befallen him, but pnnisli- 
 ment Avithin reasonable limits — but as respected his Avife and 
 children, he was very bitter and rebellious. " Thej have donu 
 no hurt, and yet they are doomed to misery ; and though I have 
 Binned, I have not sinned so deeply as to deserve that I, avIid 
 love them so, should have been the cause of their ruin." 
 
 "It was a Avretched, ill-govei-ned world in which such fhinu'; 
 were possible," was the reflection that he made to himsel', 
 though he would not perhaps have ventured to say as mueli.. 
 He kept on repeating to himself the last Avords of the poor 
 hunchback : " I haA'e had enough of it — I have had enough of v^ 
 — I have had enough of it ! " not consecutively, but from time; 
 to time, and after intervals of gloomy thought. Presently, the 
 noises that betoken the departure of a party of pleasure Averc 
 heard in the hall without ; the chatter of female voices, and the 
 ripple of laughter, the opening and shutting of doors, and the 
 eager cries of Tony. Then a light footstep in the passage, and 
 a gentle knock at the door. 
 
 " Well, my darling, we are going. I thought it right to go, 
 lest the girls should think something Avas amiss." 
 
 His wife was looking very pale, but the smile on her SAvcet 
 face was as bright as ever. It Avas put on for him, he knew, and 
 had cost her not a little. 
 
 " How bi'ave and good you are, Edith ! " 
 
 " Don't, don't talk like that, John, or I shall uttei-ly break 
 doAvn," replied she, earnestly. " You will be at home when wo 
 come back, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, yes. Perhaps I may come up to the mere from 
 Bleabarrow Avay, Avhen I have written my letters." 
 
 She kncAV that he had no letters to Avrite, at least of any 
 consequence, and had but little hope of his coming up to the 
 mere. Yet she answered : " Oh, that Avill be so nice, and 
 be such a pleasant surprise to the children ! Good-bye, my 
 darling ! " 
 
 " Good-bye." They kissed one another, as though they had 
 been young lovers i:)arting for the first time ; indeed, they had 
 neA-er loved one another more than since these evil days had 
 come upon them. 
 
 Then she went out, throwing back a look of loving farcAvell, 
 to play her part in the gay picnic — for into such the excursion 
 had resolved itself — Avhile he Avas left a far easier task — to bear 
 the importunate Care alone. He sat down with his head 
 between his hands, as though with, that faithful jiartner, Hop© 
 
DR. CURZO.V'S LITTLE ACCOUNT. tit 
 
 itself Bad fled. It is uo esaggevation to say that he looked olduP 
 by some years in those few moments ; for the sense of irremedi- 
 able loss — of separation for ever — was heavy upon him. His 
 step, when he rose up and crossed the hall to fetch liis hat, was 
 slow and hesitating, like the gait of an old man. 
 
 Once out of doors, however, the open air reVived liim ; the 
 Bcent and beanty of the garden flowers, the bright sunshine, 
 and the loveliness of the surrounding landscape, had also their 
 effect. When Nature frowns, it is certain that our wretchedness 
 is thereby intensified. A November evening, with thick fog 
 abroad, has probably turned the scale, in some desponding 
 wretch's mind towards death, when, under brighter external 
 influences he would have lived on ; and Nature's smiles have 
 life in them, even when they seem to mock our misery. More- 
 over, in Dalton's case, there Avas physical action demanded of 
 him, which is, above all things, the foe and conqueror of 
 despondency. Without calling for the assistance of a servant, 
 he unfastened the smallest craft among the little flotilla in the 
 boathouse, and rowed himself — not without the necessity of 
 putting forth some skill and strength — across the tawny, foam- 
 flecked river ; and if his boat had come to grief in that whirling 
 stream, he would have fouglit and straggled for his life, no 
 doubt, though existence had become so hateful to him. Then, 
 when he landed on the other side, and had fastened his boat to 
 shore, there were the steep crags to be climbed, the call on wind 
 and muscle, and the air of the hill-top, crowning all. 
 
 For the moment his eye drank in the glorious prospect at 
 his feet, without that consciousness of misfortune which sur- 
 rounded him now, as with an atmosphere, through which all 
 things caine to his senses, deadened and dull. Before him lay 
 the long, deep valley of Sanbcck, an unsung Dovedale, which 
 Kitty was wont to affirm she had discovered. At all events, 
 until the Daltons came to Riverside, there had been no great 
 enthusiasm displayed about its beauties. It ran very steeply 
 down from the moorland mere to the great plain of Bleabarrow, 
 taking a sharp turn before it debouched upon it, so that the 
 whole valley seemed complete in itself, and shut out from the 
 external world. But for the height of its hills, and the length 
 to which its windings extended, which made it appear even 
 narrower than it really was, it might have been called a dell, so 
 solitary and self-contained it was. Yet a ror.d which could be 
 almost termed a highway traversed each side of the valley, 
 crossing it near its head, whei'e the i-avine was only a naiTow 
 
112 PALLEN FOR TUiYES. 
 
 fissure, wliich a few miles on grew wide and deep, and m wliicl^ 
 an imprisoned stream ceaselessly bewailed Its fate. At the 
 bridge was the hamlet, consisting only of the little grey church 
 and a score of scattered cottages of stone, and perched on the 
 spurs of the hills wei'e two or three farms. As Dalton rapidly 
 descended, he passed by one of these homesteads, which, as it 
 will have an interest for us hereafter, may here have its line of 
 description. Like its neighbours, it utterly ignored landscape ; 
 the side that looked — or would have looked, had it had windows 
 — upon the valley was a long barn built of stone, and lit with 
 long slits in the masonry such as are common in old fortresses. 
 The dwelling-house was very ancient, with a porch covered with 
 a luxuriant creeper, that also stretched over the whole edifice, 
 half hiding it in tangled greenery. In front was a paved court- 
 yard, with the barn on one side, and on the other a terraced 
 garden of small extent, but very full of the commoner and more 
 odorous sort of flowers. There were yew trees in it, which gave 
 it a quaint rather than a funereal aspect ; for the place was 
 altogether bright and cheerful, and singularly clean. There 
 were no stables near it — nothing but the barn and another farm 
 building, under which entrance was given to " the I^ook " — as 
 the house was called — by a picturesque archAvay. If its builder 
 had been a man of modern taste, many things wotild doubtless 
 have been changed for the better ; but taking it for what it was, 
 a farm-house of three centuries old, it was singularly free from 
 all tliat was unsightly or unsavoury. Of the beauties of San- 
 beck, indeed, its indwellers could see nothing ; but they had 
 their garden, and their courtyard with its sundial, and even a 
 little fountain upon the terrace — altogether a very sufficient 
 home prospect ; and they had only to pass through the archway 
 to behold a scene that few localities could rival. The place was 
 not now used as a farm at all, but was at present in the occupa- 
 tion of a wealthy yeoman, who had retired from business, and 
 was well pleased to pass the evening of his days in the spot 
 where he had made the rays to gild it. 
 
 Mr. Jonathan Landell — or "Old Joe," as he was usually 
 termed by his neighbours — had a curious passion for the 
 collecting of ancient books, of which he was said to possess a 
 surprising number; but with what object this store of learning 
 — or rather the materials for it — had been acquired was doubt- 
 ful. By s()me it was stoutly maintained that Old Joe had, from 
 very small beginnings in the literary line, become one of tb 
 greatest of living scholars ; while by another party it r 
 
DR. CURZON'S LITTLE ACCOUNT. 1:3 
 
 assci'ted witli eqnal confideKce tliat the old gentleman Icrgtv 
 nothing of his hooks beyond their titles. However that might 
 ho, the Nook and its owner were each remarkable in their way ; 
 and perhaps the peculiarity of the one reacted upon the other, 
 and enhanced the pnblic interest in both. If presentiments 
 coiTld take their rise from inanimate nlijects — if the room whero 
 we are to bi-eathe our last, for example, conld inform ns of the 
 iaet beforehand — .a new interest would be added <o many thingn ; 
 :vnd oould Dalton Ivkve foreseen the part that the JSook was 
 < \eatually <o till in the drama of liis future, or rather of tl»e 
 future of those dear to him, he would not have i)assed it by to- 
 day with snch scant notice. He had seen and admired it more 
 than once ; but its chief impression had been made upon him 
 through the drawings of it in his elder daughter's sketch-book, 
 ■with whom it was a great favourite, and wlio had taken it from 
 every point of view. His mood of mind on this occasion, how- 
 ever, was not one to be readily affected by the picturesque in 
 architecture, and he pursued his way down the valley, as though 
 the N^ook had in no way diffei'ed from its neighbours. 
 
 The house for which he was bound was nearly a mile beyond 
 it, and removed a considerable distance from the road ; yet from 
 the road, as Dalton drew near his goal, he could hear cries, not 
 so much of pain, as it seemed to him, but of rage and impatience, 
 which evidently proceeded fi'om the doctor's I'esidence. The 
 house was long and low, consisting indeed but of one story, and 
 at the end at which it was approached an addition had been 
 made for the reception of patients only, in the shape of a smalt 
 surgery. The whole house, with the exception of this anne.rr, 
 was covei'ed with ivy, which rendered this place of torment 
 Ttncompromisingly bare and conspicuous. Its windows too, in 
 order that abundance of light might be afforded fur the pui'suit 
 of science, were much larger than those of the other rooms, and 
 as the visitor passed by, he could hardly avoid throwing a 
 glance into this chamber of horrors, the cries from which, thougli 
 fainter, still continued. He fully expected to see some poor 
 wretch's limbs being sawn off without the consolations of chloro- 
 form, or the application of the actual cautery to some shepherd 
 bitten by a collie dog. His surprise, therefore, was considerable 
 at perceiving the doctor alone in this apartment, pacing tbo 
 room like a wild cat, and emitting terrible ejaculations. His air 
 was Yv'ild, and one of his legs was bare, the stocking being un- 
 gartered and down-at-heel, as in Hamlet's case. It was impossible 
 -r-coupling his appearance with his howls — to help concluding 
 
 I 
 
114 FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 that bo was in the same mental condition as that unhappy 
 prince ; and the front-door opening to his hand, as is usual in 
 country places, DaH.on entered the house without ceremony, and 
 at once presented himself in the surgery. 
 
 " Good heavens, doctor, what is the matter ? " 
 
 " Fire, fire ! " crifd the unhappy medical practitioner, holding 
 his uncovered calf with his hand, and hobbling distractedly 
 about the room. " ]. have burned myself most internally." 
 
 There was an odour of singed flesh in the apartment, tVat 
 seemed to give corroboration to his assertion, and, so far, to 
 attest the victim's sanity. 
 
 " But how on earth came you to burn yourself? " 
 
 " It w^as that old idiot Jefferson who has done it. I hope ho 
 Avill feel what it is himself some day, only hotter and longer. 
 It's getting better now, I'm really quite ashamed to have ex- 
 hibited such — such excitement. I fancy I must almost have 
 screamed aloud." 
 
 "Well, yes, you almost did. But how on earth came you to 
 take Jefferso7i's advice ? I should have thought you the very 
 last man in the country to follow out any of his old-world 
 prescriptions." 
 
 " His prescriptions ? I should think so. He should not pre- 
 scribe for my tom-cat. But the fact is, I was obliged to call him 
 into consultation — the old humbug ! — with regard to Jonathan 
 Landell up yonder. The man is dying — even Jeiferson kneiC 
 that ; but just to spite me, and because he knew I had no such 
 thing as a cupping-glass in my possession, he recommended 
 cupping. He might as well have suggested an amulet, or toad's 
 broth. He is a medical pagan, and believes in all the dead-and- 
 gone divinities of science." 
 
 " So I have always heard," said Dalton, consolingly. " He 
 goes about with a cane that has salt in the head of it, and wears 
 a muff like Dr. Ratcliffe, does he not ? You have left him 
 nobody to murder, howevei', in the county, as I have alwaya 
 been told, except a few old dowagers." 
 
 " That is true," said the doctor, sitting down and nursing his 
 bare leg ; " and it is on that vei-y account that he has revenged 
 himself upon me in this terrible manner. ' Mr. Landell,' he said, 
 in his pompous way, ' should, in my humble opinion, be cupped. 
 I say nothing of any shortcoming in his treatment hitherto' 
 (hang his impudence ! think of that) ; ' but the time has now 
 arrived for stringent measures.' " 
 
 "'Well/ said I, wishing to humour the old fool, 'cupping 
 
DR. CURZOiV S LITTLE ACCOUNT. I15 
 
 can't Lurt him, anyway.' (There I was wrong ; ifc hurts 
 abominably — that is, unless you are very clever at it. And I 
 have never cupped a man in my life. Nobody ever has who is 
 not a hundred years old). ' I will cup him, by all means.' 
 
 "'Do so, do so,' said the old humbug, in his stately way ; 
 and off he went, drawn by those half-starved cattle of his, to 
 prescribe some other tomfoolery to somebody else. 
 
 "It was not till he had gone that it struck me I had no 
 cupping-glasses. One might as well be expected to have a 
 crucible, or a mud-bath, ready at a moment's notice ; and though 
 I have no doubt Jefferson himself possesses the article — for his 
 house is like an antiquarian museum in that way — I was not 
 going to put myself under an obligation to him by borrowing 
 it. So I wrote to such of my professional brethren as Avere 
 most likely to own such an instrument, to ask the loan of it. I 
 was obliged to explain the circumstances, lest they should think 
 me out of my wits, so that it consumed much valuable time ; 
 and, after all, only one out of ten possessed the thing I sought. 
 
 " ' Pray keep it,' writes he, in the letter which accompanied 
 it, ' for it is of no value except as a relic of an exploded system. 
 My grandfather used to say it required an education to learn 
 the use of it.' You have to keep a flame up u.nder the glass, you 
 see — like this — any bit of paper will do — and then, just as the 
 flame is about to expire, you clap the thing on. Well, I had to 
 Iry it upon somebody ; and since I could not persuade my groom 
 to oblige me in the matter, I tried it upon myself. The calf of 
 the leg seemed to be a safe place for the experiment ; and just 
 as the flame was about to expire, as I thought, I applied the 
 glass, which I am bound to say stuck on ; no force on earth 
 would have moved it. The predictions of science were so far 
 accomplished to admiration ; but the fire Zictfi not quite gone out ! 
 There was a living flame, sir, attached to my naked flesh, with ?, 
 glass over it, as though it were some precious crocus. I had to 
 put the strongest control upon my feelings to avoid bellowing 
 like a bull." 
 
 " You did make rather a noise, my dear sir," said Dalton, on 
 whom the ludicrous effect of the sconce was by no means lost, 
 notwithstanding his melancholy mood. 
 
 "Not half such a noise as you would have made," retorted 
 the doctoi with invitation. " Now, just let me try it on the 
 calf of your leg. It's a most interesliing experiment in itself, 
 and also, incidentally, involves a great question of theology. 
 No one who has gouQ through with it can ever subscribe to the 
 
1 1 6 FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 doctrine of the Calvinistic religion as respects the place of the 
 wicked hereafter. I don't care how wicked a man has been ; he 
 can never deserve to bear a living flame applied to any sensitivo 
 portion of his person, and stuch on so that nobody can put it 
 out. ril guarantee to effect a complete revolution of religious 
 opinion in the Scottish nation, if they will come to me without 
 
 breeks and . Now, do just let mo try." 
 
 The doctor's manner was most cord.al and persuasive ; yon 
 would really have imagined that he had the abolition of hnraan 
 error and superstition as his object, instead of thai of excusing 
 liimself for the exhibition of a personal weakness. But Dalton 
 was adamant, and grave withal. His sense of amusement had 
 passed away ; he almost felt a disgust with himself at having 
 been made to smile when such heavy cares were sitting on his 
 shoulders, " No," said he, " I will take your word for i( , 
 Curzon ; and I have a pain of my own, which is quite suflficlent 
 ■ — though it may not be such torture as you describe — without 
 being experimentalised upon." 
 
 *' To be sure ; I forgot your toothache," answered the doctor, 
 cheerily. He had rolled back the leg of his trousers, and began 
 to assume his professional air. 
 
 " I wish I could forget it, " continued Dalton. " It tormented 
 me all night. You said you would give me a little laudanum 
 for it." 
 
 ** Well, laudanum is a bad thing to take to — as indeed are all 
 things to make one sleep, notwithstanding some of them have 
 such fine names, and are so 'highly recommended by the 
 faculty.' I should suggest eau-de-cologne and sal-volatile in 
 warm water to allay the pain, or — if you are really resolved not 
 to eject so unpleasant a tenant — perhaps a little myrrh." 
 
 " Put me up what you please, but some laudanum as well, in 
 case the milder remedies should not relieve the pain." 
 
 " Very good." 
 
 The surgery was lined with bottles, as a library is lined with 
 })Ook3 ; and the doctor proceeded to take down one or two, and 
 pour out a little of theii" contents into a small phial. Dalton 
 watched him with an air less careless than abstracted, and pre- 
 sently said, gravely : " After all, Curzon, this is not the matter 
 about which I have come to consult you, but something very 
 different, and much more serious." 
 
 "All right, my good friend. I am ready to give you my best 
 attention ; but just let me premise that patients generally — 
 even sensible ones, like yourself — are apt to consider matter* 
 
' DR. CURZQX'S LITTLE ACCOUNT, \\^ 
 
 Very serious when tliey ai-e not so. It is the tendency of human 
 nature to exaggerate our physical woes." 
 
 " For instance, when you blister yourself with a bit of t'.nder," 
 said Dalton, forcing a smile. " Well, well, I am quite ready to 
 be confuted ; but still I have had warnings that are not, I am 
 sure, to be lightly regarded. What I am about to tell you is. 
 cf course, in the strictest confidence, and to be revealed to no 
 one, not even to my wife." 
 
 " My dear Dalton, a doctor's shop is the same as the confes- 
 sional, except that folks tell us a deal more than they ever tell 
 Ibe priest. Of course I shall be mum as a mouse. Now about 
 these warnings. You think you have got heart disease of 
 course ? " 
 
 " How did you kno^r that ? " exclaimed Dalton, with extreme 
 surprise. " Do I look like a man in that way ? Have you 
 observed it for yourself of late ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it," was the doctor's cool reply. *' But everybody 
 who has ' warnings ' imagines them to proceed from the same 
 cause — the heart. Similarly, everybody who spits blood — as 
 happens to about five people out of every six in the course of 
 their lives — sets it down to lungs." 
 
 " But I am quite sure there Is something wrong — and very 
 much wrong " 
 
 " Pardon me," interrupted the doctor ; " you can't be sure ! 
 Doctors cannot always be sure — unless it is some such old fool 
 as Dr. Jefierson — and patients never. Now, please to describe 
 your symptoms." 
 
 *' Well, I have been sufiering for some time —<— " 
 
 *' How long ? It is above all things necessary to be explicit." 
 
 There was a pause ; Dalton was searching his memory. 
 
 "• About six months back I began to be affected wdth palpita- 
 tions — an uneasy sense of movements in the heart. These have 
 increased in frequency and violence. Of late they have given 
 nio, occasionally, great pain. At such times I have felt a 
 stupendous oppression, and even a sensation of impending death." 
 
 "Have you ever read about heart disease in any medical 
 work ? " inquired the doctoi*. 
 
 Dalton hesitated. " Well, yes, I believe 1 have." 
 
 "So do I," said the doctor, coolly; "and I should have 
 baieved it, even if you had said 'No.' I sometimes wish that 
 all our professional books were tabooed to the public, as the 
 Bible used to be to laymen. They have done more harm by 
 putting morbid, fancies into people's heads than they have done 
 
1 1 8 FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 good iu healing their real diseases. I would not have them 
 chain sd to a church table, because all the women go there, and 
 would be sure to read them ; but I would have them written iu 
 dog-Latin, so that neither the learned nor unlearnc^- should be 
 able to make them out, but only doctors." 
 
 " What I have read, however, only corroborates what 1 have 
 felt," said Dalton, gravely 
 
 "JSTo doubt, my dear sir; but it is astonishing how these 
 things seem to suggest themselves, when they are, in fact, 
 suggested. However, I have a little instrument here which is 
 very truthful, and little apt even to make a mistake. ' Prithee, 
 undo this button,' as Lear says. Open your waistcoat." 
 
 Dalton did as was required, and. the doctor applied his stetho- 
 scope, putting his head on one side, like a sagacious magpie, 
 and listening attentively. Who has not at one time or another 
 of his life been thumped about, and bidden to take deep breaths, 
 to cough, and all the rest of it, with a human ear glued to his 
 chest ? It is even less necessary to describe than vaccination, 
 since some people, rather than submit to the latter operation — • 
 common fate of mortals though it be — prefer to pay half- 
 Eovereign penalties and to catch the small-pos. 
 
 " Have you had any anxieties of late, Dalton ? " 
 
 The doctor was still engaged in thumping when he put this 
 inquiry, so he could not see how the other's pale face flushed. 
 
 " You need not reply to that question unless you please," 
 continued the investigator, " for I have already been informed 
 that it is so." 
 
 " Who can have told you, since nobody knows of them but 
 myself?" inquired Dalton, quickly. 
 
 " The stethoscope. Now you can button up your waistcoat." 
 
 *' Then I suppose I was right in concluding that I must at 
 least take care o£ myself ? " 
 
 " All people who have reached middle life may say as much 
 as that, my good sir," returned the doctor, quietly. 
 
 " Yes ; but I am conscious that there is something amiss. 
 Pray do not hesitate to tell me if it be so." 
 
 " I do not find anything organically amiss." 
 
 " But functionally you do ? " 
 
 " I did not say so. You are getting into the medical books 
 again." 
 
 •' Well, I will ask you one question, to which I desire to 
 have a simple * Yes ' or * No.' Will you give me that plain 
 answer ? " 
 
Dli. C URZON 'S LITTLE A CCO UNT. i 1 
 
 " I sliall treat you as a sensible man, you may be sure. It fa 
 aot always well to give a patient sucli an answer. It is very 
 seldom judicious so to do — in the case of women, for example ; 
 though there are some women, like your wife, who are better 
 able to bear it than most men." 
 
 " Then you agree with mo that my case is really serious ? " 
 
 " Is that the question to which you required the simple 'Yes' 
 or ' No ? '" 
 
 "No. I wish to know whether you are not of opinion that 1 
 
 am likely Well, I will put it less strongly. After what I 
 
 have told you, and what you have discovered for yourself, would 
 you be greatly surprised to hear of my sudden death at any 
 moment ? " 
 
 " I should not bo greatly surprised." 
 
 *' Thank you. That is what I thought." 
 
 " Most people situated as you are — with just the best Avife alld 
 children in the world, so far as I have seen — would say, 'That 
 is what I feared,' Mr. Dalton." 
 
 " I have thought about it too much of late to feel fear," said 
 Dalton, gravely. " There are some presentiments, I venture to 
 think, that are not merely fanciful." 
 
 " There are some, indeed, that Avork out their own fulfilmDnt^ 
 and therefore which should not be encouraged," put in the 
 doctor, with still greater seriousness. "May I ask, Mr. Dalton^ 
 if your life is insured ? — I have startled you, which is just what 
 should be avoided in these cases. Pray forgive my stupid 
 blundering. It is insured, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is insured, though only for a sum comparatively 
 small." 
 
 " Just so. I only asked the question because incidental cir- 
 cumstances so much affect these cases. Now, you must oblige 
 nic, before you leave, by taking at least a glass of wine and a 
 sandwich." 
 
 " But I have only just breakfasted." 
 
 " Yes, but you have since then had a walk over the crags. 
 It is very necessary to one in your condition — or supposed 
 condition, for I have by no means issued your death-warrantj 
 remember — to give the system constant support." 
 
 " But really -" 
 
 " Nay ; you wish to keep strong and well, I suppose ; yotl 
 are not enamoured of your complaint — if you have one — as 
 some invalids are. You shall have some lunch while I eat 
 my dinner." 
 
J 3D PALLEN FGRTUmKES. 
 
 With iliat tlie doctor led tlie way into auother room, wkere 
 his simple mid-day meal was spread, -^vhich mainly consisted of 
 a joint of cold roast-beef. The two sat down to this, and began 
 talking of indifferent subjects — if anything in the doctor's case, 
 who was wont to throw his whole being into eveiy topic of 
 discussion, could be said to be indifferent. Dalton talked but 
 little, and ate, as it seemed, rather to occupy himself than 
 because he had any appetite. 
 
 " I am afraid you find this beef a little tough," observed his 
 host, apologetically. 
 
 " Not at all," replied the other. " On the contrary, I thought 
 it remarkably tender." 
 
 " Then it seems to me, however right you may be as to your 
 heart, my good friend, that you have rather exaggerated your 
 toothache." 
 
 Dalton looked up with a flush of anger, but his host appeared 
 to be too busily engaged in mastication to observe it. 
 
 " I didn't recommend the pickles," he went on, coolly, " be- 
 cause hot things, they say, are bad for a tender tooth." 
 
 " Everything is bad for it, as it seems to me," answered 
 Dalton, with a laugh that only partially concealed his irritation. 
 " However, I have no doubt your science will effect a cure. If 
 yon will allow me, I Avill take that mixture home with me, 
 li\'-the-bye — and likewise the laudanum." 
 
 " Ey all means," answered his host ; " T will just go and put 
 I hem up for ynii while you take another glass of w^ine." 
 
 The doctor was some time absent ; yet Dalton did not take 
 his wine, but sat with his head forward, in an attitude of eager 
 expectation, listening : the house was small, and the partitions 
 thin, and he could hear the other moving about in the surgery, 
 the chink of bottles, and even — as he fancied — the pouring of 
 oome liquor into a phial, as he had already seen the other pour 
 it. Bnt as the returning steps came along the passage, the 
 cloud cleared off his face, and it once more wore a smile. 
 
 " My dear doctor, this is a plot ; you must certainly have 
 Intended me tu take more liquor than is good for me, that you 
 have left me so long with your wine. What have you been 
 about?" 
 
 " Nay, my dear sir, a half-starved apothecary who sells 
 poisons must be careful of his measures. Here is the mixture 
 Hud the laudanum ; pray be careful of it, for there is enough 
 there to kill half the parish." 
 
 " Thanks," said Dalton, disposing the ueat little parcels in his 
 
DR. CUKZON'S LITTLE ACCOUNT. 121 
 
 pockeiti. " There is but one tiling more, Curzon : it is a delicate 
 matter ; but between old friends tbere need be no fanciful 
 scruples. Please to let me know what I am indebted to you ? " 
 
 "What? To Robert Curzon, F.R.C.S. John Dalton, Esq., 
 for attendance upon his wife and family. Pooh, my dear sir ; 
 that will go in at Christmas. There is nothing we doctors dislike 
 so much as going into details ; it is as bad as taxing a bill is to 
 an attorney." 
 
 "But I particularly wish this little matter to be separate. 1 
 would not, for example, have ray wife know that I came to con- 
 sult you professionally on any account, and I have other reasons 
 for secrecy." 
 
 " Very good. You are a rich man, or I would not take a 
 penny. Let me see, if I w-ere Dr. Jefferson, I should call it a 
 special appointment, and charge you two guineas, which would 
 cover the cold beef and sherry nicely : being only a general 
 practitioner, I don't think I can screw more than one out of 
 you." 
 
 " I can't imagine how you doctors manage to live," said 
 Dalton, producing his purse. "You seem to me to take more 
 pains for less money than any other class of men." 
 
 "But this is two pounds. I am afraid the whole valley has 
 not so much change in it as you will require." 
 
 " But then there is the mixture, Curzon." 
 
 "Nay; that qxux surely go down in the general account, my 
 good sir. Pride is not my weakness, but I can't sell you three- 
 pennyworth of sal-volatile across my dinner-table." 
 
 " Why, what is the difference ? I am astonished at so sensible 
 a man being so thin-skinned. Now wc are qu.its for to-day's 
 business, so let us say no more about it." 
 
 " Wlud? Do you wish it to be understood, then, that 1 have 
 sold you eighteen-shillings-and-ninepeuce-worth of laudanum ? 
 Mantua's law is death to anyone who sells one-half of the dose. 
 If you are really serious in wishing to keep the whole transac- 
 tion private, here is the proper change. I wish it was tho 
 general custom among folks in this neighbourhood to settle with 
 their doctor so promptly." 
 
 The seltlement was indeed ridiculous, considering the small- 
 ness of the amount, and the relations between the two men, and 
 they both endeavoured to treat it as more or less of a joke. But 
 as a matter of fact, the afiliir was very embarrassing to both 
 parties, and much more so than if they had been dealing with 
 ftuy important sum. Doctor and patient were equally pleased 
 
ili FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 wlleh the intcvviGW was ended, and tliey took leave of one 
 another at the front door ; the former to start upon his " rounds " 
 on horseback, which his friend's visit had unusually delayed ; 
 and the latter to return to Riverside by the way he had como. 
 
 '• I have left no footsteps behind me," muttered Dalton to 
 himself with a sigh of satisfaction, as he strode quickly up thf' 
 valley ; " and I have persuaded Curzon to believe the thing I 
 wished. "What rubbish is all this pretence of science, who can. 
 have a theory thus foisted upon her as easily as a conjurer 
 forces a card upon a child." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON BOARD " THE MART." 
 
 " Jenny," wliispered Jeff, as he walked beside the little inv^alid 
 carriage, in which she was wont to be conveyed when there was 
 the least risk of fatigue, on its way to the boat-house, "what 
 do you think of Holt's get-up ? " 
 
 " It is ravishing," was her enthusiastic reply. 
 
 The remark was called forth by a suit of rough, blue cloth, 
 adapted for marine purposes, and a hard shiny hat, such as one 
 expects to see surrounded by a ribbon, embroidered with, the 
 name of a ship. It was not, however, so surrounded ; and the 
 hue of the clothes, though of unmistakable azure, was very 
 modest in tone. Mr. Holt's attii'e would, in short, perhaps have 
 altogether escaped censure, had it not been so undeniably new ; 
 but as it was, it gave the idea of premeditation. This gentle- 
 man, as Jenny had averred, had a special suit for every occasion; 
 not only morning-dress and evening- dress, and driving-dress 
 and riding-dress, but even a particular attire for croquet ; and 
 now it appeared t-hat he had not come wholly unprovided with 
 even a yachting costume. So far as his tailor could do it, ho 
 Avas, in fact, equal to any sitiiation that country life could place 
 him in, and it was obvious that he had been in none of them — 
 Dor in the suits to match— before. 
 
 " There is one thing," continued Jenny, " that I must see 
 before I die, and for which reason I wish, it was winter. I yearn 
 to behold that man in scarlet, with top-boots and a hunting- 
 cap : that he has got them in his portmanteau, only waiting the 
 opportunity for production, I am confident." 
 
 " He would look even more like a monkey then than he does 
 now," observed Jeff, contemptuously. 
 
 " ITot a bit of it. You wrong him there. Jeff. He would onl;jr 
 
OlY BOARD " THE AIAR K." 123 
 
 look too iicw, like the gentlemen sportsmen wLo ride on liorse- 
 back in ths tailors' shops in Regent Street. What irritates me 
 is his being always so spick and span, so offensively pat with 
 the occasion. I think, however, Mrs. Campden likes it." 
 
 " "NVhy on earth should she like it ? " 
 
 vVell, she feels it a personal compliment that he should 
 have made such extensive preparations for his visit to Kiverside. 
 His only mistake has been that he did not provide a suit of 
 Lincoln green for the archery-ground." 
 
 Certainly his hostess seemed unusually affable to Mr. Holfc as 
 he walked between her and Mrs. Dalton down to the river, while 
 Mr. Campden preceded them with the two girls. 
 
 " Have you ever been in a steam-yacht ? " inquired she, with 
 an approving glance at liis metal buttons. 
 
 " No, madam." He always called her "madam," and she was 
 not displeased at it. It seemed to mark, the difference of social 
 rank between one of her exalted position in the county and a 
 mere stockbroker. 
 
 " I have been in other yachts often enough ; indeed, I may 
 say too often, for I am a very indifferent sailor. I have several 
 friends who are yachtsmen, but it is not everybody who can 
 offer one a cruise in a steam-yacht." 
 
 " I think you will find the Mary very comfortable," answered 
 Mrs Campden, languidly. " It is named, as you may guess, 
 after my daughter. She christened it, when it was first launched, 
 with a bottle of the best champagne. For my own part, I 
 thought it very extravagant, but my husband would have it 
 so." 
 
 " It should not have been dry champagne," said Mr. Holt, 
 v.'ith a little smile. 
 
 "Why not?" inquired Mrs. Campden. "It would have 
 been better — because cheaper — than Clicquot." 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt ; I was only referring to the irrelevance 
 of christening a ship, you know, an article intended for the 
 ■water, with dvij champagne." 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Mrs. Campden, coldly ; "it was a joke." 
 
 " It was a very little one," said Mr. Holt, apologetically : 
 then, sensible that he had made a quotation not exactly from 
 the classics, he blushed, and with great earnestness asserted that 
 he was entirely of his hostess's opinion as to the wicked waste 
 of using Clicquot for any such ridiculous ceremony as christening 
 a vessel. 
 
 '• There was, however, nothing ridiculous about christening 
 
134 FALLEN FOP.TUNES. 
 
 the Marij,^^ obsei'ved Mrs. Campden, cliillingly. *' Lord ^rajishot 
 — who is our lord-lieuteiiant — was so good as to honour the 
 occasion w ith his presence ; and we had three or four hundred 
 guests in a great tent, from Edgingtons', upon the lawn." 
 
 " It must have been a splendid spectacle," said Mr. Holt, 
 respectfully. 
 
 But the lady of the house was not to be mitigated ; she had 
 been joked with by a stockbroker, and w^as resolved to resent it 
 with becoming severity. 
 
 " My dear Edith," said she, addressing her other comimnion, 
 " what a pity it is yonr husband cannot accompany us thi.s 
 morning : there is nobody like him for making an expedition of 
 this kind go off." 
 
 "He said he would perhaps join us in the coui'se of the after- 
 noon," said Mrs. Dalton. " I am sui'e he regrets not being able 
 to come, as much as you are good enough to say you regret his 
 absence." 
 
 " Well, I don't quite agree with you there, Edith," answered 
 the hostess, drily. " I must confess that I think, if Mr. Dalton 
 wanted to come, he ivould have come. What do yuu say, Mr, 
 Holt ? Do you think that he is so wrapped up in business as to 
 sillow it to interfere with what is really more pleasant to him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Campden was one of those uncompromising women w^ho, 
 if they were common, would make social life intolei'able. If 
 not absolutely delighting in battle, she would not go a hair's- 
 Ijreadth out of her way to avoid it ; she knew that she would 
 get no assent from Mrs. Dalton, yet if she had been alone with 
 her, it is probable that she would still have hazarded the same 
 opinion ; as it was, she turned to her male guest, reckoning 
 conhdeutly that ho Avould purchase his own forgiveness at tho 
 sacriHcc of his friend. Here, however, she was mistaken. 
 
 " Indeed, madam, I cannot agree with you. Mr. Dalton has 
 nut only an aptitude for business, which, considering he has 
 only taken to it comparatively late in life, is surprising, but I 
 have never known him postpone any matter of importance to 
 more pleasure." 
 
 ]Mrs. Campden sniffed incredulously. " Ah, you men always 
 hang by one another," she said, "when one comes to talk of 
 the great art and mystery called business, which you would 
 have us believe no woman can understand ; but I have known 
 some very ordinary people who have succeeded in it uncommonly 
 well." 
 
 Poor Mr. Holt ! he really looked very " ordinary " whea 
 
ox BOARD " THE MARVr 125 
 
 Bhe said that. He would have flattered himself, if it bad leen 
 possible, that she was alluding to Mr. Carapdcn ; Imt the glance 
 with which she accompanied her remark made that impossible. 
 He hoped at least to meet with gratitude from Mrs. Dalton, to 
 win whose favour he had thus boldly defied their hostess in de- 
 fending Dalton; but she only favoured him with a forced smile. 
 The whole subject of business in connection with her husband 
 was painful to her •, she felt, too, that he needed no defence, and 
 least of all from i\[r. Richard Holt. 
 
 By this time they had reached Wxa boat-house, from which 
 they were to be rowed to the yacht, which was waiting for them, 
 with her steam up, in mid-stream. It wis a beautiful crafr, 
 fitted up solely with an eye to comfort. The smoke and steam, 
 and all the disagreeables, wei^e confined to the after-part of the 
 vessel ; and the fore-parb, consisting of a raised deck and highly 
 decorated cabin, was admirably adapted for a party of pleasure. 
 Upon the deck they all took their seats, except Mr. Campden, 
 to whom confinement of any sort was disagreeable, and wh*" 
 paced up and down, not so much like a sea-captain on his 
 marine domain as a hyena in a cage. It was very good-natured 
 of him to have proposed the expedition, for it was not at all to 
 his taste. He would have much preferred to be roaming about 
 his territorial possessions with an axe in his hand, cutting down 
 trees at random, to which occupation a man who has exchanged 
 town for country, late in life, is pretty sure to condemn himself. 
 He was wont to term it " thinning the timber," until Dalton had 
 given another name to this amusement of his friend — " rai.'<ing 
 money on the estate." 
 
 The river-voyage was very beautiful, with craggy hills on 
 one side, and on the other rich meadows and woodlands, which 
 "marched," as Mrs. Campden took occasion to remai'k, "with 
 the Riverside property;" but it was of short duration. In a 
 little while they reached the lake, a broad sheet of open water, 
 with no great picturesqueness to recommend it. Bleabarrow 
 mere is inferior both in grandeur and loveliness to even the 
 least attractive of the CumlDerland or Westmoreland lakes ; it is 
 high placed, but the shores are low and barren. It is, in fact, 
 surrounded by moorland. When the first ebullition of spirits 
 that always accompanies the start upon a pleasure-trip had 
 Bubsided, even the young people began to feel a sense of bore- 
 dom. It is possible that salt-water may have an enlivening 
 effect — indeed, it must be so, or only the very poorest persons, 
 with something solid to srain by it. would surely commit thein- 
 
i26 FALLEN FORFUXEF. 
 
 selves iwlce to a long voyage — but it is certain that expeditiona 
 upon fresh-Avater, unless it be on a river, when you can land if 
 you please, soon become excessively tedious. People get tired 
 of one another's company afloat in one-tenth of the time that 
 they do on shore. The air and the water together have also a 
 sedative effect upon that large class of persons who are charitably 
 described as " having no great resources within themselves " — 
 in plain English, Avho do not know what it is to think. 
 
 In half-an-hour, Mrs. Campden was giving more assents by 
 nods to the opinions expressed by her companions than she had 
 given by words for the last six months. If you had taxed her 
 Avith being asleep, she would doubtless have indignantly denied 
 it ; but it was true, nevertheless. Her husband, who openly 
 confessed that he did not " care for scenery," was conversing, 
 cigar in mouth, with the ship's engineer about vertical and 
 horizontal movements. Mrs. Dalton, who sat beside her hostess, 
 was not, indeed, like her, in the land of dreams, but she was 
 scarcely conscious of what was taking place around her ; her 
 thoughts were busy with the sad future that was awaiting — 
 and so immediately — her dear ones, but of which they had as 
 yet received no hint. Their lively talk, though she heard not 
 the words, jarred upon her ear ; their laughter smote her heart 
 only less sorely than their misery would presently smite it. In 
 a few days — in less than a week — they would leave Riverside 
 for what had been their home, but which was now, in fact, no 
 longer theirs, and then the news of their ruin must needs be 
 broken to them. In a {^w months another child would be born 
 to her — the consciousness of which is of itself depressing to most 
 women — heir to its father's fallen, fortunes, and a new burden 
 for them to support. Physically, she was far from well. An 
 abiding sense of weakness was always present with her, which 
 gave her apprehensions for the future, when her time of trial 
 should come ; but they were not apprehensions upon her own 
 account. Persons of her pm^e, self-sacrificing sort, are the last 
 in the world to entertain a high opinion of their own merits ; 
 but if common sense be allowed to enter into the region of theo- 
 logical speculation at all, they ai'e probably conscious that 
 tilings must needs be well with them when they have shuffled 
 off this mortal coil ; that the end of their labours — even 
 though they ignore all thoughts of reward — must needs be good 
 and gracious ; at all events, they have no fear, save the fear of 
 being taken from those they love, and who have need oP thtij* 
 love. Ohj deep and terrible mystery of life, wherein such beinga 
 
ON BOARD " THE iMARY:' I27 
 
 feA tLeso suffer and perish, while the vile and selfish prosper o.nd 
 live on ! 
 
 In Mrs. Dalton's face, indeed, conld be read nothing of this , 
 a serene cheei'fulness pervaded it, nob only to common eyes, but 
 even to those which affection had rendered keen ; but she fell 
 herself unequal to any attempt to promote hilarity. The duty, 
 Iherefore, of making the time pass agreeably devolved solely 
 upon the "young people " and Mr. Holt, and the latter had bj 
 no means been formed by nature expressly for this vocation. 
 
 " V/e are getting deadly dull," said Jenny, presently, after a 
 meritorious struggle or two to " lift " the conversation, which hod 
 done more harm than good, and indeed left it a corpse. " What 
 do you say to ' Lights ' or ' Twenty Questions"? " 
 
 These were drawing-room games which were sometimes 
 played at Riverside, and with which all the party were familiar. 
 In the former, two persons select a word of various meaning, 
 and talk of it aloud under it various aspects, though taking caro 
 not to name it, while the others guess, fi'om the " lights " thus 
 thrown upon it, what the word is. Even then it is not men- 
 tioned ; bat whoever thinks he has discovered it joins in the 
 conversation, and is admitted into it, permanently or not, ac- 
 cording to the correctness or otherwise of his surmise. So one 
 by one the whole company join in, till some unhappy wight, not 
 apt for the amusement, finds himself out in the cold, the solitary 
 listener to a general conversation of which he does not under- 
 stand the drift. Mr. Geoffrey Derwent, great as he was at 
 croquet, unrivalled in the archery-ground, and by no means 
 despicable at the billiard-table, very often found himself afc 
 "lights' in this unsociable position. Mr. Holt, on the other 
 hand, though by no means good at games that require dexterity, 
 had rather shone at "lights," though, it is true, in a very 
 inferior way to John Dalton, who was so ready at them, that, as 
 Kate said, " you might just as vv^ell tell papa at once." 
 
 " I think drawing-room games out of doors are slow," said 
 -Jeff, decisively. 
 
 " But they can't make us slower than we are," answered 
 Jenny, " since we have come to a full stop." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to play at ' lights,' or anything else, to 
 promote the general hilarity," said Mr. Holt, modestly. 
 
 " That is a very large order, 'the general hilarity,' " muttered 
 Jeff to Jenny. 
 
 "It is not so much the promotion of hilarity, llv. Holt, as It 
 Becms to me," said she, "as the avoidance of uttei collapse that 
 
rrS FALLEN FORTUNEr,. 
 
 we have to provide for. We have no idea, doubtless, how 
 stupid we have been ourselves for the last half-hour, but every 
 body has noticed it in his neighbour." 
 
 "I have not noticed it in you. Miss Jenny," returned Mr. 
 Holt, gallantly. " I have only observed, as in Macaulay's case, 
 that there were occasionally 'flashes of silence.' What do yov. 
 say, Miss Kate ? Are you for games or no games ? '' 
 
 Kate did not lihe Mr. Hnlt, but she had looked upoi; him v/iih 
 Jo^",s disfavour ever since he had endeavoiirod to iake ihe l)lai;u' 
 otr .leff's shoulders in the mattei' of the guide race; and slie 
 thought Jenny vs^us hard upon the man. True, he was not 
 quite up to the standard of " a gentleman ; " but that seemed to 
 her rather a reason Avhy they Avho were his superiors should 
 deal tenderly with him. Moreover, she was resolved not to 
 '• snub " him, ever since Mary had dropped that unpleasant hint 
 about his devotion to her on the night of the charades, lest her 
 coldness should be laid to that account. Thus specially appealed 
 to, she gave her voice for games, and they were commenced 
 accordingly. Jenny and Mary had the word — though the twf. 
 Bisters would have carried on the conversation better — and the 
 role of the rest was to listen. 
 
 " It is curious," said Jenny, "that you generally either see 
 them in great numbers, or else only one at a time." 
 
 "Nay," returned Mary, " I have often seen two and four or 
 them, though seldom three, when their object has been to make 
 us good." 
 
 " Or perhaps only goody-goody, which is quite another thing," 
 observed Jenny. 
 
 " Mamma, however, believes in their efficacy impliciily," said 
 I^bry. 
 
 " I hope so, my dear," observed Mrs. Campden, awakened by 
 this reference to herself; and understanding dimly that she was 
 called upon to endorse some moral or religious principle. 
 
 " I am afraid yoit have no right to join in our conversation, 
 my dear Mrs. Campden," said Jenny. 
 
 " They are playiug at ' lights,' " explained Kaie, apologeti- 
 cally. 
 
 " ]\Iy dear Kate, I am perfectly well aware of that," returned 
 the hostess, with dignity. It was a maxim with her not only 
 never to own herself wrong but even mistaken. 
 
 "But you know yoii have not guessed it, mamma," uiged 
 Mary; "and it's contrary to the rules to talk to ns unless vowc 
 have." 
 
O.V BOA A'D ' ' 7 HE MAR Y." ■ 129 
 
 Yonr motlier does iiofc ovca keep one of them in lier house, I 
 beh'eve," continued the auiiacious Jonny, who-o character wa- 
 fauhy in this particular — that she had uo ruveroiice for ihos. 
 bbe did nob respect. She was impatient of pretence of any kiiut, 
 and would rap her hostess's knuckles as soon >is she would iiavf 
 rapped those of anybody else. What busine>s had the woinau tu 
 insist ixpon it she was awake when she was asleep r* 
 
 " No," said Mary ; " we do not keep one at present, though we 
 did so at one time." 
 
 " Yes, that is very curious," observed Jenny, thoughtfully. 
 " Tlio j)oor keep none of them. The moderately rich keep one 
 of them. The rich keep none of them ; but the very rich indeed 
 —quite magnificent people, that is — keep lots of them." 
 
 '• This is like a riddle of the Sphinx," exclaimed Jeff, dcspaii'- 
 ingly. 
 
 "And yoa arc not the Qildipus to guess it," retorted Jenny. 
 *' As it happens, however, it is not a riddle, though I have seen 
 it in a charade." 
 
 " And on the stage,"said Mary. " Theylooklovelyon the stage. " 
 
 " Yes ; but I think the gentlemen admire them more than tht- 
 ladies. I am sure, if you were to appear as one, Mary, they 
 would admire you immensely." 
 
 Mary blushed and tittered ; and Kate put in, " They were very 
 useful to the ladies, however, in old times, mere they not ? " 
 
 " Who is this young person," inqnix'ed Jenny, with icy gravity, 
 of her coadjutor. " Do you think she has a right to join in our 
 private conversation ? " 
 
 "Let us inquire," said Mary. "When were they useful to 
 ladies, miss ? '* 
 
 " In muddy weather," rejoined Kate, and thereby established 
 her position. There were now three to carry on the talk instead 
 of four. 
 
 '* Have you ever known them to change colour ? " inquired 
 Jennv, with a comical look. 
 
 " No," .-iiid xUary. " I have known them of different coLiur.''. 
 but never o change." 
 
 " Nor I," said Kate. • Give us further particulars." 
 
 " Well, I have known those to which Mrs. Campden is attacliod 
 to bo red. and yet occasionally not red." 
 
 " Aro they not often mentioned in romances ? " inquired JMrs. 
 Dalton, smiling. 
 
 "Mamma has guessed it!" cried Kate, delightedly. "Well 
 done, mamma ! " 
 
130 
 
 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 '•I am not sure," said Jenny, severely. "We mjst not en. 
 courage rash speculation. What writer of romance is mostly 
 associated with them ? " 
 
 " Sir Walter Scott." 
 
 " Very true ; yet he has not portrayed the most popular — and 
 the largest — of all." 
 
 " I have got it ! " cried Jeff, triumphantly. " The largest of all 
 is capital." 
 
 " Who is this noisy youth ? " inquired Jenny, contemptuously. 
 " I cannot think he belongs to us." 
 
 "Yes, he does," persisted Jeft", stoutly; "the largest of all 
 was apt to go to sleep a good deal. Mr. 'Holt has not guessed it 
 yet." 
 
 " If Mr. Holt's literary sympathies were confined to a single 
 Look, as yours are, Jeff," said Kate, reprovingly, " he would have 
 guessed it as easily as you." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! " cried Mr, Holt, forgetting his humiliation in 
 the consciousness that Kate had been kind to him. " I cer- 
 tainly ought to have recognised the Fat Boy." 
 
 "I don't see it noiv," argued Mrs. Campden, who, to do her 
 justice, Avas seldom the last left in ignorar.ce of the desired 
 word. " Of course a boy changes colour — though rarely, unless 
 he's bilious ; however much it may be expected of him, one 
 never sees one blush." She never missed a chance of hitting at 
 poor Jeff ; but this time he had the advantage of her. 
 
 " The word is not quite ' boy,' madam, though very like it," 
 explained he, with elaborate politeness; "it is 'page;' which, 
 when in the form of a tract, is occasionally oiot read. Moderately 
 rich people keep one " 
 
 " I don't think it's at all a good word," interrupted Mrs. 
 Campden, curtly ; " I think it stupid." 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! " exclaimed Mary ; " I think it's an excellent 
 word." 
 
 " Uncle George, do, pray, come here," cried Jenny, who, 
 having herself invented the word, was by no means willing to 
 submit to the voice of detraction. " We want an independent 
 opinion from you." 
 
 " My dear girl, I have not possessed such a thing these twenty 
 years," replied Mr. Campden, coming forward with his cigar. 
 
 Mrg. Campden bit her lips, and so did the young people, 
 though from a different cause. It was with difficulty that they 
 resti-ained themselves from laughter. 
 
 "We want to hear .yoor opipiou of the word 'page' for 
 
ON BOARD " THR MARY." 131 
 
 lis^hts," continuod Jenny, *' Do you think it; a good wo. d, or 
 not?" 
 
 " It is not a bad word, so far as I know/' replied Mr. Campden, 
 comically. 
 
 " Now, do be serious, Uncle George, Is it well chosen or \11 
 chosen ? Somebody says it's stupid." 
 
 "I should think that was the person who had not gu.esp'=-i it," 
 observed the referee. 
 
 " Thanh you," said Mrs. Campden, icily. " It appears to in3 
 that you have not leaimed politeness from the society of your 
 stoker yonder." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " exclaimed the unhappy man, " how was I 
 to know that it was you, my dear ? You are generally the very 
 first to guess these things." 
 
 " Please either to put your cigar out, or to return to your 
 friend in the engine-room," was the ixncompromising reply; 
 " ladies do not like tobacco-smoke puffed into their faces, Mr. 
 Campden." 
 
 " On board steam-yachts, my dear," rejoined he, good- 
 naturedly, "smoking is always allowed, except abaft the funnel. 
 Nevertheless, to hear is to obey." And with a salaam to hia 
 lady and master, intended to be eastern in its profundity, Mr. 
 <Jampden retired, only to re-appear, however, in a few minutes, 
 fresh and smiling, at the luncheon-table. Under the influence 
 of good viands and champagne, the little company, which had 
 been getting somewhat limp and out of spirits, soon revived. 
 The great prescription for a water-party is what Dr. Curzon 
 termed " constant support " — a luncheon should be always 
 going; and, so far as the young people were concerned, the 
 excursion, after all, proved a considerable success. Mrs. Dal- 
 ton's eyes, however, in vain swept the dreary moorland for her 
 husband ; he came not, and, her heart foreboded, was too sad to 
 come. It never struck her, as it would have struck some wives, 
 that he might have "made an effort," as she had done, and 
 helped her to endure the happiness and laughter of the rest by 
 his presence. Since he could not be merry, she was glad to 
 think that he was spared the pain she suffered ; but she pined 
 to be with him, that her love might comfort him. What was 
 he doing all alone at Riverside ? Twice had Mrs. Campden 
 addressed her, though, it must be allowed, in a very low voice, 
 without diverting her attention from this melancholy thought. 
 
 " My dear Edith, are you asleep ? " said she at last, a little 
 sharply 
 
132 FA LIE A' J- OR TUXES. 
 
 "A tliousand pavilons, Julia. I suppose tliG motion of flis 
 ■sessel made me drowsy." 
 
 *' It must liavo made you blind as well as deaf, my dear,'' 
 whispered her hostess, " if you have not noticed the very 
 marked attentions that somebody has been paying to your Kate 
 all day. Of course sho is well able to take care of herself ; but, 
 In my opinion, it is a piece of downright impertinence on his 
 part/' 
 
 " I have observed nothing,*' answered Mrs. Dalton, her deli 
 rate pale face flushing in spite of herself. " Are you referring 
 to Mr. Holt ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose I am not referring to Geoffrey, my dear ; 
 fliat would sui'ely bo a little too absurd. I say, considering 
 the sort of footing on which Mr. Holt has come down hero 
 — not, I must say, altogether with my approbation — as youv 
 husband's business-friend, it is most impertinent in him to pre- 
 sume in that way. We have every reason, however, to believe 
 that Kate has a proper contempt for the man." 
 
 " Well, I think we may be assured, a' least, tliat Kate ha^- not: 
 fallen in love with hira," said Mrs. Dalton, pmiling. She had 
 quite recovered herself now, and would have heen more than a 
 match for her hostess on such a topic a month ago. It is true 
 she no longer felt on equal terms with her, but then the other 
 did not know it. 
 
 " In love with him ! " repeated Mrs. Campden, scornfully. 
 " I should as soon have imputed to her an attachment to the 
 footman.'' 
 
 "Mr. Holt is your guest, Julia," returned Mrs. Dalton, stiflBy. 
 Her anger was not stii-red upon Mr. Holt's account at all, and 
 Mrs. Campden knew it, and drew in her horns at once. 
 
 "Well, of course the footman is an exaggeration, my dear; 
 but the man has no sort of right to lift his eyes so high," 
 
 " Of course such a match would be ill-assorted," returned 
 Mrs, Dalton. " To begin with, there is a very great disparity 
 in years." 
 
 " Nay, that would surely be a trifling objection, compared 
 with others. He is not on the srme level in society, nor any- 
 thing like it ; while, even as to h-s wealth, there is no knowing 
 with these speculating people wht ther they may not be beggars 
 to-morrow; and it is no discredit <o dear Kate, considering her 
 bringing-up and reasonable expectations, if I say that she is 
 totally unfitted for any other life thai- one of assured ease and 
 affluence." 
 
ON BOARD " THE MARY:' t3j 
 
 " I hope tliat is not so," said Mrs. Daltou, besitatiugiy. Ami 
 here it was almost upon her tongue to tell why it was she hoped 
 better things of Kate, of the necessity that had ai'isen that Kato 
 and all herchldreu should fit themselves for quite another life 
 than one of affluence ; but her companion's impatience cut her 
 bhort. 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense, Edith. I do sincerely trust you will never 
 encouraue her to throw herself away upon a poor man. Indeed, 
 I know no one — except perhaps my own daughter — less likely 
 to be happy with such. Of course riches cannot insure content- 
 ment ; but it is quite as certain that poverty, when it falls upon 
 those who have been used to riches, produces discontent, peevish- 
 ness, coldness of heart, and, in the end, often downright dislike 
 fur those— even when they are not in fault — with whom we aro 
 compelled to live. There is a deal of nonsense talked un tho 
 uther side of the question ; but it is rather a suspicious circum- 
 btauee that all the eloquence in favour of poverty comes from 
 people who are either very rich, or not in a position to feel the 
 want of money. You never hear a man with a large family, 
 for example, preaching up the delights of a small iucome." 
 
 " But when you had a bmall income yourself, Julia — or one 
 f.-ompai-atively small — you were just as happy as you are at 
 present." 
 
 It was now Mrs. Cam]idcn's turn to l)lush, Avhich she did very 
 violently, though somcwhrd ]>artially. 8 he was one of those 
 women who blush in patches, and especially on the forehead, the 
 cars, and. the tip of the nose. 
 
 " Of course, we have had our day of small things, Edith, as T 
 hitvc never sought to conceal ; but that was before wc occupied 
 our present position in " — she was going to say " the countj^"' 
 liiifc she modestly exchanged it fox* — "society. Having onco 
 ;ittaiued to that, it Avonld be a gi'cat jtitteruess to fall even to 
 the place that I once occupied, perhaps contentedly enough."' 
 
 " Yet you would surely not dislike, on that account, those 
 with whom you were compelled to live — your husband, for 
 example — even though, as you put it, he might have been the 
 cause of your ca,lamity ? " 
 
 " I honestly tell you, Edith, I should like him none the better 
 for it ; and should not certainly expect that Mary would havo 
 the same respect for him. A man who, having once established 
 l.imself and family, risks, I do not say their means of livelihood 
 --for Iho.l Avould be downright hcltish wickedness — Imt their (T 
 know Jio other word for it) ' position' by spcculatiun, loses not only 
 
tU ~ PALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 their money, but tlieir dutiful affection and regard, and, in my 
 opinion, deserves to lose them. Of course Mr. Holt yonder, 
 with no family ties, may do as he pleases ; but what would the 
 world say of your husband, for example, if he allowed himself 
 to be persuaded by him to enter into any dangerous enter 
 prise ? " 
 
 "Well, what would the world say ?" inquired Mrs. Dalton, 
 looking quickly up into her companion's face. 
 
 " Why, it would say some very hard things," answered tho 
 other, not without some signs of discomposure. " Even in a suppo- 
 sititious case, one would not like to say what things ; but my poin< 
 is, that though yourself might forgive him, your children woula 
 endorse what would be said." 
 
 " And in your opinion they would be justified in so doing ? " 
 asked Mrs. Dalton, coldly. 
 
 " In my opinion they would at least be excusable, Edith. You 
 are not annoyed with me, I hope, for speaking my mind. I am 
 taking, of course, only a general case. I am quite suro 
 Ml". Dalton is the very last man in the world to commit such a 
 piece of folly ; but my argument is, that if anyone in his position 
 did commit it, it would be a crime." 
 
 Here the Mary grounded, as she was accustomed to do on 
 every other trip, some yards from her proper anchorage in the 
 river. Taking into account the interest of money sunk in the 
 purchase, and the expense of hr maintenance, each of these 
 rare exciu'sions to Bleabarrow mere cost her owner about tive- 
 and-twenty pounds. But his wife, at least, did not begrudge it. 
 No other family in the county could boast of the possession of 
 a steam-yacht, except the Campdens. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TO BE OR NOT TO EE ? 
 
 When John Dalton reached the head of Sanbeck Valley, therr- 
 were two courses open to him ; either to keep straight on along 
 the east road, which Avas soon merged into a bridle-path along 
 the moor that led to Bleabarrow Mere ; or to return to River- 
 bide by the way ho came. It had been his intention to join tho 
 party on board the steam-yacht ; but he now carried about with 
 him that which caused his heart to beat so wildly at the very 
 thought of his wife and children, that he could not trust him- 
 self to meet them. It is always open to the wretched — those at 
 least who are not in prison — to end their woes by rojie or razor ; 
 
TO BE OR NOT TO £Ef 13S 
 
 but it is Hot so easy to use those remedies. But once one is 
 possessed of a few drops of poison, the case becomes very- 
 simple : a dose of medicine is not difficult to swallow. We 
 have the key of the next world in our pocket, and one turn of 
 the hand admits us. 
 
 One step from the death-bed, 
 
 And one from the bier, 
 
 And one from the charnel, 
 
 And one — ■- Oh, Avhere ? 
 
 says the poet. But, for John Dalton, even those few steps were 
 now shortened — if he only so willed it. Though the matter 
 only respected his own fate, he was filled with a tremendous 
 sense of power. He had but to lift his hand, and the secret 
 that has defied mankind to pierce it siucc the world began Jay 
 within his grasp. For the moment he felt no inclination to use 
 his advantage ; but he felt immensely flattered in the possession 
 of it. Thoughts of the Great To-come had, of course, occa- 
 sionally occurred to him, but only in that conventional and 
 abstract form in which they present themselves to ninety-nine 
 hundredths of his fellow-creatures ; familiarity with them had 
 certainly bred no contempt for it in his mind ; and now he could 
 think of little else. He had climbed the crags, and was looking 
 around him in all directions save one — his face was studiously 
 averted from the long blue lake, on which the yacht, though 
 distant, was distinctly visiWe. The very world seemed to be at 
 his feet, and to afford him t 'j opportunity of a comprehensive 
 Farewell. How exquisitely beautiful looked the tranquil valley 
 from which he had just ascended ; how peaceful were the hours 
 men passed in it, and how contented, to all seeming, were they 
 with their lot ! Old Joe Landell, of the Nook yonder, was 
 dying, it seems, and doubtless sorry to die ; while he (Dalton) 
 was hale and strong enough, yet weary of his life. How ci-uel 
 and unjust seemed the ways of — well, of Fate. He did not like 
 to say " of Providence," though we use that term itself to avoid 
 saying " of God." 
 
 It was impossible, however, to smooth matters over with him- 
 '4Ai now; he must needs face the truth in theory, as, without 
 doubt, if he put nis design into effect, he would have to face it 
 in fact. If God was cruel and unjust in this world, might Ho 
 not also be so in the next ? The " to be, or not to be ? " of 
 Hamlet is jelf-applied by every man in Dalton's case, whether 
 he has heard of Hamlet or not. There are many considerations, 
 but the gist of the matter lies in a nutshell. As to what men say 
 
T36 ■' t'ALLEN I'OkWNES. 
 
 iif suicide ,i,'cncnilly, that did not disturl) him ; lie \Vcis too iictit 
 the lliiug itself to be moved by the cant of those -who have only 
 regarded it from a distance, and with no reference to themselves. 
 It is "cowardly," they eay ; whereas it indeed requii-es tho 
 cxtremest kiud of courage — the courage of despair. They might 
 just as well call a man a " coward " for going to the dentist's 
 and getting a raging tooth drawn, instead of letting it rage on. 
 The topic is one of those upon which men have agi-ecd together 
 to talk rubbish. Even Shakespeare has told us that the Al- 
 mighty has iixcd His canon against self-slaughter, tbougli 
 ■whence he derived the information he has left untold. At tli'; 
 same time, that it is forbidden ])y iinpHcalion, is true cnougli •, 
 ami indeed it is very literally " a-tiying in the face of Provi- 
 dence," since a more violent protest against the lot that has been 
 iissigned to us, or a greater rellectiou upon Him who imposed it 
 upon us, can hardly be imagined. 
 
 This last consideration, however, was not that which troubkJ 
 JJalton most. iStrange as it may appear to superticial observers 
 of human nature, morality in such cases commonly makes a 
 better fight of it — intercedes more eloquently for the precious 
 life — than religion itself. Daltou thought comparatively littlo 
 of the question which theologians have affirmed to be the most 
 pressing of all, " Will this be displeasing to tho Supreme Being 
 or not ? " but was greatly disturbed by an analogous though not 
 necessarily a synonymous consideration, " Is this right ? " and 
 tliis again resolved itself presently into a very concrete form, 
 " Will it be committing fraud against the T?a[m Brcmch Insur- 
 ance Society ? " It was above all things :necessary — in order to 
 spare the feelings of his Avifo and children — thai his death 
 should be attrijjuted to natural causes ; and yet in that case 
 they would reaj) an advantage to which the}' had obviously m» 
 right. At one time, as we have seen, this cousidei'atiou had 
 been sufficient to cause him to put aside the notion of seU- 
 dcstruction ; and if it had not been for Mr. Campdeu's conver- 
 sation with him respecting the Falm JJmucIi, it is probable ho 
 Mould never have reverted to it. Even the chairman of the 
 Board of Directors had not been able to persuade him that he 
 liad a right to derive advantage from a policy one of the condi- 
 tions of which he had deliberately violated ; but if, to meet thoir 
 own purposes, the Society should waive their objections, he 
 would surely — so he endeavoured to persuade himself — be in a 
 different moral position. And that they would do so ho ha/J 
 V?ry good reason lo l)elie\('. 'I'lie chairniiin iiad annouTR-cu )i\4 
 
7V BE OR XOT TO BEf lj> 
 
 intcutiou of pressing that coui'se of conduct upoK liis collcag'aes 
 even in case of a stranger ; and he was not likely to be less 
 strenuous where the interests of a friend — if the dead can bo 
 said to have interests — were involved. Moreover, that he would 
 be committing no fraud — in the way of deception, at least — so 
 far as Mr. Campden was concerned, and throu^rh him the Com- 
 pany, he felt assured. It was a trifling circumstance, yet one 
 which, in the event of his sudden death, would at once have an 
 immense significance in the eyes of his host, that he had never 
 mentioned to him, while talking of that very topic, that he him- 
 self was insured in the Fo.lm Branch. It was perhaps by acci- 
 dent that, when the subject was first started, he had been 
 reticent upon this point ; but while the discussion was proceeding 
 ho had reflected on the matter and maintained his secret b}- 
 design. Now, supposing that he should die very suddenly — 
 much more under circumstances that would suggest suspicion — 
 it must needs at once strike Mr. Campden as veiy remarkable 
 that his friend had been silent upon such a point ; from what 
 Dalton kuew of the other's character, he was confident that hu 
 would feel it his du'y to communicate his conjecture to the 
 Insurance Society ; and that having thus satiofied his scruples, 
 he would do his best, both on public and private grounds, to 
 procure the payment of the policy to Mrs. Dalton and her 
 children. By these arguments Dalton had silenced, if he had 
 not convinced, the voice of conscience, as I'cspected the Paha 
 branch, and had so surmounted his chief difficulty. For to have 
 put an end to himself, with the knowledge that in so doing he 
 was committing a fraud, would have really been an impossi- 
 bility with him ; the like reflection has probably kept scores of 
 wretched men in this world, and will continue to do so ; but the 
 thought that their fraud may not be successful, and their policies 
 be lost, has restrained hundreds. 
 
 In sp^te of the reprehensible circumstances in which we now 
 hud him placed, John Diilton would havo been a better man, 
 evf-n though he hurries his exit, than the majority of those who 
 wair decorously on the stage for the fall of the curtain. It was 
 the suddenness of his calamity which had overthrown his judg- 
 ment, and prevented perhaps his fertile mind from suggesting 
 some less tremendous expedient for escaping from his sea of 
 tioubles than that of flight Nor was self, it must be allowed, 
 the promoter of his rash design. If his mind wore not now 
 occupied by his beloved Edith and her children, it was beeau.se 
 he did not dare to dwell upon that subject ; his heart, which 
 
138 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 was not dismayed afc the thought of that dread leap in the 
 dark, melted like wax at the thought of them ! He was not 
 leaving them, as many a self-slayei' does, to whom the epithet 
 "coward" is applicable enough, alone and unprotected, deserted 
 by the man within whose power it was to win their bread. His 
 loss would be a gain to them every way ; they would ride more 
 buoyantly on the wave of life for his removal ; and many a 
 friendly sail would assist their little bark, from which they 
 could have accepted no such assistance had he himself — very 
 literally "a pilot to the shores of Nothing" — been on board 
 of her. 
 
 All these reflections occurred to him confusedly, hurrying 
 across his mind one after the other, like flying clouds over a 
 hillside, but all tending to one point. It is but seldom that 
 such a dread resolve as Dalton had in fact as good as come to, 
 is determined upon by gradual steps. Mr. Campden, I think, 
 somewhat overrode his hobby — otherwise, a trustworthy nag 
 enough — in striking out the six months' proviso, as respecteii. 
 suicide, from the regulations of his Falm Branch. In the mood 
 in which John Dalton now found himself, he Avould have 
 insured in half-a-dozen such unprotected offices, and killed him- 
 self next day ; but he could not — in fact, though the opiDortunity 
 was open to him, he did not do so — have insured his life with 
 the intention of putting an end to it after the expiration of half 
 a year. It is not so easy as some philosophers w^oiild persuade 
 us to look certain death in the face for months, and yet retain 
 our equanimity, even when our friends arc assisting us to do 
 so ; but to play the hypocrite to those dearest and nearest to 
 us, to persuade them that all is well with us, while our inward 
 eye is fixed upon the gaping grave, is a role beyond that of 
 most actors. From what he had already experienced, Dalton, 
 at all events, was well convinced that such a sustained efi'ort 
 was beyond his powers. If the thing was to be done, it w^ai 
 uot only best but necessary to do it quickly. Upon one thing 
 Dalton had long made up his mind — namely that the cata- 
 Btrophe should uot take place beneath the roof which he still 
 called his home. The improbability of his decease being attri- 
 buted to his own hand would, he justly concluded, be increased 
 by its occurrence at a time when he was a guest upon a visit of 
 plefojure ; and though this was hard upon the Campdens, his 
 necessities were such that he must needs be hard on some one. 
 Their home would be made hateful to Edith and the girls, wei'o 
 it made the scene of such a tragedy; whereas the folks aii 
 
TO BE OR NOT TO BE? 139 
 
 Riverside would soon get over it. He pictured io himself, with 
 something like a smile, how his hostess would inveigh figainst 
 him for his want of consideration for her feelings, if she could 
 have looked into his mind at this moment. Would it hav» a 
 good or a bad effect, he wondered, upon her position " in the 
 county ? " It would certainly give the house a temporary iu- 
 terest, and if his ghost should be reported afterwards to " walk " 
 there, even quite a flavour of antiquity. He did not believe in 
 ghosts walking, yet the fancy was sufficient to set his mind 
 speculating on the possibility of his discontented spirit being 
 aware of what was going on in the world after its departure. 
 Would it be cognisant of the future of those dear to him, and 
 note their troubles, without the capability of giving them aid ? — 
 their dangers, without power to warn them ? In that case, 
 there was indeed a Hell, and he would be in it. If he feared 
 for himself at all, it was upon this account. It was surprising, 
 even to himself, how little he was affected by those material 
 terrors, in the reality of which, he had been brought up to 
 believe ; bow much, his mind still dwelt upon this world, though 
 he stood upon the brink of the othei*. 
 
 Though his thoughts wandered so wildly, and so far, they 
 always returned, as doves to a dove-cote, to one small and insig- 
 nificant topic — namely, as to when and where this thing sbould 
 be enacted. The means, which had hitherto been his great 
 difficulty, were now obtained ; and ho had but to fix time and 
 place. What scene, what hour, was the best fitted — or rather, 
 the least unfit — for the final catastrophe ? Should it be the 
 next morning in the library ? — to which, he was still wont to 
 retire after breakfast, upon pretext of business, though all such 
 occupation for him was gone. In that case. Holt would 
 probably be the first to find bim, dead. Then he would tell 
 Campden, and Campden would tell Julia, and Julia would have 
 to break it to Edith. That would be the best plan, if he could 
 only be sure that Holt n-ould find him. But suppose Edith 
 should look in upon him, under pretence, as often happened, 
 of choosing some book to read with Tony, but in reality, as he 
 well knew, to give him a silent caress, or whisper a word of 
 comfort in his ear — why, that would kill her. And again, if 
 it should happen in the smoking-room, when the others had 
 j^one to bed, and he was all alone, save for that Creator into 
 whose visible presence, perchance, he was about to pi-ecipitato 
 himself, would not Edith be the person who would come and 
 look for him, alarmed by his absence, and apprehensive, perhaps, 
 
iio FALLEN FORTUXES. 
 
 of the very horror that Lad actually taken place ; aijprchensivc, 
 Init not, alas ! prepared for it ; so that the sudden shock would 
 leave his children not only fatherless, but orphaned ! 
 
 Ho pictured the event under a score of circumstances, to 
 every one of which there was an objection upon the same 
 ground : in i one was it certain tliat the catastrophe could bo 
 broken to his wife without danger of the most fatal conse- 
 quences. If she had been in her usual health, he could havo 
 trusted to hor paramount sense of duty to preserve her under 
 the wor-t disasters; her first thought, when nature permitted 
 lier to think, would have been for the children that were still 
 left to her, and for their sake she would have borne up— and 
 lived on. But as it was, enfeebled by her condition, and already 
 depressed by misfortune, it was only too probable that she 
 might not have the power to rally from such » sudden blow 
 at all. 
 
 It was curious that not till after he had proposed and rejected 
 many schemes, did the thought strike him, "Why should I not 
 do it now V Except for that dark spot, with a thin ribbon of 
 dark cloud above it, on the distant mere, there was no sign of 
 mo\ement or of life about him. It was unlikely that he should 
 ever find himself more alonu than at that very moment. Save 
 <br the dull roar of the rapid river, hundreds of feet ])eneath 
 hiia, and for the distant tinkle of a shoop-boll from the valley 
 he hnd just left, not a sound broke the surrounding silence. If 
 ir is ever easy for n. man in health and vigour to lie down and 
 die, it was easy for him to do so now. If ever circumstances can 
 be said to be in favour of such a deed, they Avere so now. If an 
 opportunity was ever afforded for a man to kill himself — yet tu 
 seem to others to have died in the course of nature — it was 
 offered to him now. He looked into the future — not the future 
 of the next world, even yet — and all things seemed to suit witli 
 his feii intent. He had just been to his doctor to consult him 
 8.bout a supposed heart-disease, and the doctor had as good as 
 confirmed his own expressed suspicions that such a mischief 
 was at work. " I should not myself be surprised," he had 
 said, " if I was to hear that you had dropped down dead." It 
 was true that this had been wrung from him, after much press- 
 ing, by what lawyers term "leading questions;" but Curzon 
 had not probably been aware of it, and even if ho had been, 
 when the thing had happened, ho was oerjninly not likely to cat 
 liis Avords. Jdc had but to repeat them, and I linn would bo 
 burely no occapiou lor -aw^ i><K=i t)vj\-b:m iuvestigaliou. The ]ialh 
 
TO BE OR XOT TO £/■? 141 
 
 by ^hicli Daltoii li:ul voachod the suiiimil- of llie ci'fig,> was vei-y 
 steep, though it had, iu fact, jDut him but a very little out of 
 breath ; and its asceut might easily be credited with having cost 
 a man affected with a heart-disease — and who had been found 
 dead on the top of it — his life. If the doctor had any doubts — 
 if the merest scintilla of suspicion could be called such — he 
 would certainly give them, for all reasons, in favour of " Deatli 
 from natural causes." Dalton had pai'ted from him, if not in 
 high spirits, still with perfect cheerfulness; and if he had 
 shown despondency at any period of the interview, it had arisen, 
 apparently, from his suspicions regarding his own health. Upon 
 the whole, it seemed that Dal ton's expedition of that morning 
 had prccnred for him a most imijortant witness. 
 
 There was indeed the absence of the laudanum from the 
 ])ottle to be accounted for ; but that could be effected in two 
 ways. Dalton could either take a draught of it, and then break 
 the bottle with the rest of its contents in his pocket, when the 
 breakage would be accounted foi- by liis fall ; oc, havino: druiil; 
 ■•Ahat was necessary 10 effect Ids purpo-e, he .ould fill up the 
 bottle with water fmm a little spring that wa> close at hand. 
 The doctor himself had stared that he had sold him laudanum 
 enough " to kill half the parish," so that a very moderate quan- 
 tity would suffice for his purpose. As for the Afterwards — he 
 would presently be missed at home, and since he had moored 
 the boat on the right bank of the river, it would be guessed 
 that he had crossed over into Sanbeck, probably with the 
 intention of calling at the doctor's ; the very man would, there- 
 fore, be at once communicated with on whom he mainly relied 
 for the final safe conduct of the affair ; while in the meanwhile 
 lime would allow of misgivings and apprehensions, which, 
 however painful in themselves, do somewhat break, to those 
 who entertain them, the shock of calamity. The house, though 
 at some distance, was full in his sight, in which all the degrees 
 of suspense and wretchedness — uneasiness, dismal foreboding, 
 and despair — were about to be inflicted by his own hand on 
 those he died to benefit, yet he gazed on it with apathetic eyes. 
 Death was so near to him, that feeling was already dulled by its 
 icy presence. It was more mechanically than, as before, of 
 resolute design, that he now kept his back turned to the moor- 
 land lake — where the black speck was growing larger every 
 moment, which was the steam-yacht Mary, bringing his un- 
 suspicious dear ones home — and took the laudanum from his 
 [X)c1j ?t 
 
142 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Ho bad a flask fittod with a dnnking'-ci::p, and into tins ha 
 poured sufllcieut, as lie judged, of the deadly drug to effect his 
 jiurpose : placing this upon the turf, he substituted water from 
 the spring for the liquid taken from the bottle, and replace I 
 the latter in his pocket. Then all was indeed ready. It was 
 astonishing, even to himself, how steady was his hand as he 
 raised the fatal draught to his lips. If the claim of Socrates to 
 philosophy, reflected he grimly, rested oidy upon his calmness in 
 taking the hemlock, John Dalton was as good a philosopher w.h 
 he. He had done his " thinking" in this world, for good and 
 all, and was wholly occupied Avith the matter in hand , he only 
 indulged himself in one surmise — which was likewise Socratic — 
 How long would the poison take to woik ? Would he fall at 
 once into a deep sleep ? Would he feel pain ? Then he drank 
 it oft veiy quickly, and to the last drop — after which he care- 
 fully washed out the drinking-cup, and returned it to its proper 
 place. As he did so, it suddenly occurred to him that his mouth 
 — he had said to himself his " breath," and then mentally cor- 
 rected his mistake with a smile that was very like a shudder — 
 that his mouth would smell of the poison. He remembered that 
 in many cases of suicide the fact was at once discovered by this 
 simple means, and yet he had almost forgotten to take so ordi- 
 nary a precaution. He now wetted his lips with a little wine 
 from his flask, and took out his cigar-case. " The wine and the 
 tobacco together," thought he, coolly, " will surely overcome the 
 scent of the laudanum." But in selecting his cigar, his hand 
 trembled excessively, for the case from which he took it had 
 been his wife's gift, and was embroidered by her own fingers. 
 Almost evei'ything that John Dalton had, of a handy or luxurious 
 sort, had been given him upon one or other of his birthdays by 
 hit? wife or children, and he was wont to use them as a matter 
 of course. But now, as he was leaving his Edith for ever, without 
 look or word of farewell, the touch of the silken flowers that she 
 had woven for him sent a pang to his heart, so keen and vivid, 
 that he almost doubted whether it might not be already due to 
 the poison he had swallowed. When he put the case away, how- 
 ever, the pain went with it, and he sat down on the turf and 
 began smoking his cigar. If he had stood np a few minutes 
 longer, he would probably have been seen by those on board the 
 yacht, which had by this time left the mere, and was speeding 
 home between the river-banks. As it was, they came on — the 
 young psople still at their jests and games — opposite to, and 
 immediately under the very crag where Dalton sat. He beard 
 
THE ANONYMOUS LETTER. HJ 
 
 them, or heard somotliing that seemed to mingle -wifcli the murmur 
 of the river, and yet was not of it ; and, dimly curious — for liis 
 mind was clouded, and his senses only half obeyed his will — 
 would have risen to see what it was ; his limbs, however, were 
 numb and nerveless, and in the attempt to get upon his feet, he 
 fell, and rose no more. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIT. 
 
 THE ANONYMOUS LETTER. 
 
 Tub first step of Mrs. Dalton, upon reaching home, was to go 
 direct to the libx'aiy, where she had every reason to expect that 
 her husband would be found. She had entertained but small 
 hope of seeing him on board the yacht ; yet, if he had left the 
 liouse at all, she thought he would have kept his promise — or 
 half-promise — to join the water-party. He was doubtless still 
 engaged with his letters, or, more likely, still thinking his sad 
 thoughts, under pretence of being engaged with them. Her 
 surprise was, therefore, considerable at not finding him ; and 
 with her, under her sad circumstances, surprise was at once 
 followed by vague alarm. Her heart beat, not only with haste, 
 as she went i-apidly to his own chamber, and then to his smoking- 
 room — to find them both unoccupied. At the door of the latter 
 ohe even waited a few seconds, not so much to recover breath as 
 to expel from her face the apprehension that she knew had 
 gathered there. 
 
 " Why, John, where on earth," was the commencement of the 
 half-laughing sentence she had formed, in the expectation of 
 finding him in his favourite lounging chair with his cigar. But 
 the words faded on her tongue, as she stood pale and trembling 
 in the untenanted room. From the window she could see the 
 very crag under which — had she but known it — he was lying, 
 unconscious of her tender solicitude. Where on earth, indeed, 
 was he ? Or could he be said to be on earth at all ? 
 
 " John, John ! " The very echoes seemed to mock her, and 
 reply " Gone, gone ! " in answer to her tremulous inquiry. She 
 felt that she was growing " nervous " and needlessly alarmed ; and, 
 above all things, it Avas necessary to conceal such feelings. For 
 what — would be the natural demand of all around her — was there 
 to be alarmed about in her husband's absence from the house ? 
 Mrs. Campden had already expressed her opinion that he did not. 
 like water-parties, and therefore would not put in an appearance 
 on the mere, and she would only recognise a tribute to her own 
 
144 '^■■i I- LEN FOR TUXES. 
 
 sagaciiy and kiunvlcilge o£ John's cliaracfcer la ilio fact that, 
 after concluding- his correspondence, he had gone elsewhere. 
 The girls themselves would entertain the same opin on, exc pr, 
 that they would not blame him, for they were too foud of liim 
 not to be kind — though they were by no means bliuti — lo his 
 foibles, 
 
 ''T wonder where papa is ? " paid Kate, meeting her mother 
 iu the corridor, on the way to her ov. ii room to take off lier 
 bonnet and "things." " Marks says he has had no luncheon, 
 but left the house — at least his hat and stick were gone — almost 
 as soon as we did. We must not tell Mrs. Campden ihat'^ 
 
 " He had a headache, perhaps, and meant to walk it oif, and 
 then to return to write his letters." 
 
 " Perhaps so, By-the-bye, there is a letter just come by the 
 afternoon's post for him, marked Iminrdiatc." 
 
 "Yes," said Jenny, who had followed her sister slowly up- 
 stairs, but without assistance — it was one of her " good days " 
 — "and I saw Mr. Holt take it up and examine it with al! the 
 cui'iosity of a housemaid. I am sure he could not take a greater 
 interest in his affairs if he Avas papa's partner, and I do hope it 
 has not come to ihni yet." 
 
 " Hush, Jenny, hush !" said Mrs, Dalton, in what was for her 
 a tone of severity : "yon may be sorry for such remarks as that 
 when it is too late," 
 
 " My dearest mamma, what do you mean ? " cried Jenny, all 
 tenderness and terror ; her mother's looks alni-med her even 
 more than her tone. 
 
 " Nothing, dear, nothing ; -which I am sure was what yon 
 meant. Only, just now, such little things have such an efiect on 
 me ; and not finding your papa upstairs, nor in his own room, 
 1 — it was very foolish of me — began to think that somethLng 
 must have gone wrong." 
 
 "But, darling mamma," said Kitty, reprovingly, "what is 
 more likely than that he should have gone for a long walk r 
 Indeed, we know he has, since he went out before luncheon. 
 He told me the other day that he must take more exercise, when 
 I Wfts speaking of his want of appetite, which both Jenny and I 
 have remarked of late. Have we not, Jenny ? " 
 
 "Yes, mamma," said Jenny, eagerly; "and I don't mind 
 telling you now that I took upon myself to ask Dr. Curzon to 
 try and find out if there was anything the matter with him, and 
 if I am not much mistaken, papa has gone to Sanbeck to-day in 
 consec[nence ; in Avhich case, his absence is quite accounted for." 
 
THE an'Onymous letter. 145 
 
 At tkis tnomeiit tliere AVas a abai-p riug at the i'fuut-door, and 
 jenny's countenance fell. 
 
 " Nay, my darling," said hei- motlier, mistaking the cause of 
 her sudden despondency, tnd prompt to administer comfort \i 
 iier turn ; " let us trast in God's mercy and hope for the best. 
 There is no reason why a ring at the bell should mean any ill 
 news." 
 
 " It is Dr. Curzon," said Jenny, quietly ; "that is all." 
 
 In compensation, as it almost seemed, for her ailment and 
 general delicacy, this young invalid's senses -were unusually 
 acute. Her eyes had a wider range, her ears a keener percep- 
 tion, than those of her more robust fellow-creatures ; every 
 familiar step and voice, especially if they to whom they apper- 
 tained were dear to her, had an individuality for her, and even 
 their way of scraping their shoes or ringing the bell. She was 
 right in this case, for iu a few moments her maid came up to say 
 that the doctor was awaiting her as usual in the library. 
 
 " I daresay you are surprised to see me so soon, my dear," he 
 began, volubly ; and if her mind had not been so far occupied, 
 ehe would have detected in his address the manner of a set 
 tipeech ; "but as I happened to be passing by the gate, I thought 
 1 would, for once, jiay my respects to your mother. It is quite 
 an unprofessional visit, I assure you ; only Marks marched me 
 here as usual, and I had not the strength of mind to resist him ; 
 liis patronage and condescension always overpower me." 
 
 " I don't care what was the reason that brings you here, 
 doctor," answered Jenny; " but I never was more glad to see 
 you. Dear mamma, vv'ho, as I have told you, has been exceed- 
 ingly nervous of late — quite unlike herself, I think — and all, no 
 <loubt, upon papa's account, is just now in the most unhappy and 
 fif^itated state, just because he has left the house for a few hours, 
 while we were in the yacht upon the lake. I endeavoured to 
 quiet her by confessing that I had expressed some fears to you 
 about papa's health, and that it was very likely you had per- 
 suaded him to visit you professionally at your own house. But 
 now it seems that is not the case, I scarcely know what to say to 
 comfort her. Of course it is very unreasonable in her to bo 
 alarmed about nothing in this way, but we girls scarcely know 
 what to say." 
 
 "That must be a very unusual circumstance," said the doctor, 
 but without the smile that usually accompanied his good- 
 natured raillery. "Well, of course your dear mother is unroa- 
 BO/iable; that is only natural under the circumstances. Oar 
 
146 P ALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 object mast be, of course, to find out some simple csplauatlon of 
 his absence till he turns up ap;ain. How long has he been away 
 altogether, do you suppose ? " 
 
 " Since half-past eleven, I should say, if not earlier. Can't 
 you say that you have recommended him to take more exertion ? 
 I have heard you often rally him about his stopping indoors." 
 
 "You are su.re he has not returned home since the morning, 
 and then gone out again ? " inquired the doctor, earnestly. 
 
 " So the servants say ; and he is not in the house, for mamuui 
 has looked everywhere for him. How grave you look, doctor ! 
 You don't know anything, I trust, that goes, in any way to cor- 
 roborate dear mamma's apprehensions ? " 
 
 " Pooh, nonsense, no. But it is no use attempting to convince 
 her — nor any of her sex, miss — by mere argument. When I 
 bring your papa home with me, however, then I suppose shw 
 will believe that it is all right." 
 
 " Oh, dear doctor, if you only could. Do you really know 
 •where he is ? " for the doctor had risen, with the obvious inten- 
 tion of setting out at once. 
 
 "Well, I can't say I know, Miss Jenny; but I think I can 
 make a shrewd guess. You can keep a secret, my dear ? I have 
 often said I could back you against any girl in England for a 
 secret — though iliat indeed is no very great proof of confidence." 
 
 " If it is for mamma's sake or papa's, I would die rather than 
 tell it," said Jenny, confidently ; the doctor's manner had worked 
 upon her impressionable nature more deeply than he had 
 intended. 
 
 " Oh, it's not so serious as all that," answered he, gaily ; "but 
 you know how your papa hates any fuss being made about him ; 
 and the fact is, he did make a sort of half-promise to como 
 over into Sanbeck and consult me to-day professionally. And 
 he has done this, no doubt ; but somehow we have missed one 
 another. Now, if I leave my pony here, and go across the crags, 
 I am sure to fall in with him. Pei'haps, indeed, he is waiting at 
 my house at this very moment." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ; that will be an excellent plan, doctor. But 
 it will cut up your whole afternoon. Why should we not send 
 messengers ? " 
 
 " Because your father would not like it. It is essential that 
 BO one should know of his intention to consult me. If I don't 
 put in an appearance here before nightfall, or if your papa and I 
 miss one another by any chance, and he returns without me, you 
 will see that they send my pony home." 
 
THE ANONYMOUS LETTER. 147 
 
 *' Yes, yes. Bui you really think that you will find papa ? " 
 
 "I do, child, upon my honour." 
 
 " Then give me a kiss, doctor. Do you know there Avas 
 soraethiug — I don't know what — in your manner that made mc 
 almost as nervous as mamma ? But I am sure you would not 
 deceive your poor Jenny." 
 
 " I believe you have more confidence in your own sagacity 
 than in my ingenuousness," was the doctor's laughing reply. 
 " Now, let me out at the window here, and then I can sneak 
 down to the bcat-Lcuse, and row myself across without attract- 
 ing observation." 
 
 " Stop a moment, doctor. If you are really pretty sure to 
 meet papa, a letter has come for him marked Immediate, and 
 you had better take it ; I will fetch it from the hall." 
 
 " Very good, Miss Jenny," and having placed the letter in 
 his breast-pocket, and once again enjoined her as to sending 
 home the pony, the doctor let himself out by way of the window^, 
 and made his way through the shrubbery to the boat-house. It 
 was not uncommon for him, when on foot, to come or return 
 from Sanbeck by way of the river ; and one of the boatmen who 
 were about the place at once ofi'ered to " put him across." But 
 the doctor replied that he himself intended to return ; and 
 seating himself in the safest-looking of the small craft — for the 
 configuration of his form was unsuitable for one of narrow di- 
 mensions — he ferried it across with no inconsiderable skill. 
 Arrived on the other side, he suffered the stream to carry him 
 down below the usual landing-place, to a projection in the bank, 
 behind Avhich, and concealed from the observation of those 
 opposite, be found a boat already moored. 
 
 " I thought so," murmured he, with a sagacious nod, as he 
 fastened his own wheriy beside it ; "ho has not returned. The 
 foolish fellow was in greater haste to slip his cable than I had 
 given him credit for." 
 
 Then the doctor began to ascend the crags, not only with de- 
 liberation, as it was his wont to do, but pausing at every few 
 feet, to look to left and right, as though in search of some par- 
 ticular object ; at the summit he made a still longer pause, 
 gazing earnestly about him in all directions. Tho scene was 
 Htill extensive, though the shaded of the autumn evening were 
 coming on apace, yet he saw not what he sought, and his face, 
 which had been hitherto serene, and even cheerful — the face of 
 a man who is well satisfied with his own sagacity — began to lose 
 its confidence. He was couYinced that his examination of the 
 
148 PALLEN PORTUJVES. 
 
 ground behind liim bad been complete ; the long range of crags 
 were now open to bis view on botb sides, and in front lay lb© 
 winding patb up wbicb Dalton must needs bave come from 
 Sanbeck on bis way homeward. His eyes could even sweep the 
 road in the valley almost to the very spot where his own house 
 stood, and where be had bidden his guest adieu that morning. 
 
 " He cannot surely have gone on to the lake," muttered the 
 doctor, in a tone, however, that had more of apprehension in it 
 than of assurance ; " or why should he have come to me ? " The 
 day was warm, and his exertions bad been considerable ; but as 
 lie took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, you might 
 have seen by the expression of his countenance that the action 
 was caused by mental rather than physical causes ; it was a 
 signification of supreme anxiety and alarm. " My tongue 
 cleaves to the roof of my mouth," he murmured ; " there should 
 be a spring about here somewhere." Having cast about him 
 for its bearings, he walked quickly towards a high conical hill to 
 the southward, and at its foot, upon the side remote from that 
 where be bad been standing, found the spring — and a man's 
 body stretched beside it. "Ah ! " exclaimed he, aloud, with a 
 great sigh of relief; " you were right. Tommy, after all." 
 
 This was not in approval of the spectacle before him (though 
 it by no means shocked him, as it would have shocked anyone 
 else), and far less of the action that had brought the prostrate; 
 man to such a pass, but merely in acknowledgment of his owji 
 foresightedness, and perhaps in reparation for having tempo- 
 rarily doubted it ; for the doctor's baptismal name was Thomas. 
 Then be knelt down beside the body of his friend — for it was no 
 other than that of Dalton — and proceeded to make a close ex- 
 amination thereof. It lay huddled up, as though it bad fallen, 
 or rather sunk down from a sitting posture into a recumbent 
 one, yet by no means stiffly, like a corpse. Close beside it, as 
 though it liad dropped from his lips, was a half-smoked cigar. 
 The face was pale, but placid ; one hand was hidden in the breast, 
 and when the doctor drew it, unresisting, forth, it was seen to 
 clasp a locket. It opened to tho touch, and showed a lock of 
 hair within it brighter than the gold in which it was set. " His; 
 wife's hair, no doubt, poor fellow," mused the doctor, who, 
 having completed his px'ofcssional examination, apparently to 
 bis satisfaction, proceeded with great coolness to take stock of 
 the " personality " — including the contents of his friend's 
 pockets. 
 
 ** Her tresses will never look like that again, yet they shall 
 
THE .ixoyi'Mors letter. 149 
 
 not ^row white before their time if I can help it. What a mad 
 Tool was this, and yet what method in his madness ! Ho washed 
 his mouth out with this, did he " — here he pulled forth Datton's 
 sherry -flask — "and then smoked a cigar, to make all sure! 
 Upon my life, he was a cool one." In each of the breast-pockets 
 was a phial done up in paper, which the doctf)r's own deft fin- 
 ders liad wrapped round it a few hours ago ; both were t-till 
 full, and witli their corks plugged tightly in. The searcher 
 f<hook his head as ho hold one of them up to the waning light. 
 " What a fox ho was," soliloquised he ; "and yet not so wary as 
 the trapper. This is thinner and lighter than when it left my 
 surgeiy this afternoon ; it has had water put to it, and much 
 water. If it had been the liquor for which you took it, my 
 unhappy friend, your haste to get out of the world would have 
 defeated its own object. You would never have kept such a 
 dose as that upon your stomach. It is well that I am not one 
 to put things off till to-morrow, or, having awakened from this 
 stupor, and iindiug yourself left alone upon the desolate fells 
 here, there is no knowing what rash act you might not have 
 committed, from which no science could have saved you. Even 
 now there is miach to be done, I fear, before this maggot is got 
 out of your head. If I had but one morsel of good news for 
 you, however small, it would bo like bread to a starving man. 
 i wonder what this letter contains which I have been charged 
 to give you, and that looks so important with its Immediate 
 scrawled across it. It's good or ill tidings may turn the scale 
 of life or death. When one has rifled a dead man's pockets, to 
 open his letters should bo easy. Yet it's a scurvy thing to do." 
 
 The doctor sat irresolute, with the letter held doubtfully in 
 his hand, as though he was weighing it for the post. "It is 
 curious," soliloquised he, " how scrupulous one is about doing 
 a little harm that good may come of it, which I suppose old 
 Jeffei'son would set down to our Protestant bringing-up. One 
 may say or do anything, it has been laid down by a high 
 authoiity, only short of that of the Church, to save the reputa- 
 tion of a woman, and yet I am in doubt as to doing ihis, 
 though its object bo to save life — the precious life, which it is 
 my mission and calling to pi'eserve. And not only this m -n's 
 life, but that of his wife also; for if he dies, slie dies; if not 
 to-day, yet a few months hence, when her hour of trial shall 
 have come ; and then those sweet girls will be orphaned." 
 
 " Unhappy wretch ! " cried he, addressing himself to his un- 
 conscious companion, " by what strained and violent argumenta 
 
I50 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 did you persuade yourself to leave her thus ? Compelled by 
 •svhat despair? Yours must have been a woful case indead." 
 As if touched by the thought of so much misery, the doctor 
 hent down over the shut face of the prostrate man, and re- 
 gai'ded it with tender solicitvide. " I will do it," murmured ho, 
 " for his wife's sake." Then once more he examined the letter. 
 " It is no woman's writing," he mused ; " there will be no secret 
 of that sort to carry with me to my gi'ave, making one dis- 
 trustful of man's virtue, even though he be placed in heaven 
 itself. It is a clerkly hand, though marred with haste. Some 
 news of scrip and share, no doubt : something has gone up to 
 zenith, or more likely, to judge by my own experience, down 
 to zero. Well, here goes." He drew out his penknife, and 
 prised open the envelope with professional neatness, mutter- 
 ing something at the same time about " healing by the first 
 intention." 
 
 " Tliere I Sir James Graham himself could not have managed 
 it more cleverly." The envelope contained a half-sheet of folded 
 paper, on which was written but this single line — 
 " Sticli to the Lara. Verhivi Sap." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 RESUSCITATED. 
 
 If the doctor himself had not chanced to have burned his fingers 
 at commercial snapdragon, and received not even a raisin for 
 his pains, he would doubtless have been considerably puzzled 
 by the laconic advice contained in the violated letter ; but as it 
 was, he could make a pretty shrewd guess at what was actually 
 the state of the case. The Lara, he was at once persuaded, was 
 not a " young person," but some speculative company, in which 
 Dalton was mixed up, and of which he would have been willing, 
 if he could, to have washed his hands. Perhaps it was the col- 
 lapse of this very concern that had brought him to his present 
 pass ; and if so, here was a confidential communication biddinj^ 
 him not to abandon hope with respect to it, but to hold on. It 
 might, it is true, be only a word of advice concerning some 
 ordinary business speculation, in which case there could at least 
 be no harm in Dalton's reading it ; but the probability -was that 
 the tidings were good — calculated to put him in better heai't. 
 
 Hitherto the doctor had taken mattei'S very quietly, and may 
 seem to have pushed his philosophy — as philosophers some- 
 times ^vill do in the estimation of ordinary folios — to downright 
 
RESUSCITATED. 151 
 
 It'Hitality ; hue both head and heai-fc were in truth in accord with 
 this good man, and were working together for good. Now that 
 he had a stimnhant — as he hoped — to administer to his patient 
 upon recovery, he lost no time in resuscitating him. Raising 
 Caltoii's head, and supporting it on his own knee, he drew from 
 his pocket a bottle of what looked like smelling-salts, except 
 that it was much darker, and applied it to his friend's nostrils. 
 Then he dropped a few red drops from a phial between his lips, 
 whereupon the eyes of the patient opened slowly, stared at his 
 companion without recognition, and then gazed inquii'ingly 
 about him. 
 
 " This cannot be death," murmured he, feebly. 
 
 " No, it is not death, Dalton ; and if you are a man, you will 
 thank God for it," said Dr. Curzon, gravely. 
 
 Not a Avord was spoken for some moments, during Avhich 
 " speculation " began to gather in the patient's eyes. The 
 miseries of his position, from which he had in vain attempted to 
 escape, were forcing themselves upon his mind. 
 
 " You have deceived me, doctor," groaned he, despairingly. 
 " What you gave me was not laudanum." 
 
 " I have saved you, rather, my friend, in spite of yourself. If 
 it had not been for my pardonable stratagem— for never had a 
 pious fraud so much of piety in it — you would have been at 
 this moment in Grehenna, among all the other murderers." 
 
 "Murderers! That is a matter of opinion," answered tho 
 other, doggedly. " I should have put an end to my own life, it is 
 true, and I do not thank you for having given me a longer lease 
 of ir.'"' 
 
 " Bah ! I was not speaking of your life at all. When I say 
 ' murderer,' I mean a man who slays not himself, but another ; 
 in some cases (when t^^e thing is comparatively venial) from 
 mere passion, in others with selfishness and calculation ; in such 
 a manner would you have slain — your wife ! " 
 
 " My wife ! my Edith ! Why, I died for her." 
 
 ''You persuaded yourself so, no doubt; yet your death would 
 have killed her. If I did not take you home — as I mean to do 
 • — this night, your very absence would go nigh to do it. We 
 men being so worthless, have no conception, sir, at what a fancy 
 pi'ice we are estimated by our women." 
 
 " I am worthless enough. Heaven knows," groaned Dalton, 
 " and much worse than worthless. Look you here, doctor ! " 
 exclaimed Ve, starting to his feet with sudden anger, '* you have 
 ])een meddling in matters with which you have no concern, and 
 
152 FALLEN FORTUNES, 
 
 ^\ hicli ir, is Irapossiblo yon should iiTiclerstand. How it^ was \\v.\\. 
 YOU ffuosscd my pnvposo T cannot tell, but being ignorann of m\\; 
 necessities, yo\i had no right to thwart it. Yea have done me 
 an injury — which being done, can never be repaired." 
 
 " I know it," replied the doctor, coolly ; " and I am glad of it. 
 Your plan of committing suicide, without its appcari»ig to bo 
 suicide, has now failed for good and all. Should you ever aga' ^i 
 attempt this wickedness, John Dalton, no matter whore, T will 
 come, though it be from the ends of the earth, to bear witness 
 to what has happened to-day ! Please to sit down, sir, or you 
 will be observed from the house." 
 
 " And this is one who calls himself my friend ! " said Dalton, 
 obeying him sullenly. 
 
 " Yes ; and it is because I am your friend, and the friend ol" 
 those who love you far beyond your deserts, that I am acting as 
 I do. Of course, you are in some dire distress. Nay '' — for 
 Dalton was about to speak — "I do not seek to pry into its 
 natTire. I take it for gi'anted that you were pushed very hard, 
 and that you felt it most because it affected others." 
 
 " I did, I did ; Heaven knows it ! " answered the wretched 
 man. 
 
 " Well, would not those others have those ills to bear, and 
 your loss as well ? To one, at least, that would have been wors<» 
 than all other losses. I tell you — I, who know her Avell — that 
 it would have slain her." 
 
 Again there was a pause, during which Dalton sat, thoughtful 
 yet irresolute, w^ith his eyes fixed upon the ground, and his 
 fingers plucking at the grass. 
 
 " How did you come to know that I was thinking of this 
 thing ? " inquired he at length. 
 
 " From your own words and manner. I did not believe in 
 your toothache from the beginning. Aed if you had no tooth- 
 ache, why should you need laudanum ? Then, again, in our 
 first talk you said with respect to having your tooth oiit, ' I 
 cannot take chloroform ; ' whereby you wished to piit the idc:; 
 of your having heart-disease into my mind, before you came to 
 consult me about your health. These suspicions, slight in them- 
 selves, w^ere strengthened and cori-oborated by your behaviour 
 during our interview. When I asked j'ou, 'Is your life in- 
 .sured ? ' it was not, as you imagined, from any idea that it was 
 in danger from disease, but to discover whether those belonging 
 b'j you — for I never paid yon the ill compliment of supposing 
 (.hose wove iiot uppermost in your thoughts — would reap a benetit 
 
KF.srsc/T.iTF.n. 
 
 153 
 
 fi'om yoiu' diocfisc, ^'onr wlmlo inannci' iiiulrr Diy cxamiiiatiou 
 was artilii'ial ami unlike yourself ; and your replies were tech- 
 uical replies — not natural ones, sucli as arc given by genuine 
 patients, l)ut learned out of a book. When I said, ' You hjve 
 heart-disease, you think ? ' quite suddenly, you did not put your 
 hand there, as a man probably would have done who really had 
 it ; yet it was evident to nie all alonc^ that you wished me to 
 believe so. Then again — in spite of my suggesting other reme- 
 dies- >-you reiterated your wish for laudanum, which at the same 
 time you strenuously objected to my putting down in my little 
 account. Taking all these things into consideration, I said with 
 perfect truth that ' I should not bo surprised if you died suddenly,' 
 for by that time I felt convinced that it was your intention to 
 put an end to your own existence.'' 
 
 " I thought I had convinced you that I had heart-disease," 
 observed Dalton, naively, his mind for the moment diverted from 
 its gloom by the doctor's statement. 
 
 " No, my friend, you only convinced mo that you wanted to 
 have it. When a man says ' I thought,' when he ought to say 
 ' I feared,' as you did, he generally means ' I wish.* I could not 
 tell yea my suspicions, lest in so doing I might precipitate th» 
 catastrophe — though, in truth, I never guessed how near it was • 
 but I resolved to tell your wife." 
 
 " Great Heaven ! you might have killed her ! " 
 
 ' ' What ! you can see danger where you could not see destruc- 
 tion ? Do you suppose my hint of what you meditated could 
 have harmed her worse than the news of what you had done ? 
 It was my duty, of course, to set her on her guard, to provide 
 licr with remedies, in case you should put your rash design into 
 cifect ; and I was taking her the very things in my pocket with 
 which I have just brought you back to life, when I heard that 
 you had not returned to Riverside. Of course, if it had been 
 i-eally laudanum which you carried away with you from my 
 surgery, no human power could have saved you ; but as it is, 
 you are none the worse than you were three hours ago." 
 
 "And none the better," answered Dalton, wearily. 
 
 " But others arc better— those othei's for whom you profess to 
 have risked so much. Come, be a man, since you must needs live 
 on. Thci'e is work for you in the world of some sort, as for every- 
 one else. And you, of all men, with your troops of friends " 
 
 Hitherto, although striking almost at haphazard, the doctor 
 had been very successful in his arguments, but here for the first 
 time be touched q, wrono" chord, 
 
«S4 ^-"i L LEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 " Work ! " cried Dalton, bitterly; " nay, that is just ^vhat ia 
 denied me. It is not nincli, one would imagine, to ask of Fortune 
 permission to spend one's life in toil, yet she will not grant it to 
 me." 
 
 " Pshaw ! she has refused it to ten thousand men to-day, si?, 
 as wortliy as yourself, and with more pressing needs." 
 
 " That is impossible, Curzon, You do not know WelJ, 
 
 I will tell you," said Dalton, suddenly interrupting himself. 
 " This man, to whom you would apply your maxims of philo- 
 sophy, whose wife and children — and their needs — you are as 
 well acquainted with as himself — is ruined. When I say Ru'ned, 
 I mean it ; and by his own insensate selfishness and folly." 
 
 " Don't use such hard names, my good friend," interposed 
 tbe doctor, quietly, "because, though you apply them to your- 
 self, they may fit other people. I have been ruined myself by 
 one of the most promising and remarkable mines " 
 
 "ISTot the Litra?" cried Dalton, grasping his companion's 
 arm in passionate excitement. 
 
 "I am speaking of years ago, my friend," answered the 
 other. " You must not imagine that you are the only person 
 who has played with fire and burnt his fingers." 
 
 "But it is not my fingers only, man. My whole body has 
 been, so to speak, reduced to ashes." 
 
 " I have known even that to happen — commercially — and yet 
 the whole body to rise again like the phcenix. By-the-bye, I 
 have a letter for you in my jDOcket, which I fancy may be of 
 some importance." 
 
 " That is not very likely," answered the other, indifferently. 
 
 " I have had a good many letters lately, of which I have 
 thought as much myself until 1 came to open them." 
 
 "Well, open tliis ; it is marked Immediate, you see — I hope 
 it is good news ? " 
 
 This question was not put for several moments, during 
 which Dalton, having read the single line which formed the 
 contents of the letter, w^as examining it, and even its address, 
 with the utmost curiosity. 
 
 " T can see there is good news/' repeated the doctor ; " come, 
 confess it." 
 
 " I don't know," replied the other, excitedly. " It may- 
 prove so, yet I scarcely know how." 
 
 " Then there is Hope at the bottom of it," returned the doctor, 
 cheerfully. " We will not think of poisoning ourselves any 
 more, for want of Hope," 
 
RESUSCITA TED. 155 
 
 " This is the best friend I have yet had — next to yourself, 
 doctor," said Dalton, still poring over the letter. " Yet he only 
 signs himself Verhiiin, Sap. Imagine a man like me, with my 
 'troops of friends,' as you were saying, being indebted to a^ 
 anonymous correspondent for the first gleam of comfort ! " 
 
 " Friends are often powerless to help one, though with all tlao 
 will in the world," observed the doctor; but the remark was 
 unheeded. 
 
 " Stick to the Lara," muttered Dalton. " This advice woul.l 
 eurely never have been sent if an opportunity was not about to 
 be afforded me of escaping from my responsibility. Yet who 
 could have sent it ? There is hardly anyone save Holt who is 
 aware of my connection with it. It is very, very strange." 
 
 " Come, Dalton, we must now go back to Riverside," ob- 
 served the doctor, authoritatively, " Every minute of your 
 absence, remember, gives a pang to your wife." 
 
 " At once, then," said Dalton, stepping out, as he spoke, 
 towards home with an elasticity that did not escape his com- 
 panion's notice. The one tiny spark of hope had already re-lit 
 the embers of life within him. 
 
 " Remember, my friend, you have been many hours from 
 home, and will have to account for them. You are a married 
 man, however, and doubtless fertile in excuses." 
 
 " Many hours ! " exclaimed Dalton, in astonishment ; but a 
 iook at his watch confirmed the doctor's statement. 
 
 " You would have slept half the night here, had I not 
 awakened you by my incantations," continued the latter. 
 " Now, let us both be in the same tale to account for this. 
 You were coming over to Sanbeck to see me about your tooth- 
 ache ; and, finding me out — you did find me out, you know — 
 you waited until I came home, and so you were delayed. But 
 thei'e : your wife will be much too well pleased to see you, I'll 
 warrant, to ask very searching questions. And if she only 
 knew how near " 
 
 " Nay, doctor, spare me. Some day, when she is strong and 
 well, and I am prosperous — you know what ' some day ' moans 
 — she shall thank you with her own lips for what you have just 
 done. I could almost thank you myself, if this news her-e can 
 be depended upon ;" and he clasped the letter between his 
 hands as though it were some priceless treasure. 
 
 " Never mind the thanks, my friend. I am but the humble 
 instrument by which Another has given you a new life ; do not 
 C^st it away so rashly as the old one, And J say " — this with 
 
156 fA/J./.y J-OK'J'(\XES. 
 
 tk UoLii-Ish of liis slide — "mind thoy soml M\y pony boinc at 
 once, 01" else iny patieuts will bo comiiag- into the w.'lcl and 
 going out of ifc Avithout my help ; a thing not to be endured." 
 
 So soon as his companion had left him, Dalton discovered — 
 whether he should be grateful to him for life or not — how much 
 he had owed to the good doctoi- for his cheerful companionship 
 and out-speaking. His heart onco more sank beneath him as he 
 drew near to Riverside and his dear ones ; for what was there 
 to cheer him now, more than there had been when he had sought 
 death for lack of cheer, a few hours ago, f^nYo this small scrap 
 of writing, unsigned, unwarranted, and even without direct 
 promise of good of any kind ? Its xgvj vagueness, however, 
 was in some sort encouraging, since it gave wide room for 
 hope. 
 
 The river was less rapid as he crossed it now% and he had 
 leisure for thought as he plied the oar ; but no suggestion occurred 
 to him as to who that mysterious giver of advice respecting the 
 Lara might be. Holt, it was true, might kelp him to a guess 
 at this ; but Holt, something whispered to him, was the ver^ 
 last man with whom ho ought to confer on such a matter. 
 
 Dalton's boat was seen from the windows of the house, ant, 
 Kitty and Tony came running down to the landing to welcome 
 his return, 
 
 " Where hire you been, papa ? You have frightened us 
 almost into fits." 
 
 Then ho told them, half-laughingly, how be had missed the 
 doctor, whom he had gone to consult about a toothache, and 
 then met him returning home — for if ever there was a ca^io 
 where " the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth " 
 might not bo told, it was surely his ; and in their joy at seeing 
 him they did not question him very closely. Edith was not 
 downstairs among the welcomers or reprovers ("A pretty fright 
 you gave us," said Mrs. Campden ; " it is my belief you have 
 come home so late merely to have an excuse for not dressing for 
 dinner"); but was in her own room, waiting for him, with a 
 pale face and anguished eyes. 
 
 " Oh, darling, thank Heaven you are come!" cried she, as she 
 clasped him in her amns. " It was very wrong of me, and very 
 
 wicked, but do you know, John, I had almost begun to fe^r " 
 
 She hesitated, and with her hand pressed to her side, panted, as 
 much from emotion as for breath. 
 
 " What, dearest ? What was there to fear ? " assked her bus? 
 banci, caressingly. 
 
D ALTON GOES HIS OWN WAY. 157 
 
 " I almost feared tbafc you had been so cruel as Lu have do 
 Berfced us, and gone to seek rest in the grave, alone." 
 
 Daltou felt at that moment that if he had indeed been so 
 cruel, he -would have deserved, not rest, but eternal retribution. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DALTON GOES HIS OWN "WAY. 
 
 There were now but two or three days rcmainwig <o be spent at 
 Kiverside ; the Daltons had been there for some time, but Holfc 
 had come towards the end of their stay, and was to return lu 
 London in their company. It was a strong proof of the popu- 
 larity of the former that they were importuned to make a L/figer 
 visit, notwithstanding that such an arrangement would Vjuvc 
 involved keeping Mr. Holt, who had already overstayed l.ia 
 welcome. There was nothing about him even negatively ofter- 
 sive— such as is seen in the tone, or look, or manner <>f many 
 men ; but he had not succeeded in ingratiating himself with any 
 one of the party. The man who disliked him most was un- 
 doubtedly he who had been the cause of his admission into the 
 Riverside circle — namely, John Dalton himself; yet he now 
 sought his companionship more than ever, and more than that 
 of his own belongings. He was the only one in tho house, save 
 Edith, who could appreciate — even if he did not sympathise 
 with — his miserable position ; and with Edith, conversation was 
 too painful. And Holt, on his part, feeling perhaps somewhat 
 (Zt; troy) in the company of the rest, or perhaps for more substan- 
 tial reasons, was glad enough of his company. Of Dalton's con- 
 versation — once so brilliant and so fluent, even with a companion 
 such as he — he did not get much ; the two men sat opposite to 
 one anot her for hours together in the morning with their cigars, 
 di'opping a remark not much more frequently than they dropped 
 the long ashes of their Intimidads. 
 
 " By-the-byc," said Holt, on the morning after the event 
 recorded in our last chapter, *' this dreadful Lanh business has 
 swallowed up all other affairs, like an Aaron's rod, or I shouul 
 not have omitted to tell you that Astor has left us." 
 
 " Left you ? I suppose you mean that he has had his com^c. 
 Poor Philip ! The family, it seems, are coming to grief all 
 round. Perhaps, if he had won his cause, he would not have 
 kicked down the whole property, as I have done." 
 
 " Well, he squandered whatever he could get, you know." 
 
 " Tliat's true." "ij^wered Dalton, indifFei'eutly. He had always 
 
tsS FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 felt much sympathy for his half-brother, besides exhibiting it in 
 a more practical way ; but his own circumstances were tcx) 
 desperate to admit of such feeling for him uovv. " I am afraiil 
 1r) is an impracticable fellow. I believe I did all I could fnr 
 him — 'wlien I coald ;" and Dalton sighed to think how incapablo 
 he had become of helping even himself. 
 
 " Impracticable ; yes, that is just the word. I found it was 
 quite impossible to get on with him any longer. I bore with 
 him more than I could have done for any other man, for your 
 sake." 
 
 " I daresay," said Dalton, coolly, and not with much gracious- 
 ness, it must be o\yned. " And where is the jjoor fellow gone to 
 now ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell. There was no absolute quarrel between us, 
 you understand, but we did not part on such good terms that 
 there was any confidence. I believe, however, he has gone 
 abroad — to seek his fortune ; rather a vague phrase with any- 
 body, but in the case of such a rolling stone as Astor " and 
 
 Mr. Holt executed his favourite continental shrug. 
 
 " If I was a free man, and if I could leave my wife and 
 children with enough to live upon in comfort, that is what 1 
 would do myself," said Dalton, thoughtfully. 
 
 " What would you do ? " 
 
 " Go abroad and seek my fortune ; and when I say ' abroad,' 
 I mean across the world, and as much as possible out of it. I 
 would fly from Civilisation, Luxury, Society " 
 
 He stopped, suddenly conscious that he had a listener — a very 
 e;).rnest and attentive one, with a look upon his face that seemed 
 to ill conceal something of stvtisfaction, if not of downrighf. 
 ti-iumph. 
 
 " What the devil is there to grin at ? " asked Dalton, savagely. 
 
 " I was not grinning at all, my good sir," answered the other. 
 *' I v/as, on the contrary, dej^loring within myself the cruel mis- 
 chance that had brought a man like you, the pet of the — the 
 bowei- and the hall — how does it go ? to Avish yourself out of 
 society. You wouldn't like to become a savage, surely, to have 
 only two coats — of: paint — one for peace and one for war ? " 
 
 " I shall not long possess two coats of any other kind," said 
 Dalton, bitterly. 
 
 " Oh, come, come; there you exaggerate." 
 
 " I am stating the simple fact, and you know it. Holt, Sup- 
 posing that mine turns out as worthless as we believe it to be, 
 i ahall, literally, not have a coat to my back." 
 
D ALTON GOES HIS OIF.V WAV. 159 
 
 " A bad luiue is a deuced bad hole to get into, no doubt; \v.t 
 Btill, there are ways out of it." 
 
 " Wot honest ways," answered Dalton, sternly; "you know 
 we have exhausted that subject." 
 
 " Yes ; but we were talking then of yotir slipping your heail 
 out of the collar. Now, supposing you got somebody else Ui 
 take the shares upon his own shoulders. Of course, you won Id 
 get nothing for them, but it would at least limit your responsi- 
 bilities." 
 
 " But who on earth would be such a fool as to take shares in 
 the Lara, now ? " 
 
 " Well, there are always speculators," answered the other, 
 coolly — " not fools, by any means, but men who will take some 
 risk upon themselves, where the expenditure in the first instance 
 is little or nothing." 
 
 " Have you a friend in the City who wants Laras ? " inquired 
 Dalton with a forced laugh. The words of warning in the letter 
 of the previoiTs day, " Stick to the Lara," rang in his ears. 
 Was it really possible that the man who had pronounced the 
 mine to be hopeless, and likely to be worse than hopeless, 
 ruinous, was desirous to obtain shares in it ? The suspicions 
 that he had of late entertained of Holt, recurred to his mind 
 with sudden violence ; he had no more ground for them than 
 before, unless that single line of anonymous advice cou.ld be so 
 termed ; yet he felt convinced, as he had never been before. 
 " Have you a friend in the City who wants Laras ? " Avas, Lc 
 was aware, a question which, under the circumstances, involved 
 an insult ; yet he had not hesitated to put it. 
 
 " You are not serious, I am sure, Dalton," said the other, 
 quietly ; "if, at least, you mean by that, do / want Laras. The 
 mine is, in my opinion, a mere dangerous hole. At the same 
 time, I believe I know people, or can find them, who think other- 
 wise ; who are confident that they can avoid the danger, and 
 have hopes of getting something out of the hole. They arc 
 rash, no doubt, but they are accustomed to risks ; and if they 
 choose to take this particular one instead of you, that is their 
 own affair. You surely need have no scruples in this case." 
 
 " They are not scruples, but doubts " 
 
 " Doubtd, Dalton ? " interrupted the other, quickly. " Doubts 
 of whom ? " 
 
 " Well, I cannot say of whom, because there may be a lot of 
 people mixed up in the affair, and I don't happen to know their 
 names. You were good enough to say, the other day, that you 
 
1 60 FALLEN FOR '1 Va FS. 
 
 would hold me liavmless — oiii of old acquaiutuucc' ^-alcc — fiom 
 luvtlier liability as to the Lam; and here, it seems, are others, 
 who have no such acquaintance with me, offering to do me the 
 like favur. Under these circumstances — moved by so singular 
 a coincidt-nce — I think I shall stick to the Lara.'' 
 
 " You will do as you please, of course, my dear Ualton ; but 
 the question is whether you can afford to stick to it. That 
 every shilbng will have to be paid up, is morally certain." 
 
 " I cat! pay every shilling." 
 
 " My dear fellow, there is no occasion to be so brusque ; I do 
 not doubt that you can pay it. But when 3 ou Avere so good as 
 to repose some confidence in me the other day respecting your 
 affairs, it was made plain to me that the payment would leave you 
 without much margin as to means." 
 
 " You need not be so delicate about it, my good sir," laughed 
 DaltoB, bitterly ; " it will leave me penniless." 
 
 ''N"t quite that, I hope, Dalton." 
 
 " Quite that, Holt. Whatever remnant may be left I shalJ 
 set apart for my wife and children, and, only taking for myself 
 feo much as will pay my passage out, and keep me for a few- 
 weeks when I have landed, I mean to go abroad, like Phili]), and 
 seek my foi^tunc. It is, as you have said, a vague term ; but it 
 IS at all events better than staying here and cutting my throat. 
 It is out of the question that I should remain at home and b'j Ji 
 burden to my dear ones " — for a moment his lip trembled, his 
 voice failed ; then, as if ashamed of his own weakness, he added 
 sharply — "and therefore I mean to go abroad." 
 
 " But surely not without an aim ? " 
 
 " I did not say that," answered Dalton, coldly. 
 
 " My dear fellow, I am the last person to be inquisitive, or to 
 press for confidence which is withheld from me ; I was only 
 about to observe that the difficulties which even you may expe- 
 rience in getting a home appointment of any value, would disap- 
 pear if you could be content with a place abroad. There is not 
 the same importunity for them, and at the same time they are 
 in mai.y respects more advantageous. There is many a consul- 
 ship, for example, at places to which one would scarcely like to 
 bring one's wife and family, where, nevertheless, a man might 
 Hud himself very comfortable en garcon, and makd — or rather 
 save — a good pot of money." 
 
 " I daresay," answered Dalton, with indifference. He had 
 hardly heard what the other said. The intention which \\o. h.tnv 
 jasfc expressed of leaviug England had seized him mpon a sudden, 
 
D ALTON GOES HIS OWN WAY. t6l 
 
 while Holt was ^alkingf to liiru, and had been iu part suggested 
 by his talk ; and thongli he was quite resolved to put it into 
 execution, the magnitude of the matter overwhelmed him. Ifc 
 ■vvas only with a small part of the world that he was now con- 
 cerned ; it did indeed consist of but four persons. Those always- 
 loved ones were dearer to him uo^v than when the rest of the 
 world had been something to him ; they were his all-in-all, and 
 now he must needs part from them— perhaps for ever. It wan 
 curious that when he had been cutting himself off from them 
 (as he thought) wiili certahitij, he had been less moved ; but ther 
 he had known, or had persuaded himself, that ifc was for their 
 own good ; and now he could not be sure of this. Sure ? He 
 could be sure of nothing. His whole life had become a hideous 
 chance, in which the odds were fearfully against him ; and those 
 he loved he had set upon the hazard of the die — as men he had 
 read of, vile and worthless men, had staked their wives and 
 children against gold, and lost. Hi3 brain seemed all on tire. 
 
 '* I have only to repeat, Dalton," he presently heard the other 
 saying, "that I hope to be allowed to show myself your friend. 
 If you do go — no matter where — I shall be still here, in England, 
 at your command, and at the command of those you leave 
 behind you." 
 
 " True, true," answered Ualtou, walking up and down. Holt 
 looked at him inquiringly. They were strange words in which 
 to acknowledge such a friendly offer. If he could have looked 
 into the other's thoughts he would have read something of this 
 kind: "Yes, he will be here when I am far away; they will be 
 poor, sweet souls, and he will be rich. He will dare what he 
 has hitherto not dreamed of daring. He will ask her to become 
 his wife — my Kitty ! and she will spurn him ; then she will 
 taste of the bitter cup of penury and dependence, and he will 
 importune her, and perhaps she will not spurn him. My God, 
 it is terrible ! " 
 
 '* I hope you will do nothing rashly," observed Holt, doubt- 
 less alarmed by the wild looks of his companion. 
 
 " I hope not," was the cold reply ; " unless, that is, you con- 
 sider what is soon and sudden to be necessarily rash. I shall 
 probably go at once." 
 
 " But arrangements will have to be made with respect to 
 your family — I mean business ones," added the other, seeing 
 Dal ton's brow grow dark ; " you can't get away all in a hurry, 
 even if ifc were only for this Lara business. I don't mean to 
 (Bay the law could stop you ; but by leaving England at such a 
 
 M 
 
1 62 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 moment — and supposing things came to their worst with the 
 mine — you would expose yourself to the suspicion of having 
 done that very thing which, when I proposed that you should do 
 it — although in a very modified form — you were ready to 
 fly at my throat for the bare suggestion. Now, if you could 
 get rid of the shares, with all their liabilities, as I honestly 
 
 believe " 
 
 "Once for all, Holt," interrupted Daltou, angrily, "I shall 
 not part Avith those shares ; so it is idle to discuss the subject. 
 As you say, there are many arrangements to be made, and 
 quickly, so that I have no time to waste." And with that, he 
 pitched the remains of his cigar out of the window, instead 
 of placing it in its proper receptacle, and marched out of the 
 room. 
 
 '''' QiCallait il faire dans cette ^a?e!?'e .''" inquired Mr. Richard 
 Holt, when he found himself alone. He prided himself on his 
 French accent to that extent that it pleased him. to mouth the 
 language, even when no one was at hand in whom to excite 
 admiration by it. 
 
 " What maggot has he got into his head now ? " mused he. 
 " The idea of a man like him, who has never been without kid 
 gloves and a sdver fork, expecting to make a fortune at the 
 antipodes ! Well, well ; he may take his own way, with all my 
 heart ; and the sooner he goes, and the longer he is away — • 
 whether measured by time or space — the better I shall be pleased. 
 Hunger, they say, will tame a lion ; and poverty is a certain 
 sort of hunger, and will tame most things, including a woman's 
 heart." 
 
 His face softened — all but those unsympathislug eyes — and 
 the man of scrip and share seemed to give himself up for a time 
 to dreams. His fingers played softly on the table before him, 
 as though in time to some unseen musician, and his lips fol- 
 lowed an unheard song. Then something roused him : it Avas 
 but Dalton's whistling to a spaniel upon the lawn, but he rose 
 at once with a frown and watched him. The ruined man, with 
 head depressed, and one hand buried in his pocket, was about 
 to enter the shrubbery, doubtless for a solitary ramble. In his 
 loneliness and melancholy, it seemed that he even sought the 
 companionship of a dog. 
 
 Mr. Holt, howcfer, if he thus ti'anslated his friend's action, 
 was by no means moved by it to pity. 
 
 " Hang the fellow, I don't know what has come to him," 
 muttered he, as he gazed out on his retreating figure : " he used 
 
DALTON GOES HIS OWN WAY. xt% 
 
 to be as rtialleable as clay, but now lie is stiff against the potter, 
 Vv'liat on eai'tli can have made bim sweet upon these Laras f 
 There's not a man in England — not now — who could have told 
 him that they were not worthless, and worse than worthless. 
 That is the evil of having to deal with a man that is not prac- 
 tical. All the arguments may be against him, yet he will stick 
 like a leech to his own instincts, and sometimes, begad " — and 
 here Mr. Holt grinned rather unpleasantly — " he may be right 
 in so doing, in spite of himself and of his friends." 
 
 Unconscious of this doubtful compliment, John Dalton had 
 plunged with his four-footed companion into the mazes of the 
 "wilderness," as that part of the shrubbery at Riverside was 
 called which ran at the base of the hill behind the house, be- 
 tween the park and " the grounds." It was an artificial sort of 
 place, plentifully provided with nooks and seats — perhaps in 
 anticipation of some love-making in the family — but it was at 
 present as solitary as Sahara. Here Dalton wandered for hours, 
 forming the scheme he had so suddenly determined upon into a 
 particular shape. 
 
 It is incredible to pi'osperous persons to what slender hope? 
 men who have been overwhelmed by misfortune will cling, and 
 especially if those hopes are fcAv as well as slender. If their 
 ~(voes — Gfod help them ! — be exaggerated, as their friends are so 
 prone to say, it is certain that they exaggerate their chances of 
 redemption likewise. As prop after prop is torn away from 
 beneath the superstructure, those which still remain are credited 
 Avith a strength which, when they stood shoulder to shoulder 
 with the others, Avould have seemed preposterous ; and when all 
 have been swept away save one — that one, like the last book oi; 
 the Sibyl, is rated by its unhappy possessor at the same value 
 as all the rest. Now, the last hope that was left to Dalton, in 
 his own view at least — for we have heard another express an 
 opinion that it was a source of apprehension rather than of 
 comfort — v/as his interest in the Tiara mine, nearly half of which 
 indeed was his own property. He had been induced to invest 
 in it by Holt's representations ; and even now, though he har- 
 boured such strong suspicions of his conduct, he believed that 
 those representations had been genuine. At one time, it was 
 certain that Holt had himself purchased largely in the mine, and 
 whatever might be wrong with the man in morals, his judgment 
 in business affairs was undoubtedly sound. He was by no means 
 rash in his investments, even where the prospect of gain was 
 very tempting } and it was hard to believe that Holt would have 
 
164 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 licld possession — even for an hour — of what, as it now turned 
 out, might have ruined him root and branch. It was true that 
 he had got rid of the shares, and even that he had advised his 
 friend to do the like ; but he had been by no means urgent 
 about the matter, as would have been the case if he had sus- 
 pected danger ; and danarer of this desperate kind (so Daltou 
 thought) could hai'dly have existed without Holt's suspecting it. 
 If the Lara was real!/ the empty hole which Holt had described 
 it, and which the papers had stigmatised it as being, he (Dalton) 
 was ruined indeed beyond redemption ; but if his own instincts 
 about the matter, so curiously corroborated by his anonymous 
 Correspondent, and also by Holt's own unexpected offer to take 
 the shares off his hands, were to be relied upon, things were not 
 so bad with the Lara as they seemed, and as some persons 
 perhaps were interested in making them appear. The truth of 
 the matter was only to be arrived at by visiting the mine itself, 
 and this was the course that Dalton had made up his mind to 
 adopt. In his hand was the advertisement sheet of The Tijnr.; 
 newspaper, in which he had already marked the sailings of the 
 .steamers for Rio. He would start by the very fii*fcit, if his wife 
 Avould let him. 'Not that his wife had ever opposed herself tc* 
 Avill or whim of his ; he meant rather if his love for his wifs 
 would let him ; if he could bring himself to break this resolve of 
 his to her ear — sweet unsuspecting soul ! — and then to put it 
 into execution. To leave her in her penury and woful change ; 
 upon the brink, too, of her woman's trial — the time of all others 
 when she would yearn for his comforting presence ! If Dalton 
 was of the silver- fork and kid-glove school, as Holt had said, 
 his feelings were natural and wholesome. He loved his wife 
 and children as much as if society had had no charms for him, 
 nor he for it. The hardships that would lie before him iu tho 
 new life that he was coiitemplating would probably be hateful to 
 one nurtured and brought up as he had been, but they never 
 crossed his mind. If he thought of himself at all, it was only 
 iu connection with those dear ones from whom ho was about to 
 tear himself ; and even then, his main thought was, not how 
 bitterly he would feel the wrench, but how it would rive and 
 wound those hearts that were bound up with his. Could his 
 darling Edith — bowed down, as he knew she was, notwith- 
 standing her brave bearing, by their ruin — endure his absence 
 upon so vague a quest, so far, and perchance so long ? When 
 
 her hour of anguish came, would she survive He had no 
 
 courage to finish the dire foreboding, but threw himself on a 
 
THE POWER OF ''OLD TIMESP .'65 
 
 garden-seat and hid his face, while the dog looked up at him in 
 wistful wonder. From the park above came the " c'ii23-chop" of 
 an axe, indicating that the master of Riversdale was engaged — 
 quite independently of the time of year — in his self-imposed 
 task of thinning the timber. " What a life of ease does yon 
 man lead ! " thought Dalton, bitf-orly. To him, indeed, it seemed 
 that all men were free from burdens in comparison with the 
 Jieavy load ihat cruel Fate had imposed upon his own .shoulders, 
 or i-athei- -which was worse — that he had himself placed there. 
 There was no one, down to the gardener's lad, whom ho had 
 just seen tending the mowing-machine upon the lawn, with 
 whom he would not have exchanged places. The transformation 
 that he had already suifered was greater than that would be, by 
 far. If an ape's head — which he had richly deserved — had been 
 substituted for his own, he could not have become more com- 
 ))letely another man, except (alas !) that he was recognisable. 
 He would be pointed at by every finger, as he went sloughing 
 by in his rags, as the man who had once been John Dalton. 
 
 He rose from his seat with a passionate curse ; but the next, 
 moment his anger passed away. What did it matter if he did 
 Kink so low ? It was only what he meinted. He might stop 
 and starve in England, and would deserve no pity. But for the 
 sake of others it iDehoved him still to try and hold up his head, 
 .and that could be only done liy going elsewhei'e. On Sunday 
 week a vessel sailed to Kio .Taneiro from Southampton, and he 
 Avould go in that ; not to seek a fortune, but upon an eri'and that 
 he strove to think not qiiite so hopeless — io recover the one'which 
 he had lost. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE POWER OF " OLD TDIi: S." 
 
 " Edith, darling, I have thought of a jolan." This was the way 
 John Dalton " broke it " to his wife in her chamber that after- 
 noon ; he felt that with her it was no use to silver the bitter 
 pill, for that her love, no matter what disguise they wore, would 
 detect the aloes. 
 
 " A plan, dearest ? " answered she, in trembling tones. 
 There was something in his voice, though he had made it ;is 
 buoyant as he could, that presaged to her of ill. 
 
 " Yes, love. The more I think of that Brazil mine, the more 
 I cling to it. I think, with you, that that strange warning, not 
 f*i deen^ all as lost there, came from p. friendly hand ; tixid 
 
1 66 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 though I do not say that Holt has played me false — I have no 
 proof of that, you know " 
 
 " Never mind Mr. Holt, love, now," interposed she, calmly. 
 
 "Well, I have come to the conclusion that the best and only 
 course that now lies open to me is to see after the thing with 
 my own eyes — to go to Brazil." 
 
 " To go to Brazil." 
 
 How faint and full of fear that echo was! She had been 
 standing by his side, with one hand resting on his sho alder, and 
 he felt her clutch it, to save herself from falling. 
 
 " Yes, dear ! why not ? " he went on in cheerful but caressing 
 tones. " It is what men of business are doing every day : a few 
 weeks out, a few weeks home again. We miss them at the 
 club for a month or two, and then they are back again so soon, 
 it seems impossible they can have gone so far — not that it is 
 really far away nowadays," he added, hastily. All his finesse, all 
 his dexterous phrases, had clean gone from him. The despair 
 in his wife's eyes had disarmed him of all those weapons which 
 he had been wont to wield so well. 
 
 " If you think, darling, that I had better stay at home — that 
 is," added he, with a wan smile, " in England, and trust to the 
 chapter of accidents ; to the possible aid of friends, or the sjje- 
 cial intervention of — of Fate " (it Avas cui'ious how the spectacle 
 of his Edith's misery made him rebellious against the Hand 
 which, if it had not caused it, still had not warded it oiF, and 
 how again her sad reproving glance brought him back in an 
 instant to submission) — " if you have any reasonable expectation 
 that things may mend with us ; that to-morrow will be not like 
 to-day, and yesterday, and all other days since this befell us, 
 void of help and hope — I will stay on. Or, if you feel that 
 the pai-ting from me — for six months at most — is more than you 
 can bear " 
 
 " No, no ! " sho nmrmured hoai'sely, while her face, sharp, 
 anguished, racked with woe, denied her words. He did not look 
 upon it, but kept liis eyes upon the pattern of the carpet, though 
 one hand clasped her own, and one was thrown about her waist, 
 and lield it close. 
 
 " I am yours, God knows, Edith, in any case, but having lost 
 your all, the least I can offer is myself, to go, to stay, exactly as 
 you choose to order it — only this seems the best. Holt cannot 
 tell — or will not — how matters at St. Jose really stand. No one 
 in England seems to know about it, and none has such cause to 
 care as I, It will at least be movement, action. I shall feel 
 
THE POWER OF ''OLD TJMES:' 167 
 
 fl'.afc T am doing something, striving to build up a little what my 
 folly has destroyed ; I shall not, as now, be sitting with folded 
 hands, watching the gathering clouds before they burst and over- 
 whelm my dear ones — Oh, Edith, let me go ! " 
 
 " Go, dearest, go," said she. " If any hope lies that way, 
 go — to Brazil. We shall not — our hearts will not be parted; 
 all day my thoughts will be upon you, and all night, if sleeji 
 should come, my dreams will be fu.ll of you.-^Oh, Grod, pro- 
 tect this man," exclaimed she passionately, " whom Thou hast 
 civen unto me to be mine own, and bring him back to those he 
 loves ! " 
 
 She had fallen on her knees upon the footstool by his side, 
 and on her upturned face the sun was shining. No pictured 
 saint with glory on her brow ever looked more pure and fair. 
 
 " What am J, what am J," thought Dalton, " that this sweet 
 soul should importune heaven for me ? What are we all — we 
 men — that our women should do the like for us ? And would 
 they do the like if they knew what we were. ' To those he 
 loves,' she prayed, but not ' to me.' " He took no note of that 
 vv'hen the words were spoken, but yet they lived with him, and, 
 looked at by the light of things to come, had afterwards a keen 
 significance. 
 
 " And when is it you think of " 
 
 " The steamer by which — subject to your wishes, dearest— I 
 design to sail, leaves Southampton on Sunday week." 
 
 " So soon ! " sighed she. " But you know best," 
 
 " Nay, darling, I know nothing. But it seems to me that 
 what 1 am to do, if it is to be done, should be done at once. 
 Holt tells me that there is no means of getting information — 
 except by telegraph — from the agent at St. Jose, or from the 
 English expert who was sent out to see about the mine. Now, 
 I'm sure if I ask Campden, he would say at once : ' Gro and look 
 into this inatter with your own eyes. Search your well for the 
 truth while the water is clean which it may be the interest of 
 some people to sully.' There is no doubt that the whole affair 
 is a swindle, but still there may be some advantage in getting to 
 the bottom of it." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton sighed. It might be so, or it might not, but her 
 mind reverted to the times — not so long ago — whefi her husband 
 had had naught to do with any such matters. 
 
 " If your time is so short, darling, would it not be right to 
 let the dear children know ? Every hour that they now pass 
 a. way from you, in ignorance of its preciousness, they will regrej; 
 
1 68 FALLEN LOR TUNES. 
 
 here-ifter, * We miglifc have been with dear papa,' they will say, 
 •when you are far away, John." 
 
 " Let us wait till we get home, clearest. It is but two days 
 more. If we told the girls and — and Tony " — their very names 
 melted the waxen heart within him — " they woul 1 never keep 
 the secret. I don't want Campden to know it, and especially 
 that woman" — it was thus, I am afraid, that lialton, althonok 
 nnconseious of his disrespect, indicated his hostess — "while we 
 are still their guests. We will part company just as usnal, and 
 then I will write and tell him." 
 
 " The girls will be very brave, John — of that I am cer- 
 tain ; and as for Tony, except for the pomp and circumstance 
 of being an Eton boy, he has no ambitions to be shattered. 
 As for his education — at all events for the present — that 
 will be superintended by Jenny, who, he has always pro- 
 tested, has taught him more than all his other teachers ]int 
 togethei'." 
 
 " Poor Jenny, poor Jenny ! " murmured Pal ton. To his heart 
 of hearts this invalid daughter was the dearest of all his little 
 flock ; and when he showed it, it was gladly pardoned to him by 
 all the rest, by reason of her infirmity. " Oh,' Heaven ! " cried 
 he, in anguish, "that I should have brought my Jenny to such 
 a pass as this ! " 
 
 "Jenny will do very well, .lohn," returned his wife, with 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed he, almost in anger ; " without doctors, 
 or sea-air, or comforts such as she has always been accustomed 
 to, and which she needs more than all the rest ? No, Edith, 
 she will die, and it will be her own father who has " 
 
 " John, this must not be," interrupted his wife, reproachfully ; 
 " if ijcm break down like this, what will become of «,s ? " 
 
 " That is what I am thinking of," answered he, bitterly. 
 
 " Well, and I have lieen thinking of it too, and have hit upon 
 a scheme for the future, which I should have told you a w^hile 
 ago, only your great plan put jny little one out of my head. ]\Iy 
 notion is, that when we have got rid of our house, which of 
 course must bo done as soon as possible, we should all go and 
 lodge with Mrs. Haywood. The dear old woman dotes upon 
 the girls, as much as when she was their nurse, and I am sure 
 would be delighted to have us. I think we could live in Brown 
 Street as cheaply as anywhere." 
 
 It was wonderful to see how this fragile and delicate creature 
 t)o\^'ed down ]>y present misfortune, nnd full of worse forobqdinj^ 
 
THE POWER OF ''OLD TJMF.S." 169 
 
 for the future, rose up to confront the evil day, and make what 
 provision she could against it. 
 
 " It would be cheap, no doubt," observed Dalton, ruefully. 
 "Let me see, she lives somewhere oat Pentonville way, does 
 she not ? " 
 
 "You ouf^ht to know, John, since yon furnished the house 
 for her. She, poor dear old tiling, always speaks of yon a^^ 
 tliongh yon were a sort of depnty-Providenee. We could all be 
 housed safely and snugly theT-e, you see, till yon caine back 
 again, and yoa would feel quite comfortable in your mind about 
 us. With a good house over our head, and the dearest old 
 woman in Cliristendom to look after us, and Tony's education 
 going on, why, there will not be so very much to complain of, 
 after all." 
 
 Dalton's mind had wandered to Brown Street, which, in 
 spite of his late inquiry, he remembered very well. When 
 Kate and Jenny emerged from childhood, and Tony was sent to 
 school, and there was no longer need of Nurse Haywood's 
 ■services, instead of pensioning that faithful and affectionate 
 woman — the same who had given Jenny, by-the-by, her 
 favourite desk — Dalton had bought the leas(> of a small house 
 for her, and fitted it up for the reception of lodgers. The old 
 lady jrreferi'ed to get her own living — she always "liked to be 
 doing summut," she said ; " and could never abide being idle " 
 — rather than " to take wnges for doing nothing ; " and it was 
 now fortunate indeed that she had been provided for in this? 
 way. The happiest days of her life were those in Avhicli her 
 old mistress, or her young ladies, would drop in to take a dish 
 «)f tea on an ;Jternoon, in her back-pai-lour, and talk over old 
 times, while their fine carriage stood outside her door, to the 
 admiration of the neighbours. As a general rule, "carriage- 
 people " did not come to Brown Street, which was not in a 
 fashionable neigh liourhood. It was in a northern suburb, new, 
 and therefore comparatively clean, and Mrs. Haywood's little 
 mansion was the pink of cleanliness ; if she ever used strong 
 language it was excited by the indignation .against "them 
 dratted blacks," whom she regarded as a "Southerner" the 
 living negro in rebellion. But this was a feature into which 
 llalton did not go ; it was the insignificance of the place and 
 the poorness of its surroundings — not its cleanliness — that pre- 
 sented themselves to his mind. He beheld his Edith, accus- 
 tomcd to luxurious dwellings, raiment, food, living out in this 
 poor spot the remainder of her years ; gradually forcfotten by 
 
I70 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 the world in which she h.ad moved and been admu'ed ; he saw 
 his Kate, ah-oadj the belle of many ball-rooms, though so 
 young, become a household drudge ; he saw Jenny — the bright, 
 courageous, stricken girl — fighting in vain against such 
 (Miemies as poverty and solitude ; he saw Tony, shut out from 
 the class to whom ho belonged by nature as well as birth, and 
 growing up a City cleiJc. It was a picture, every detail of 
 which inflicted upon him pain and remorseful pity. He could 
 not face his Edith's future with the courage that she faced it 
 for herself. 
 
 When she said that " there would not be so much to complain 
 of, after all," he could not mirror back her smile, nor add one 
 word of comfort to swell the meagre stream of her content. 
 Her plan, however, pitiable as it might be, was practicable ; and 
 all that could be clone, that could be set about with hand or 
 brain, in his sad case, was welcome to him. He wrote at once 
 to his lawyer, with regard to the immediate disposal of their 
 house in town, and his wife wrote to Nurse Haywood, as she 
 was still called. By the time their replies could be received, 
 there would be no reason for further concealment ; and if ib 
 were j^ossible, Dalton wished to see matters arranged for his 
 dear ones before quitting England. 
 
 Alas, how much precaution, prudence, providence for others, 
 is thrown away in this world ; though, let us hope, the affection 
 that has dictated them will be taken into account by Him who 
 provides for all. What tears are shed for only seeming woes ! 
 What bulwarks are set up with infinite pain and loss, when, in 
 fact, there ai'e no assailants ! What energies are wasted upon 
 a shadow ! 
 
 That very day, when the afternoon post came in, John Dalton 
 marked his friend and host look up at him from a letter with a 
 look that told him his secret was discovered. He was always 
 on the watch for such a look. It seemed to him strange that 
 even the very servants Avere unaware that he was a ruined man, 
 and now it had come at last. It was scarcely to be expected 
 that some echo of the tidings which he had confided to so many 
 would not return to Riverside before he could get away; and so 
 it had happened. 
 
 Holt and Tony were in the room at the time ; the boy had 
 jiTst received a letter from a school-friend, who had preceded 
 him to Eton, which painted the joys of that famous school, and 
 he read sci-aps of it aloud in triumph. " What fun it must be, 
 papa, must it not ? " 
 
THE rOWER OP ''OLD TIMES." 171 
 
 And with no unnsual tenderness (though, his heart was nigh 
 to breaking) he had answered : " Yes, my boy ; " and then 
 stepped out of doors alone, in espeetation of Campden following 
 him, which he did immediately. 
 
 Dalton heard the familiar footsteps on the gravel-walk behind 
 Iiini moving quicker than nsual, and felt the friendly hand laid 
 npon his shoulder; and ho stopped, but did not turn his head. 
 Perhaps he had some suspicion — so bitter had he become of 
 late — that his old friend's face might b'; already changed 
 towards him. 
 
 " Why, Dalton, my dear old fellow, what is this ? A man has 
 
 written to me this afternoon, and tells me " 
 
 " It is true, Campden," answered the other, hoarsely ; "I know 
 the news he gives you. I am ruined ! " 
 
 " Good God, John, I hope things are not so bad as that ! " 
 There was a genuine and tender sympathy in the inquiry ; 
 and yet there was something, too, tliat jarred on Dalton's ear, 
 HO sensitive had sorrow made it. 
 
 If things had not been so desperate with him then, it seemed 
 <his man would have taken the matter coolly enough. 
 
 " Things are quite as bad, Campden ; they could scarcely by 
 any possibility be worse." 
 
 '' That is what one always thinks when one is knocked over 
 for the first time. Yet one often finds there are no bonea 
 broken, after all. How has it all happened ? My correspondent 
 writes it was a mine — things, in my opinion, as dangerous in 
 speculation as in warfare." 
 
 "Yes; but, unfortunately, I ditl not consult you," answered 
 Dalton, coldly. 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow, do it now," returned the other, good- 
 naturedly. " ' Two heads are better than one,' even though the 
 one may be the longer. Don't be savage with me, for it" is J, 
 rememl3er, who have cause for annoyance rather tlian you. I 
 mean," added he, gently, since Dalton remained silent, "I mio-ht 
 well complain, as your oldest friend, that you have been applying 
 to others for assistance in this matter, instead of first coming to 
 me." 
 
 " I knew you could not help me, Campden — except in one 
 way," answered Dalton, in a softened tone ; " and I was proud, 
 and wished my ruin to remain unknown until I had left your 
 roof." 
 
 '• I should have hoped that my roof would have been as your 
 own, John, and myself as yourself. There, there — let us come 
 
1 72 FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 into bhe shrubbery. How about this mine ? Where is it P Or 
 does it exist at all ? Sometimes they don't." 
 
 It is in Brazil — the Lara. Near the great St. Jose mine." 
 
 " The Lara ! Why, my good fellow, that has burst up alto- 
 gether. It was a plant, it seems, from the very first. How, in 
 iho fiend's name, did you ever get connected with such a thing ? " 
 
 " It is scarcely worth while to go into that," replied Dalton, 
 doggedly. " I am connected with it. Everything J have in the 
 world is in it." 
 
 " Then you have been swindled." 
 
 " Very likely. I am not quite sure, however, how the matter 
 stands. I am going over by the next Rio mail, to see after it 
 myself." 
 
 " You are going to Brazil ? " 
 
 "Yes; that is fixed. It is at least better than going to the 
 devil, which I should feel that I was doing every day that I 
 stopped hero in England with my hands before me." 
 
 " And your wife ? " 
 
 " She knows it all — knows that I have lost my fortune and 
 her own by my cui'sed folly, and that I have just this slender 
 hope left of retrieving it. She has made up her mind to part 
 with me. She has ten times my coiai'agp, and a hundred time,* 
 my worth. God help her ! " 
 
 " I say Amen to that, Dalton. But why should she not stay 
 
 Julia 
 
 "Thank you; but that is impossible," interrupted Dalton. 
 " It is, nevertheless, an unspeakable comfort to me to know 
 that I leave her and hers with such a friend to counsel and 
 assist them as yourself. You will be true and tender to them, 
 I know ; you will remember old times, George, and your old 
 friend, even if you never see him more." 
 
 " So help me Heaven, I Avill, John ! " answered the other-. 
 
 The two friends grasped one another's hands in silence. 
 Neither of them were men much given io sentimental remi- 
 niscence ; but at that moment the door that shuts out the Past 
 swung back upon its noiseless hinge, to each disclosing many a 
 sunny picture — a grass-plot in a college court ; a Imae-walk 
 nmsical with bird and bee ; a river running under many a bridge, 
 past sloping gardens ; snug chambers, loud with vouthful 
 revelry. They had lived among such scenes together long ago, 
 and had had such joys in common as only youth on whom no 
 shadow of coming care had need to rest can know. The band 
 
MRS. CAMPDEN'S VlElV OF THE MATTER. 173 
 
 thai reaches through the mist of time and touches hearts was 
 ou them both. For half a second they were boys again ; then 
 habit resumed its sway. 
 
 "You will draw on mo, of course, Dalton, in case you sh uld 
 need money out yonder," observed Campden ; and he threw bis 
 thumb over his shoulder to indicate the geographical position of 
 Brazil. 
 
 " I hope that will not be necessary," said the other, smilin<r. 
 
 " I hope so too ; no one xcanis to be drawn upon : unly, if you 
 require a banker, at least give me the refusal " 
 
 " Hollo, Tony, what is it ? " 
 
 It was a relief to both men, but especially to the one who had 
 thus tendered his good services, and was beyond measure appre- 
 hensive of being thanked, that their conversation was thus 
 interrupted. The boy ran to them eager-eyed and flushed with 
 haste — a very Ganymede of a messenger. 
 
 " Please, papa, mamma wants you when you arc disengaged " 
 
 "And what is your hurry about, young master?" inquired 
 J\Ir. Campden. 
 
 " Dr. Curzon is here, and he aays 1 may ride his pony." Ho 
 Avas oil' again like a shot. 
 
 " That is a likely boy of yours, JJalton." 
 
 "Yes, poor loxl. He little thinks that he will never see 
 Eton.'' 
 
 *' But why should he not ? It's a pity such a clever little 
 chap as that — quite a chip of the old block, I'm sure — should 
 be deprived of his schooling. Come, I'm his godfather ; let me 
 take so much at least upon my shoulders. You are not too proud 
 for that, sisrely ? If you are, I shall see what Mrs. Dalton can 
 do with you." 
 
 ''You are most kind, indeed, George. The fact is, Edith and 
 I had arranged that Jenny was to be his tutor for the present ; 
 but I shall be very glad to spare hor." 
 
 " Then that's .settled. I^ay, I won't keep you from your wife 
 another moment ; so let's say no more about it. The boy shall 
 not be balked of going to Eton." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MKS. CAilPDEN's VIEW OF THE JIATTER. 
 
 Never since that crushing blow had fallen upon, his fortunes 
 did John Dalton feel so light of heart as after those few words 
 from his old college friend. From him at least he had met with 
 
174 FALLEN MRTUNES. 
 
 genuine and liearty sympathy ; his assistance had been not only 
 readily offered, but had been such as he could accept ; and 
 behind all the frank manifestation of generosity he felt there 
 lay a fund of kindly feeling towards his dear ones upon which 
 he could rely with confidence wdaen he should be sundered from 
 them. True, he had had no cause to believe that things ?/ould 
 have been otherwise ; George Campden had always shown him- 
 self a generous, manly fellow, but the occasions Avhen he had 
 done so had offered themselves so long ago, that Dalton, sore 
 with the rubs of Fate, and prone to suspicions, had almost 
 doubted him. Twenty years of married life might Avell, he had 
 thought, under the circumstances, have altered the man, and 
 made him cold and prudent. But now he felt that he had done 
 his old friend wrong. 
 
 Edith, as he had concluded, was in her own room, for when 
 they talked together now it was never, as of old, in apartments 
 where they were liable to interruption ; and he ran upstairs, as 
 he had been wont to do before misfortune clogged his heels, 
 three steps at a time. He had some good news to tell her at last 
 - — -namely, of the generous kindu >ss of " Uncle George," Avho 
 had been always a great favouri> Avitli her ; and he was eager 
 to see her smile again. To his asionishment, he found the two 
 girls with their mother. 
 
 " Oh papa ! " cried they, throwing their arms about his neck, 
 " we are so sorry." 
 
 " What, you have told them, Edith ! " exclaimed he, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " It was better they should learn it from my lips than from 
 any other's, dearest," answered she, "and that they would have 
 done to-night. I am almost sure that Julia heard of it by this' 
 afternoon's post." 
 
 " That is strange, for so did Campden. Well, my darlings, 
 so your mother has told you all. Can you ever forgive your 
 father ? " 
 
 " Forgive you," answered Kate. " What does he mean,- 
 mamma ? " 
 
 '■• Then you have not told them the worst, Edith ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, she has," put in Jenny, quickly, " and that is' 
 what we are crying about. To think that you should be going 
 to Brazil ! " ' 
 
 " But, my poor Jenny, do you know why I'm going ? " in- 
 quired Dalton, in desperation. 
 
 " Of course we do : to get back the money that has been so 
 
H/J^S. CAMPDEN'S VIEW OF THE MAl^TER. 17$ 
 
 Dufortunately lost. You. don't suppose Kate and I were crying 
 upon account of tlie money ! " 
 
 " Alas, my sweet cliildren, I have ruined you ! " 
 
 " Not at all, papa; we are going to be poor, like many otber 
 people much better than ourselves — or at least than myself" — 
 continued Jenny, modestly correcting herself. " This state of 
 jtoverty will not last long, because either you Avill be coming 
 Ijack to us from Brazil with a gold mine in your pocket, or Kitty 
 will marry the Marquis of Cari'abas ; and even if those events 
 don'fc happen, I can make lace, which Mrs. Carapden says her 
 good friend Lady Mary prices at six guineas a yard ; I can mako 
 a yard in three days, which is twelve guineas a week, even with' 
 out being driven to work on Sundays." 
 
 Dalton understood it all, as he thought ; it was a conspirac;y 
 of the girls with their mother to put the best face they could 
 upon affairs, in order that he might keep up his heart ; but as a 
 m.atter of fact, there had been no such arrangement. The 
 /irst thought of both the girls had been for their parents, and 
 their bitterest reflection was that their father must needs leave 
 them all so long, and at such short notice. " What will mamma 
 do without him when baby comes ? " was the question that each 
 put to herself, and did not dare to answer. 
 
 " To think that the first tears I have ever caused my darlings 
 to shed," said Dalton, still embracing them, " should be such 
 •bitter ones ! " 
 
 " I am not going to cry any more at all" said Jenny, wiping 
 her eyes, and speaking very boldly. " Only you must submit to 
 be made as much of as possible by ail of us until you go, papa." 
 
 That was to be his punishment, it seemed — so far as they 
 were concerned — for having ruined them all. 
 
 " Does Tony know ? " inquired Dalton, gently. 
 
 " Well, not the worst — not about your going to Brazil," said 
 Kitty. " We informed him that we had lost all our money, antl 
 he said he was very sorry ; but the fact was he was so impatient 
 to liave a ride upon the doctor's pony, that he could not afibrd 
 to give much attention to the other matter.'' 
 
 " But when you just sent him, Edith, to say you wished tc 
 speak to me, do you mean to say " 
 
 " That he knew we were all ruined ? Oh, certainly," put in 
 Jenny, laughing. " Perhaps, if we had told him that he would 
 not now be sent to Eton, that would have dashed him a little; 
 })ut the boy looked so pleased and eager about his ride, that wo' 
 had not the heart to tell him that." 
 
17^ FALLEN PORTVNH^: 
 
 That is fortunate," said Dalton, smiliug, '• for as it Lappt-'hs, 
 t will not BOAv be necessary to do so. His godfather has volun- 
 teered to i^ut him to Eton." Then he related to them how 
 splendidly " Uncle George " had behaved in the family crisis ; 
 tidings which, were received with rapture, but without surprise. 
 
 " Whenever Uncle George is left to himself," said Jenny, con- 
 fidently, " he always does the right thing." This invalid young 
 lady had a way of dispensing praise and blame which, snggesteil 
 finality, if not infallibility ; and in the present case there was 
 nniversal adhesion. 
 
 " The doctor is here, you say," said Dalton ; " have you seen 
 him to-day, Jenny ? " 
 
 *' Oil yes, papa — that is why mamma sent for you." 
 
 " Good heavens ! what is the matter ? " inc^uired Daltou, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " l^ay, luy dear, there is nothing wrung with Jenny," put iu 
 her mother, ussuringly ; " the doctor had something to say upon 
 quite another matter. Do you know, I am pretty sure that he 
 knows, or at least suspects " 
 
 " Very likely," said Daltou, as indifferently as ho could, but 
 not without a blush, us he thought of how, but for that sanie 
 doctor, these dear ones would have had what would have seemed 
 to them a worse thing to battle against than ruin. If bis going 
 to Brazil affected them so much, how would it have been with 
 them had he died ! Wife and children, he now understood, 
 took a different view of life from that which his own standpoint 
 had presented to him ; and as he had nothing but the interests 
 of those belonging to him at heart, he was thankful for their 
 sakes that his intention of quitting existence had been frustrated. 
 He had not yet owned to himself that he was ashamed of having 
 entertained it, yet he blushed to remember that the doctor knew 
 of that attempt to cut his cable. Edith naturally misconstrued 
 his rising colour. 
 
 ' You mustn't mind the doctor, John ; if we could confine the 
 knowledge of our calamities to such men us Uncle George and 
 him, it would be a comfort indeed. What ho came to tell us 
 was that old ]\Ir. Landell was dead ; ' And if you happen to 
 know of anyone,' he said, ' who wants to rent a charming little 
 residence as cheap as dirt, quite out of the world, and in a little 
 paradise of its own — with the best of living doctors within ten 
 minutes' walk of it — there is the Nook in Sanbeck vacant.' I 
 a,m almost certain, by his manner, that he intended the proposi- 
 tion for our personal consideration." 
 
MRS,. CAMP DEN'S V/EJV OF THE MATTER. 177 
 
 "Perliaps he did, my dear," said Daltou, thoughtfully; "it 
 is, no doubfc, a matter to be considered. Your lerter has not yeo 
 gone ^0 Xurse Haywood, and we must think about it. It is a 
 question of town or country." 
 
 " We could live in Sanbeck," said Edith, " as cheaply as in 
 Brown Street, I snoiild supp 'se." 
 
 "And you would be near your friends, my darling — Campdcn 
 ami his wife ; yon would not be without society." 
 
 " I shall not care much about society, dear John, till you como 
 Iiome again," answered Edith, gravely; " I shall bo quite con- 
 Tout with the companionship of the girls and Tony, mid shnll 
 have no wish for more." 
 
 Dalton and his "wife were not quite at one in this matter ; he 
 was speculating as to whether this friend and that would Aro\- 
 away from them in their altei'cd circumstances, while with her, 
 friends had become of small account ; she clung more than 
 ever to her own belongings ; and hence it was that her husband's 
 sudden determination to go abroad had so utterly prostrated 
 her. She fought on bravely, as we have seen, but it was almost 
 like the brave Witherington in the ballad. 
 
 "But think how charmingly out of the world we shall find 
 'jurselves at Sanbeck ! " put in J'enny, quickly : "it is not likely 
 that anyone will come and look after us there, unless they are 
 really fond of us. And what beautiful scenes there will be for 
 Kitty to sketch ! " 
 
 " And think how full the house will be of books, mamma, 
 since, I suppose, we shall take it furnished," urged Kitty ; " so 
 that Jenny will be in the seventh heaven ! " 
 
 They knew that their mother preferred the country to the 
 town, Imt also that she would never allow herself to be in- 
 fiuenco( I by her own predilections ; she would be moved, however, 
 easily ^nough by the wishes of her girls, and therefore they thus 
 pleaded, each as her nature dictated, for the other. 
 
 "Of course it must depend upon the rent and so on," said 
 Mrs. Dalton, yielding with the difficulty she always experienced 
 when what was sought was in accordance with her own sweet 
 wishes. This plan of burying herself and the girls in this 
 secluded valley until her husband should return and disinter 
 them, recommended itself to her very strongly. She had never 
 liked London, notwithstanding that she had met with such wel- 
 come there, and but for her husband's sake, would have always 
 sought retirement. " There will be certainly one great advantage ; 
 we shall always have kind Dr. Curzon near us, for dear Jenny.'* 
 
178 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Jenny was generally somewliat impatient of being supjy^od 
 to need medical superintendence, but in this case she made no 
 protest ; it was, in fact, an inexpressible comfort to her to thiiil-; 
 that Dr. Curzon was to be near them, not upon her own account, 
 but on her mother's, about whom she had sad misgivings; u])- 
 prehensions, indeed, so terrible that she scarcely dared to coi.- 
 iemplate them even in her prayers. 
 
 Tiien the doctor was admitted to the family conclave, and 
 made his statement. Old Joe Landell had died that very morn- 
 ing ; and liis widowed sister from London, Mrs. Grant — who had 
 been staying in the house during his late illness, and who was 
 his sole relative and heiress — had been very communicative tu 
 him at various times. She had informed him, amongst other 
 things, that she should let the house as it stood, if she could 
 find a tenant who would not be too exacting in the matter of 
 repaii's. As for the old books, she w^as told they would not pay 
 carriage to London, and might " bide" where they were. She 
 had a sort of hereditary pride in the place, which prevented her 
 from parting with it altogether ; yet she had but small expecta- 
 tion of letting it, except to "some artist or such-like," in tho 
 summer months ; so that it was certain she would welcome a 
 yearly tenant almost at any price. 
 
 " I thought you might be acquainted with some family, my 
 dear Mrs. Dalton, concluded the doctor, indifferently, w'ith w^honi 
 economy might be an object — for certainly there is no cheaper 
 place than Sanbeck in all England ; you can't spend money there 
 even if you would — who like retirement, and have a taste for 
 the picturesque ; who are studious, and capable of amusing 
 themselves when left to their own resources ; moreover, if any 
 member of it happens to require medical attendance, the very 
 best advice is almost within call." 
 
 " You seem to have got it all up very pat," observed Dalton, 
 rather audaciously, considering what had caused his friend t(» 
 take so great an interest in the matter. 
 
 "Why, the fact is I promised to Avi'ite an advertisement out 
 for the disconsolate heiress. She is one who takes time by tho 
 forelock, and is not so much inclined to give way to morbid 
 sentiment as some of us," answered the other, significantly. 
 
 " Come, doctor, confess," said Mi's. Dalton, laying her hand 
 upon his arm, " you had ns in your eye for this strong-minded 
 widow's tenants all along." 
 
 "My good hAj, I don't know what you mean by ' all along : * 
 if you would suggest that I killed off poor Jonathan Landell in 
 
MRS. CAMPDEN S VIEW OF THE MATTER. 179 
 
 order to acooniriiodate my friends with a residence in this county, 
 I reject, und repudiate the imputation. He died in a natural 
 "vvay, poor fellow, by the visitation of — Dr. Jefferson." 
 
 Tbe effect of a vigoi'ous and wholesome mind — -which is at tho 
 same time sympathetic — when it is brought into connection vr'th 
 minds depressed, is like that of a disinfectant among impux-ities; 
 it begets a purer' and lighter atmosphere ; and thus, after half 
 an hour's talk with the good doctor, who was full of practical 
 ideas of all sorts, the entire Dalton family found themselves in 
 Ijettor case ; he had lifted the whole house — as the " removers " 
 do in the United States — on to another standpoint, from which 
 the future looked more tolerable. Perhaps one of the strongest 
 reasons that actuated each of them, more or less, to take the 
 doctor's advice as respected the Nook, was the consideration that 
 they would thereby secure for themselves — independently of his 
 professional skill — so friendly a neighbour. The jn'ofession of 
 medicine is not socially thought very highly of, notwithstanding 
 that " the first true gentleman that ever breathed" was also tbe 
 Great Physician ; and yet I know of none the members of which 
 have so good a right — if delicacy and generosity can confer it — ■ 
 to hold the highest place. At the great Day of Account, when 
 the Tables of Precedence are otherwise arranged than by the 
 Herald's College, it is my belief that there will be a houleverse- 
 ment as respects the Faculty, 
 
 At the front door stood the doctor's pony — a good deal 
 warmer than usual from his unaccustomed exertions under 
 Tony's guidance — and that young gentleman himself, in a great 
 state of excitement, from having taken a successful fly over a 
 hurdle, held up for him for that purpose by Jeff and a groom. 
 
 " Well, Tony, did you enjoy your gallop ? " inquired his father. 
 
 " Oh, yes, papa." 
 
 "■ I am afraid you will never have a pony of your own, my 
 boy, as we once intended," said Dalton, patting his glowing 
 cheek. 
 
 " I know that, papa, and I don't mind a bit ; I was jnst telling 
 Jeff so." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Dalton, I am so sorry," said Jeff; and the young 
 man held out his hand. 
 
 If there had been fifty thousand pounds in it, the action could 
 not have been more gi-acious or the tone more tender. 
 
 "You are a good fellow," said Dalton, waiTul}' ; and nothing 
 more was said between them about the change in his circuni- 
 atances. 
 
i8o FALLE\' FORTUNES. 
 
 But liy tills tirao tliero was tattle cnougli about it at Illvcr- 
 giile. Some may pronounce the sagacity oi' vultures for detectinj^ 
 what is amiss to be lanparalleled ; but the mauuer iu which a niau's 
 misfortunes get abroad, and are pounced upon by other members 
 of the human family, is remarkable also. Whether by eye, or ear, 
 or sense of smell, the thing is conveyed, I know not ; but not a soul 
 m Mr. Campden's household was ignorant of what had occurred 
 fo "those poor Daltons " -within half an hour of his own dis- 
 covery nf the fae.t. 
 
 Of poiirse AFrs. C-ampden was among the first to know it ; her 
 luisband told her i he details, when ho came in from his inllc 
 with Dalton, making a most unaccustomed visit to her boudoii- 
 t'or that purpose. 
 
 "Good riod! Julia, is it not terrible? Our poor fiiend.s 
 are as good as ruined." And then he stated the whole cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 " It is very deplorable indeed," returned his wife, but without 
 showing any excess of sorrow in voice or gesture ; " and yet not 
 so sad as it is wicked. I should think that man would never 
 forgive himself. The idea of his sqviandering his wife's money 
 as well as his own. I call him a scoundrel ! " 
 
 "You had better not do so before witnesses," observed her 
 husband, dryly, "because it is libellous." 
 
 "But don't you call it most Avicked and most unprincipled, 
 rreorge, yourself ? " inquired Mrs. Campden, with a little less 
 acidity. There was something of unaccustomed independence, 
 and even worse, in her husband's tone that alarmed her. His 
 motto was oi'dinarily " Defence, not defiance ;" but on the present 
 occasion he seemed to have adopted a bolder cognizance. She 
 was almost certain he was in one of those rare fits of "obsti- 
 nacy," to which he had not given way for years, and which she 
 had flattered herself her skilful treatment had eradicated. 
 
 "Have you any excuse to make for such a man, ^Mr. 
 Campden ? " 
 
 "I am not thinking of excuses; I am thinking of how to 
 help him," was the quiet rejoinder. 
 
 "I hope you are not going to lend him anything; because 
 that would be sending good money after bad." 
 
 "No, I am not." 
 
 " And as for giving him any sum right out, that would be 
 an absolute encouragement of gambling and dishonourable con- 
 duct. Indeed, I should hope Mr. Dalton would bo too much of 
 a crentleman to take it." 
 
MRS. CAMPDEN'S 'VIEW OF THE MATIER. 18 1 
 
 The arguments were mixed, and even a little inconsistent ; 
 but it was impossible to doubt the conviction of the advocate. 
 
 " I don't know, Mr. Campden, -whether you are paying mo 
 the compliment of listening to my expostulations ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes; I h(^ar \ou. You need not be afraid of my 
 giving John Dalton money, because he would not like it. I 
 did oifer to lend him some — I should have been ashamfd of 
 myself not to have done as much for so old a friend — but he 
 refused it." 
 
 " >\'cll, well, I am glad he h;is shown sunUi good feeling," 
 said ls\\'A. Campden, in a tone of unmistakable relief. "I am 
 sure, Avhatever can bo done — in reason — for his wife and chil- 
 dren, I shall be glad to further." 
 
 "For God's sjikc be kind to them in your manner, Julia! " 
 said her husband, pleadingly, 
 
 "In my manner? Well, really, Mr, Campden, I think you 
 might have dispensed with that piece of advice. I hope I know 
 how to behave myself towards my guests, and especially when 
 they have been stricken by misfortune." 
 
 "Doubtless, my deai- — doubtless." The momentary courage 
 with which commiseration for his old friend had inspired him 
 •>vas gradually ebbing away from him ; the impress of that 
 ■worn, pained face, as he had just seen it (and that he had 
 remembered in its youth so bright and sparkling), was fading 
 from his retina, and in its place were this woman's hard, pale 
 eyes and imperative glance ; he felt, v/ith a sort of shame, that 
 hr was returning, under their influence, into slavery. "You 
 Juean, I am sui*e, nothing but kindness, Julia." 
 
 " J/eaji ? Mr. Campden, I have never cxpi-essed anything 
 else, I hope. I may have had my own opinion concerning j\Ir. 
 IHiltou all along, but I havo treated him -with a courtesy that 
 Avas, I am sorry to say, not at all times reciprocated. You Inivo 
 Hiways entertained what I believed to be an exaggerated opinion 
 v\' his iiiJeuts " 
 
 '' ^ly dear, all the world was of the samu opinion," put iu 
 !Mr. Campden. 
 
 " Well, let us hear what the world says owv. Foolish people, 
 of course, are easily dazzled by a superficial sparkle that passes 
 for wit ; but I have heard persons of judgment and high position 
 ■ — such as Lord Wapshot — say they could never understand 
 what there was to admire in the man." 
 
 " I believe that," said her husband, gently; " poor John had 
 Lis detractors, no doubt." She looked at him suspiciously, but' 
 
l§i .. FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 tke twiukle that usually accompanied liis little strokes of satire 
 was not in bis eye. 
 
 " Of course he had, Mr. Campden, and deserved to have them. 
 Indeed, when this disgrace comes to be known " 
 
 "I did not say there was any disgrace in the matter, Julia." 
 
 " 'N'o, George, but I did ; and most people, I fancy, will be of 
 my way of thinkiug. At all events, the man has speculated not 
 only with his own money, but other people's." 
 
 " I never heard that. It is true he risked his wife's money ; 
 but I thought — perhaps it is only a fiction of the law — that man 
 and wife were one." 
 
 " If you choose to split hairs like that, Mr. Campdon, it is 
 idle to argue Avith yon. The plain fact is that Mr. Dalton's 
 rashness — or gambling, or disgraceful conduct of some kind, 
 call it by what name you like — has brought himself and his 
 family to utter ru.in ; and the question is, how Ave ourselves 
 ought to proceed in the matter.'' 
 
 " You mean, I suppose, as to how we can best help them ? " 
 
 " I mean nothing of the kind. Of course Ave shall help them. 
 Ton are always thinking of pounds, shillings, and pence, Mr. 
 Campden, and rarely look beyond them. But to me, at least, 
 the matter presents itself on much higher grounds — that of 
 principle." 
 
 ',' Then , they'll never get anything," observed Mr. Campden, 
 naively. " I beg your pardon, my dear," added he, hastily, 
 though the thunder gathered on the little Avoman's broAV, and 
 tlie liglitning darted from her eyes ; *' I mean nothing offensive, 
 I assure you ; but I have obserA^ed that Avhen anything is done 
 ' on principle,' it is ahvays a hard thing ; the Avord is never used 
 except to palliate something harsh or unjust, or to excuse a 
 man from putting his hand into his pocket. And — and— I Avisli 
 you Avouldn't be so fond of using it, Julia." 
 
 "Well, tq)on my honour! Mr. Campden, are you in your 
 Steven senses ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately I am," murmured the unhappy man; "lAvish 
 I had but six of them. When a man falls in love, he is blind, 
 they say, though his eyes ai'e opened very soon afterwards. 
 When he is married he should be deaf." 
 
 "T have never been go insulted in my life, sir! " continued 
 Mrs. Campden, in a voice shrill Avith passion, " and all because 
 of a w^orthless felloAv. I have the misfortune to be distantly 
 related to Mr. Dalton, but that is no reason why I am to put 
 up with his impertinence, and no reason why we aro to impu- 
 
MRS. CAMPDiLN'S VIEW OP THE MATTER. xt% 
 
 Verisli ourselves in order to replenish his purse, and supply his 
 defalcations. I shall let him know his true position, you may 
 depend upon it; he shall not give himself any more airs of 
 superiority here." 
 
 "Take care what you do, woman — yes, loomanl Damn it, 
 madam, you shall find I am master in my own house for once. 
 If you insult my old friend — in his ruin — under my roof ; if you 
 take advantage of his fall to wreak your spite, and pay out old 
 
 grudges ; if you dare to do it, madam " Here he stopped, 
 
 overcome with a passion to which hers had been but as water is 
 to wine. 
 
 " You had better not say anything more, George," obsei'ved 
 Mrs. Campden. Her tone was far from menacing ; she wore an 
 " injured " air ; for the first time in her life she was frightened 
 at her husband. 
 
 " I hope it will not be necessary," returned he, with a certain 
 dignity. " I have done. Our guests are probably leaving us in 
 a day or two. Dalton is going to Brazil, perhaps never to come 
 home again. Be kind to him, if not for his own sake, yet for 
 mine ; I ask it as a personal favour. As for his wife and chil- 
 dren, the innocent victims of his rashness, I need not bespeak 
 i:or them your tenderest sympathy. I am sorry if I have used 
 Jiny expressions which have given you pain, Julia;" and 
 Uncle George held out his hand. 
 
 " I am sorry, too," returned Mrs. Campden, stiffly, and taking 
 no notice of the olive branch thus extended to her. " The con- 
 versation was none of my seeking. That is Mary's step coming 
 along the passage." 
 
 It was seldom, indeed, that his daughter's presence was not 
 welcome to Mr. Campden ; but on this occasion he passed out 
 of the boudoir by a side-door, and thereby avoided her. The 
 good-natured, honest fellow was full of chagrin and discontent ; 
 angry with his wife, but still more with himself. He felt that 
 he had mismanaged matters ; perhaps his little woman — as ho 
 was wont to term her when matters Avere going Avell between 
 them — had not been so much to blame as his own clumsiness ; 
 he had obviously alarmed her, too, and it was a cowardly thing 
 for a man to frighten a woman. His intention had been to 
 bespeak all her good offices in favour of this unhappy family, 
 and he felt that instead of that he had aroused a slumbering 
 enmity against its head. She would be good, of course, to the 
 wife and children ; but he knew that he should feel a sense of 
 rel'of when his old friend, John Dalton, had left his roof. 
 
iS4 " " irALLEN hORlV.XEi 
 
 CHAPTEK XXll. 
 
 A TATRO^ESS. 
 
 Tp anjoiic ct^uld Lave proved to dcmoustratiou — could havft 
 liruuglit it home to lier — that Mrrf. Campdeu ot lliversidc bad 
 committed even ko mucli as a peccadillo, she would have l)ceu 
 aiitouibhed with a great astonishment. It was true, whenever 
 she went to church — and she went thither with the utmost 
 regularity — that she called herself, or })eriuitted tho clci^gynuiii 
 to call her, without remonstrance, a miserable sinner. But 
 1hosc words are ahvays used, or at least applied by those who 
 hear them, in a certain parliamentary sense. Mrs. Campden 
 often thought herself miserable, but never a sinner. She could 
 thank Heaven — people had heard her do it — that she had always 
 done her duty in that elevated station of life to wliich it had 
 j^leased Providence to call her. She supported the rector, she 
 patronised the curate, she was affable to the doctor ; she not only, 
 as I have said, went to church herself, but was the cause of 
 going thither in others; the bread and blankets which she distri- 
 buted in sulhcient quantities at Christmas wero reserved I'or 
 those poor folks alone who attended the parish church : she did 
 not heap coals upon the heads of those undeserving ones who 
 attended chapel, or resisted the temptations of all places of wor- 
 ship equally; hor right hand know very well Avliat lier left hand 
 was about, and neither indulged in indiscriminate almsgiving. 
 Whatever she did, as she had justly boasted to lier husband, she 
 ♦ ticl upon principle — and also what she left undone. If she did 
 not command respect, she was at least eminently respectable. 
 That she had once inspired love in a man like George Campdeu 
 was one of those inexplicable social phenomena at which wo 
 stand astonished as at u conjurer's trick; tho thing has haii- 
 pened, i'or we have seen it with our eyes, but how, in the iiamo 
 of wonder, did it come about ? Don't we see every day genial, 
 good-natured men tied for life to abominable women — Lcolds, 
 gruml)lers, affected dolls, viragos ; as we see — though much 
 more rarely — charming women mated with dullards or scoun- 
 drels. Opportunity, a limited range of choice, a pique, must be, 
 as old Burton says, '"causes." If there w-as no other class of 
 women in the world but that — unhappily a large one — to which 
 ^Mrs. Campden belonged, and if the responsibility of carrying on 
 the human race i-ested with myself alone, the world would como 
 to an cud ; I would never marry. If she importuned m«, I sliuuld 
 
.7 PJ/A\)X£SS. • 1S5 
 
 reply; '■ Madam, I mubt ducliiiL; tho to/iiptaUou — upou priu- 
 ciplc." I'ortiiuat-ely, ilastos difibr ; and this class of woman does 
 get married. I believo I know — though I have not the courago 
 to write it — how it is done. 
 
 Of course Mrs. Campden was jealous o£ her husband ; and 
 since ho gave her no cause in tho way of flirtations, she grudged 
 him his friendships. She had accused him a hundred times oi 
 letting John Dalton "come between her and him." When a 
 i!ian marries, she gave him to understand that he should olcaTC 
 lo his wife, and cast ofl:' all old cntauglcnicnts of every descrip- 
 tion ; and how he could sit iu tho smokiug-room talking over 
 old times Avith Ids friend — she had no high opinion of college 
 life, and called them "humiliating antecedents" — iu placo of 
 retiring at a reasonable hour in well-principled company, was 
 inexi)licable to her. Of Mrs. Dalton she was jealous in another 
 Avay : it Avas impossible that the most jaundiced eye could find 
 fault with Edith's manner, Avhich Avas the perfection of gentle- 
 ness and sweetness ; but she Avas cnviou.s of her popularity. 
 She could not say that she laid herself out to secure the affec- 
 tions of her host ; but she resented her Avinning them, all tho 
 «amc, as she resented her Aviuning these of everybody else. It 
 was AVorniAvood to her to be obliged to confess to herself that 
 lot ouly in her OAvn household, but in " the county" — Avhert, 
 above everything, she wished to shine prc-ominent — Mrs. Dalton 
 \vas by far tho gTeatnr favourite. Lady Wapshot had actually 
 complimented her — Mrs. Campden — upon her being able, summe" 
 iifter summer, to secure such charming guests as the Daltons at 
 Ivivcrside. "They are cerlaiuly the most sti'lkiiii;- nnuily— - 
 (juitc too ilclightful," liad been her ladyship's vcrdiil. "lam 
 mid, that except. Lord Clarcudou, I\lr. Daltuii is the \ x ly best— 
 ^\ bat do you call it ? — iwiunlvnr. I confess I am ()uite in love 
 Avith him. Then his wife, Avho i should be afraid is a little 
 consumptive, is so sweet. And then Kitty — I assure yuu that 
 l;i,sl, season, 1 have been informed, Kate Dalton might have "— 
 and then she had Avhisjicrcd into ]\Irs. Campden',.; car the rumour 
 of a very magniticent ^m/Yi indeed. 
 
 " I don't believe it," ansAvered that lady, a little rudely, con- 
 sidering the rank of her companion, and her oAvn veneration for 
 it ; " at least, I can hardly credit it." 
 
 " You may do so, however, for I had it upon the very best 
 authority: the very best, Mrs. Campden — liis men." 
 
 Mrs. Campden did not believe it any the more for this auda- 
 cious corroboration; but the fact thai} such a btorv should hav« 
 
186 I ALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 got- abroad, and be repeated bj sucli a person as Ladj Wapsliofc, 
 showed what a sensation Kitty Dalton mnst have made. 
 
 Now, Mary Campden, though, a little older, had " come out " 
 in the same season as Kate, and bad fallen, metaphorically 
 speaking, rather flat. It was no wonder, then, that the maternal 
 heart was sore as respected ber child's successful rival. 
 
 As to Jenny, Mrs. Campden thought there was '' a great deal 
 too much fuss made about that girl and her ailments." She 
 could not help being an invalid, of course, but she should bow 
 to the dispensations of Providence; and since it had pleased it 
 to afflict her, she shoiild he aiflicted ; not come into society upon 
 a s]3ring couch, and carry on conversation upon her back in 
 such a curious and alarming manner. Tony was little more than 
 a child, and Mrs. Campden did not take much notice of chil- 
 dren ; but from what she had seen of the boy, and his affection 
 for Geoffrey Derwent, she regarded him with little favour. 
 
 Thus it happened that Mrs. Campden — who had no great love, 
 I think, for anybody save one individual — " I can only place my 
 love," she would say, " where I feel respect ;" and then she would 
 stroke and straighten herself in a very self -appreciative manner 
 • — entertained a feeling that was almost hostile towards her 
 guests, the Daltons. She Avould indeed have been shocked if 
 Tinyone had suggested that she rejoiced in their ruin ; but since 
 ■jt had pleased Heaven to thus afflict them, she was not one to 
 lind fault with its dispensations. Whether her husband had 
 appealed to her or not, she Avould undoubtedly have assisted 
 them ; but the pleasure that she professed to derive from it was 
 not that of doing good, but of conferring a favoui' — perhaps 
 even an obligation. She was certainly not displeased at suddenly 
 finding herself in a superior social position to the woman whom 
 everybody pronounced perfection, and whose daughter had cut 
 out her own in London society. If the misfwrtunes of our 
 friends give us pleasure, is it to be expected that those of (lur 
 enemies — of those at least with whom we have any cause of 
 quarrel — should not be grateful to us? Undoubtedly, too. 
 Uncle George's well-meant intercession had done his clients 
 harm. The only contest with her husband in which Mrs. 
 Campden had been worsted — had been silenced by the great 
 guns of his passion — was upon the Daltons' account ; and she 
 was not a woman to easily forgive those who had been, however 
 innocently, the cause of such a disgrace. 
 
 She did not acknowledge, even to herself, that such was the 
 state of her feelings ; but over her hard and bitter nature there 
 
A PAl'ROiVESS. 1S7 
 
 tad suddenly gro^T?n, as respected her unliappy guests, a hard 
 and bitter rind. It would have been difficult for some of them 
 to have touched her heart with pity in any case, but it had now 
 become impenetrable to all. 
 
 " Mamma, may I come in ? " cried Mary, in tones of quite 
 niiaccustomed flurry and excitement ; and not even waiting for 
 an answer, she came quickly into the room. 
 
 " What is the matter, my child ? " was the quiet reply. 
 
 "Oh, mamma, such a dreadful thing has happened, such a 
 shocking misfortune ! Dear Katy has just been telling me that — 
 that they are all ruined ;" and the girl broke into a sob, over- 
 come by genuine sorrow for her unhappy cousins. 
 
 "It is veiy sad, of course, my dear Mary — verij sad," said 
 Mrs. Campden, smoothing the folds of her dress as she sat in her 
 chair, while Mary stood in tears by the mantelpiece; "but I 
 cannot say it is altogether unexpected. I suppose Katy did nut 
 tell yon how it happened ? " 
 
 " Well, yes. It seems Cousin John " 
 
 " You mean Mr. Dalton," interrupted her mother. "It is not on 
 his side of the house, remember, that we are related to the family." 
 
 " Well, it seems he was taken in by some wicked people in a 
 speculation. But, however, it matters little now, since they 
 have lost all their money." 
 
 " I'ardon me, my child ; it matters a good deal. There are 
 higher things in the world — as I have sometimes occasion to tell 
 your father — than pounds, shillings, and pence. All persons 
 who speculate are wicked ; and as for their being taken in, that 
 is what the people who lose are always ready to say. Of course, 
 Katy would not tell you — perhaps she does not know.: — how 
 7Jiucb. Mr. Dalton is to blame in the matter ; but I know. My 
 dear, that man is a scoundrel ! " 
 
 " C)h, mamma! Cousin John a scoundrel! That is im- 
 possible. W^ are all so fond of him, from papa down to thu 
 very servants " 
 
 " The friendship of the Avorkl, my child, we have the best 
 authority for knowing, is not a proof of good principles." 
 
 " Well, he is going away — at once — to Brazil," answered 
 Mary, with a fresh access of grief. Brazil seemed to the gii-1 
 so far away that the sentiment nil nisi honum applied to it as to 
 the grave itself. "Katy says her mother is almost broken- 
 hearted ; and if you could have seen Katy hei-self just now, 
 
 Avhile she was telling me Oh, mamma, fancy if papa waa 
 
 going to Brazil ! " 
 
li'i IALLL:. /■uA'HrxLS, 
 
 " i hope, my dear, your fatliur wilJ never puL liuu:Dci{' under 
 t.lae necessity of going to any such place," returned Mrs. 
 Campdcn, with dignity. " I am not reproving you for exhibit- 
 ing such sincere sorrow — on the contrary, it does you credit ; 
 bat \ou should learn to put a little more restraint upon your 
 feelings. After all, it is principle alone, remember, that should 
 guide onr acti'ins." 
 
 " But if Mr. Daltou has acted ever so wrongly, what Ikia e his 
 wife and children to do with it ? We should pity tlieni tlio 
 more, since it is surely all the worse for them to feel that lie is 
 t'j blame ; though, for my part, I can't think such bad tilings of 
 Cdusin John. I am much rather inclined to believe that that 
 siiff, hard-eyed Mr. Holt is at the bottom of it all." 
 
 " My dear Mary, I cannot listen to this," paid her mother, 
 rising majestically. " Whatever wc say or do, let us above all 
 things be charitable. For all we know, J\lr. Holt may be a very 
 respectable person ; Mr. Daltou — if that goes for anything— 
 always said he was, in his own sphere of life. He has nothing 
 but his chai'acter to maintain him ; so, pray, be careful what you 
 say. It is very unlikely, I must also take leave to say, that sv 
 very clover a mm as Mr. JDaltou is nllowed to be should allow 
 himself to be taken iu by anybody. However, as you were about 
 to say, Heaven forbid that we should visit his crimes upon tho 
 heads of his unfortunate wife and children ! Of course, they 
 will have to give up their house in London — which will make us 
 later, by-tbe-by, in going to town than usual — and live in a 
 totally different way, in lodgings somewhere." 
 
 " They are going to live iu tSaidjcck, nutmma ; that is the one 
 1 lit of good news iu the whole black budget. Old Mr. Landell 
 is dead, and his house is to be let — ' The Nook,' you know — ami 
 ciiey are all thinking of living there while Cousin John is away. 
 It was that dear Dr. Curzou who suggested it ; and won't it bo 
 delightful ? " 
 
 "I can't tell that> my dear,'' returned Mvj,. <'ampdcn, with 
 gravity, "till I have seen how matter;-:; turn out." 
 
 " But, at all events, mamma, we shall be able to see much 
 more of them at Sanbeck than if they were up in Town — and to 
 do much more for them. Why, Kitty and I can run over and 
 sec^ one another any afternoon ; and they can come and dine with 
 us as often as they please." 
 
 " My poor child, in your haste to be all that is kind," said 
 Airs. Campden, kissing her daughter's forehead, "yon lose sight 
 of what is practicable. Your cousins will soon be vcry])oor; 
 
A PArKOxi:ss: 1S9 
 
 tliey could not como over the crags to dinner at niglitj but must 
 drive round by the road ; and how are they to aiford a horse 
 and fly ? " 
 
 " A horse and fly ! " repeated Mary, higubriously. If her 
 mother had said " a one-horse hearse," it would scarcely have 
 been a more melancholy suggestion. There were two little old 
 maids from the county town — the Misses Bilgcr, daughters of 
 Sir rJobert Bilgor, Baronet, who had ruined himself by keeping 
 ibrt {^oiini}' foxhounds, and whose memory, therefore, gave a 
 certain aroma of consideration to his offspring; and tbf^so 
 sliabby-genlenl spinsters used to call once a yenr or so at River- 
 side, in a one-horse fly. A more graphic description of actual 
 poverty could scarcely have been given to Mary than this 
 reference to that dx'eary vehicle which for i\\c future her cousins 
 would not be able to hire. It brought their utter ruin homo to 
 her imagination for the first time. " Surely, mamma, we could 
 send a carriage for them," said she, presently, yet feeling, even 
 befoi'e her mother's reply, that even that step would not meet all 
 the exigencies of the case. 
 
 " Of course we could, my dear, and no doubt we should do so 
 occasionally ; but people don't like using other people's carriages, 
 especially when they cannot afibrd to give a fee to the coachman. 
 There is a sense of ol)ligation " 
 
 *' Oh, mamma ! what, with us ? " 
 
 "I think you will find it so, my dear, unless I have quite 
 misread Mrs. Dalton's character. Whatever we do fur her 
 and hers must bo done very delicately ; and I have a plan 
 in my head which, without making them seem indebted to 
 anybody, will be of the greatest help to them — indeed, will 
 go a good way to restore what Mr. Dalton has so wickedly 
 squandered." 
 
 " Oh, lohrd is it ? " cried Mary, clapping her plump hands, and 
 quite forgetting, in her joy at the prospect of this I'emedy for his 
 woes, to protest against the condemnation of her cousin. " How 
 ni<'e of you, dear mamma, to have hit upon it." 
 
 " It was only my duty to cast about for any help for these 
 poor peopk," returned Mrs. Campden, modestly ; " )iut as for the 
 plan itself, that must remain a secx-et until I find an opportunity 
 for getting it carried out. Where is Mrs. Dalton, my dear ? I 
 almost think she might have come to me herself, under circum- 
 stances so momentous." 
 
 '^ indeed, mamma, I think she i,s hardly equal to doing that ; 
 Kitty says she is suro she is only keeping up by a great^eflbn' 
 
190 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Bill- if von would p-n mid speak io lier in licr own loom, I am 
 sui'o fdio would i:\ke it kindly." 
 
 " Then of course I will go, my dear," answered Mrs. Campden, 
 rising : " in cases of trouble such as this, it is not for a person in 
 my position to stand iipon etiquette. My cousins will find mo 
 exactly the same in eveiy respect as though this misfortune had 
 not occurred to them." 
 
 As the good lady had no suspicion in her own mind l»iit [ImL 
 tills was a very commendable observation, it is to be hoped \\\\\\ 
 it was credited to her as such in the celestial ledger; iind it is 
 but fair to add that, though nevermore conscious of her j)o?i- 
 tion in the " county " than at that moment, she had never felt 
 more truly affable. If you had heard her hesitating knock at 
 Mrs. Dalton's chamber-door, you would have thought it was 
 that of a country maid who had not yet acquir-ed confidence in 
 her intercourse with her superiors ; and the voice in which she 
 said, " Cousin Edith, may I come in ? " was the voice of a poor 
 relation and dependent rather than the mistress of the house — • 
 and the situation. The knock and the voice were, however, 
 sufficiently recognisable within to send the two girls flying into 
 Jenny's room, so that when Mrs. Campden entered she found 
 her kinswoman and guest alone. That she had been weei^ing^ 
 the in-comer could perceive with a half-glance, bu.t th'>re were 
 no teai's in her eyes now ; indeed, her wan, grave face wore a 
 smile as she rose up to meet her hostess — a gentle smile, yet not 
 one of pleading, still less of apology or humiliation. If shp and 
 hers had been ruined by her husband's rashness, that was no 
 business of other people, and least of all of people who looked at 
 her husband with disfavour. She was of too fine a nature to 
 take it for granted that her cousin had any such notion in her 
 mind at such a moment, yet she could not forget the conversa- 
 tion they had held but yesterday together on board the yacht, 
 and the expressions of opinion which had fallen from Mrs. 
 Campden respecting a certain supposititious state of affairs, 
 "which had since been actually realised. If one Avord of reproacli 
 against John should fall now from Mrs. Campden's lips, his 
 wife would well know how to defend him. If she were told 'u)?" 
 that he was without excuse, she would reply that he did not need 
 excuse, since all those who had any right to look for one were 
 satisfied. 
 
 It was curious that so quiet and sweet a face should say all 
 this in bidding another woman welcome ; but it did say so, and 
 that so plainly that her visitor nerceived it on tho instant, and 
 
A FATT^OXESS. 191 
 
 ftlfcrod lior whole tapticR— cliancfpcl front in \\\^ fafo of the 
 enemy. She had intended to be patronising; but now she 
 tonch'ed another spring in her mental machinery — which Avas 
 arranged in a very handy and simple manner — and became senti- 
 mental on the spot. She began, to gnsh. 
 
 " My darling Edith ! " cried she, embracing hor, " this news 
 hns overwhelmed me qnite." 
 
 "Indeed, .Inlia, 1 hope noi," smiled the other, retnrning hFp 
 caress, thongh witli a. little less of demonstration. " We have 
 had a crnshing blow, bnt it has not prostrated ns, and T hope it 
 will not bear raoi'e hardly on our friends." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, you are so courageous. I always said you 
 would be the bravest of women, if a necessity arose for your 
 being brave ; though, of course, I could not foresee what a mis- 
 ibrtune was in store for you. It is a comfort, indeed, to see you 
 so steadfast, ]\Iy only fear is that it is the excitement which 
 keeps you up, and that, when that has passed away, and the dull 
 
 sense of calamity settles down upon you But there, why 
 
 should we anticipate such a misfortune ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed, Julia ? Only you should rather say. Why 
 should yov, ? for indeed I, for my part, have no intention of suc- 
 cumbing, as you suggest. The children " — her voice sank a 
 little here — " have quite made up their minds to make the best 
 of it; indeed, their cheerful submission to what will without 
 doubt be a hard and unlooked-for fate tells me how much we 
 have yet to be thankful for." 
 
 " And your husband, I hear, is going to Brazil ? " 
 
 That was a deadly thrust ; only a woman hard of heart and 
 feckless of tongue could have given such a stab as that just 
 because she had found independence where she had expected 
 submission. The opportuuity had been chosen with malicious 
 sagacity ; she had struck at the moment when the other was 
 weakened by that reference to her children. Even that bosom, 
 guarded as it was by its brass of "principle " and pride, felt a 
 touch of natural jDityas she saw the colour fade from her tfuests 
 cheek ; the haggard look of each delicate feature, as the shadow^ 
 of the coming woe fell over it; the sense of desolation and 
 despair. 
 
 "•Yes," answered Mrs. Dalton, in a low% faint voice, such aa 
 tortured martyrs use who are asked upon the rack to deny their 
 faith, and will not, "my dear husband has to leave us. That; 
 will be the hardest thing of all." 
 
 *' But let us hope he will soon return" said Mrs. Campden, 
 
192 
 
 JALLE.V rOrn-CXF,S. 
 
 cheerfully. She must iadeed laave been iouclied by tlio ol.her'is 
 agony, or else slie would surely never have expressed such an 
 aspiration. " A voyage in these days, even to Brazil, is a mero 
 nothing. You will be occupied, too — and nothing makes time 
 pass like occupation— in getting into your new house. I have 
 just heard that you are all thinking of becoming our neighbours 
 at the Nook. I may truly say, in that case, so far as we are 
 concerned, 'that it is an ill wind that blows nobody good.' " 
 
 " You ai-e very kind," said ]\[rs. Dalton, though she did not 
 think so. Tt w.as borne in, (^xrn upon her gentle spirit, ih;it i.o 
 1 rue sympathy was being administered to her. The conventional 
 ithrase, the rapid stream of talk — a continuity designed to pre- 
 clude any interchange of gei-nnino feeling — the tone and maniun' 
 of the speaker, all convinced her of this ; yet she was grateful 
 for such civility as was expressed, and also, perhaps, not dis- 
 pleased that the other's condolences wore such an everj-dny 
 garb, since it was not necessary for her to play the hypocrite 
 in acknowledging them. 
 
 " You will stay here, of course," continued Mrs. Campden, 
 *' until your arrangements for entering upon your new house 
 ai'e completed." 
 
 •*I fear that will make some trespass on your hospitality, 
 Julia ; we ai'c rather a large parly," said ]\Irs. Dalton, hesi- 
 *ar.inf. As a matter of fact, since her hostess had often impor- 
 tuned her to make a longer stay before returning to town, bho 
 iiad taken this offer for granted ; she had not understood how, 
 in the case of such old friends, a reverse of fortune should 
 place their mutual relations on another basis, far less that they 
 should commence anew. 
 
 " Don't speak of trespass, my dear Edith. In an establish- 
 ment like ours, a few persons more or less make no appreciable 
 difference; while to put off our going to London for a week or 
 two would really make no difference to us worth mentioning." 
 
 " This was perfectly true — if it is necessary to say so of any 
 speech made by a person of such high ])rinciplcs as ]\frs. Camp- 
 den ; it certainly would make no difference, as the departure of 
 herself and her husband for town was to be delayed, in any 
 case, for a month to come. It wa,s only Mary who had beeu 
 ^,Joing up at once with the Daltons. 
 
 ■' From what Dr. Cnr/.on tells us," said ]\rrs. Dalton, " I think 
 vre might be able to take up our (juarters in the Nook within 
 three weeks. .John thinks it Avould not be necessai-y for me to 
 ict-jrn to Cnrdigan Place ; but he will run up there ro-morrow, 
 
A PATROXESS. 193 
 
 and make .arrangements for the sale, and — and foi' secni'Ing his 
 berth on board the vessel. It is very hard to be parted from 
 him just now, when he is so soon to leave me ; but my accom- 
 panying him would cost money, and I don't feel justitied- — " 
 
 " You are quite right," broke in Mrs. Campdeu, approvingly ; 
 " one can't begin the work of retrenchment too soon. I am so 
 glad — though I quite expected it — to find you so wise and 
 prudent in this matter. I daresay, my dear Edith," added she, 
 dropping her voice, "you have had the courage to look not only 
 the present in the face, but the future also." 
 
 " Of course I have thought of the future — Grod help me ! — 
 how could I help thinking of it ? " answered Mrs. Dalton, with 
 just the least touch of bitterness. These platitudes of the pros- 
 perous woman were growing almost insupportable to her. "Do 
 you suppose that I have not reflected how, ten days hence, I 
 must stand aloue in the world, with my poor children clinging 
 to me ? " 
 
 " Just so ; it is about the children — at least one of them — that 
 I was thinking." 
 
 " Oh yes ; about dear Tony," said Mrs. Dalton, brightening 
 up. "I ought to have thanked you for your husband's kind 
 intentions to him. His offer to send him to Eton was most 
 generous, and has, of course, been gratefully accepted by us." 
 
 " To Eton ! " said Mrs. Campden, quickly. 
 
 " Yes. Was it not just like your husband's kindness ? "What ! 
 has he not told you ? But that is like him, too. He would conceal 
 his generous acts, if it was possible, even from his wife herself." 
 
 "Yes, Edith, it is all very like George, as you were saying," 
 observed her hostess, gravely; "he is impulsive and lavish 
 
 enough, goodness knows ^^^J don't imagine," added she, 
 
 as she saw the colour rush into her companion's face, " that I 
 could grudge anything my husband did for you and yours. Ho 
 should send Toby to Eton, by all means, if it would benefit the 
 boy ; but consider — Avith his altered pi"Ospects — how unsuitable 
 such an arrangement would be. I for my part should consider 
 it a positive cruelty. The poor boy would only imbibe a taste 
 for luxury that could never be gratified, and make acquaint- 
 ances from whom circumstances must always separate him in 
 after life." 
 
 "There is much, of course, to be said on that side of the 
 question," returned Mrs. Dalton, coldly (the word "lavish" had 
 wounded her to the quick, and if she had followed her own 
 impulses, she would have declined all offers for Tony's benefit 
 
 o 
 
194 FALLEN FORTUNES, 
 
 upon thb ispot. ; " but on the other hand, John has many friend? 
 who have sous at Eton, and he thinks it Avoukl he well, if he 
 himself must needs drop out of the sphere in vvhich he has 
 always moved, that the connection should be maintained through 
 Tony, for the boy's sake. Fortune may smile ujion us, even 
 now " 
 
 " My dear Edith," interrupted Mrs. Campden, " most ear- 
 nestly do I hope it will. But let us not be the victiuis oi 
 illusion ; an expensive and fashionable school like Eton — 
 unless, indeed, the lad is to be a colleger ; of course, if it is 
 proposed to place him on the foundation, that is quite another 
 matter." 
 
 " I understand it was Mr. Campden's intention, Julia, to 
 place him in the same position as that he would have occupied 
 if this misfortune had not befallen us." Mrs. Dalton's tone 
 was calm, but her heart was failing; she had no false pride, but 
 she well knew that the life on which poor Tony had set his heart 
 — which it was such an inexpressible comfort to ha.ve heard that 
 Uncle George's kindness had secured for him — was not such as 
 is passed by boys on the foundation ; the letters he had had 
 from his young friends at that seat of learning had enlightened 
 her upon that point ; above all, he was delicate, and there wero 
 hardships to be endured by " collegers," to which " oppidans " 
 were not exposed. It was foolish of her, of course, to entertain 
 such a predilection, but it must be remembered that she was a 
 woman and a mother. 
 
 " Then, I must confess, Edith, I think my husband's offer has 
 been very injudicious," observed Mrs. Campden, confidently. 
 She was thoroughly aware of her companion's reasons — if they 
 could be called so — for her opinion, and would have entertained 
 it herself, had their places been reversed ; so that she was able 
 to rebut her arguments without their having been stated — a 
 great advantage in all discussions. " I have always heard," 
 continued she, " that collegers are just as well born and as 
 well bred as others, only their parents have but moderate means. 
 Surely, my dear Edith, it will be among these that Anthony '* 
 (the idea of shortening names " for love and euphony" was re^ 
 pugnant to Mrs. Campden) " will find his more suitable place ; 
 and though, doubtless, an oppidan's life is the more luxurious, 
 is it judicious to allow a poor boy to be petted and pampered for 
 a year or two, who will afterwards have to make his own way 
 in the world and rough it ? " 
 
 The mistress of RiY§r§ide had always confidence in her own 
 
A PATRONESS. 195 
 
 view of affairs, but it was not always, as in this case, that the 
 strength of the argument did really lie npon her side. Her 
 opponent, too, was secretly conscious that it did so ; perhaps 
 tlie strongest motive she had had for accepting Mr. Campden's 
 offer on behalf of Tony was that, for the present, one member 
 of her family at least should have no cause to drink of the cup 
 of bitterness that must needs be the portion of all the rest. Why 
 should the smile be banished from the face of her darling boy, 
 since it could be kept there, perhaps, till smiles returned to all 
 of them ? 
 
 " I am sure you perceive the reasonableness of what I have 
 pointed out," continued Mrs. Campden, clasping her hands in 
 triumphant superiority, and regarding her victim, with head 
 aside, like a magpie who has just picked another bird's eye out, 
 
 " Perhaps we had better leave the question of the boy's 
 schooling to our husbands," sighed Mrs. Dalton ; " I think men 
 know more about s^^ch matters than we do." 
 
 Mrs. Campden smiled a scornful smile. She had always 
 despised her companion for having neither a proper spirit nor 
 a will of her own ; but this open acknowledgment of inferiority 
 io the opposite sex was in her eyes something worse than con- 
 temptible. 
 
 " Well, well, my dear, we will discuss this matter another 
 time. To benefit your boy will only be one of our pleasures as 
 respects you and yours. I hope I shall be able to do something, 
 and much more than this, for — another." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton looked up quickly with inquiring eyes. There 
 bad been an unmistakable significance in the tone of her hostess. 
 It was clear that she had some particular benefit in her mind, 
 or a benefit to some particular person. Her face was indicative 
 of a certain sense of her own sagacity, which announced a plan 
 fixed and appi'oved, and her eager eyes evinced her desire to 
 communicate it. 
 
 Yet, so far from giving her any encouragement, Mrs. Dalton 
 replied, a little hurriedly : "You are very good, I'm sure, Julia. 
 I have promised to see Dr. Curzon again before he goes about 
 the Nook, so perhaps you will excuse me for a few moments ;" 
 and without further apology she quitted the room. 
 
 " I think she guessed what I was going to say," mused Mrs. 
 Campden, grimly, when she found herself alone. " I am afraid 
 she has a weak nature to thus shrink from a subject simply 
 because it is disagreeable. It must, however, be discussed sooner 
 or later ; and, at all events, I have put a spoke in the wheel of 
 
196 FALLEN FOKTUXES. 
 
 that yonng gentleman's being sent to Eton at onr cxjitnsc. T 
 never lieard of such nnprinfipled follj. It (-ould nnt bo do!.(. 
 under a hundred and fifty pounds a year at the very least ; br.*, 
 wlien people get poor they immediately begin to think tliat all 
 their friends arc made of money." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ADVICK GRATIS. 
 
 It is said that it requires a very brave man indeed to take to 
 his heels in the midst of a battle ; and certainly Mrs. Daltoii 
 showed not a little courage in running away from her hostess, 
 and thus avoiding a discussion, which some instinct told her 
 would be painful to an extreme degree. If she felt any humili- 
 ation in leaving her apparent mistress of the field, it Avas moi-o 
 than made up to her by the sense of enfranchisement — of escape 
 from her unwelcome society; and when she sought that o'^ 
 Dr. Curzon, who was talking with her husband in the library, 
 it was with no intention whatever of returning to renew tlie 
 combat. 
 
 Mrs. Campden, on the other hand, would not perhaps have 
 experienced much , annoyance, even if she had waited for the 
 reappearance of her guest for the next hour, for it would have 
 convinced her that Edith was afraid of her — for hitherto Mrs. 
 Dalton had shown no fear of her cousin — and been so far an 
 acknowledgment of the new relations which disparity of wealth 
 liad established between them. 
 
 As it was, however, the bell sounded for kettledrum in a few 
 minutes, and ever alive to such domestic duties, she descended 
 to the drawing-room to superintend the tea-table. There she 
 found Mr. Holt alone ; he generally presented himself at that 
 intermediate meal, not that he ever partook of it, but because 
 he knew that his presence was regarded as a sort of attention 
 by his hostess, who did not find it easy at that hour to command 
 the services of her gentlemen guests. She welcomed him on 
 this occasion by a beaming smile, and then suddenly became 
 overspread with gloom. 
 
 " This is a terrible misfortune that has overtaken our friends, 
 Mr. Holt." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, madam. I cannot say how deeply I feel it." 
 
 " You, however, do not, of course, hear of it to-day for the 
 first time ? " 
 
 "Well, no. I have had my fears — between ourselves — for 
 
ADVICE GRATIS. 197 
 
 fenme time respecting tlie pai'ticular investment tlie break-down 
 of which has caused this catastrophe. I advised Dalton to get 
 out of it ; but you know he is difficult to persuade." 
 
 "In other words, he is obstinate as a mule," returned Mrs. 
 Campden, frankly. " I can easily imagine the trouble he must 
 have given you to keep him straight even up till now." 
 
 " He had always the best advice I had to offer him," replied 
 Mr. Holt, modestly ; *' but he took fancies to this and that — a 
 weakness greatly to be deprecated in business — and specu- 
 lated " 
 
 " And now, he has utterly ruined himself and all belonging 
 to him '^ " observed Mrs, Campden, impatiently. 
 
 " I am afraid he has been very hard hit indeed, madam. 
 Still, if he would be content to realise — at a great loss, to be 
 sure — or perhaps I should rather say if he would consent to be 
 freed from his liabilities " 
 
 " That means bankruptcy, does it not ? Pray take a cup of 
 tea, Mr. Holt." 
 
 " Thanks. — Why, no, madam : it is not bankruptcy. He has 
 a notion, it seems — quite a chimerical one, in my opinion — tLat 
 there is still something to be got out of this mine in Brazil. He 
 is resolved to throw good money after bad by going out himself 
 to St. Jose " 
 
 " Oh, I don't agree with you thei"e, Mr. Holt," put in his 
 hostess, quickly. " I think he can't do better for himself and 
 for those belonging to him" — here she began to speak very 
 impressively — "than to go to Bi-azil. Things will settle down 
 much, better in his absence : his high-flown and extravagant 
 notions, quite unsuited to his changed circumstances, are, I am 
 convinced, not shared by Edith and the dear girls ; they aro 
 simple in their habits, and will, if left to themselves, take a 
 sensible view of their position. They are a little spoiled by 
 flattery and incense, at least poor Kate is, but you will see that 
 she will now be quite a different girl." 
 
 " Indeed, I hope not, madam," returned Mr. Holt, earnestly ; 
 " in my humble opinion, Miss Kate Dalton can hardly change 
 for the better." 
 
 " I am sure Miss Kate Dalton ought to be very flattered, and 
 I will venture to say would he so, if she could hear what you 
 say, Mr. Kolt. I am afraid she will not receive so many pretty 
 speeches now, as she has been accustomed to, poor girl." 
 
 " She will deserve them all the same, Mrs. Campden." 
 
 "Doubtless, doubtless; but those she does receive will bo 
 
igS J^ALLEiY FORTUNES. 
 
 sweeter. It is a sad fall for her, -when one remembers tLat it 
 ■was only last season tliat she might have been a countess for 
 the asking — or rather the asking was the other way — and now, 
 
 of course " Here Mrs. Campden broke oft' to sip her tea, 
 
 and instead of adding "almost anybody," as she had intended 
 to say, she smilingly concluded her sentence with : " Well, in 
 short, ' no reasonable offer,' as the tradesmen say, is likely to bo 
 refused." 
 
 " I suppose it will make a dift'erence," said Mr. Holt, thought- 
 fally. 
 
 " Of course it will ; the girl is not an idiot." 
 
 Holt started, as though he had been stung, and exclaimed, 
 " Mrs. Campden ! " 
 
 " There, pray don't be angiy," returned his hostess, laughing 
 outright, a very rare thing with her indeed ; it was on that 
 account, perhaps, that the laugh did not sound quite natural, 
 and indeed expressed as much scorn as mii-th. " I had no idea 
 that you City gentlemen were so diffident and unenterprising." 
 
 " The most enterprising of us often fail, madam." 
 
 "Yes, once or twice," returned she, quickly ; " but that is no 
 bar to your final success." 
 
 A curious change was manifested in both the speakers : the 
 haughty and somewhat reticent Mrs. Campden had become 
 earnest and almost vivacious ; the impassive man of business, 
 usually so deferential in his manner to his hostess, had grown 
 tenacious of his own opinion, and at the same time soft and 
 gentle. It was with a sigh that might have been bi'eathed by a 
 woman that he replied : " I would I could think so, madam ; in 
 any case, time and opportunity are necessary to recover from 
 such reverses, and to encourage me to tempt Fate anew." 
 
 " Tou shall have them both, Mr. Holt," continued she, rapidly. 
 *' As my cousins will now remain for some weeks at Riverside, 
 why should you not do likewise ? You are very welcome to 
 remain here, if you please." 
 
 " But I am not sure whether Dalton, or indeed your husband 
 himself " Mr. Holt hesitated. 
 
 " I am mistress of my own house, sir," broke in Mrs. Campden, 
 imperiously; " since I have asked you, that is sufficient. Mr. 
 Dalton will be off to town to-morrow, and you Avill have the 
 field all to yourself. — Hush ! there is someone coming. — Why, 
 Kate, my dear, 1 thought for once you were deserting the tea- 
 table." 
 
 For an instant Kate turned a little white ; it was her first 
 
ADVICE GRATIS. I99 
 
 meeting with her hostess since the tidings of her father's ruin ; 
 and though she had schooled herself to behave with equanimity, 
 the effort cost her something ; then her eyes fell upon Mr. Holt, 
 and she felt the hot blood passing into her cheeks, and flaming 
 there. These two had been talking about her, some instinct 
 told her at once ; and though they had, unquestionably, a 
 right to do so, she resented it exceedingly : every nerve in her 
 body tingled as though a designed affront had been offered to 
 her. 
 
 " I thought you had been alone, Mrs. Campden," said she, 
 coldly. 
 
 " I have had my tea," cried Mr. Holt, rising with ludicrous 
 haste, and sweeping the crumbs away from his legs with his 
 pocket-handkerchief. " I was just about to go when you came 
 in." 
 
 "Kay, nay ; there is no reason for your going away from us," 
 Baid Mrs. Campden, in her most gracious manner. " I think, by 
 this time, my dear Kate, we iuay almost consider Mr. Holt as a 
 friend of the family. There is no one otd of the family, I am 
 sure, who regrets the misfortune that has happened to you all 
 more than he does. Oh, my dear Kate, I am so distressed 
 about it." 
 
 This affectionate outburst was accompanied by an embrace, to 
 which Kate submitted with the best grace she could. 
 
 " Blood is thicker than water, dear," continued Mrs. Campden, 
 confidently, " and your best friends — till you come to have one 
 dearer and nearer than even they — you will always find to be 
 your relatives. Mr. Holt here will do mc the justice to say 
 
 that I have just expressed to him " She looked round for 
 
 corroboration, but the witness she cited had disappeared. One 
 of the drawing-room windows was open ; and through it, finding 
 his escape by the door cut off" by his hostess, Mr. Holt had 
 4uietly stepped on to the lawn, with a bow to Kate, by way of 
 apology for having remained even so long as he had in obvious 
 opposition to her wishes. 
 
 "Why, where on earth is the man gone to?" cried Mrs. 
 Campden, with indignant astonishment. 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Holt thought himself de trop" observed Kate, 
 quietly. 
 
 " He was very foolish if he did ; and I am bound to say, my 
 dear Kate, since we are upon the subject, that you were still 
 more foolish if you induced him to believe so. Mr. Holt is a 
 man of means, and indeed even of mark in his calling and 
 
2.30 FALLEN FOR 2 UNES. 
 
 i.here are very few girls, no matter wliat their position, wlio 
 would be justified in treating his attentions with contempt." 
 
 " I cannot understand how any girl could be justified in doing 
 that," answered Kate, quietly. 
 
 " Well, well, you know what I mean. There are some young 
 ladies — only a very few — who can afford to give themselves airs i 
 and there are others — very numerous — who cannot afibrd it ; it is 
 well for them when they are not compelled by circumstances to 
 put up with the airs of other people. There are governesses, 
 for instance. I hope, my dear, I may never hear of your going 
 out as such " 
 
 " It is very likely that you may, Mrs. Campden," interrupted 
 the girl, calmly. 
 
 " Well, as I have just said, I hope not; but it is, of course, 
 possible, if your father's ruin is so complete as we have reason 
 to fear, that circumstances may compel you to take such a 
 course. We should all feel it — your parents, your sister, and 
 ourselves — as a great misfortune, though not, of course, in the 
 light of a disgrace." 
 
 "Indeed, Mrs- Campden, I hope not," answered Kate, 
 haughtily ; " my father's daughter is, I venture to believe, in- 
 capable of bringing disgrace upon any member of his family." 
 
 " Of course, of course ; I don't mean that,''' returned her 
 hostess, quickly. " But your taking one up so sharp is just an 
 example of how unfit you are to undertake any subordinate 
 position. If you were a governess, you know, people would say 
 what they liked to you ; that is, they would speak their minds 
 very plainly ; I always did so to Mary's governess." 
 
 Kate inclined her head assentingly ; she had every reason to 
 believe the statement. 
 
 " Well, here is an opportunity, my dear girl — at least he has 
 just gone out of the window — of avoiding this most unpleasant 
 contingency." 
 
 " If you please, Mrs. Campden, I would rather not talk about 
 this matter," said Kate, looking up very flushed, and with 
 quivering lips. 
 
 " But that is exceedingly foolish. Why hesitate to discuss 
 what is not a mere theoretical affair, but something which is 
 certain to happen ; why refuse to hear any mention of poverty, 
 when you are about so soon to feel its sting ? " 
 
 " I feel it now, madam — at this moment," returned the girl, 
 with intense significance. " But it was not to our poverty that 
 I was .alludincc • you are welcome to dwell on that to your heart's 
 
ADVICE GJiATIS. ioi 
 
 content. But with respect to any — witli respect to that trentle- 
 man's pretensions to my hand, for to such T am compelled to 
 believe you refer, I will not be schooled ; I will not listen to 
 you ; it is a matter with which yon have no concern whatever, 
 while God still leaves me a mother." For a moment the bitter. 
 ness — the sense of the harshness of Fate — which the young 
 girl felt in her heart of hearts, was permitted to manifest itself in 
 her tone ; but the mention of her mother evidently softened it. 
 " I must beg, I must entreat, Mrs. Campden," she continued, 
 pleadingly, " that you will never mention the subject to mamma. 
 She could not endure it; it would pain and distress her to an 
 extent that I think you are hardly aware of." 
 
 " I am quite aware of it, my dear," answered Mrs. Campden, 
 composedly ; " and it is out of consideration for the state of her 
 health and — and condition — that I have addressed myself to you. 
 A mother, as you suggest, is the proper channel for such advice ; 
 but iu this case, it is for your mother's sake I speak, and she 
 can hardly plead her own cause. I say nothing of your father, 
 though his regret at seeing his dear ones reduced, through his 
 own folly, to a position so foreign to their experience, must in- 
 deed be poignant ; nothing of your poor invalid sister, hence- 
 forth compelled to give up all those luxuries which to one in her 
 condition are almost necessaries ; nothing of your little brother, 
 lO young that he is incapable of understanding the change that 
 has shadowed his prospects. All these things can be remedied, 
 if you please ; but I speak of your mother only. She will 
 never complain, of course ; but she Avill suffer all the more. 
 Every slight that may now be offered to her husband, in return 
 for a sharp word in other days, will be felt by her sensitive 
 spirit like a poisoned dart. The withdrawal of fine-weather 
 friends ; the open satisfaction of enemies : these things will 
 torture her. She will see yourself — her pride and flower — no 
 longer the centre of admiration among the dazzling throngs of 
 fashion, but wearing out your days in poverty and seclusion, 
 without a chance of such a suitor as she might of old have 
 reasonably expected; some doctor, or curate, or gentleman- 
 farmer at the best, will necessarily fall to your lot; she will see 
 Jenny " 
 
 " Spare me ! " cried Kate, imploringly. " Do you suppose 1 
 do not foresee these things as well as you — that they are not 
 brought homo to me here?" and she pressed her hand pas- 
 sionately to her heart. 
 
 " That may be so," continued the other, calmly. " But what; 
 
i02 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 you evidently do not see is tlie reverse of the picture ; the 
 change that is in your power to effect by the utterance of a 
 single monosj liable. It is not as if you were asked to sacrifice 
 yourself — as many girls are called upon to do — at the shrine of 
 Mammon ; you are not selling yourself to some miserable old 
 man, who has only his gold to recommend him, and who has 
 forgotten, if he ever knew, what love is. Mr. Holt is a man 
 in every w-ay estimable, and who — as you cannot but be aware 
 — is passionately attached to you. You will make him the hap- 
 piest of men ; and in time — for these things grow, my dear 
 Kate ; the fanciful affection of a girl for a lover she knows 
 nothing about is not to be compared with the esteem and affec- 
 tion born of the devotion of a husband — I say, in time he will 
 make you the happiest of women. Of course you don't think 
 so nowT Kate had turned very pale, and sank down rather 
 than seated herself in the arm-chair. " It is so difficult for a 
 young girl to listen to the voice of experience in such a matter. 
 That is why I preferred in the first place to speak of the materia.^ 
 aspects of the question, a consideration of which must surely 
 needs cany conviction. In accepting this gentleman you will 
 confer inestimable advantages upon your family, to benefit whom 
 he is only seeking for such an excuse ; of course I don't mean 
 mere money gifts, Kate, though, whatever he may do for them 
 under such circumstances, you may depend upon it he would 
 feel the obligation to be upon his side. He has opportunities 
 — golden ones — of putting things in your father's way, without 
 any cost to himself whatever. I think these should be strong 
 arguments, even though there were other means of extricating 
 your family from their embarrassments ; but there are absolutely 
 none. This expedition of your father's to the Brazils, Mr, Holt 
 tells me, is a fool's errand." 
 
 "You think that would be given up," put in Kate, suddenly 
 — "that papa would remain with mamma, in case I — that is, 
 if Mr. Holt " 
 
 " My dear Kate, I wouldn't precipitate matters for the world," 
 interrupted Mrs. Campden ; " I think it upon the whole ad- 
 visable that your father should take the voyage." 
 
 " But you said it was a fool's errand." 
 
 " Yes, but he will never be convinced of that without a per- 
 sonal experience. Heaven forbid, too, that any arguments of 
 mine should induce you to take a hurried step in a matter so 
 important ; but I adjure you to lay them to heart. Remember, 
 J ou are the only one to whom those you love can look for assiat- 
 
 J 
 
ADVICE GRATIS. 203 
 
 flnce— I mean, of course, for permanent assistance," added Mrs. 
 Campden, -vvliile a tinge of colour deepened the extremity of hei* 
 nose. " It is not as if you had sisters to wliom a similar chancp 
 might offer itself. Your parents have only another burden in 
 poor, dear Jenny, who must always be a source to them of 
 cspense, as well as anxiety." 
 
 "Hush, for God's sake! " cried Kate, imperiously. The flow 
 of Mrs. Campden's eloquence had been such as to drown th43 
 noise of the opening of the door, and she was quite unaware that 
 Jenny herself had entered the room. There she stood, white and. 
 wan as a ghost, with her magnificent eyes fixed full upon her 
 hostess, with an expression of unutterable calm. 
 
 "Do not be distressed for me, Kitty," said she, with ex- 
 quisite softness. Then, in the clear, incisive tones that were 
 habitual to her, she added : " And as for you, Mrs. Campden, 
 I should indeed be sorry that anyone beyond our own family 
 circle should be troubled upon my account. That I should 
 always — so long as I live — be a source of anxiety to it, has 
 been, I am afraid, decreed by Fate ; but as to my being a 
 burden, I hope in that respect your apprehensions will not be 
 realised." 
 
 " Oh, Jenny, how can you ever be a burden to us ! " exclaimed 
 Kitty, reproachfully. 
 
 " In the manner that Mrs. Campden has jDointed out, dear," 
 answered her sister, calmly. " She has, with great good sense, 
 and without that foolish fastidiousness that would keep some 
 people silent upon such a matter, laid her finger upon our 
 weakest point — namely, the expense which an invalid like my- 
 self must necessarily be to my father and mother, who are no 
 longer in a position to bear it." 
 
 For the first moment or two of surprise, the mistress of River- 
 side had looked anything but the superior being which, in com- 
 parison with her young guests, circumstances had recently made 
 her ; she had been discomposed, confused, and flustered ; there 
 was even a fleeting instant in which she had meditated an apology 
 for having involuntarily wounded Jenny's feelings ; but jDerceiv- 
 ing first no direct resentment in the girl's manner, and then that 
 her own arguments had acquired an unexpected ally, she began 
 to take courage. 
 
 " Of course, my dear Jane, I should never have spoken upon 
 so delicate a matter as your illness, had I dreamt you Avere 
 within heai'ing. But Kate and I Avcre having a little talk upon 
 a private topic, during which it became necessary to touch upou 
 
204 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 all tlie inconveniences to wliicli, tlirougli jour fatlier*s losses, 
 your family woald be now exposed." 
 
 Jenny's eyes glanced to Kate and back again with the quick- 
 ness of those of a bird. 
 
 " I by no means wish to inquire into this private topic, Mrs. 
 Campden," said she, firmly ; " but I should wish it clearly to be 
 understood that any arguments founded upon my being an en- 
 cumbrance to my parents — upon my incapacity to earn my own 
 living — have been advanced in error. If any important step 
 were taken by any member of onr family " — here she glanced 
 again at Kate — " upon that supposition, it would be a great mis- 
 take ; and if it involved anything of sacrifice, must needs bo 
 bittei'ly repented of, since it would have been made in vain." 
 
 " But, my dear child," expostulated Mrs. Campden, with a 
 certain maternal air, which jjerhaps of all her mental disguises 
 became her least, " it is perfectly ridiculous that a girl in your 
 position — a confirmed invalid — can ever hope to obtain any situa- 
 tion, as a governess, for instance, or to make money by her own 
 exertions. With all the goodwill in the world, you know, how 
 is it possible that you are to do it ? " 
 
 " Sly dear Mrs. Campden, that is an affair of my own," replied 
 Jenny, decisively, " as private as your late topic with Kitty, and 
 you must therefore excuse my discussing it. Here is Mary come 
 at last. Mamma is still closeted with J)v. Curzon, by-tho-by, 
 and bade me say she would take no tea." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 SECOND CLASS. 
 
 The divines talk to us of " precious time ;" and from their point 
 of view, no doubt, our time should be more pi'ecious, and we 
 should be less willing to waste it, than gold itself. Business 
 men also protest, with more or less of truth (generally the latter), 
 that their time is precious, and would have us believe that every 
 quarter of an hour by which their morning train is delayed, costs 
 fhet'v, or their clients, thousands. And even outside those two 
 callings, there are many instances in which the passing hour 
 may be designated by the same endearing epithet. But, after 
 ull, there is no time so precious to the human heart as that which 
 intervenes between the signature of the death-warrant of some 
 be'oved fellow-creature and the carrying it into effect. When 
 the kindly doctor is compelled to whisper, " No hope," and hus- 
 band, or wife, or child lie on that bed which Ihey will for certain 
 
SECOND CLASS. 205 
 
 only exchange for tbeir place in the churchyard, ihen time 
 becomes precious indeed. How we grudge erery raomenfc that 
 we are forced to pass away from that beloved object whom we 
 shall never, never see again ! How we feel that a week hence, 
 or a day, we shall bitterly regret the hours — cumulatively years 
 — that we have lived apart from them, out of their sight, beyond 
 their voice and touch, when we might have been in their com- 
 pany ! How eveiy stroke of the clock sounds like a parting 
 knell ! And thus, as the time drew on for John Dalton to set 
 sail for Brazil, each day became inerpressibly dear, and all too 
 brief for his unhappy wife. It was a long journey, full of doubt 
 and hazard, even for him ; but for her it was the longest that 
 mortal man can take, for she knew well, though no tongue had 
 told her, but only the wordless whisper of her own. prescient 
 heart, that she would never behold him more in this woi-ld. Her 
 health had been failing her for long, though no one knew it besidea 
 herself. She had been always one to make light of her troubles, 
 in order the better to persuade others to let her help them to 
 bear their own ; " her worst she kept, her best she gave " of 
 everything. But she had for some time looked forward to her 
 coming trial with a grave suspicion that her strength was insuf- 
 ficient to meet it. And now this crushing blow had fallen, and 
 she felfc that it had paralysed all her rallying powers ; her 
 courage remained with her — it was necessary for others, 
 and therefore only death could rob her of it ; but her vital 
 energies were gone. 
 
 Hers was not a solitary case. Doubtless, while I write these 
 words, there are hundreds, perL'kps thousands of women, wives 
 and mothei's, who know that their fate is sealed, but keep the 
 secret to themselves for others' sakes, and look upon the passing 
 Avorld with smiling serenity. Another autumn, perhaps even 
 another winter they may see on earth, but not another spring. 
 They hear plans made for the future which include themselves, 
 and they appear to fall in with them. They will not cast a shadow 
 over the present happiness, the present hope of those around 
 them ; but they are well aware, by the time of which these loved 
 ones speak with such unclouded assurance, that in this world 
 they themselves will have become a memory. Such miseries are 
 strewn broadcast in our homes. But Mrs. Dalton's case was 
 ■worse than most. She was not only sentenced to leave all she 
 loved, and step into the unfathomed gulf of death alone, but to 
 leave them in sore straits. Moreover, the little span of time 
 during which her husband was still to remain with her y"^ 
 
2o6 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 trenclied upon by the nocessitj of his going to town, and making 
 aiTangements for the disposition of his property — or rather of 
 •^'hat liad been his before their I'uin. He was bent npon being 
 absent from Riverside as little as possible, but a " uioustroup 
 cantle " of at least three days was thus cut out of the bare fort- 
 night that still intervened before the sailing of the ship. Of 
 course Edith might have accompanied him to London, bat she 
 shrank from expending the few pounds that this would cost 
 upon her own pleasure or comfort. Every moment that could 
 be passed in his company was now priceless to her, yet ten thou- 
 Fend of them were now foregone, for the sake of a few shillings. 
 Such is poverty, which fools make light of, and liars praise for 
 its wise teachings, and which rogues and scoundrels dare to flo.'t 
 at and despise^ 
 
 Edith could, however, accompany her husband to the station 
 without expense, since he was conveyed thither in one of the 
 Riverside equipages ; and this we may be sure she did. 
 
 " I shall take a second-class ticket, my darling," said he, as 
 they drew near their destination. His tone, if not that of a 
 martyr, had something of serious self-sacrifice in it. 
 
 " Oh, must you ? " returned she, pleadingly. She did not like 
 the notion of " dear John" going by the second class ; though, 
 for herself, if she could have gone with him, she would cheer- 
 fully have travelled in a cattle-truck. 
 
 " Yes, I think so. One can't begin to economise too early, as 
 that woman said last night. The idea of her giving you such 
 advice, at such a time ! " 
 
 " It was very wise advice, John." 
 
 " Very likely ; but I wish, it had choked her. However, I am 
 going to follow it, you see. It is lucky I did not bring down 
 TofTet witb me " (Toffet was his valet), " as we originally in- 
 tended, or it would have been rather unpleasant — I mean, for 
 him and me to travel together." 
 
 " It would have been impossible, my dear." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ; one soon gets used to these things. I 
 daresay I shall have worse company than Toffet on board the 
 Flaviborough Head, for I am quite resolved to go in the steerage. 
 It is a matter of twenty pounds, the difference is ; and that 
 twenty pounds will be of use to you at the Nook, you may depend 
 upon it." 
 
 " Don't talk of it, darling; not just now," murmured Edith, 
 with, her head upon his breast. " It has not come to parting 
 vet. You will be back amongst us en Tuesday." 
 
SECOND CLASS. zaJf 
 
 *' Ves, my pet, on Tuesday at latest, if I can only get those 
 law^ei's to move out of their snail's pace. There is the &nc 
 tioceer, too, to see about the lease, I have great hopes that tho 
 house will have improved in value since we took it, I think I 
 skall take Skipton's bid for the horses, so that that matter can 
 be arranged at once ; " and he entered some memoranda in his 
 note-book. How she envied him the many practical matters he 
 had to deal with, the transaction of which must necessarily 
 engross his thoughts. In the day of trouble women's work is ai 
 little value to them as a distraction from care ; the occupation of 
 the hand, or even of the mind, affords but small relief ; a certain 
 sort of action is invaluable at such seasons. " That pompous 
 and pretentious arrangement for the transaction of affairs, called 
 Business," becomes then of real importance, and only men are 
 able to avail themselves of it. This is fortunate, since they are 
 certainly less able to endure "worry" than the softer and 
 serener sex. Annoyances of any kind had always irritated Johu 
 Dalton to an extent quite disproportionate to their importance ; 
 but, under the present circumstances, the least vexations galled 
 him. 
 
 Though he asked for a second-class ticket at the station, the 
 clerk — who know him well — gave him a first from habit ; and 
 this had to be exchanged, to the wonder not only of the official, 
 but of the various passengers in the waiting-room, to whom the 
 Riverside liveries were familiar. Both eminent and wealthy 
 persons are found sometimes to use the second class ; but Mrs. 
 Campden would have felt it a slur upon the reputation of he- 
 house if any guest had arrived or departed from it in so ignoble 
 a manner. And in this particular at least Dalton Avould have 
 satisfied hsr expectations ; he had always been accustomed to the 
 best of everything — never to the second best. He had never 
 been in the pit of the opera, nor put up with the accommodation 
 of a coffee-room at an hotel. When he had journeyed, it was 
 always i:a a luxurious manner, with piles of newspapers or heaps 
 of railway books, which he had as often as not left in the car- 
 riage behind him, when they had served his object of making 
 the hours of travel move more quickly. But he was resolute 
 now to adopt the most rigidly ccunoivyical habits, and havir." 
 omitted to bring a book with him from Riveroids, was theret'oro 
 compelled to feed on his own thoughts throughout the journey, 
 or to enter against the grain into conversation v,'ith his fellow- 
 travellers. They stared at him because a livery servant had 
 op'^nrd the door of the carriage for him, and handed in his i-ail- 
 
2CS FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 ^ay rug, bnt not more tlisrr the servant himself Imd stared \, ben 
 Dalton had said " second-class, "William." 
 
 Perhaps nothing so brought home the fact to the Riversid* 
 houseliold that " them j^oor Daltons " were really rniuod as the 
 tidings of this simple change of travelling carriage. " Just think 
 of Mr. Dalton, 'im as has just been stannin' for Bampton, sitting 
 cheek by jowl with Scarve, the Bleabarrow undertaker, and that 
 'ere 'prentice of his, Tomkins ! " who happened to be going on a 
 professional expedition by the same train, Tomkins, who Avas 
 educating himself to be a mute, was just the sort of companion 
 Dalton lYanted, if he mrst needs have any ; but Scarve was lugu - 
 briously loquacious. Under the influence of a fiask of gin 
 which hn carried about with fcim, as he explained, as a precau- 
 tion against inicction, he grew very communicative about his 
 " jobs with tha aristocracy/' of whom, if his word was to be 
 ci'edited, he had put a sufficient nu.mber under ground to make 
 a Home of Lords in the other world. " I don't say but that 
 there is firms in London as can bury as well or better than our- 
 selves," he whispered confidentially to Dalton ; " but in the 
 country Scarve & Co. yield to none." When he got out he 
 pressed his card — it had a neat black border of about two inches 
 broad, and a tomb in the centre, on which were inscribed his 
 name and address — upon his fellow-traveller's attention ; and 
 though at first amused by it, it presently begat in his mind a 
 ghastly reflection. Supposing, when he himself was far away, 
 anything should happen to Edith, or any of the children, would 
 a man like that — perhaps the very man himself — be sent for to 
 I lie Nook to bury them r* A morbid and monstrous thought, as 
 he was well awai'e ; but the knowledge of his own weakness 
 availed him nothing. He beheld his little family, overshadowed 
 by death as well as ruin, ministered to by hireling hand??, for- 
 gotten and forsaken by friends, while he himself was thousands 
 of miles away. It was the only time that he had dared to say to 
 himself concerning any of his dear ones, " They will die, 
 ] erhaps, in my absence ; their welcoming faces shall greet me 
 never more." As for himself, he felt too thickly clad iu misery 
 to be pervious to the shafts of Death ; he could not lose ihini 
 that way; but he felt that they might well leave 1dm — Edith, 
 who was po delicate, or Jenny, always an invalid — and then tliis 
 jaan would come and see the last of them. It was an inexpres- 
 sible relief to him when Mr. Scarve and his assistant quitted the 
 train, and Avith the most dejected faces climbed into a dog-cart 
 that was in waiting for them, driven by a groom in moprning. 
 
THE WORM TURNS. 209 
 
 To them sucooodeu an unmistakable commercial traveller ; 
 " money and orders " were written in his twinkling eyes as 
 legibly as the Hebrew characters that were wont to be seen (by 
 the faithful) iuscribed upon those of some pious folk of old. He 
 was a chirpy, gossipy fellow, full of Joe Millerish jokes, and 
 very inquisitive. He was very curious to know "who" Dalton 
 " travelled for," as he expressed it. 
 
 " A family man, I presume ? " said he. Dalton nodded in 
 good-natured assent. " Ah, then you are quite right to come 
 second-class, sir ; I always do it myself, and save the difference 
 
 for Mrs. E • (my name is Roberts) and the young people." 
 
 Presuming upon his superiority in years, he was so good as to 
 give his companion much advice as to the pursuit of his sup- 
 posed calling. " My motto is j)ns\ sir" — which he pronounced 
 like "rush" — " and I have always found that system to answer." 
 And by way of illustration, he dug the would-have-been member 
 for Bampton playfully in the ribs. 
 
 Without being at all of the opinion of that modest philoso- 
 pher who averred that he never spoke with any fellow-creature 
 »vithout learning something new, Dalton was by nature social 
 and a citizen of the world ; so that not only did Mr. Roberts' 
 conversation speed the leaden hours of the journey, but the two 
 parted the best of friends. 
 
 "You are the right sort, ijou are," was the eulogium passed 
 upon him by that gentleman on the platform as they shook 
 hands. In the midst of which leave-taking, up came Dalton's 
 footman to show him where the carriage stood. 
 
 " Well, I am blowed," said Mr. Roberts, with a prolonged 
 whistle. 
 
 He did not know, of course, that it was the last drive in his 
 own carriage which his late fellow-traveller was to take. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE WORII TURNS. 
 
 The house in Cardigan Place was as yet unchanged in every 
 respect — ^just as Dalton had left it on his quitting town — yet 
 everything spoke of gloom and desertion. It was no longer 
 his home, except in name ; and in a few days it would lose even 
 the designation. He felt that he could not eat his dinner there, 
 but went out to dine at his club. London was what is called 
 " empty ;" there were only a few millions left in it, who could 
 not afibrd to go into the country ; Piccadilly was a solitude } 
 
2 id FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 Pall Mall i* waste. Ualtou felc qualms as lie drew near his 
 club, imagining that every one there would have heard tidings 
 of his downfall, and that he would be looked upon with pitying 
 eyes. He knew how weak it was in him, how false the pride 
 that made him entertain such apprehensions, how altogether vain 
 and egotistic were such feelings, as well as the wisest philosopher 
 that ever founded a school ; but so it was. His fears, however, 
 were groundless, for there was not a soul in the place. 
 
 The reading-room, ordinarily so thi-onged at that prepi'andial 
 hour, was absolutely tenantless; he might have had six Vail 
 Mall Gazettes all to himself. In the huge dining-room of the 
 Plestosaiirus, he was the one solitary guest ; but as he was about 
 to sit down to his modest repast, there entered one Dawkius, 
 and begged permission to join tables. Dawkins was a middle- 
 aged bore, who could never forget that he had once been a 
 Member of Parliament. He prefaced every statement with 
 " When I sat for Siddiugton," and dated every event from his 
 admission into " the House." No one could have imagined 
 from his conversation that that halcyon time had lasted but 
 six weeks, after which he was unseated for bribery, on petition. 
 By profession he was a civil engineer, and had gained some 
 notoriety, which could scarcely be called fame. He had no 
 invented a tubular bridge, or a submarine tunnel ; but ]ye had 
 nursed more than one railway successfully through its sickly 
 childhood, and had found his own account in it — at bis banker's. 
 His enemies averred that, in his professional capacity, Mr. 
 Dawkins, C.E., had had his hands " greased ;" and even his 
 friends allowed that he was an excellent authority upon coal 
 contracts. Under ordinary circumstances, the most that this 
 gentleman would have got out of John Dalton, in the Avay of 
 social acknowledgment, would have been a careless nod of the 
 head, and he would have felt himself flattered even by that ; for 
 Dalton was one of the most poptilar men in the club, and in the 
 best set, and Dawkins was nobody there. How he had got into 
 the VleslosauTus at all — which, for so large a society, was some- 
 Avhat exclusive — was a marvel to those Avho knew him best : 
 perhaps he had slipped in by greasing somebody else's hands. 
 
 On the present occasion, however, Dalton rather encouraged 
 liis advances. This was just the man to have heard, in all 
 likelihood, of his altered circumstances, and he did not wish \o 
 seem to shrink from companionship, or to appear in dejection, 
 Moi-eover, even the talk of Dawkins was better than his own 
 SL'.d thoughts. 
 
THE WORM TURNS. 211 
 
 "Sorry to see yoti missed your shot at Bampton," said this 
 gontlemau in a more familiar tone (or so it seemed to the other) 
 than their px'evious relations justified. " However, you will try 
 iigain; of course ; it is quite unusual to get one's seat at the 
 tirst trial. I was fortunate myself in that respect, when I stood 
 for Siddiugton, but it was quite an exceptional piece of good 
 luck." 
 
 For the constituency it doubtless was so, since it got two 
 elections, and all the good things " going " at such epochs, 
 within two months ; but the good fortune of Mr. Dawkins him- 
 self had certainly been of a very transient nature, 
 
 " I am not likely to try again," answered Dalton, coldly. 
 
 " Ah ! found it expensive, I dare say. That is the worst of 
 it. But it's a proud position too — deuced proud. I shall never 
 forget the day I first took my seat and the oath." 
 
 " I wish you would," thought Dalton, cynically. The man's 
 impiidence annoyed while it amused him. " How comes it," he 
 asked, " that you are up in town in a dead time like this ? " 
 
 " You may well ask. There are a lot of fellow, bothering me 
 by every post to run up to the moors, and Warkworth offered 
 me a berth in his yacht ; but I am chained to my desk. A 
 golden chain, I am happy to say, but still it confines me to Lon- 
 don for the present. Business, business, my dear sir ; you know 
 what that is." 
 
 " Yes ; it is very familiar to me." 
 
 " Not more familiar than welcome, I hope, eh ? " put in the 
 other. His tone was indifferent, but the glance and manner 
 vvhich accompanied it were so eager and inquisitive that the 
 contrast was supremely ridiculous. Dalton's sense of humour 
 was tickled. 
 
 " Well, I suppose you know all about it ? " said he, good- 
 humouredly. " You have doubtless heard that I have been hard 
 hit ? " 
 
 " I did hear something of the kind, my dear sir ; but people 
 tell such lies. I had hoped the report was without foundation. 
 Sorry to find it confirmed on such good authority, I'm sure." 
 
 " Thank you," said Dalton, dryly. He was wondering whe- 
 ther it would be worth while asking this man's advice (he was 
 sharp enough in his way, and especially in speculative affairs 
 with a flaw in them) as to the Brazilian mine. 
 
 " Not at all," continued Dawkins," loftily. "We are all sorry: 
 every man who is worth anything in the club, sir, sympathises 
 with you. A man at your time of life, and in your position, to 
 
212 FA LLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 become the prey of a parcel of swindlers ; it is terrible. 1 bai 
 
 •10 idea, however, you bad gone sucb a 1 mean, tbat tbe thing 
 
 was so serious. I had hoped you were only * winged.' " 
 
 " No, sir, I am shot," said Dalton, decisively. He spoke so 
 loud that tbe waiter came, thinking that something was wanted. 
 
 "Get some champagne," said Dawkins : "the best — the 
 Clicquot — do you hear ? " Then, in a confidential voice, he 
 added, " There's nothing like champagne, my dear sir, when 
 you are down in the mouth. I remember, when I stood for 
 Siddington, and my opponent was ahead " 
 
 " If that champagne is for me, Mr. Dawkins, I don't drink it,' 
 observed Dalton, in a tone more decidedly //appe than the wint 
 itself. 
 
 "Very good; then I'll drink it myself," replied the other 
 cheerfully. " Now, look here, Dalton ; don't be cast down and 
 bitter with your friends, and that sort of thing. Of course it's 
 infernally disagreeable to have thrown one's money into the 
 gutter — or down a mine — which is the same thing ; but there 
 are ways of getting it out again." 
 
 " What ! you think the Lara is worth something yet ? " in- 
 quired Dalton, eagerly. 
 
 " Not I. It is not worth a shilling — it is not worth sixpence. 
 Bat money is to be made, my dear fellow " — the too friendly 
 phrase jarred upon Dalton's nerves, but he let the other run 
 on ; he might really have something to say that would be useful 
 — " thousands are to be made — ay, and tens of thousands — if 
 you only go the right way to work, and vnth the right feople. 
 There's the rub." 
 
 " And who are the people ? " inquired Dalton, growing some- 
 what impatient of his companion's platitudes. 
 
 " Well, there's Beevor, the banker — he is a baronet now, you 
 know, though I can remember him when his firm was a very 
 oue-horse affair ; his wife is a leader of fashion — quite the to?/, 
 you know." 
 
 Dalton could not restrain a smile. Sir Richard Beevor was 
 understood to be a dull man, who, placed by birth in a comfort- 
 able financial groove, had, under certain favourable circum- 
 stances, made a considerable quantity of money ; but his great 
 coup was his marriage with the widow of an eminent giu 
 distiller, which had heaped his money-bags so high that the 
 Government — to which he gave his parliamentary support — • 
 were compelled to take notice of thon, and had in consequence 
 made him a baronet. Sir Richard he had met on one or two 
 
THE WORM TURNS. 213 
 
 occasions iu society; but his lady, never — for she had no chance 
 of being admitted into it. 
 
 " Now, if you really want, Dalton, to be made aw/aii with 
 the best things going ") Mr. Dawkins' countenance became 
 mysteriously serious ; and Dalton looked serious too ; his mind 
 was occupied for the moment in philological speculatioa : why 
 was it that men like Holt and Dawkins xvould use French 
 phrases ?) — " if you want to see the best people, financially 
 speaking, that are to be met anywhere, and to have an oppor- 
 tunity — who knows ? — of being connected with them -" 
 
 "Well, what must I do ? " intei-rupted Dalton, sharply; he 
 thought he had schooled himself to stand anything without 
 flinching, but he could not stand Dawkins eloquent. 
 
 " Why, you must come and dine with me to-morrow, and 
 meet 'em." 
 
 " Very good, I will," said Dalton. He could not express 
 much gratitude for the invitation, but his manner was more 
 cordial than his words. He knew, or certainly he would have 
 known a few weeks ago — that it was he who was conferring the 
 obligation. Mr. Dawkins would have given his ears, if, in the 
 height of last season, he could have secured John Dalton as a 
 guest. But, on the other hand, it was just possible that the 
 man really meant to do a kindness, and perhaps a service to 
 him in asking him to meet these kings of commerce. At all 
 events, Dalton had nowhere else to go, and any society jusfc 
 now seemed to be preferable to his own. He even reflected with 
 a bitter smile that his acceptance of Mr. Dawkins' hospitality 
 would save him the expense of a dinner. 
 
 He "was now always putting in practice little economies which 
 annoyed him, and was ashamed of himself because they did so. 
 On the morrow he had to see his lawyer, the auctioneer, and 
 his friend Skiptou, who had promised to buy his horses ; and 
 instead of taking a Hansom, he patronised the omnibuses. 
 Novelty, it is said, is always pleasing, and therefore he oui^ht 
 I0 have enjoyed the experience of being jolted, and squeezed, 
 and trodden upon in those vehicles, in none of which he had 
 ever set foot before. He was perfectly conscious that thousands 
 of his fellow-creatures, in most ways eqiial to himself, and in 
 many superior, were compelled to use this means of conveyance, 
 and that it was a wretched affectation and a contemptible exclu- 
 siveness that made it disagreeable to him, much more than its 
 intrinsic inconveniences ; but he disliked it very much for all 
 l^hat. He could not shake off, in siich general consideratiosB, 
 
214 FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 the thouglits of bis own belongings ; and when he saw the little 
 batches of nervoas and delicate women waiting in the wet for 
 the 'bus to arrive, and struggling for inside places when it did 
 so — an everyday occurrence, but which had never attracted his 
 attention before — his mind reverted to his wife and Kate, who 
 now, if they lived in town, and wished to get about, must 
 needs form part of that patient throng. 
 
 There is nothing like a change — for the worse — of fortune to 
 make people understand that enigma so often talked about, but 
 which so few trouble themselves to solve, how the "other half" 
 of the world live and move. It seemed to Dalton that next to 
 " mud-larking " — picking up other folks' coppers in the ooze of 
 the river at low tide — there was nothing more unpleasant than 
 this looking after one's own shillings and sixpences. What galled 
 him still worse were the manifest efforts of his acquaintances to 
 save him small expenses. Sir William Skipton, Q.C., was a 
 well-meaning man in his way ; but if he had had any delicacy 
 of mind to start with, he had thrown it overboard, for the freer 
 practice of his profession ; and he very nearly lost his fi'iend 
 altogether (and, what he w^ould have regretted quite as much, 
 his horses), through attempting to treat Dalton to luncheon at 
 the club. 
 
 Towards evening, Mr. Dawkins called for him, as had been 
 agreed upon, to take him on to his house, which was some way 
 out in the suburbs ; and was so resolute in paying for their 
 common cab at the end of their journey that Dalton was within 
 a very little of knocking him down at his own doorstep. 
 
 " You know, my dear fellow, you must let your fi'iends pay 
 for you now,'" said Dawkins, and that in so loud a tone that the 
 very footman must have heard it as he opened the door. 
 
 "Why did I promise to dine with this hound?" thought 
 Dalton ; while the other imagined him, perhaps, to be speechless 
 Avith gratitude. But the host's coarseness had this good effect 
 upon his guest, that irritation took the place of despondency, 
 and he became quite prepared to play his part in the conversa. 
 tion of the evening, if not exactly to make himself agreeable. 
 
 Mr. Dawkins was a bachelor ; but his house was kept for him 
 by a widowed sister, Mrs. Jamrod, a lady of sour aspect, and a 
 confirmed stiffness, which might have been the result of rheu- 
 matism, but was, in fact, her imitation of dignity. If she did 
 not absolutely imagine herself to be a princess, she thought 
 Dawkins a prince — this was a really good trait in her character, 
 for he had been generous to her in a certain fashion — w^PiSp 
 
THE WORM TURNS. 215 
 
 eonsanguinity ennobled ber ; and sbe bonestly believed tbe great 
 staring " villa-mansion " in wbich they lived to be a palace. 
 Her drawing-room fairly blazed witb mirrors and gilding ; the 
 curtains wex'e of the most brilliant damask ; the sofas and con. 
 versation-chairs of the newest shapes ; and the tables were loaded 
 with books in snch gorgeous binding that they looked no more 
 intended to be read than the centre ornaments of supper-tablee 
 to be eaten. They were not read, as Dalton presently discovered 
 in conversation with his hostess, with whom he was left alone 
 for a few minutes, while Mr. Dawkins ran upstairs to " titivate," 
 as he called dressing for dinner. 
 
 " I know nothing of that class of literature," she had replied 
 austerely to some question of his about a book; "my dear 
 brother wishes it to have its place here, and thei*efore here it is ; 
 but my own studies, I am thankful to say, are confined within 
 a very small compass : I am only a humble searcher after the 
 Truth." 
 
 " If you find that in a small compass, my dear madam, you 
 tnust be exceptionally fortunate," observed Dalton, gravely. 
 
 " Sir, there are only two books — tlie Book and Hervey's 
 " Meditations ' — which, in my opinion, repay perusal. Over all 
 the rest time is spent in vain." 
 
 " Would you exclude Young's ' Night Thoughts ' and Blair'g 
 ' Grave ' ? " inquired Dalton, deferentially." 
 
 "For myself, yes; for others, however — perhaps for you— ^^ 
 they may have some edification." 
 
 " No, not for me," said Dalton, solemnly. " I am quite of 
 your opinion as to them. If Ave have only our Hervey, that is 
 Bufficient in the way of complement and comment." 
 
 " I am at once surprised and delighted to hear you say so, 
 Mr. Dalton. I had taken it for granted — I don't know why, I 
 am sure, for Robert seldom speaks to me of his olub friends — 
 that you were by no means seriously inclined." 
 
 " You never Avere more mistaken in your life, madam," said 
 Dalton, grimly ; " though I don't mean to pretend that it has 
 been always so." 
 
 " Ah, you have had a blow — if anything can be so called that 
 is only material, and affects our prospects in this world alone. 
 So Robert has hinted to me. These trials are often sent for our 
 good. Your chastening " 
 
 " 1 say, none of tliat., .Jane," cried Dawkins, suddenly present- 
 ing himself beside them — all shirt-front and watch-chain. 
 t' you have got hold of the wrong man altogether for that sort 
 
2i6 ^ FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 of stuff. Here are the Beevors come, by Jove, first. iV'ow, [ am 
 not going to have their dinner spoilt for anybody else, so mind 
 we have it; in time." 
 
 The vulgarity of the man's voice and manner had never pro- 
 claimed itself so openly to Dalton's ears as now, in his own 
 house. That he should have talked of his fallen fortunes to 
 this hypocritical old woman, was wormwood to him ; and fx'om 
 that moment he made up his mind to strike, and not to spare. 
 So far as the lady was concerned, he was unjust, for she really 
 believed — so far as belief Avas in her — the principles she pro- 
 fessed ; while there was certainly no breach of confidence in her 
 brother having communicated to her the fact of Dalton's ruin, 
 which was by this time common talk enough. However, he had 
 laid his hand upon his sword, and like a soldier about to sack a 
 town, was resolved to respect neither sex nor age. 
 
 At this moment Sir Richard and Lady Beevor were an- 
 nounced. The former was a fat, black, podgy man, with a 
 habitually stertorous breathing, and an occasional habit of 
 blowing like a porpoise, which rather electrified strangers. His 
 wife, on the other hand, was tall and angular, and very careful 
 of her breath indeed. She thought it inconsistent with her 
 exalted position in society to open her mouth to common people, 
 which she considered most persons who were commoners to be. 
 To even her hostess, whose own dignity had vanished at the 
 sight of hers — swallowed up by that Aaron's rod — she did 
 but vouchsafe a few monosyllables. To Mr. Dawkins she 
 graciously extended three gaunt fingers covei'ed with rings. 
 When Dalton Avas introduced to her, she bent her head about a 
 quarter of an inch, and raising her double glasses, surveyed him 
 from head to foot, with a particularity that would have done 
 credit to the Ordnance Department. 
 
 " I have heard of you befoi-e," said she, curtly. 
 
 "You have the advantage of me in that respect, madam," 
 replied Dalton, in his most winning tones, " as doubtless in 
 many others." 
 
 The shaft sped harmless, however, for the lady had already 
 turned away to examine some new arrivals with the air of a 
 naturalist who is investigating specimens of the ordinary beetle. 
 They were common enough of their genus, it must be acknow- 
 ledged. Gentlemen with pronounced noses, and mispronounced 
 Bs and Ps, with a cataract of shirt-front, embossed with jewels, 
 and rimmed with the merest margin in the way of waistcoat — 
 ItJl of them of oriental complexion, but with ostentatiously 
 
THE WORM TURNS. 217 
 
 Christian names. Gentlemeu, again, with mutton-chop Avhis- 
 kers, and those lively airs with which business is tempered in 
 the City ; glib of tongue, elastic of step, and with that overdone 
 geniality towards one another which is their substitute fc>' 
 friendliness. The ladies were by no means so gushing ; they 
 were either depressed in manner, each watching her respective 
 lord with a somewhat servile eagerness to obey the motions of 
 his eye, or they were stiff and formal, some through mei^e lack of 
 ease, others from the consciousness of recently-acquired wealth. 
 Most of it had dropped from the skies (so far as they knew), 
 and it was but natural that they should consider themselves as 
 miraculously favoured. The talk of both sexes was of money : 
 in the one case, of coin pure and simple — stocks and shares, 
 loans and premiums, surpluses and deficits ; in the other, of 
 money's worth — the cost of jewels, of lace, of furniture. It was 
 like a gathering of brokers, and to some extent perhaps it was; 
 one. Stiff and purse-proud as the ricliest might be, all pro- 
 strated themselves before Sir Richard and his lady — the two 
 golden images which bullion and gin had set up. Every boastful, 
 self-asserting voice toned itself down in addressing them ; every 
 remark became interrogative, deferential, and subject, as it were, 
 to their supreme approval. Dal ton noticed that most of those 
 made by the men were prefaced with " A gentleman was telling 
 me the other day. Sir Eichard," &c. &c. He had never before 
 moved in circles, professing to he " circles," where men talked 
 of " gentlemen," and not of " men." It was probably rare, he 
 surmised, for these people to be addressed by a gentleman at 
 all, and when it happened they made a note of it. 
 
 Some of these persons looked inquisitively at Dalton, much 
 as the commercial traveller had done in the train, as though 
 they would say, " In what line of business is tins fellow ? '' 
 They had the sagacity — perhaps the humility — to see that, 
 though among them, ho was not of them ; but that by no means 
 conciliated the object of their curiosity. He was not used to 
 appear in society and not be known. Their talk would have 
 jarred upon him under any circumstances — it was like counting 
 sovereigns out of a bag; but, in his penniless condition, he rt- 
 sented it almost as though it had been a personal insult. He 
 felt himself, though certainly without being overcome with 
 sympathy for those about him, becoming gradually assimilated 
 to them, degraded by their companionship, and losing, in some 
 mysterious way, his individual character. If " evil communi- 
 cations " had corrupted him, they mast have had a very rapicl 
 
ti8 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 effect, or irritation liad greatly assisted their influence ; but, at 
 all events, lie was fast losing his " good manners." He hardb 
 noticed which of the stiff females it was that Mrs. Jamrod con- 
 fided to his care to take down to dinner — their dresses all rustled 
 like bank-notes ; they were all behung with chains and jewels, 
 and like the lady of Banbury Cross, made music wherever they 
 moved — and for once neglected " his duty to his neighbour." 
 The table was crowded with guests, two individuals instead of 
 one being even placed at the top and bottom. Lady Beevor, 
 as the only person of title present of her sex, was one of those 
 who occupied this distinguished position, next the host, and 
 Dalton was placed on the other side of her at right angles. 
 Between the gilt candlesticks, and across the fruit and flowers, 
 he thought he had never seen so many mean and vulgar faces 
 before. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " muttered he under his breath, "are these 
 the capitalists ? " 
 
 " Sir," said the lady upon his right, *' I did not catch your 
 W'Ords." 
 
 "I was wondering," said he, "who all these good people 
 w ere ; do you know ? " 
 
 Dalton had an agreeable vivacity of manner that was greatly 
 appreciated in fashionable circles; but at which his present 
 neighbour was evidently considerably astonished, not to say 
 scandalised. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said ; " you know Lady Beevor sui'ely — that 
 is," added she, with a reverent recollection of the rank of the 
 person spoken of, " at least by sight ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; no one who has ever seen her is likely to foi'get 
 her. It was gin, was it not, that ' floated ' her ? " 
 
 " Floated her ! " repeated the lady, quite aghast. 
 
 " Certainly. I remember her being brought out in the City ; 
 though Sir Richard in the end took all the shares. You have 
 heard all about the distillery and the kick in the bottles, and so 
 on ; you must have heard it." 
 
 " Oh, pray, don't, sir. She is looking this way, No one 
 ever speaks of the gin now. You mustn't talk of her like that ; 
 you mustn't indeed." 
 
 All the starch had suddenly gone out of his companion ; she 
 was positively limp and clamp with fear. If she had, however 
 innocently, offended Lady Beevor, she felt that the gates of 
 Paradise — that is, of Fashion — would be shut in her face ; and 
 she did so want to get in. 
 
THE WORM TURNS. 219 
 
 "Well, let ITS talk of someone else. Who is that funny little 
 fellow opposite, who has dropped his watch-chain into his soup ? 
 Why the dickens does he wear suck a chain ? " 
 
 " Because I gave it him upon his birthday. That is my 
 husband, sir." 
 
 " You don't say so ! You must have married very early ; a 
 great deal earlier than he did," was the unblushing reply. 
 
 " Well, he is older than I, that's truth," assented the lady, 
 much conciliated. " If you are in the City, the name of Binks 
 will probably be familiar to you. I believe my husband is 
 tolerably well known there." 
 
 " Is it possible, my dear madam, that I am speaking to Mrs. 
 Binks ? " 
 
 " Well, I believe Mrs. Jamrod introduced us," returned the 
 lady, with, a toss of her head that sent the camellia at the side 
 of it swinging like a pendulum. 
 
 " Upon my life, I thought she said ' Minx,' " replied Dalton, 
 apologetically. " I was totally unaware of my good fortune — • 
 of the honour that had been conferred upon me." 
 
 " Don't speak of it," said Mrs. Binks, with a gracious smile. 
 
 "Water!" suddenly exclaimed a commanding voice upon 
 Dalton's left. It was Lady Beevor, speaking to the servant, as 
 tie thought ; and as none of the domestics heard her, and a water- 
 bottle was opposite to him, he leaned forward and filled her 
 glass. To his astonishment and indignation, she stared coldly 
 at him, and drank the water without the slightest acknowledg- 
 ment of his courtesy. Then it struck him, all of a sudden, that 
 this woman had been speaking to Imn when she had said " water.'' 
 He felt himself turning scarlet. 
 
 " You mustn't mind her ladyship's manner," whispered Mrs. 
 Binks, good-naturedly ; *' she doesn't mean anything by it. I 
 have heard her speak quite as brusquely to Mr. Abrahams, 
 yonder." 
 
 "Yes, but I am not Mr. Abrahams," said Dalton, quietly. 
 His mi ad was a volcano ; he would insult the whole company, 
 except the simple little creature at his right hand, Avho, unlike 
 that Avoman from Gin Lane, really did not " mean anything " by 
 her gaucheries. 
 
 " Well, no ; I suppose you have not made Mr. Abrahams' 
 three hundred and fifty thousand pounds," returned Mrs. Binks, 
 not contemptuously, but with a certain touch of pity, which cut 
 Dalton like a knife. Was it possible that even slie had h^ard of 
 hia impecunious condition ? 
 
£20 FALLEN FORTUNE^. 
 
 " How do you know lliat ? " iiiqiiired be, siTiiliiig. " Doa't I 
 look like a millionaire ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is not that : you look quite the gentleman, I'm sure," 
 said she, with naivete. (" Quite the gentleman," groaned Dal ton 
 to himself. " What have I done to deserve these things ? ") 
 " Only I hapjiened to hear upstairs that matters had been going 
 wrong with you : I hope they'll mend. There have been times 
 when Mr. B. himself has been anxious." And she nodded 
 towards her husband, who was tossing olF a very large glass of 
 champagne with an air of freedom fi'om anxiety that Dalton 
 envied. 
 
 " Thank you," said he, softly. He made up his mind, when 
 the hour of retribution came, that he would spare the female 
 Binks for her kind wishes. 
 
 Then he turned to Mrs. Binks' neighbour — a lady in semi- 
 mourning, and therefore unable, like the rest, to indulge her 
 taste in jewelleiy, but who had contrived, by the aid of os- 
 trich plumes and other sombre ornaments, to so nearly resemble 
 a hearse-horse, that Dalton half-expected her to " paw " — 
 with an inquiry as to whether she had been to the last Crystal 
 Palace concert. 
 
 " I have never been to the Crystal Palace in all my life," was 
 the frigid reply. 
 
 " Dear me ! You have religious objections, I suppose ? " for 
 he concluded that this particular specimen must be after the 
 pattern of her hostess. 
 
 " Not that I am aware of," answered the lady, calmly — and 
 always from a sublime height above her interlocutor — a pedestal 
 of superiority. " My objection to the Crystal Palace is that ii 
 is vulgar." 
 
 " But every lady goes to the Crystal Palace," put in Mrs. 
 Binks, with an air of remonstrance. 
 
 " That is why I do not go," answered the lady in black. 
 
 "And you are quite right, madam," said Dalton. " Keep on 
 not going — say for the next ten years — and you'll be the only 
 woman in England who has not been there. Then you will be- 
 come unique, and really valuable to your relatives." 
 
 " Valuable to my relatives ! " The htjarse-horse absolutely 
 appeared to rear, in her astonishment. 
 
 " Well, yes; supposing you didn't mind being exhibited, and 
 
 money was an object to them What is that you are saying, 
 
 Sir Richard, about money ? Is it tight or loose ju»t now f " 
 
 "Well, Mr. Dalton, it "is tight, very tight," 
 
THE WORM TURNS. 221 
 
 The rest of the company were appalled ; the idea of inter- 
 rupting the flow of the bai'onet's stertorous eloquence, who wa? 
 ^ust describing how a gentleman of his acquaintance had died 
 worth half a million stei'ling, and without a will, seemed to 
 them little less than blasphemous ; but the banker knew Dalton 
 by reputation very well, and he dared not answer him as he 
 would have wished. 
 
 " I hope you don't find it tight, Sir Richard ? " 
 
 " I ? No, sir," answered the other, with irresistible fury at 
 such a supposition. " The general public are selling out ; but I 
 am not the general public ; " and he blew like a grampus. 
 
 " Thank heaven for that ! " said Dalton. " It is a satisfaction, 
 I mean, to reflect," added he, demurely, " that in these specula- 
 tive times we have one or two houses at least that can be de- 
 pended upon, such as yours." 
 
 " You are very obliging," said Sir Richard, icily. 
 
 " Water ! " repeated her ladyship, in the same imperative tones 
 as before, pushing her glass towards Dalton. Again he filled 
 her tumbler, and again she gave no sign of consciousness of his 
 existence. 
 
 " She will have it, will she ? " muttered Dalton, between hia 
 teeth. " Then she shall." 
 
 " Don't you mind her," whispered Mrs. Binks, consolingly. 
 " I can see that you are annoyed, but I do assure you it is only 
 her way. She has heard of your misfortune, and she cannot 
 help showing her sense of the superiority of her position. She 
 is really immensely rich, and we must make allowances." 
 
 " If it is owing to the gin, we must excuse it altogether," said 
 Dalton; " i?he police magistrates always deal leniently with 
 similar cases." He took no pains to lower his voice ; and though 
 Lady Beevor did not catch every word of this reply, she cer- 
 tainly caught the word " gin," for her face, which was rather 
 gorgeously decorated with " beauty-spots " and other superficial 
 ornaments of the same kind, became suddenly one universal red. 
 The fatal monosyllable seemed to echo all round the table ; 
 everyone stared at one another with a wild surprise at the intro- 
 duction of a topic known to be so distasteful to Sir Richard and 
 his lady. She had escaped from gin to be the wife of a banker 
 and a baronet ; and any reference to the trade by which she had 
 obtained her wealth was hateful to her, and tabooed by all her 
 friends. 
 
 The " sensation " was so excessive as to put a stop to all cal- 
 culation — for that was what the conversation had consisted iu. 
 
222 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 "Silence" may be "golden" in a general waj, but at Mr. 
 Dawkius' table sileucj must have been something else, for 
 speech was golden, since it solely concerned itself with gold. 
 Scarcely anyone opened his mouth from that time till long after 
 the dessert was placed upon the table, except to put something 
 into it. Then Lady Beevor turned round to Dalton, and looking 
 him sti'aight in the face, opened lier mouth — to yawn. Genuine 
 female leaders of society, patrons of the Almack's of old days, 
 Dalton knew to have been very rude, even ofiensively rude ; but 
 this woman's conduct was utterly unparalleled in his experience. 
 
 Se looked at her with a sweet smile — while she yawned again 
 — and leaning towards her, confidentially remarked, in a tone of 
 sympathy that could be heard all round the table : "I, too, madam, 
 have a large tooth at the back of my head, stopped with gold." 
 
 If the magnificent but utterly misplaced candelabra which 
 hung from the dining-room ceiling, and filled the room with 
 glare and heat, had fallen plump upon the flowers and fruits, 
 the sensation could hardly have been greater. The ladies rose 
 and left the room in a disorderly manner ; the men remained 
 staring at Dalton with resentful alarm, much as a flock of sheep 
 face a strange dog. As for him, he passed the claret, and pro- 
 ceeded to skin a peach during a silence that would have been 
 profound but for Sir Richard's stertorous breathing. Mr. 
 Dawkins afterwards said that during that terrible pause — 
 finding it a relief, and almost a necessity to resort to speculation 
 — he laid five to two in his own mind upon the double event of 
 the banker having a fit and his widow marrying again. It was 
 at least five minutes before conversation Avas resumed, when 
 Dalton ' finished his peach and rose from the table. He had 
 shown himself ready to answer for his conduct, but he had no 
 intention of presenting himself, aftex: it, in the drawing-room. 
 Davykins followed him into the hall. 
 
 " Upon my life," he said, " I think you were deuced rude to 
 Lady Beevor." 
 
 ''^My good sir, I only wished her to understand that I was not 
 Bo'utterly penniless as she imagined ; that I had a bit of gold in 
 ray possession still, and in the same place Avhere she had ono 
 herself. I could not be so dull as your friends, but I endeavoured 
 to be as vvilgar, and I flatter myself I succeeded." 
 
 And Avith that he lit a cigar and marched out of the house. 
 
 This shocking afiair supplied a subject of conversation in 
 capitalist cii'cles for some months, almost to the exclusion of the 
 usual Pactolus stream of talk. 
 
LAST DA VS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 LAST DAYS. 
 
 As soon as Dalfeon's indiguation had evaporated, whlcli ifc did 
 before lie had smoked out his cigar, he felt for the first time in 
 his life thoroughly ashamed of himself. Whatever might have 
 been the aggravation, there had been no excuse for his having 
 acted in a way unbecoming a gentleman ; and, worst of all, for 
 his insulting :t woman. As for what Dawkins and Company 
 might think of his conduct, that did not concern him. When a 
 man is "lynched" he very often deserves it; but those who 
 have put that i*ough mode of justice into effect may regret the 
 circumstance on their own account, nevertheless. At the very 
 least, people would say, and with truth, that he had " forgotten 
 himself," that he had allowed his misfortunes, and the slights — 
 real and imaginary — that had been put upon him to irritate him 
 beyond the bounds of decency aud good manners. 
 
 Even this reflection, humiliating and bitter as it was, was 
 more welcome than the thoughts which agitated him when hig 
 long walk was over — for he would not go to the expense of a 
 cab — and drew near his own house. In a day or two it would 
 pass out of his possession altogether, and even now was em^jtied 
 of all those whose presence had made it dear to him. Thanks to 
 him, they would never be sheltered by its roof again, or perhaps 
 by any other that could be called " home." He felt a repug- 
 nance to cross the threshold, and di'ew out a second cigar, with 
 the intention of passing another half-hour out of doors under its 
 solace ; he had always been a smoker, but had never known the 
 virtues of the wondrous weed as he knew them now. Then he 
 reflected that cigars were dear, and that when his stock of them 
 was exhausted, he must buy no more. So he put up his case, 
 and went indoors Avith a heavy sigh. It is the smaller stings of 
 Poverty, because they are incessant, and — like the toothache — 
 will not pennit you to forget them for an instant, that render it 
 c;o intolerable. 
 
 Having nothing else to do in town, and finding others at that 
 season little occupied, he had contrived to get through most of 
 his business on the previous day ; but he had once more to see 
 thn auctioneer, to make arrangements not only for the sale which 
 M/. Campden had promised to come up and superintend for him, 
 but for the reservation of various articles of furniture. Not a 
 
324 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 woi-d had Edith said about saving anythiug from tho hammer; 
 but Dalton did his best to recall to mind what objects had been 
 especially dear to her and the children. It was a paiufu^l, almost 
 a heartrending task to enter her boudoir, and the bedrooms of 
 his girls, each fitted up after her own taste and fancy, and to 
 feel that what they had set such store by was to pass into the 
 hands of strangers. Their books and knickknacks he did indeed 
 reserve, and the smaller of the two pianos, which he rightly 
 judged would be prized indeed at Sanbeck ; but when all was 
 done in the way of salvage, it was little indeed by contrast to 
 tbe general wreck. Then, to complete his wretchedness, he had 
 to dismiss the servants, which he did individually with a kind 
 word and a liberal douceur to each. They had not far to go for 
 places, for Mrs. Dalton Mas known to be an excellent mistress, 
 whose recommendation carried weight ; but some of them seemed 
 as sorry as though they had been ruined like himself. " Such a 
 many years as I have been with you, sir," faltered one old fellow, 
 " and now to part like this ! I shall never get such another 
 master," he added naively, " and far less such a missus." 
 
 " You are right tliere^ my man," groaned Dalton ; "you never 
 will." 
 
 " Might I not stop ? " said another (it was the young ladies' 
 maid), when he had explained to her in a few words the neces- 
 sity for parting with her. " I would be glad to serve the young 
 ladies, sir, for nothing, I'm sure. Why, poor Miss Jenny, how 
 will she ever get on without me — that is, for a permanency ? 
 Though I don't deny but as Lucy can look after her for a week 
 or two." 
 
 It had been decided that Lucy was the only one of the do- 
 mestics who, in justice to themselves, could be retained. Old 
 Jonathan Landell had left a housekeeper behind him, who, with 
 •A village serving girl, would be all that the family would require 
 in their new and humble home. But the " saying no " — always 
 a difficult task to John Dalton— had never been so painful to 
 him as on the present occasion, notwithstanding that he after- 
 wards humourously compared it with Napoleon parting with his 
 Guards at Fontainebleau. 
 
 Proud, tender-hearted, and remorseful, what he suffered 
 during those last days in town was such as to have almost 
 moved Lady Beevor herself — had she but known it — to pity and 
 forgiveness. 
 
 "VVheu he had taken his passage — second class — at the London 
 agent's, by the FlaviborotujU Head, for Rio, and written to hia 
 
LAS7 DAYS. 225 
 
 Edith, as she had requested, to tell her that he had done so, hig 
 cup of bitterness Avas full indeed. 
 
 His arrangements with his lawyer were not after all com- 
 pleted quite so soon — for when does that ever happen ? — as had 
 been promised ; but on the fourth day, by the last train, he 
 contrived to get back to Riverside. It was a wretched /light, 
 wild with wind and rain ; and his surprise and distress were 
 great at finding Edith in the closed carriage that met him at 
 the station. 
 
 "HoAV could you come out, my darling, on such a night as this?'' 
 
 " How could I stay within doors ? " was the fond reply, " and 
 wait an hour, when so few are left to mo, that could be spent 
 with you ! " 
 
 What a treasure of love was this that he was leaving, perhaps 
 for ever ! What unfathomable depths of unselfish devotion ! 
 What agonies, what fears, would his absence beget in her ! Ho 
 almost wished that he did not love her so, or that she were not 
 so worthy of his love. 
 
 I sit me down, and think of all thy winning ways, 
 says the poet, over the sick child that he fears he is about to- 
 lose — 
 
 Yet almost wiiJi, with sudden shrink, that I had less to praise. 
 And thus it was with Dalton. 
 
 It is one of the horrors of parting with those we love, thai- 
 even the space of time that is still left to us before we separate, 
 cannot all be passed in communion one with another, but is 
 trenched upon by retrospection and misgiving; fond remem- 
 brances of the past, vague forebodings as to the future. Even 
 when she was nestling in her husband's arms, the agonising' 
 thought, " In ten — in five — in two days, he will be gone from 
 me," would force its way into Edith's mind, and turn her very 
 love into despair. Dalton felt this scarcely less ; so did the' 
 girls, and even Tony, who was a very aifectionate child, albeit,- 
 being a child, separation, while it was only in prospect, was not 
 so palpable to him — and therefore all did their best to act, and' 
 not to think. The Nook was now vacant, and ready for their' 
 reception ; and a hundred little plans were made and carried' 
 out for making it " nice and comfoi'table for dear mamma." As 
 for Edith herself, she cared nothing about the matter — how 
 should she, whose thoughts were fixed on one beloved object, 
 each day, as it seemed, receding from her gaze ! — but seeing 
 that her hasband and children took so lively an interest in it,- 
 
 Q 
 
226 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 she aS'ecU d to do the like, and. was at least genuinely grateia 
 to tliem. 
 
 The day the iDiano, and. the best-loved little pictures, and tl - 
 favoui-ite knickknacks and. books (which included all Tony's 
 juvenile library), came down from town, was made quite a gala- 
 day by the poor Daltons ; it was " so thoughtful " of dear papa, 
 and " so like him," to have remembered everybody's likings. 
 Only Edith was afraid that allought to have been sold, and that 
 they Avere extravagant in keeping so many pretty things fo:' 
 themselves. But there was no question of the improvement 
 that these articles — quite apart from the sentiment that hung 
 about them like a perfume — made in the old-fashioned rooms of 
 the farmhouse. 
 
 The only thing it had possessed in the way of ornament were 
 a couple of ancient oak-chests, one in the parlour, and one in 
 the kitchen, very beautifully carved, and which only required a 
 little polish to have made them the envy of Mayfair, which was 
 just then as much given up to those " dear delightful carved- 
 oak things," as it afterwards became to that " too exquisite old 
 china." Jenny found at once in them the most original pat- 
 terns for her lace-work, and professed to be better satisfied with 
 the house generally, and all that it contained, than anybody ; 
 but it is doubtful whether in the first instance this approval 
 was not assumed, to do away with any idea that might have 
 been entertained of the IN'ook not being suitable for an invalid. 
 She soon came, however, to entertain a hona fide love for the 
 place ; the literary treasures which it contained being very 
 numerous, and quite novel" to her. These, however, could 
 scarcely be counted as ornaments, being for the most part heavy 
 old-fashioned tomes, all of them time-worn, and many of them 
 moth-eaten. By the side of the smart Tennysons and trim 
 Brownings, sent from Cardigan Place, they hardly seemed to 
 be books at all ; just as the aged and the ragged who peer 
 through the gates of Hyde Park upon the gloi'ies of " the Bow" 
 in spring-time, half doubtful (and with reason) whether they 
 shall be admitted to a nearer view of them, scai'cely appear of 
 the same race as the gallant cavaliers and haughty ladies who 
 are taking their pleasure therein. The time came when Jenny 
 was astonished to find how much poetry, wisdom, and good 
 ^eni.e were to be found in these homely volumes, and fought 
 greedily with the moth and worm for their contents ; but for the 
 present she confined herself of necessity to praise of the ester 
 iiab of their new abode. 
 
LAST DA K?. i2^ 
 
 "We shall aR bo so liappy here — at least, as tappj as we can 
 bo while yoTi are away — and so q^uint and cosu, dear papa," she 
 said, " that I am sure "we shall have nothing to wish for, except 
 to get yon back again." 
 
 Of all the unhappy family, indeed, each of whom played hia 
 part 60 bravely in the cruel calamity that had overtaken themj 
 there was none more courageous, more confident, or more hope- 
 ful than she who was the chief cause of their anxiety. Her 
 general behaviour was such as to draw encomium even from 
 Mr. Marks, the butler, who expressed his opinion in the servants' 
 hall, amid marks of adhesion, that Miss Jenny was a rare good 
 plucked 'un." 
 
 It was Edith's hope that, before her husband's departure, they 
 might have taken up their abode at the !Nook, and bidden good- 
 bye to him from what was in future to take the place of home ; 
 but quickly as matters were pushed on with this intent, the 
 thing was found impracticable ; and when the dark day of his 
 departure came round, they were all still staying at Riverside. 
 The day before, they had driven over to Sanbeck — as, indeed, 
 they had done every day — and taken a sort of farewell of him 
 *,here. The sense that when they next went thither, he would 
 not be with them ; that the little family would have lost — for it 
 seemed little less than loss — its beloved head, was heavy upon 
 them all ; but they bore up for each other's sake. 
 
 At Dalton's wish, they walked about the village, in order that 
 he might make himself well acquainted with it, to enable him 
 to picture them there at their ordinary avocations : his wife 
 among the poor folks — though now, alas ! she could befriend 
 them little, for she was almost as poor as they ; Kitty on the 
 hill-side sketching, with Jenny with a book beside her ; and 
 Tony fishing in the irout-stream. The summer was coming to 
 an end, but it was pleasant to have these pictures with its warmth 
 and glow still on them. Upon the bridge, which commanded a 
 lovely home prospect, Dalton and his wife stopped a little behind 
 the rest. 
 
 " Well, my darling, I shall at least leave you in a beautiful 
 spot." 
 
 "Yes, dearest," she answered, with a fond pressure of her 
 hand upon his arm, doubtless intended to imply content. For 
 her part, she hated the place, so far as her nature could harbour 
 hate of anything, for was it not already dulled and darkened by 
 the shadow of separation, and would it not be associated ever 
 with that supreme misfortune ? The humblest alley in London, 
 
^28 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 with her husband left to her, would have been to her a paradise 
 by comparison with it. 
 
 " And we shall meet again — never fear," whispered he, with 
 a tremulousness that went far to belie his words. 
 
 "I do not doubt it, darling," was her firm reply. Her ejfo 
 had wandered to the village churchyard, a serene and sunny 
 spot, with a few nameless graves in it, among which some sheep 
 "were feeding. She did not doubt it ; but that meeting she felt 
 would never take place on earth. She would be taken iliere 
 first, and la.id rn her grave ; and afterwards, in God's good time, 
 they would meet again in heaven. But he was comforted by 
 the calmness of her tone, not only then, but in many weary 
 months to come, wherein, thanks to it, he pictured to himself 
 another sort of meeting. 
 
 When they were all together that night in "mamma's " room, 
 he made for the first time a statement of his affairs, explain- 
 ing what was left of the wreck of his fortunes for these dear 
 ones to live upon. It was a miserable yearly pittance; but he 
 had taken care to provide a hundred pounds or so to meet 
 present needs, and to defray those extra expenses which it was 
 almost impossible that they, who were so unused to close econo- 
 mies, should at first avoid incui'ring. Edith listened with 
 obedient ear, but, her mind fixed on the morrow's loss, took 
 in but little of what was said. Kitty, too, was overcome by 
 her sorrow ; but Jenny laid every word to heart. They had 
 expected her to be the weakest of them all, but she had 
 resolved to show herself strong and hopeful ; instead of an 
 embarrassment, she would be a prop to their fallen fortunes — 
 nay, even, Grod willing, a mainstay. Dalton had a word of 
 advice for each, which, coming from him, who was so unused 
 to give it, was as touching as his very farewell. They had all — 
 thanks, as he said, to their mother's teaching — been good chil- 
 dren, the best, indeed, he was well convinced, that ever father 
 had, and he had no fears for any of them. The characters 
 of the two girls were already developed ; but little Tony was 
 so young. 
 
 " There is your pattern, my boy," he said, pointing to Edith ; 
 " imitate her, obey her, cleave to her. If I should never come 
 back to you, you must be her defender, her guardian, her bread- 
 winner; and may you fulfil your trust, lad, better than I." 
 
 Poor Tony who understood little of this, was bathed in tears, 
 and clung passionately to his mother. 
 
 " I would rather fetay with mamma than even go to Hilton," h© 
 
FAREWELLS. 229 
 
 said ; which, under the circumstances, was as strong an assevera- 
 tion as could be made. 
 
 " Yoa will have them all about you, Edith ; that is mj com- 
 fort," said Dalton, earnestly. 
 
 " But you — you will be alone, my darling," answered she. It. 
 was for him she was thinking, weeping, praying, all along. 
 
 The true parting of the little family from its head took place 
 that night, for Edith could not trust herself to come downstairs 
 next day till he was gone. He left her in her room, half-dead, 
 but murmuring to the last that she was hopeful, happy, confident 
 of his return — lies that were holier than any truths. She knew 
 that she was strengthening him by those last words ; and if they 
 had been her own last breath, she would have "eked his living 
 oia *' with it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 FAREWELLS. 
 
 •riiERE wei-e other partings that would have wrung Dalton's 
 heart, had it not been already wrung out to the very core. 
 
 Jeff, with his large black eyes filled with unaccustomed tears, 
 had a word with him in private. 
 
 " God bless you, Mr. Dalton," faltered he ; "you have always 
 been a good friend to me, and I am very, very sorry " 
 
 " Never mind, my lad ; all will come right with us, no doubt," 
 interrupted Dalton, cheerfully. " You must not give way like 
 that, but help to keep up their spirits, now I have left them. 
 My wife and the girls — and of course Tony— will be looking to 
 yon for that, you know," 
 
 " Yes, yes, that is what I wished to say ; for though, as I said, 
 you have been always good to me, Mrs, Dalton — she — I would 
 lay down my life for Mrs. Dalton ! " cried the lad, with energy ; 
 "and Kitty — I love Kitty, sir." 
 
 " And Jenny too, I hope, my lad," said Dalton, He under- 
 stood what the boy meant well enough, but his time was too 
 short, his mind too full, to argue with him upon such a hopeless 
 passion, which at Jeff's age, moreover, could hardly be held a 
 serious thing, 
 
 "Yes, sir, and Jenny, too, but not as I love Kitty," continued 
 the other, with great earnestness. " I should like you to know 
 that before you go." 
 
 ** W*^'^!, yon shall talk to me abouti that, Jeff, v^-'hen T cpme bacl? 
 
230 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 again," returned Dalton, kindly. " There is plenty of time 
 before you as to that matter, and very little left for mo just now. 
 You'll keep an eye on little Tony, won't you ? " 
 
 " I will keep my eye on all of them, and do my very best for 
 them, Mr. Dalton ; so help me God ! " 
 
 There was a manliness about the handsome lad, as he drew 
 himself up, as with the consciousness of the responsibility he had 
 thus solemnly undertaken, that impressed itself upon Dalton for 
 the first time. He had always regarded Jeft: as a mere lad, and 
 almost in the same category as Tony himself. Now he held out 
 his hand for the other to shake, as a man holds it to his equal in 
 age and standing. Jeff took it, and, to his infinite surprise, 
 carried it to his lips ; then suddenly left the room — just as Holt 
 entered it. 
 
 " I wanted to have thi-ee words with you alone, Dalton." 
 
 " Very good, my good sir. I am quite at your service." 
 
 Dalton had been unmanned for the instant at Jeff's unexpected 
 manifestation of supreme regard ; but at the sight of the new- 
 comer he had become firm as a rock, and, truth to say, as hard. 
 His dislike to Holt — though it would have been hard to say why, 
 for the man's manner had been singularly free from offence of 
 late, and indeed, of signification of any kind — had grown within 
 the last few days to positive hatred. He especially resented that 
 he had been asked to stay on at Riverside, and was not about to 
 leave it, apparently, even now. 
 
 " Thei'e is a certain subject, Dalton, which has been tacitly 
 tabooed to both of us of late, but to which I wish to revert once 
 again before you go." 
 
 Dalton uttered a little sigh of relief. At the man's first words 
 he had grown pale and grim, apprehensive that this tabooed 
 subject might be his daughter Kate ; but as she had never been 
 epoken of between them, it was plain that Holt could not be re- 
 ferring to her. 
 
 " Say what you like to me, my good sir," said Dalton, 
 carelessly, " since it is not likely you will have another chance 
 lor some time to come." 
 
 " That is the veiy pfrint I wish you to re-consider," observed 
 Holt, gravely. 
 
 "What point?" 
 
 "As to your going to Brazil. 1 knew your mind was .set 
 upon it, and have therefore forborne to dissuade you from what 
 I will stake my existence will be a profitless and disappointing 
 errand, But really, after what I have seen (ifti'ii^g the last few 
 
FAREWELLS. 231 
 
 days — or rather have felt without perceiving — (for they all bear 
 themselves like heroines) of the distress and anguish your de- 
 parture is causing to your family, I am compelled to make one 
 more effort to move you from your purpose. If you had really 
 any definite aim, if there was any positive good to be derived 
 fi'om such an expedition, I would be the last to deter you ; 
 indeed, as you remember, I advised your going abroad — though 
 it is true I did not then understand how deeply it would be 
 taken to heart by those belonging to you. But now, when I 
 see you actually starting upon this wild-goose chase, throwing 
 the good money you have lost after bad, and your wife and 
 children " 
 
 "Look here, Holt," interrupted Dalton, fiercely; " my wife 
 and children are my wife and children. I have little left to me, 
 but they at least are mine. Be so good as to let me and mine 
 alone." 
 
 "You are very unjust and very liarsh to me, Dalton," 
 answered the other, in quiet, almost pleading tones. "Any 
 man may surely be permitted to express sorrow not only for his 
 friend, but for his friend's belongings." 
 
 " No doubt ; but you were seeking to make them the pretext 
 of an argument. As to my going to St. Jose, have you any- 
 new reasons to urge why I should, not do so, except your own 
 conviction of its futility." 
 
 "Well, even that is stronger than yours is to the contrary; 
 but I have, as it happens, new reasons — a thousand of them. I 
 have had a telegram this very morning which, authorises me toi 
 buy up your shares in the Xa>u for a thousand pounds, I think 
 the man is mad, but he means what he says ; and I shall think 
 you twice as mad as he if you decline his offer. It frees you at 
 once from all these distressing responsibilities — for that he 
 specially undertakes to do — and puts a thousand pounds in 
 your pocket to begin life anew with. With your talents and 
 with my experience, what may we not gain with it ? Or even 
 if you forswear ' the City,' a thousand pounds is a sum to rest 
 upon, and look about you " 
 
 " One moment, Holt, Who offers to buy these shares ? " 
 Keen, darting suspicion was in the speaker's eye, and his tone 
 had a harsh, sharp ring as he put this inquiry. 
 
 " Let us Bee," said Holt, coolly drawing out the yellow missive 
 from his pocLet; " the people here were not on the look-out— 
 that always happens with your private wires — so it was sent 
 over from the station. Brwd telegrjiphs ; Mavor will tahe D.'« 
 
i32 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 sliorr-^^ and qive one ilmiif^and lyownls. Yoii know Mavnr — a very 
 speculative fellow indeed." 
 
 " Yes ; but, from what I remember of him, nob a likely man 
 'to have a thousand jjounds at his banker's, far less to be respou- 
 .«ible for " 
 
 " Nay; so far, that is my affair," broke in the other, eagerlj". 
 " I should not advise you to accept the offer, if I did not 
 guarantee its being genuine. Mavor is as good as the bank- 
 that is my opinion ; but at all events I will go bail for Mavor. 
 Now, think of it, Dalton. Here is a reprieve, if not a pardon, 
 come for you. Upon my life, it is scarcely less ! Think of the 
 joy that will overspread the faces of your wife and children, 
 when they hear your intention of taking this mad journey has 
 been abandoned. Think of this day of sorrow " 
 
 "No; I will not think of it," broke in Dalton, fiercely. 
 *' This offer may be all on the square, or it may not " 
 
 "Dalton!" 
 
 " I was not speaking of you, Holt ; or if I was, you must 
 forgive me — I hardly know what I say. You may have made 
 this proposal out of pure friendship and my own good ; if so, I 
 thank you for it from the bottom of my heart. But I shall 
 stick to the Lara. If it is worth Mavor's Avhile, it is worth 
 my while ; so don't let us waste breath upon the matter." 
 
 Nevertheless, Dalton's determination had cost him a tex'rible 
 struggle. He knew far better than Holt could tell him, the 
 happiness that he would have conferred upon his dear ones by 
 a change in his resolve to leave them, even without the gilding 
 of those thousand pounds. The thought of the weary, lonely 
 journey before him, was hateful to him in eveiy way. But that 
 anonymous advice, which he had just now — almost uncon- 
 sciously — repeated — " Stick to the Lara " — combined with this 
 new and more favourable offer to purchase his intei-est in it, 
 made his suspicions stronger than ever, that some underhand 
 agency — he knew notwhat nor where — was at work in connection 
 "with the Brazil mine, which was only to be detected by personal 
 investigation. These misgivings, hoAvever, were certainly of the 
 raguest kind, nor had he a shadow of reason for supposing Holt 
 to be implicated in the matter. The man's behaviour under 
 the circumsta?ices had really been generous ; and his own rejec- 
 tion of his help had been cold and thankless, if not absolutely 
 offensive. Yet Holt showed no sign of irritation ; when he sa\v 
 all ai'gument was vain, he only observed simply : " A wilfu] 
 wan will have his way." 
 
FAREIVELLS. 233 
 
 ' Perhaps lie is roallj sorry for me," tlio^ight DaltoD, re- 
 morsefully ; and he shook hands with, his quondam friend, and 
 almost partner, with a heartiness of which he had not thought 
 himself capable in respect to him. 
 
 '• You have entrusted me with no good offices in your absence, 
 Dalton ; but I hope to be of use to you, nevertheless," said the 
 other, gently. If he had offered, as usual, to be '* useful to him 
 and his," Dalton would perhaps have resented it, as he had done 
 l)efore ; but as it was, he thanked him Avith some warmth. 
 "Still, you give me nothing to do for you," urged Holt with 
 unexpected persistence. " If you should want money " 
 
 " I have made arrangements for that," interrupted Dalton, 
 hastily. "My old friend Campden has kindly offered to be my 
 banker ; and here he is." 
 
 As he entered, Holt withdrew from the library, in which 
 Dalton was holding a sort of farewell levee. 
 
 " I don't know what to make of that man, George," observed 
 he, as the book-door closed behind his previous visitor. " Som.e- 
 times I think him little better than a scoundrel ; sometimes I 
 credit him with good intentions." 
 
 " My wife has rather cottoned to the fellow of late," replied 
 Mr. Campden, "and owns she used to judge him harshly. Now, 
 for her to confess she has been in the wrong, is rather — ■ — " 
 
 "A portent," answered Dalton, smiling. " Well, it shows at 
 all events there is something in the fellow. I really don't know 
 whether it is good or bad. He was just now offering to lend 
 me money ; but I told him that, while I was away, you had 
 kindly given me permission to draw on you." 
 
 "Well, yes, my dear fellow," hesitated Mr. Campden, "I 
 believe I did." His honest face had become crimson ; he hitched 
 at his neckcloth, and pulled at his shirt-cuffs — " shooting his 
 linen" is the technical phrase for that form of nervousness — in 
 evidently dire distress of mind. " But the fact is, one doesn't 
 much like being drawn upon." 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, Campden ? " answered the 
 other, growing veiy wiiite. 
 
 " Well, of course you are welcome to the money, my dear 
 fellow — any amount of it that I can get at. Here's a couple of 
 
 hundreds in fivers, which Well, that's the only way I can 
 
 /lo it, John ; and that's the long and short of it." And Mr. 
 Campden took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, 
 Wluch Avas bedewed with a cold perspiration. 
 
 " I sec," said DaUon, coldly; " your wife will not let you.'' 
 
$34 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " That's if, my good friend," answered the other, with a gnsh 
 of tlianl; fulness that the worst had now been said. " She doesn't, 
 like my being drawn upon : bills and so on always frighten her, 
 because she doesn't understand them. And she has made me 
 promise that, not even in your case — don't you see ? It is very 
 foolish of her, of course ; but then they all arp such fools — that 
 is, all except your wife. /S7/e would trust a fellow to any extent." 
 
 Dalton groaned, for had she not trusted li'im., and to her cost ? 
 His friend, however, mistook the cause of his dejection. 
 
 "I know it must seem deuced hard. The idea of my not 
 giving you power to draw on me is simply ridiculous ; and scurvy 
 too — at least it would have been if I had objected to it myself. 
 I am quite ashamed to go back from my word in this way. But 
 some wives make such a row — yours never does, bless her — that 
 one is obliged to give way. But you understand you can have 
 the money." 
 
 " I quite understand, Campden ; but I don't want the money, 
 thank you." 
 
 Dalton was both hurt and indignant. He knew it was very 
 natural that his henpecked friend should have given in to his 
 wife's importunity and virulence against him (Dalton) ; but he 
 was irritated that Mrs. Campden should know that he had 
 accepted her husband's offer as to the bill-drawing, or that any 
 such offer had been made. What right had any man to do a 
 kindness and then go and boast of it — or excuse himself for it, 
 it was all one — to his wife ? At such a moment it was, perhaps, 
 natural in him to exaggerate the importance of his own affairs ; 
 to consider that, under the circumstances, no matter what Avas 
 his friend's domestic thraldom, that little favour — or rather the 
 promise of it, if any necessity should arise — might have been 
 kept private between them. 
 
 "Now, don't let us part like this, Dalton ! " cried the othei- 
 earnestly. "It is only the form, and not the thing, that is 
 changed ; and you know Jam not changed." 
 
 '' A man and his wife are one," answered Dalton ; " very much 
 one, it seems, in this case, since you think it necessary to tell 
 hei* every trumpery thing " 
 
 "My good fellow, to tell yon the honest truth, I could not 
 have got the money without it," interrupted Campden, despe- 
 rately. " You don't know — yon can't understand : she is a very- 
 good woman in her way, is Julia, and I know you won't say 
 anything against her," answered he, hurriedly; " but soraetiraea 
 jihe will take the bit between her teeth." 
 
FAREWELLS. 235 
 
 •■' And then she runs away — with all your money, does she ?" 
 paid Dalton, unable to repress a smile. He was still angry, 
 but only against this woman ; for his friend he now felt simply 
 pity mingled largely with contempt. We rarely make allowance 
 for other people's "weaknesses, although we have such excellent 
 excuses for our own. 
 
 " Well, I must confess she keeps me rather short," snid 
 Campden, ruefully. 
 
 " Come to Brazil with me ! " cried Dalton. It was a sneer 
 equal to a folio of disdain, and the next moment he was sorry 
 for it. 
 
 " No, old fellow, I can't do that," returned his friend, good- 
 naturedly. " We have all to put up with something, and I 
 know many better men in far worse case than I — you, yourself, 
 for instance." 
 
 " I seem to myself to be the worst-used man in the world," 
 answered Dalton, frankly. " Let that be my apology if I have 
 sjioken harshly. Good-bye, old friend." 
 
 " Good-bye, John." 
 
 And although a something had been interposed that day 
 between their friendship, which was never removed, they shook 
 hands with genuine feeling. 
 
 Mrs. Campden and Mary came in to bid their guest farewell 
 together. The former averred to her husband that she " could 
 not trust herself " to wish that man good-bye, alone, without 
 giving him a piece of her mind as to his past conduct (that is, 
 in ruining his family), as well as some warning as to the future ; 
 but, as a matter of fact, she was afraid of Dalton. If she had 
 known what her " George" had just been confessing, she would 
 have been much more afraid. However, Dalton's manner 
 towards his hostess was studiously polite, and Mary's presence 
 saved them from any possible embarrassment. He was a. 
 genuine favouinte with the young lady, and she was very "gush- 
 ing " upon his departure, and about the care she meant to take 
 of his dear girls when he was gone. 
 
 "We shall be quite near neighbours to them, remember, Mr. 
 Dalton," remarked her mother, as though he were likely to 
 forget the Nook's locality. She was very nervous, and said 
 little beyond that, except her parting speech, which was com- 
 monplace enough, and yet, under the circumstances, not ^ 
 little peculiar. 
 
 " Well, g^oofi-bye, Mr. Dalton, and I hope you'll enjoy your- 
 eelf," As though, \u place of a voyage to Brazil, he wpre going 
 
236 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 to " spend a Iiappy day" at Roslierville Grardegis, as Dalton 
 described it afterwards. 
 
 Bat the truth is that, difficult as it is to find fit words to say 
 to a man we dislike, when we meet him, it is much more difficult 
 to do the like when we part from him, and especially if the 
 occasion is a sentimental one. 
 
 We need not describe the leave-taking between Dal ton and 
 his own belongings, indeed there was little said on either side ; 
 for their hearts were too full for speech. To Edith, as we have 
 mentioned, he had already bidden good-bye ; but now, finding, 
 though the carriage was at the door, that he had still a few 
 minutes to spare, a longing seized him to see her once again. 
 He rushed upstairs, and hastily entered the room ; but she heard 
 h.im not. She was kneeling down by the bedside with her back 
 towards him, and her face shut within her hands. 
 
 "Protect him, and bring him back to my dear ones," he 
 heard her praying in earnest, passionate tones. Deeply moved, 
 he hesitated a moment, and then softly withdrew\ He Avould 
 not interrupt that rapt communion between his wife and her 
 God. Why had she said " to my dear ones," and not "to me ?" 
 he wondered ; but presently set it down to her freedom fi'om 
 the thought of " self," which might not intrude even in her 
 prayers. For once he did her more than justice ; it was not 
 xmselfishness that had dictated Edith's words. She had had 
 Buch warnings in the way of physical weakness, that she had 
 given up all hopes of his return to lier ; she was not imploring 
 Heaven for a miracle ; but only that her children should not be 
 left in a world that no longer smiled upon them, without onf 
 parent. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MR. HOLT ASKS MAMMi, 
 
 Is it worse for ns who depart from this world and all we really 
 love (because from all of which we have any practical expe- 
 rience), or for those who love us and ai-e left P Surely — let us 
 reverently hope — infinitely worse for them. If not, woe indeed 
 . to n;an, and misleading as the fnarsh-fire ull the flame of faith, 
 the glow of aspiration. And Avhat (we hope) is true of a death- 
 bed parting, is certainly true of those foreshadowings of it, a 
 man's departure on long travel, or emigration across seas, or to 
 the wars. He has gone to his business, and will be more or less 
 taken up with and irnmersed in it ; while those at home who are 
 
MR. nOLT AS AS MAMMA. 237 
 
 dependent upou him, or on the result of his labours, have to face 
 the void that he has left by the fireside and at the board. New 
 scenes, new companions, distract and employ his mind; but 
 they pursue tlie same small round of life, and must needs miss 
 him from it. 
 
 As to Edith Dalton, there was not an hour of the day during 
 which the fact of lier husband's departure was not brought home 
 to her with a bitter pang, nor a single minute during which the 
 consciousness of it did not oppress her with a weight like lead. 
 Her only solace was found in her children, and she longed, 
 above all things, to find herself alone with them, under a roof 
 of their own, no matter how humble. Widowhood is respected 
 by all ; no friends, except the nearest, trespass on its privacy, 
 when bereavement is yet new and strange ; and was not she 
 bereaved, who knew so well that she should never see her lost 
 one more ? No one could fathom her wretchedness ; yet, despite 
 her utmost eflbrts to conceal it, even the shallowest could per- 
 ceive that she was wretched. There was something beyond 
 mere pathos in her looks and tone — though, indeed, she spoke 
 but little — that impressed itself on all who saw her ; and it was 
 from a sort of awe which she thus awakened, and not from mere 
 pity (as her hostess endeavoured to persuade herself), that Mrs. 
 Campden shrank from continuing that convei-sation with her 
 guest which had been cut short by Dr. Carzon's call. The topic 
 she had wished to introduce — her plan for raising the broken 
 fortmies of the Dalton family — she had indeed, as we have seen, 
 confided to Kitty, and in doing so (though it would have stag- 
 gered some pieople) she had experienced little embarrassment ; 
 but to speak of it notv with Edith was another matter. She 
 would at least try, in the first place, whether Mr. Holt could 
 not be made to speak with her for himself. He, of course, was 
 the proposed topic ; and a marriage between him and Kate the 
 plan that Mrs. Campden had hit upon to relieve her relatives 
 from their embarrasr.ment. There were many reasons to recom- 
 mend it to her. It was the shortest Avay, and it was the cheapest 
 way, since it would not only involve no outlay in itself, but 
 prevent the necessity of helping the family, whom it would in- 
 deed be an impertinence to assist, when they had acquired so 
 wealthy and near a connection as the prosperous stockbroker. 
 Besides these very natural arguments, I am afraid — for I regret 
 to have to hint at Buch a weakness in so eminently CJhristian a 
 lady — Mrs. Campden was rather pleased at the notion of the 
 ,once uuiyersally-admii'ed Kate's acceptance of this very second- 
 
53S FAL LEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 class liusband. Her design bad been unfolded pretiy quickly i '? 
 the object of ber good intentions, but not before it bad been guessed 
 l)y Jenny, wbo, upon the first opportunity, as bas been sbowu, 
 bad expressed ber strong disapprobation of it ; for upon the 
 nature of the " sacrifice," for which she had endeavoured to 
 show there was no necessity, there could scarcely be a doubt. 
 
 Moreover, Mr. Holt himself was perfectly aware of the scheme 
 laid by his hostess for his domestic happiness, and also for the 
 reasons that prompted it. He knew that he had not been asked to i 
 stay on at Riverside — for even yet, after the departure of the ] 
 friend who was his raison d'etre, the cause of his being there, he ' 
 was still pressed to do so — for nothing. The invitation had been 
 given by his hostess without a word of endorsement from her 
 husband ; that gentleman endured his presence Avith much 
 patience, but gave no sign of appreciating it ; but Mrs. Campden. 
 wbo bad been wont to treat him with such scant civility, was 
 now all smiles and courtesy. In public she paid him the most 
 marked attention ; in private she was even more familiar with 
 him, but it was a familiarity that bordered on contempt. She 
 thought he was shilly-shallying; that he had "let the grass 
 grow under his feet," in prosecuting his addresses to her young : 
 iriend, and had no scruples in letting him know it ; and this was , 
 done — such was the adroitness of the female conspirator — with- 
 out actually indicating the matter on hand. They used the same ! 
 delicacy that receivers of stolen goods are said to employ when i 
 speaking of their effects, while at the same time they went to the 
 point. They were talking together on the morning that suc- 
 ceeded Dalton's departure, and just after the carriage had been 
 ■dispatched with the three girls to the Nook, where they were ] 
 to employ themselves all day in getting matters ready as quickly 
 as possible. For once, Mrs. Dalton had "broken down," and 
 though it was understood that she would make her appearance 
 ■at luncheon, bad not quitted her room since her husband left it. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Holt, the young people have deserted us again, 
 yoix see ; you have not too many opportunities, I fear, of making 
 yourself agreeable. Yet I am sure I do all I can." 
 
 " You are most kind, indeed, Mrs. Campden. But you would 
 not have bad me volunteer to accompany the young ladies to 
 ■Sanbeck, when they declined the services of even ]\Ir. Derwent — 
 «, much older acquaintance ? " 
 
 " Ob, Geoffrey is of no consequence one way or the other," 
 answered Mrs. Campden, pettishly ; " though, no doubt, he 
 would be better out of the way. It might have been dangerous 
 
MK. HOLT ASA'S MAMMA. 339 
 
 fco volunteer; but then one must risk something'. They will Ijb 
 settled in their new home in a few days, remember, so that there 
 is very little time to spare, certainly lione to waste." 
 
 " Yes ; but I have known her such a very little time," re- 
 monstrated Mr. Holt, with heightened colour ; be had never 
 gone so far as to mention " her " before. 
 
 "True; but you must recollect that she is a very intelligent 
 girl, and will make every allowance for the circumstances. In- 
 deed, Mr. Holt, it is idle to blink the fact that the present con- 
 juncture of affairs is very much in your favour." 
 
 He knew all she meant, just as well as though she had said : 
 " This misfortune of our young friend is your opportunity ; 
 unless it had occurred, you would have had no more chance of 
 marrying this girl than of getting the moon ; " yet, outwardly at 
 least, he did not wince. His dead-cold eyes were here of advan- 
 tage to him, for they betrayed nothing. 
 
 " Why don't you ask her ? " continued Mrs. Campden, im- 
 patient at his silence. 
 
 •' She is so cast down and out of spirits just now," pleaded the 
 other. 
 
 " What ! because Mr. Dalton has gone to Brazil ? What 
 nonsense ! It is not as if the man were dead. On the contrary, 
 there is all the more reason why, having lost fortune and father, 
 she should welcome a cavalier." 
 
 But the assuring smile with which the lady spoke was by no 
 means reflected by her guest. 
 
 " My dear madam," said he, gravely, " I dare not, and that's 
 the truth. If her ansAver should be ' No ' — it seems foolish to 
 say so, no doubt — but if it was, and I fear it would be " 
 
 " It is foolish, Mr. Holt," broke in the other, with irritation : 
 " you are too difl&dent, too deprecatory of your own advantages. 
 She would be mad to refuse such an offer ; and if she did, it 
 would only be for a time. We should make some opportunity, 
 a few weeks hence, of getting you back at Riverside — trust to me 
 for that — and you would find her wiser by then. A i'ow weeks 
 at the IS'ook will tire her of cottage life, or I am much mis- 
 taken." 
 
 "Madam, I dare not do it," answei-ed Holt, earnestly; his 
 face fairly quivered with emotion, his forehead was damp, and 
 his voice hoarse and low. 
 
 If he had been courting her own Mary, and betrayed this 
 agitation, Mrs. Campden would have graciously accepted it, as 
 ihe homage to her daughter's charms, and still more to her 
 
24© FALLEN FORTUa'ES. 
 
 exalted position, to wliicli he miglit well feel il Wixs cjadness in 
 liim to aspire ; but in the present case she had no patience with 
 the man's folly. 
 
 " I do not see anything to be afraid of, myself," answered she, 
 contemptuously ; " you know the proverb, ' Faint heart never 
 won fair lady.' Still you may approach the matter by another 
 route. If you will not make your application direct, what do 
 you say to ' asking mamma ? ' " 
 
 " I would rather do that — much rather," was the unexpected 
 reply. 
 
 Mrs. Campden could not understand Low he could dare tlie 
 Cctnnon's mouth, and yet shrink from that of a drawing-room 
 rifle. She did not comprehend — perhaps she was incapable of 
 comprehending it — that Kate was to this man a divinity, to be 
 approached with fear and reverence, and in whose hand, as it 
 seemed to him, lay the issues of happiness and misery. How- 
 ever, she was well pleased to find that he would make his 
 attempt in any way; and it was decided that he should do so, 
 should an opportunity offer itself, that very afternoon, while the 
 young ladies were at Sanbeck. 
 
 It is fair to the hostess of Riverside to say that she did her 
 very best, when her guest and kinswoman came down to lun» 
 cheon that day, to simulate sympathy for her forlorn condition ; 
 the genuine article she did not possess, and therefore could not 
 offer it, but she showed her pity, with only a very slight alloy of 
 condescension. Where she did (though perhaps unconsciously) 
 exhibit her sense of her own superiority, and of the change 
 in their relations, was in her behaviour to Jeff. Hitherto, tbo 
 presence of Mrs. Dalton had always had a mitigating effect upon 
 his hostess' denunciation of his delinquencies, but why should 
 she spare him now, when that lady's opinion of her was so much 
 deteriorated in value ? He had done nothing especially wrong 
 that day, but she was especially angry Avith him, mainly on 
 account of his being at Riverside at all. Mr. Holt had dropped 
 an expression or two which had led her to imagine that he 
 looked upon the lad, if not actually as a rival, still as an obstacle 
 to the accomplishment of his design ; and though she had spoken 
 of him, as we have seen, contemptuously enough — " Geoffrey is 
 of no consequence one way or the other" — she secretly agreed 
 with Mr. Holt that there was danger in the boy. 
 
 On this occawion she seized the opportunity of the conver« 
 sation turning upon Dnlton's departure, to praise action and 
 decry in'loleuce. " Even if your hutband gains nothing else by 
 
MR. HOLT ASKS MAMMA. 241 
 
 bis expedition, Edith, lie will have the satisfaction of knowing 
 that he did his best : anything is better than eating the bread of 
 idleness or dependence ; " and she cast a look of sovereign dis- 
 pleasure upon Geoffrey Derwent, as she emphasised the last 
 tJiree words. 
 
 .Teff coloured to the roots of his curly hair, but answered 
 nothing, only stole a glance at Mr. Campden, -who movoi! 
 uncomfortably upon his seat. He knew that duty called on him 
 to defend the boy. He had told him scores of times, with his 
 own lips, that to his father's friendship he was deeply indebted 
 for his own fortunes, and that the lad need never feel any seui-.o 
 of obligation for any favours that he received from him and his ; 
 that Riverside was his home ; na}-, he had even hinted — and 
 most certainly had intended it so — that Jeff need not concern 
 himself about his future, for which he, Mr. Campden, would 
 take care to provide. 
 
 " My dear," said he, cutting a large slice of roast-beef with 
 unnecessary haste and vigour, " it is all very well to talk of 
 indolence ; but in these days the professions are all so full, and 
 fer that matter, the trades also, that a man can't always find 
 work to his hand." 
 
 " A man can always do something, Mr. Campden," replied his 
 wife, severely; "and my remark holds still more truly of a 
 boy." 
 
 " "Well, of course there is commerce, my dear : but I have 
 withdrawn from it so long that I have no longer any influence ; 
 and remember, to get a lad into a good house, a large premium 
 is required, even when he gets no salary." 
 
 Mr. Campden helped himself to walnut pickle with comp'.a- 
 cency; he had hit the nail on the head, he flattered himself, by 
 showing that it was cheaper to keep Jeff at home than to send 
 liim away. 
 
 "I am not speaking of commerce," answered Mrs. Campden, 
 acidly ; " of course people that have no money must do as they 
 can. There is the merchant service, for instance, where, it so 
 happens, you have interest ; and though Geoffrey has been 
 allowed to waste some years of his life in luxury and idleness, 
 your influence would overcome the objection to employ a lad of 
 his years. He cannot expect, of course, to rise at once to the 
 top of the tree " 
 
 " Tte cross-trees," suggested Mr. Campden, with a feeble smile. 
 
 " I say, no boy who goes to sea," continued Mrs. Campden, 
 frowning " can expect to be an admiral at once." 
 
242 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 "■ Kot ia tlio merchant- i.crvice," Biurmured lier husband — Intt 
 ibis time in contidence to liis shirt-collar — " because there are no 
 admirals." 
 
 "Tet I cannot imagine any lad of spirit not preferring 
 bonourable employment, however humble, to living upon tho 
 bounty of his friends." 
 
 " My dear, my dear ! " ejaculated I\Ir. Campden, imploringly ; 
 " you have hurt the lad's feelings." 
 
 JefF had risen from his seat, and leaving his unfinished meal 
 walked straight out of the room. Mrs. Dalton, who had sat a 
 silent spectator of the scene, had lifted her hand to lay it upon 
 his sleeve, but had been too late. 
 
 " I fear, Julia, you have gone too far," said she, in a firm but 
 gentle tone. 
 
 " It's an infamous shame ! " cried Tony, with a burst of boyish 
 passion, as he ran out of the dining-room after his friend. 
 
 Mrs. Campden's face was white with wrath, with that trifling 
 but prominent exception of the tip of her nose. 
 
 " You may all express what opinion you please," said she, "and 
 couch it in what terms you please ; but if anything I have said 
 shall have stung Geofirey Derwent into doing something for 
 himself — it being such high time — I do not regret it." And 
 with that, like a frigate who has just delivered both broadsideg 
 with crushing effect, she sailed triumphantly out of the room. 
 Mr. Campdon muttered " Tut, tut ! " his note of dissatisfaction 
 when his mate had performed any more than usually high- 
 handed act, and followed her in nervous haste, so that Mrs. 
 Dalfon and Mr. Holt were left alone together. 
 
 " I regret," said he — " I deplore above all things that our 
 hostess should exhibit this inimicable feeling towards Mr. 
 Derwent, who appears to me to be a most inoffensive young 
 man," 
 
 " He is better than inoffensive, Mr. Holt," replied Mrs. Dalton, 
 gravely ; " he is a most excellent lad. I have known him from 
 a child, and have never detected a single serious flaw in his 
 character : a more honest or more unselfish nature I have never 
 met with. Not the least regret that I feel for our own change 
 of fortune is that we are now powerless to help poor Jeff." 
 
 "But I am not powerless," observed the other, quickly; 
 " that is to say, if the possession of some stake in the world oi 
 commerce can be called power. And you may be quite sure, 
 Mrs. Dalton, that whatever aid I can ofi'er to any friend of 
 j^ours will be most gladly — most eagerly afforded. It is very 
 
MR. HOLT ASKS MAMMA. 243 
 
 obvious iliai- the poor lad's position liero is uncomfortable, if not 
 untenable ; and if you think a responsible position in raj office 
 is worth his acceptance, he is very Avelcome to it, and I think 1 
 may venture to say that, in that case, no one need trouble them- 
 selves about liis future." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Holt, you are most kind," said Mrs. Dalton, 
 cordially ; " I could not have hoped to experience to-day- — or 
 any day — such pleasure as you have just conferred upon me. 
 To take a lad like that, without experience, or recommenda- 
 tion " 
 
 "Pai'don nie," broke in the other, waving his hand gravely; 
 " do not say without recommendation, for since you have praised 
 him, Mrs. Dalton, he has the very highest in my eyes." 
 
 " You are very good to say so, I am sure ; but the fact re- 
 mains, that out of pity for this poor lad's position, you have 
 offered " 
 
 " Ifay, madam, I must interrupt you once again,'' said Mr. 
 Holt, earnestly, lest I should take credit for a virtue I do not 
 possess. That I pity the lad is true enough, but it is solely for 
 your sake that I shall take him into my employment. You may 
 consider the matter as arranged, and I am profoundly gratified 
 at having had an opportiinity of affording you pleasure." 
 
 " I know not how to express my thanks, Mr. Holt. If my 
 husband were here indeed, the fitting words would not be 
 wanting; and when he comes to know what you have done, 
 it will rejoice him, I am sure, almost as much as myself." 
 Her voice fell, her eyelids drooped as she thus spoke : the 
 mention of the absent one had frozen the springs of her short- 
 lived joy. 
 
 Holt cursed his quondam friend in his heart, who had thus 
 rendered his proposed task more difticult. A few moments ago, 
 he thought he had "seen his way" to the subject he had in 
 hand ; Mrs. Dalton's manner had been genial, and even encou- 
 raging ; and now it seemed that he had all the work to do over 
 again. Nevertheless, desperation urged him on. 
 
 "Your husband's absence, dear Mrs. Dalton," said he, ''is 
 regretted by no one, out of his immediate family circle, so deeply 
 as by myself ; indeed, no one has more cause to regret it ; for 
 had the necessity for his departure not arisen — taking us all by 
 surprise, and precluding all other matters, as it did — I should 
 have ventured to put to him a question of the most vital interest 
 to me." 
 
 ^vlrs. Dalton bowed; her face was a little paler, and her lips 
 
244 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 met together with unusual firmness, but she showed no othe* 
 gign of emotion ; yet she knew what was coming quite well, 
 
 " Might I put the question of which I speak, to 2/o«, madam ?* 
 inquired he, after a little pause. 
 
 " Most certainly you may, Mr. Holt." Her voice was firm, 
 but she had grown paler than before, for the words Mrs. 
 Carapden had spoken to her on board the steam-yacht, about 
 this very man's possible pretensions to her daughter's hand, were 
 ringing in her ears : " I should as soon have imputed to her an 
 attachment to the footman." 
 
 And now, in a few short weeks, so great a change had befallen 
 lier and hers that Mr. Holt was about to ask for her daughter'g 
 liand, at the express instigation of Mrs. Campden herself. Her 
 pride was wounded, and her heart was sore ; but, except where 
 her affections were concerned, which sometimes overpowered 
 her — as we have just seen in Jeff's case — she had learned to 
 repress her feelings. 
 
 " What I have to ask is a great favour, Mrs. Dalton ; in com- 
 parison with which all that I could ever do for you fades into 
 insignificance, and which will leave me your debtor for ever : it 
 is, that you will give me permission to speak to your daughter, 
 Kate, as her suitor. I am well aware of her superiority to 
 myself in all respects ; of the social gulf between us, which I am 
 the last to conceive has been in any way narrowed by reason of 
 Tour recent misfortunes. I am only a plain, blunt man, who is 
 devoted to her." 
 
 It was impossible to mistake these words — which were spoken 
 with a certain homely eloquence that won the listener's ear in 
 spite of herself — for anything but what they Avere — the genuine 
 utterance of the speaker's heart. His cautious business man- 
 ners, his Frenchified airs were gone, and were replaced by an 
 intense anxiety and earnestness. The very existence of the man 
 appeared, to all seeming, to be in abeyance ; he neither moved 
 jior breathed as he waited for his companion's reply. 
 
 " I must needs say, Mr. Holt," answered she, with delibera- 
 tion, " that your question gives me great embarrassment. Its 
 suddenness — to say nothing further — has taken me utterly by 
 surprise. I am fully conscious, believe me, of the honour you 
 have done my daughter in making this application. The gulf 
 you speak of might well be considered — and doubtless is so — 
 upon your side rather than hers ; for you are rich, and she is 
 penniless ; but — but I have no authority to grant your request. 
 When my husband returns, it will be surely time enough to 
 
MR. H0L7 DEPARTS WITH PLYING COLOURS. US 
 
 apply to him for the permission you demand. In his absence, 
 I must decline — with heartfelt thanks to you, Mr. Holt — to 
 take any action in this matter." 
 
 " And do I understand, madam, that you also forbid me 
 to apply to your daughter herself — to hear from her own lip? 
 whether I may look for hope or not ? " 
 
 "No, Mr. Holt; I have no more authority to forbid than to 
 encourage you in this matter. My daughter is old enough to 
 know her own mind. At the same time, I would ver/ture to 
 suggest, that a time like the present, when she has been deprived 
 of her natural adviser, as well as smitten by sore misfortune, in 
 scarcely one suited for a proposal of marriage. If you have 
 that genuine regard for her (and I do not doubt it) of which 
 you have spoken, I think it should lead you to spare her, at a 
 time like this, a declaration which I feel sure would be a source 
 of pain." 
 
 "On account of its inopportuneness ? " put in the other, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I don't say that, Mr. Holt ; pray do not force me to express 
 an opinion that may sound hai"sh or uncivil. I am merely 
 pleading for Kate, that you should not — forgive me for the 
 word — importune her upon this matter for the present." 
 
 It was now Mr. Holt's turn to bow and not to speak. His 
 face exhibited a chagrin, and yet a resignation that went to 
 Mrs. Dalton's heart ; she never thought (as she afterwards said) 
 she could have felt so keen a pity for the disappointment of 
 such a man. 
 
 " I am very sorry for you, Mr. Holt," said she, " very sorry ;" 
 and he knew that, so far as she was concerned, her words were 
 words of doom. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 MR. nOLT DEPARTS WITH FLYING COLOURS. 
 
 Holt did not know the precise moment at which Mrs. Daltou 
 had quitted him ; a mist seemed to come over his eyes at Iter 
 last words, and the next sound he had any clear cognisance of 
 was a subdued clatter of forks and dishes. He was standing 
 with his face to the mantelpiece, on which rested his elbows, 
 and with his back to the table, from which the servants were 
 removing the luncheon things. He knew not how long he had 
 b«en in his present position, or how he had assumed it. Ho 
 
246 1' ALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 was perfectly av.-aro, however, of what had happened : that he 
 tad proposed for Kate to her mother, and that that lady had 
 referred him to her husband — in other words, had rejected him. 
 He had good reasons of his own for knowing that if Dalton were 
 to be asked the same question, the answer would be a vei*y 
 unmistakable " No." To be sure there was still Kate herself, to 
 whom he had not been absolutely forbidden to apply ; but t?:iat 
 was an experiment from which he shrank — a last hope, to which 
 he must be hard driven indeed before he resortea to it ; for he 
 felt her answer would be final. The present, as her mother had 
 said, was an inopportune time to speak to her, and, what con- 
 cerned bim more, it was an unfavourable time. " You have 
 only to wait," Mi^s. Campden had said, or as much as said, 
 " until she begins to feel the discomforts of poverty, and then 
 your chance will be improved." Indeed, she thought it a cer- 
 tainty. But could he Avait ? There was the rub. Could he 
 4ilford to Avait ? Being now alone, he drew his pocket-book out, 
 and from it a slip concerning some shipping intelligence, on 
 which he pondered with anxious care. " The quickest ship on 
 the line," he murmured ; " ci^rse him ! " Then he studied the 
 almanac. *' There is not a day to lose ; there is not an hour. 
 The pursuit is madness ; I will give her up." 
 
 As he said so the soft craunch of gravel came from the sweei^ 
 without, and an open carriage drove by the window : the three 
 girls had come home from Sanbeck. He caught a glance of 
 Kate, as she looked up with a cheerful smile towards her 
 mother's room ; her sun-bright hair, her pale, expressive fea- 
 tures, and her gentle, reassuring eyes, made up a picture 
 exceedingly beautiful ; it passed in a moment, as though an 
 angel had looked out from heaven, and then withdrawn herself 
 into the impenetrable blue. But he knew that it was reality, 
 and that his adored one was at the hall-door, within a few feet 
 of him. He did not stir, however, but stood as if spellbound, 
 listening to the ring at the bell, the footman letting down the 
 steps, and all the usual sounds of arrival. These died away, and 
 were presently succeeded by other sounds : a thumping of some 
 object on the encaustic tiles that composed the floor of the hali ; 
 a rapid flutter of female garments, and some hurried talk. Then 
 the door opened, and revealed Mr. Greoffrey Derwent with a 
 carpet-bag in one hand, and dragging a huge portmanteau with 
 the other ; behind him came Kate Dalton, entreating, command- 
 ing, cajoiing. Her colour, already high, rose at the sight of 
 Holt. 
 
MR. HOLT DEPARTS tVITH TLYiNG COLOURS. 247 
 
 " I did not know you were here, Mr. Holt," said she, eagerly ; 
 "but I am glad of it. Do speak to Jeff. Something has hap- 
 pened between him and Mrs. Campden — I don't know what — 
 and he is quitting the house in this fashion." 
 
 " I don't want Mr. Holt's opinion upon the subject," said Jeff, 
 vehemently; "nor any man's opinion. I will not stay another 
 night under this roof." 
 
 " But why carry all that luggage about with you, Mr. Der- 
 went ? " asked Holt, smiling. 
 
 " Because I don't wish to be indebted to anyone belonging to 
 Mrs. Campden for the smallest sez^ice. I shall leave them here, 
 behind the door ; and go myself to Bleabarrow for the fly, which 
 will take them away." 
 
 " And then ? " inquired Mr. Holt, with an amused air; 
 
 "Yes, indeed; that is what I have been telling him, 
 Mr. Holt," broke in Kate, earnestly. "What is he to do in 
 London, without money, without friends ? He will starve to 
 death." 
 
 " He will have to apply for out-door relief, at all events," said 
 Mr. Holt in corroboration. 
 
 " What is that to you P That is my look-out," answered Jeff, 
 ourning fiercely upon the last speaker. " You heard what that 
 woman said to me at lunch : would you not think it better to 
 starve than to stay here, if she had sjDoken so to you ? " 
 
 " I should certainly not have stayed here, in that case," said 
 Mr. Holt, quietly. 
 
 " There, you hear him ! " cried Jeff, triumphantly : " even Mr. 
 Holt would not have stayed." 
 
 " Pray do not encourage Jeff in his obstinacy," pleaded Kate, 
 with tear-dimmed eyes. " You know the world, and should give 
 him better advice." 
 
 "My advice. Miss Dalton, is that he should go at once," 
 answei'ed Holt, coolly ; and with me. Your mother and I were 
 talking the matter over ; and we agreed, if Mr. Derwent himself 
 approved of the plan, that I should take him into my office upon 
 trial ; after a month or two he would be able to judge if stock- 
 broking suited him." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Holt, how good of you! Is this really true?" 
 ejaculated Kate. 
 
 "I don't understand," hesitated Jeff; "of course it is most 
 kind of Mr. Holt ; but " 
 
 " Well, just run up to Mrs. Dalton, my lad ; it was she who 
 proposed the matter, and who will be therefore in the best posi» 
 
248 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 tion to explain it to you. I suppose you would have wished lit? 
 good-bye in any case." 
 
 Jeff coloured and hung his head ; his indignation had indeed 
 been such as to induce him to leave Riverside without bidding 
 farewell to anybody. " Yes, I will do that," he said, after a 
 little hesitation, due, doubtless, to the fear of meeting his hostess 
 upon the way — not that he was afraid of her, but of himself. 
 
 ThuS; by the mpst unlooked-for accident, Mr. Holt found 
 himself alone with Kate. He was by far the more embarrassed 
 of the two, and showed it by his silence ; he that had been so 
 glib in the presence of a third person had now not a word to say 
 for himself. Kate, on the contrary, poured out sentence after 
 sentence, without much thought of anything except that she 
 must not give her companion tlic opportunity of saying anything 
 to her save in the way of reply. 
 
 It was " so kind " in him, " so thoughtful," and " so oppor- 
 tune " to think of taking Jeff into his employment ; she was sure 
 he would find him " so intelligent " and "so nice." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Miss Dalton," said Holt, frankly, " I 
 don't much care how the young gentleman suits me, though I 
 shall do my best to make things suit him." 
 
 " That is still more kind of you," answered she, " for Jeff has 
 no friends, except Mr. Campden and ourselves, who are, alas ! 
 powerless to help him." 
 
 " Nay, Miss Dalton, don't say so : you are all-powerful. Your 
 wish, at all events, is my law in this matter — and, indeed, in all 
 matters, if you would only let me serve you." 
 
 " You are very good, I'm sure." 
 
 He remembered that those were the very words her father 
 had used, and the very tone, when he had declined his assistance. 
 
 " I am not at all good. Miss Dalton," answered he bitterly ; 
 " except in so far as I am devoted to your interests. Should tlia 
 time come to prove it, pray remember that." 
 
 She had grown suddenly very pale, and was listeniiug eagerly, 
 not to him, but for Jeff's return. As his quick step was heard 
 -n the hall, the girl drew a sigh of relief. Holt perceived all 
 uhis ; but still he had spoken to her in a significant if not a 
 tender fashion, and had not been rebuked. He felt another man, 
 and a far happier one than he had been an hour ago. A gleam 
 of hope illumined the dark path of his future, though it was 
 very faint — so faint, that he also hailed Jeff's coming. It had 
 at least precluded her from replying to his last speech as she had 
 replied to the preceding one. He had bidden her remember to 
 
MR. HOLT DEPARTS WITH FLYING COLOURS. 249 
 
 apply to liim if she needed aid, and she had not reftiaed to do 
 so. Still, " not to refuse " was far different from " to accept." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Derwent," said he, assuming a cheerful air, " waa 
 I not right ? Does not Mrs. Dalton endorse your acceptance of 
 my offer ? You must learn to employ these business terms, you 
 know ; " and he smiled pleasantly enough. 
 
 " I have no choice," answered the boy, naively. Theu con 
 scious that the words were ungracious, he added precipitately 1 
 " But if I had, I should always have felt grateful to you, Mr. 
 flolt, for a proposal which, though I know it is not made upon 
 my own account, is certainly generous and unselfish ; for I am 
 afraid— at first, at all events — that I shall be of very little ser- 
 vice to you. And now, please, I would rather be off. I will 
 stay at the Golden Cross in London, where I used to put up ou 
 my way from school, till you choose to send for me." 
 
 " Oh, Jeff ! don't go away like that ! " cried Kate, imploringly. 
 " I must, Kitty. Mr. Holt himself said I was right to go." 
 " Yes ; but not this minute, my lad. That will only make a 
 disturbance in the house, and distress others besides your 
 hostess, which I am sure you do 2iot wish to do. There is the 
 postman's horn. Now, why should I not have a letter of im- 
 portance that demands my presence in town to-morrow morning ? 
 Then you and I can start to-night." 
 
 " I am afraid that would be hurrying you away," hesitated 
 
 Kate ; " but still, if you would " 
 
 "You would be better pleased, Miss Dalton," interrupted 
 Holt, with a touch of bitterness : " that settles the matter. We 
 must be off by the 6.30 train, my lad ; so I will go and put my 
 traps together." 
 
 He did not wait for thanks from either of them, but repaired 
 at once to his own room. He ran up stairs three steps at a time, 
 for he felt like a young man. By a great piece of good fortune 
 he had contrived to lay Kate Dalton under an obligation, and 
 had made his first step wit]i her in the Avay of friendship, 
 familiarity, confidence. As to the^^er contra side of the account, 
 his engagement of Geoffrey Derwent, it weighed but as a 
 feather's weight in the balance. Indeed, ho was by no means 
 certain that it might not be placed in the same scale. If he 
 found Derwent able to do his routine work, it might even be a 
 good itroke of business. Of course, he would take care to treat 
 the lad well and handsomely ; but, indeed, he intended to make 
 him something else than a mere clerk. He had long been of 
 opinion that his " manager," Brand, was too clever by half, and 
 
^0 FALLEN- FORTUNES. 
 
 had resolved to take the first opportunity of parting company 
 ■with him. The same objection, he reflected with a contemptnoxis 
 smile, would certainly not apply to JefF. 
 
 There was not one member of the party at Riverside who was 
 not grateful to Mr. Holt that evening. By persuading Geoffrey 
 Derwent to avoid a pubUc scandal — which his flight, as origi- 
 nally intended, would certainly have caused — he had done good 
 service to Mrs, Campden, of whom the lad was now persu.aded to 
 take leave, though in a very stifl: and formal manner. The Dal- 
 tons were sincerely obliged to him on Jeff 's account ; and " Uncle 
 George," whose conscience reproached him for his pusillanimity 
 in that matter, still more so. Moreover, as a host relieved of an 
 incubus, Mr, Campden blessed his guest for taking himself off. 
 
 His departure did not long precede that of those to whom he 
 was originally indebted for his invitation, though for the future 
 he had the assurance of its coming — and that soon — from the 
 fountain-head, namely, the hostess herself. On the third day 
 afterwards, the Daltons took up their residence at the Nook in 
 Sanbeck. Before they left, Mrs. Dal ton received a farewell 
 letter from her husband, written from on board the Flamhorough 
 Head. Knowing what we do of him, we can pretty well 
 imagine its contents : but amid all the love and pathos of his 
 parting words — he made no mention of his remorse, since he 
 knew it would distress her — there was a sentence or two of 
 genuine rebuke, 
 
 " When I asked to be shown my berth — which, as I had been 
 informed, I was to share with ' a commercial gentleman,' bound 
 for Rio — to my gi'eat surprise I was introduced to a first-class 
 cabin. Some one had called, they told me, at the London office, 
 and paid the difference for the exchange. Of course I know 
 Avho sent him, and why you wei^e so particular to ask me about 
 the agent's address. My darling, to think that you should have 
 robbed yourself just now to supply me with a mere luxury, goes 
 to my heart. How could you, could you do it P " 
 
 Yet what he deemed — and justly — to be self-sacrifice was, in 
 one respect, an act of selfishness. Nothing the money — or tcn 
 times the sum — could have brought her would have given Mrs. 
 Dalton half the satisfaction she derived from the reflection, that, 
 so far at least as his physical needs were concerned " dearest 
 John " would be made comfortable ujion his voyage. She vv'as 
 herself bound upon a longer journey far than his (as she was 
 well convinced), and one with more uncertain issues ; but her cliit f 
 thought and care were still, as they had ever been, for him, 
 
REALITIES. 25i 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 REALITIES. 
 
 It is not to Iog supposed that the Daltons, being so ?7ell liked & 
 fatuilj as they were, were neglected by their friecds because 
 misfortune had befallen them. Human nature is not quite so 
 base as some philosophers would have us believe, though there 
 are a great many selfish persons in the world, and especially 
 (I am afraid I must say) in good society. John Dalton had 
 been right in his idea that he was rather an obstacle to the 
 good-will of others towards his belongings, and that if he were 
 dead they would find many offers of assistance that were almost 
 of necessity withheld while he was alive. Even his departure 
 for Brazil brought some of these into blossom — nay, into solid 
 fruit, if only Mrs. Dalton had cared to pluck it. One good lady 
 would even have taken Kate off her hands — she had been always 
 " so fond " of Kate — for good and all ; though it must be owned 
 that her proppsition Avas a littie vague. Another would have 
 been glad to oflfer Mrs. Dalton and both daughters a home, 
 " while they looked about them for a suitable residence." Con- 
 uolences and sympathetic inquiries had long been rained in 
 «howers upon this unfortunate lady ; so that not the most 
 cynical could have described her as forgotten. But the fact is, 
 admitting that there is any number of mean and miserly people 
 in the world, who will weep for their friends in need, pray for 
 them, sympathise with them, and, in brief, go to any length 
 short of assisting them, it is also difiicult — it must be confessed 
 — to afibrd assistance such as would be acceptable. I would on 
 no account be supposed to have any of that " enthusiasm of 
 humanity " which all the wise agree is a sign of the feeblest in- 
 telligence ; I know how easy it is for folks to condole with their 
 friends upon the loss of their relatives, and how difficult, because 
 dangerous and compromising, they find it to do so on the loss of 
 their goods ; but it must be acknowledged withal, that hard as 
 we may find it in this world to help ourselves, it is even harder 
 to help others who are helpless. People are not more malleable, 
 do not fit into any shaped groove that may be offered to them, 
 tbo more easily because they have become poor. Mrs. Dalton 
 had two fixed ideas, in adhering to which she was resolute, and 
 ■which, without doubt, rendered their case very impracticable — 
 namely (1), that she would not be separated from her girls ; 
 
2j2 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 and (2), that ihey should have a home of t-heir own, however 
 humble. Sorrow, she knew% is doubly grievous when it has to 
 be borne with a forced smile, as it needs must be when we are 
 guests in the house of a friend. Otherwise, when Lady Skipton 
 wrote to invite Kate, Mrs. Campden was strenuous in urging 
 that her offer should be accepted : " It would give the poor girl 
 a chance once more," in the way of suitors; and perhaps she 
 added also to herself, " and how convenient it would be for Mr. 
 Holt in particular to prosecute his attentions." 
 
 These kindnesses, these offers, these well-meant attentions of 
 all sorts, were, however, all laid before her daughters by Mrs. 
 Dalton, not so much that each should have a voice in their 
 acceptance or rejection — for she well knew what their replies 
 would be beforehand — as that they should understand their own 
 position with respect to others. Even when these communica- 
 tions were unpleasant, as they sometimes wei'e, she did not 
 withhold them from their eyes. It was well that they should 
 look the world in the face, since the time was coming when ther* 
 would be none to disguise from them its stern realities — when 
 the hand should be powerless that had secretly warded off from 
 ihem its sharpest buffets, and the voice that had interpreted ita 
 tone'^ so tenderly for their sakes, should be stilled for ever. 
 
 One little indulgence Mrs. Dalton did permit herself — she re- 
 solved that 1'ony should not be sent to school for another half- 
 year : he was still young for Eton : his education under Jeuny'a 
 auspices was going on quite satisfactorily ; he was a diligent 
 little fellow, and did not require to be nailed to his work, &c. 
 All which excellent reasons were contained in one still greater, 
 though she never owned it to herself : " I cannot spare the boy ; 
 let us all be together for a while, and while we may." 
 
 Instead of saying, " This is weakness, Edith," as might have 
 been expected from so uncompi'omising and well-principled a 
 person as Mrs. Campden, that lady fully approved of this ar- 
 rangement ; and would not, perhaps have murmured if it had 
 been decided not to send the bjy to school at all. As for Tony 
 himself, tlic prospect of the nevr life at Sanbeck almost made uj' 
 fcr the postponemonh of his Eton joys. 
 
LAD V SA'IPTON 'S CHARITY. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 LADY SKIPTOn's CHARlTi'. 
 
 Mr. CAMPDfjN was sorry to lose his guests, yet noL altogetlier 
 BO, so far as he himself was eoncerned. They had already 
 begun to be the cause of quarrel between himself and his wife. 
 He was inclined to be kinder to them in his manner, because 
 of their misfortunes ; and this his Julia stigmatised as "weak- 
 ness," and even as cruelty to those he pitied — they would only 
 miss everything afterwards the more, she said, from the sense 
 of contrast ; and she took care not to err in this way herself. 
 
 When the little family were all in the Riverside barouche 
 together on their way to their new home, Tony put this ques- 
 tion to his mamma, preceded, after the fashion of his age, by 
 an affirmation : " I am precious glad we are going to Sanbeck. 
 What has made Mrs. Campden so cross with us all since dear 
 papa went away ? " 
 
 Kate and Jenny exchanged a rapid glance. 
 
 " Even Tony has remarked it, you see," said the latter, in 
 French. She had spoken of the matter to her sister with vehe- 
 ment indignation, which Kate had endeavoured to mitigate ; 
 like her mother, she always strove to find excuses for people. 
 
 " Cross, Tony ? " answered Mrs. Dalton, quietly. " I am 
 sure I didn't know she had been cross. Perhaps you were 
 troublesome." She thought it best to ignore the general charge 
 of crossness altogether. 
 
 " Oh no, I wasn't, mamma. Only she used to call me ' her 
 sweet boy,' and now she says, ' you little nuisance.' " 
 
 Nobody answered this imputation, since it was impossible to 
 refute it. Only Jenny laughed — a little bitter laugh. She had 
 coldly touched her hostess's lips without a word, after her 
 mother and sister had expressed their thanks for Mrs. Camp- 
 den's hospitality, though she had kissed Mary tenderly, and 
 thrown her slender arms about Uncle George, and bidden him 
 quite an extravagant adieu. 
 
 " I wish Jenny was not quite so ' thorough,' " Kate had sighed 
 to herself ; " though one loves her all the better for it." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton, too, had dropped a tear in secret over that 
 independent spirit of her second daughter, which under present 
 circumstances could not but be detrimental to the poor girl. 
 
 But Jenny neither sighed nor wept. She had an houpst con* 
 
254 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 tempt for all scoundrels, as her favourite Carljle would h^ve 
 expressed it, and in her indignation against them was apt, like 
 himself, to spare neither sex nor age, nor even social position in 
 the county. 
 
 " That'woman is a mean Avretch," was her private comment 
 upon Tony's bill of indictment against his hostess. 
 
 The people in Bleabarrow acknowledged their presence civilly 
 as they passed through the little town — the young, with palls 
 at their foi'elocks, or rapid courtesies ; the elders, Avith grave 
 obeisances, as they stood at their shop-doors. 
 
 " They little think we have only one hundred and fifty pound 5 
 a year," thought Jenny. This was a mistake of hers, for the 
 bows were given to them as occupants of the carriage. To the 
 l^ritish provincial eye, a fine equipage is little inferior in dignity 
 to the Ark among the Hebrews. Indeed, even in the metropolis, 
 it must have something sacred, or at least curiously significant, 
 as it is of ten sent empty to " represent " Royalty itself at the 
 obsequies of our great men. 
 
 In Sanbeck, as usual, the barouche created a still greater 
 sensation. It was followed up on this occasion by a/owr^o)?, con- 
 taining the luggage. When they had deposited their burden 
 and driven away, " There go our last pomps and vanities," said 
 Jenny, philosophically. " Now for the crust and the cress." 
 
 It was a relief to all of them to find themselves under their 
 own roof. Even Lucy — about whom they had naturally some 
 misgivings — expressed herself as agreeably disappointed, and 
 pronounced the clipped yews upon the little terrace which 
 represented winged dragons, " 'eavenly," She showed much 
 aflTability to Margate, as the late Jonathan Landell's house- 
 keeper was called (but probably not after the fashionable watering- 
 place), and spoke of her eulogistically as "quite a caracA^ter. 
 She was, in fact, a great curiosity, being an honest, simple 
 old woman, who had done her duty in the world for sixty 
 years, to the best of her ability. If she had ever possessed the 
 vanity of her sex, it had long departed ; but she did think that 
 there was no one in Derbyshire who could in its season mako 
 a better black pudding than herself ; and she had just cause for 
 her confidence. The only trial she ever caused her "young 
 ladies " was when she woixld proudly set this delicacy bef oro 
 them as a " surprise," as the cookery-books say, and then wait 
 to see them eat it. Tony was the only one who appreciated it, 
 and yet they would not have wounded old Margate's pride for 
 worlds by leaving it on theii* plates. Black puddings added 
 
LADY SKIPTON'S CHARITY. 253 
 
 another terror to winter at Sanbeck, for they came in with the 
 cold, as fruit does with the warm weather. Margate's familiar 
 and assistant, Nancy, was a stout village lass, the very incarna- 
 tion of good- nature, but with no particular beauty to .boast of, 
 save the unusual one (for persons in her position) of a set of 
 dazzlingly white teeth — a very fortunate circumstance, since it 
 was her custom to keep her mouth wide open. 
 
 " I do think, Kitty, we shall be happy here," was the verdict 
 passed by Jenny upon the Nook and its belongings, ou the night 
 of their arrival. 
 
 "If only it suits dear mamma," faltered Kitty. 
 
 Jenny had equally thought of that, you may be sure, and both 
 were well aware that it was not a question of " suiting ; " Mrs. 
 Dalton would have been content with far inferior lodgment anil 
 ruder fare. But there was something underneath the cheer- 
 fullness of her face, and which belied it, that both her daughters 
 read. She had exhibited no cui'iosity about the house, thougii 
 she had striven to appear interested in what they told her of 
 it ; her only solicitude had been expressed concerning the posr. 
 —as to what time the letters arrived in Sanbeck. 
 
 It was very improbable, indeed, that any communication 
 should be received from ker husband for some time to come ; 
 yet every morning, when the horn was heai^d — it was near noon- 
 day generally — her eyes would light np with expectancy, and 
 her pale face flush, till the postman had passed the house. Jenny, 
 too, had her anxieties, it seemed, in this respect, for on the third 
 day after their arrival she walked out alone to meet the post- 
 man. There was only one letter for the Nook, and that was 
 for her. It was evidently the one she had expected, and she 
 took it eagerly from the man's hand. It was an answer to one 
 she had written to Lady Skipton, after much consideration. 
 Folks had often praised her lace work, telling her that nothing 
 equal to it was to be got at the shops ; that it was worth six 
 guineas a yard at the very least, &c. &c. So she had resolved 
 to utilise her gift of lace-making for the benefit of her belong- 
 ings. Under other circumstances, she would have ajDplied to 
 Mrs. Campden to effect this ; but she felt too angry with that 
 lady to ask any favour of her, however small. So she had 
 written to Lady Skipton, an old friend of her mother's, and who 
 had always been kindly disposed towards herself, enclosing a yard 
 of her lace, as a specimen, and begging her to find out at wh«ic 
 price such work could really be disposed of. If the reply Avas 
 eatisfactory, and such as she had aJways been led to expect, so 
 
256 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 far from being a burden to her family in their altered position, 
 she could easily double their present income. Instead of return- 
 ing home, where she would be subject to interrogatories, she 
 entered a labourer's cottage, where the auld wife placed a chair 
 for her by the fire, to read the letter. The poor girl would have 
 ranch preferred to do so in the open air ; but the unusual exer- 
 tion of walking a few yards alone had already fatigued her, and 
 her white face had appealed to the old dame's hospitality. 
 " Now read your note, young leddie, and dinna mind me," said 
 she, and then had busied herself about her household work as 
 usual. The contents of the envelope felt thicker than ordinary, 
 and when Jenny opened it, and found a five-pound note within 
 the folds of the letter, she gave a little cry of joy. It was 
 doubtless the price of the yard of lace which Lady Skipton had 
 sold for her in Regent Street or Bond Street, and perhaps she 
 had sent orders for ever so much more. Everyone who has 
 looked upon the first money made by their own exertions will 
 understand something of the pleasure which Jenny experienced 
 at this spectacle ; but in her case the joy was enhanced tenfold 
 by the peculiar circumstances of her position. Instead of life- 
 long dependence upon others, here was independence for herself 
 and for ihem. 
 
 '' Ye will have good news, missie, I reckon ? " said the good- 
 wife, as she saw the light leap into her young guest's eyes. 
 
 Jenny did not answer, for she was ali-eady deep in her lady- 
 ship's letter, if depth coiild be obtained in anything so shallovv. 
 It was a long rambling rhapsody upon the Dalton's troubles, 
 dotted with " so sorry" and "no one out of my own family so 
 dear," and not a word about the lace, except in the postscript, 
 which ran thus : " As to your heauUful work, dear Jenny, we all 
 admire it above measure ; but you know an amateur can never 
 compete with these professionals ; one can hardly go asking 
 tradespeople Avhat they will give for the production of a young 
 lady — one's own personal friend, too — and I am sure it could 
 only result in disappointment ; you might work your fingers to 
 t'ne bone, and only gain a few shillings. But if you will let me 
 bo the purchaser — just for this once, at all events — I shall be so 
 pleased. I have no doubt you will find a use for the payment 
 which I enclose herewith." 
 
 Jenny's heart did not sink ; it was not of the composition that 
 does so, yet it tiii^Ted heavy and cold. " They are all alike," 
 s&e murmured, bitterly ; " all base and cruel alike. This woman 
 could not even ask a question for me because of her false pride.'* 
 
LADY SA'IFTOX'S CHARITY. 257 
 
 She foUIed tlie bank-note up very small, and gazed wistfully into 
 the fire. " That is where I should like to put it," she went on ; 
 *' only she would never believe it." Then she rose and thanked 
 the woman of the house for her hospitality. 
 
 " Lor', missie ! don't speak of it. We would all do a deal 
 more for ye than that." 
 
 " Why ? " inquired Jenny, brusquely. 
 
 " Because the doc-tor has told us all abnnt ye, and whose wa3 
 the hand that has given many a bit and drop to them as neeued 
 it in these parts. You're poor yourselves, I hear, now, missie, 
 bnt it will nae be for long ; the blessing of the poor is on ye, and 
 ye will thrive yet." The woman, a hale and hearty one, though 
 old, r.poke with earnest energy. 
 
 " Thank yon, dame," said Jenny, simply, and she felt genuine 
 gratitude. The other's words had put a strange confidence into 
 her ; it was a comfort too, to feel that she had confided to no 
 one her intention of writing to Lady Skipton. No one could 
 remonstrate against her returning that five-pound note to her 
 ladyship by the next post. Money in some cases is said to " burn 
 in the pocket ; " but no spendthrift ever felt such a desire to get 
 rid of a bank-note as now burned in Jenny's heart. She did 
 not want five pounds for what was only worth a few shillings. 
 Her ladyship need not have been so afraid of having to buy more 
 lace at that fancy price. " Just for this once, at all events," was 
 a phrase of quite unnecessary precaution ; but it had wounded its 
 recipient to the quick. " Work her fingers to the bone." Yes ; 
 she would do that, and more, before she ever appealed to that 
 woman for assistance again, or indeed to anyone. She had 
 another string to her bow, which did not depend upon friends 
 (so called) at all, and she now regretted she had not tried it first. 
 ]f iliat failed— God help her ! 
 
 Then she smiled to herself to think of the absurdity of that 
 last reflection ; as though we should only trust in God when all 
 other means fail. Such a phrase was surely as ridicnloas as 
 ]*^Irs. Campden's "D.F.s," which she was so careful to introduce 
 in her ordinary correspondence. How angry poor JeS" made her 
 once by telling that story of the old lady who would *' come to 
 tea on Wednesday, D.Y., but on Thursday at all events." By 
 the time Jenny got home — it took her a long time to walk even 
 those few yards — she was quite hei'self again. 
 
 The days rolled on at the Nook for Jenny faster than for the 
 rest ; she was used to solitariness, and never tired of reading, 
 Mid Mr. Landell's library gave her endless occupation in that 
 
:58 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 way ; almost all the books, though old, were new to her, and 
 some of them very strange and curious. Tales of witchcraft, 
 fulfilments of dreams, treatises upon simples, local superstitions, 
 habits of birds and beasts — the quaintest and most old-fashioned 
 ideas imaginable, whereof one in twenty were really noteworthy, 
 and through desuetude, had become novel. Tony, too, after he 
 had done his lessons with her, found employment and amuse- 
 ment enough in the valley ; but to Mrs. Dalton and Kate the 
 time hung heavy on hand. Mrs. Campden and Mary drove over 
 to the Nook occasionally ; at first with laudable frequency ; then 
 less and less often ; sometimes Mary came alone, and was always 
 kind. But her kindness was of quite another sort than in the 
 old days when Kate had been her " dearest friend." There was 
 nothing to complain of in Mary — nor did Kate ever breathe :i 
 word of complaint against her — but she had evidently overrateil 
 the strength of her own attachment. Her visits became briefer 
 as well as rarer, being cut short by "pressing engagements" 
 here and there, such as in the old days would not have weighed 
 with her a feather. 
 
 The doctor, indeed, called every day, but, unhappily, not as a 
 mere visitor ; Mrs. Dalton, though she kept " up and about," 
 was seriously indisposed, and gave him cause for much secret 
 anxiety. " My medicines," he frankly told her daughters, " can 
 do your mother little good ; the true remedy for her would be a 
 letter from your father." 
 
 But none such arrived, although weeks had gone by siuen 
 Dalton's departure. The postman brought them few letters in- 
 deed, now, from anybody ; though there had been one or two 
 from Jeff, speaking favourably upon the whole of his employer, 
 and very cheerfully of his own position and prospects. He 
 seemed to be in quite a responsible post — something altogether 
 above that of a clerk. Indeed, there was nobody over him at 
 all except Mr. Holt himself ; and yet he was by no means over- 
 worked. " For all which, I know," wrote Jeff, " I have to thank 
 dear Mrs. Dalton." 
 
 His immediate correspondent was Jenny, who, in return for 
 his own confidences, wrote him a pretty exact account of how 
 matters went on at Sanbeck ; all which she well knew would 
 have an interest for him. " If we could only hear from papa, 
 and mamma were better," wrote she, *' we should not have 
 much to complain of. Could you find out how long a letter on;///^ 
 to be coming from Rio ? for, of course, papa would be sure to 
 send us one by the first mail afte? his arrival. Would there not 
 
EVIL TIDINGS. 259 
 
 aIso be a cliance of tlie Flaniboroufjh Head's meeting a ship 
 comiilg home, and sending letters by it ? We are all so ignorant 
 here, and, alas, so helpless." 
 
 To this Jefi; -wrote back a cheerful reply, stating iu general 
 terms that the arrival of the mails was more or less variable, and 
 that the wind had been contrary ; but added a private slip for 
 Jenny's eyes. " Don't breathe a word of it to your mother, 
 but the Brazil mail arrived some days ago ; Mr. Dalton could 
 not, therefore, have reached Rio when it left. Indeed, the F.H. 
 was mentioned at Lloyd's yesterday as overdue. This is likely 
 enough with these west winds, and there is really no cause for 
 anxiety as yet." 
 
 " As yet." Those two little words sent a stab to Jenny's heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 EVIL TIDINGS. 
 
 Jenny said nothing of the news she had got from Jeff, even to 
 Kate. It Avas quite right of Jeff to tell her : she would have re- 
 liented it had he not done so ; but it was also right in her not to 
 ifel her sister. That one of the family should know it — and be 
 miserable accordingly — was sufficient. What Kate would have 
 said, had she known that Jenny, the weakest of them, was bear- 
 ing this burden all alone, was another matter. There had been 
 a time when Kate had been Jeff's confidante, and not Jenny ; 
 but of late he had changed in this respect. His letters were 
 full of Kate, as Jenny noticed, with many a quiet smile, but not 
 addressed to her. 
 
 " He is quite wise," reflected the recipient of these missives, 
 " or that man might be tempted to open them." 
 
 This invalid young lady was certainly rather strong in her 
 likes and dislikes. She thought Uncle George " an old dear," 
 and the doctor "perfection;" but she had no hesitation in pro« 
 noimcing (to herself of course) Mrs. Campden as " base; " Marj 
 as " weak," and " undependable ; " and Mr. Holt as " a horror." 
 She would never forgive his having aspired to her sister's hand, 
 or Mrs. Campden for " egging him on " to do it (as she guessed), 
 under pretence, too, of its being for the benefit of the family, 
 and especially of herself. She even suspected Holt of being the 
 cause of her father's ruin. 
 
 A fortnight had passed by since she had been told that there 
 was " no cause for anxiety as yet ; " and she could see that her 
 mother v/as growing very anxious. In default of lettei'S, Mrs. 
 
26o FALLEN FOR TUXES. 
 
 Dalton read the newspar.er every morning- with avidity — iliat is 
 the two half columns of it which referred to " Shipping lutelli 
 .irence " and " the Mails." This paper, ■which arrived at River- 
 Hide in the afternoon, was forwarded to them by post next day 
 with commendable regularity. 
 
 " It is so kind of Julia," said Mrs. Dalton, speaking of this to 
 the doctor, "and so thouglitful." 
 
 "Yes," added Jenny, di*ily, "and so troublesome. Marks'^ 
 (the butler) " directs it himself, and puts it in the bag." 
 
 One moi^ning, The Morning Chronicle came instead of T/z-o 
 Times, which the girls could see had quite a depressing effect 
 upon their mother. The reports about the shipping, she com- 
 ]>lained, were not so full. 
 
 *' Never mind, mamma," said Kitty ; " Tony shall go over the 
 hill after dinner, and fetch The Timrfs, and take a line from 
 Jenny to Marks to tell him to be more careful in future : the 
 old fellow is devoted to her interests." 
 
 But before Tony's lessons were over, Mr. Carapden himself 
 arrived on horseback ; he had come once or twice before, but 
 always hitherto with his wife or daughter. 
 
 '* This is a great compliment, Mr. Campden." said Mrs. Dalton, 
 gratefully, " that you should come r'ding over in this way, whef 
 we know you hate riding." 
 
 " I hope I should ride much farther than this, or walk either, 
 my dear, to oblige you," was the reply, given with unusual 
 earnestness. He had never called her " my dear " before. 
 
 " I always thought you were «i duck. Uncle George," said 
 Kate. 
 
 " I always said you were," sa'd Jeamy ; " I had the courage 
 of my opinion." 
 
 *' What is it you want of me, girls ? " inquired Mr. Campden, 
 but his voice was mechanical, and unaccompanied by the usual 
 sly smile. 
 
 "Well, I want The Tiine? newspaper," said Mrs. Dalton. " I 
 frankly tell you, Uncle George, I hoped you were come to repair 
 a mistake that was made this morning ; The Morning Chronicle 
 was sent instead." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Mr. Campden ; "how stupid of them. The 
 fact is, we have such a lot of papers, and they get laid about so. 
 But it shall not happen again." 
 
 " There was nothing in The Times about — about Brazil or the 
 Bio mail. Uncle George, was there ? " inquired Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, ray dear," answered Mr. Campden, turning 
 
EP'Il TIDINGS. 261 
 
 very re^. " I'm going up to the mere, to see abont some damage 
 that has happened to the keeper's cottage from the wind." 
 
 " Ay," said Mi's. Dalton, with a shudder, " what winds there 
 have beau lately ! " 
 
 "They have been partial, however — very partial," continued 
 Mr. Campden; "nothing seems to have suflered in the south. 
 What do you say to a little walk to the lake-side, Kate ? If you 
 wiU be my companion, I will put up the mare here, and go ov 
 foot." 
 
 To this Kate gladly agreed ; and Tony looked up eagerly from 
 his book with, " May I coriie too, Uncle George ? " 
 
 " Well, no, my boy," returned Mr. Campden, gravely ; " it 
 \vould be an interruption to your lessons ; and just now it is 
 expedient that you should buckle to." 
 
 A faint flush came into Mrs. Dalton's face ; it was the first 
 time that Mr. Campden had alluded — even thus indirectly — tu 
 the' changed circumstances of the i'amil}'. 
 
 "That is quite right," said she, quietly. "But you can gu 
 ^'iown for a minute, Tony, and see that Uncle George's koi'se in 
 put in the stable, and some corn given to it." 
 
 " Oh, never mind the corn," said Mr. Campden, hastily ; and 
 then he got so red again that Jenny became red too, from sheer 
 sympathy with his embarrassment. Fortunately, at that mo- 
 ment, Kitty, who had left the room, re-entered it, equipped for 
 her walk, giving the squire an opportunity of complimenting her 
 upon the rapidity of her toilet ; and after a few commonplaces, 
 they took their departure. 
 
 Over the bridge and past the churchyard, they walked iu 
 silence, or only returned the greetings of the villagers ; but as 
 soon as they got clear of the hamlet, Mr. Campden addressed 
 his companion with, an unaccustomed tenderness and gravity. 
 
 "Kitty, my dear, you are a brave girl, I know ; but I have 
 got something to tell you that will try your courage." 
 
 " Not about papa, Uncle George ? " cried she, with sudden 
 vehemence. " Oh, don't say there is bad nesvs about papa ! " 
 
 " Well, my darling, it may not be bad news at all ; there may 
 be really nothing in it ; but it does concern your father." 
 
 She did not answer, but he felt the arm within his own grow 
 very heavy. 
 
 " That is right, dear ; lean on me : whatever happens, lean on 
 me," said Uncle George, encouragingly. " You see, although 
 there may have been many causes to retard the ship iu which 
 your father sailed — the prevalent wind has been against it, for 
 
S62 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 one thing, and the wind Biakes a difference even to a steameP — > 
 it is, -without doubt, overdue. That circumstance gives us 
 anxiety, of course, and causes us to feel alarmed, where perhaps 
 there is no reason for alarm." 
 
 " Yes, yes. But what has happened, Uncle George ? I am 
 sure something has happened." 
 
 " No, no ; we are not sure of that, thank goodness. We can 
 still hope for the best. But a vessel has come into Liverpool 
 that has fallen in with a lot of wreck — not of the ship, not of the 
 sliip, Kitty. Here ; sit down on the hill-side. Good heaven, she 
 will catch her death of cold ! " cried Mr. Campden, helplessly. 
 ("What the deuce shall I do with her ? " added the squire pri- 
 vately, who was one of the clumsiest as Avell as the most amiable 
 of men.) 
 
 " Never mind mc — I am better now," said Kitty, slowly. " You 
 said it Avas not the wreck of the ship ? " 
 
 " Nor was it, my dear girl. It was only a bit of a boat be- 
 longing to the ship ; the cutter, I think, they call it. You have 
 seen how boats are swung upon deck, and liow easy it must bo 
 for a big wave to sweep them off into the sea. That is what has 
 probably happened in this case. The ship has lost a boat or two 
 —that's all." 
 
 " But how did they know the cutter belonged to papa's ship ? 
 
 " Because it had Flamborough Head painted on the sterii. 
 There may be nothing in it ; but that's why we didn't send the 
 paper that had the paragraph in it on to the Nook." 
 
 " How good and thoughtful you are for us. Uncle George ! " 
 said Kitty, who had risen to her feet, and was now walking 
 slowly on. 
 
 " Well, we must not put that item down to our own credit, 
 Kitty. We might have taken the precaution or not. Perhaps 
 we should have done so, had the paragraph caught our eyes ; but 
 it might have escaped them. I am bound to say I think it was 
 very considerate in Mr. Holt to telegraph and draw our atten- 
 tion to it. ' Send on The Ghronicle to Sanbeclc,' he wired ; ' tlic 
 bad news is not in that.' He is a sharj) fellow, there is vo 
 doubt ; and I begin to think he is a kind fellow." 
 
 " It was very kind of him to telegraph," answered Kitty, in a 
 low tone. 
 
 " Yes. Not a man in a thousand, as my wife says, would 
 have thought of such a thing ; and it shows the very strong 
 interest he lakes in you all. I don't think your father gave him 
 quite credit for a good heart." 
 
EVIL TIDINGS, 263 
 
 Kitty did not reply to this ; and they walked on in silenco 
 for a -svhile. 
 
 "I think, my dear, you are beginning to tire," said Mr. 
 Campden, presently ; "it is ill walking upon bad news." 
 
 " Biit we are not at the mere yet. Uncle George." 
 
 "Oh, never mind the mere," answered the other, turning 
 about towards home; " that was only my excuse for getting a 
 walk \yith you alone, I thought it right that one member of 
 your family at least should know what had happened." 
 
 " And when shall we know more, Uncle George ? " 
 
 " That is impossible to say, my dear. I hope the next Brazil 
 mail may bring good tidings. Otherwise — otherwise there Avill, 
 no doubt, be grave cause for anxiety. You must try and hid 6 
 your feelings from your mother, Kitty dear." 
 
 "Oh yes, Uncle George; nobody shall see that I have her — • 
 her — heard anything ; " and she made a strenuous effort — - 
 which almost succeeded — to stifle a sob. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; you are a brave girl, and a clever one too. Now, 
 as for me, I can never hide anything from Julia — I wish to 
 heaven I could, sometimes ! And just, now, in your dear 
 mother's presence, I felt like — I don't know what — a discon- 
 certed pickpocket. It was the worst job I have had to do for 
 many a day. She seemed to look through and through me, 
 poor dear ; as much as to say, ' How can you deceive me, and 
 keep things back like this, Uncle George ! ' I can't see her 
 again, Kitty ; I dare not. But if there is good news to bring, 
 I'll bring it to her, at the best pace the mare can go. You 
 must make some excuse for me to your mother. Say my wife 
 insisted on my being back to lunch — then she will understand I 
 had to go." 
 
 Poor Uncle George ! his distress and embari'assment were so 
 extreme that he was ready to part with this last rag of inde- 
 pendence, even before another, with whom he had hitherto kept 
 up some fiction of his being responsible for his own actions. 
 
 Kitty let him go, of course ; and as he got on his horse at the 
 old " mounting-stone " in the Nook yard (within view of them 
 all, as she knew), shook hands with him gaily, and waved her 
 handkerchief as he rode out under the archway. Then, putting 
 on as cheerful a face as she could assume, she entered the house. 
 On the narrow and ill-lit stairs stood Jenny with her finger on 
 her lips, as pale as a ghost. " Come into my room," she whis- 
 pered. " Mamma is tired, and has fallen asleeji on the sofa j 
 and Tony is at his sums." 
 
^64 FALLEN FORTUifES. 
 
 Ivitty followed lier, alarmed for her secret ; her sister's ejea 
 seemed to pierce her. 
 
 Jenny's room -was a pleasant one in its way, though, liko 
 others at tho farmhouse, low and dark. Books were on tho 
 table, the floor, the chairs, and even the little bed ; her old desk 
 was heaped with them. Reading and writing had elbowed out 
 the lacemaking, which, however, she still pursued in the par- 
 lour. " What news, Kitty ? I am sure there is bad news," 
 were her first words as she closed the door. 
 
 " Ko — nDthing," faltered Kitty. 
 
 " Don't deceive me, Kate — I mean, don't try at it. Do you 
 suppose I am blind ? Uncle George did not come here for 
 nothing. Who ever saw him like that before, so nervous and 
 ill at ease ? Was it like him to tell Tony to remain within 
 doors ? Of course he had something private to tell you ; somo 
 misfortune — something about papa." 
 
 Kitty burst into tears. " Yes, Jenny, he had." Then, as 
 well as she could, she told hei*. She had wept but little before 
 Mr. Campden ; sympathy of the passionate sort was wanting 
 between them, and she had a reputation for courage to keep 
 up; but now she broke down utterly. 
 
 " Hu.sh ! " said Jenny, warningly ; "mamma wiU hear you." 
 Her voice was tirm, her eyes were tearless. Kit.y thought sho 
 must have some hope. 
 
 " You think witli Uncle George, dear, that the boat must 
 have been washed overboard," said she, eagerly — "that nothing 
 has happened to the ship itself .^ " 
 
 " No, I don't," was the cold reply. 
 
 " But you don't think the steamer has gone down, Jenny ? " 
 continued her sistei-, pleadingly ; " things will not surely be so 
 bad as that." 
 
 " My thinking will not alter them, Kitty. They have been 
 bud enough hitherto. One thing T confess I am surprised at, 
 tlKio Mr. Campden should have had the forethought to keep 
 bai-k The Times; that Avas a piece of prudence beyond Undo 
 George, and an act of tenderness (as I should have thought) 
 beyond his wife " 
 
 " It was Mr. Holt's doing, Jenny," said Kitty. "He tele- 
 graphed to Riverside to put them on their guard about the 
 paragraph." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ; that explains the matter." 
 
 ** It waa very thoughtful of Mr. Holt — was it not, Jenny ? " 
 
EVIL TIDIXCS. 265 
 
 " Ceriaiuly. But no one ever accused liim of want of fore- 
 tiiougbt. He is a man who lavs his plans very far ahead, I 
 reckon." 
 
 " Jenny, darling, what makes you so hard ? Surely, at a 
 time like this " 
 
 " Hard ? I am not hard," broke in the other. " It is you, 
 Kitty, who arc too soft. Do you suppose that this man cares 
 one farthing about dear papa or mamma, or even about you, 
 except so far as you concern himself ? Do you suppose he took 
 Jeff because he liked him, or out of charity, or from any good 
 motive of any kind ? Xo. He did it because he hoped to molt 
 your heart towards himself ; in hopes that you would say, ' How 
 thoughtful and kind Mr. Holt is.' ' Just what yoa have said, in 
 faot." 
 
 " Oh, Jenny, how can you talk of Mr. Holt now, with isuch 
 sad news knelliug in our ears ! " 
 
 " That is the very thing that makes me so bitter against him. 
 At the first tidings of danger to dear pajja, this man puts him- 
 self forward, presses himself upon your attention. He knows 
 Mrs. Campden is backing him." 
 
 " And yet, if lie had not telegraphed, Jenny; and The Times 
 liad come, and mamma had I'ead the paragraph " 
 
 "True; it would have killed her. Pardon me, Kitty," said 
 Jenny, throwing her arms about her sister's neck ; " I have been 
 unjust and harsh. One has no right to disbelieve in good, for 
 that means in God, Perhaps it is all for the best, but we Lave 
 been greatly tried of late ; and we are feeble folk — like the 
 conies — a few women and a child. It has seemed hai'd to me, 
 that's all. I have known about papa for weeks, that is, that 
 the ship has been spoken of as overdue at Lloyd's. Jeff wrote 
 to say so." 
 
 " Oh, Jenny, how cou.ld you keep such, a dreadful secret to 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " Because is was needful, Kitty, as it is needful now to keep 
 this one. I believe that mamma suspects something oven us it 
 is. She was no more deceived by Uncle George than I was." 
 
 " But, Jenny, if she asks me ? " 
 
 " She will ask nothing. She will be as dumb as an Indian at 
 the stake. She will know that we have good reasons for being 
 silent ; and that will be enough for her. She is a saint and a 
 martyr ; aiid yet not a martyr for any purpose. I mean, ' un- 
 merciful disaster ' pursues her 'fast and ever faster,' without any 
 reason-, except it be to show the futility of being good." 
 
id FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " Oh, Jenny, don't say that. The ways of Provide-MCe ar'e in« 
 scrntable." 
 
 "I think I have heard that remark before. For my part, 
 Kitty, I derive no comfort from such commonplaces. You -will 
 presently tell me that we may be even worse off than we are. 
 Mamma may die, for example, as well as papa be drow.ned. 
 Then you will say, like the Job's comforters of whom the poet 
 speaks, that 
 
 Death is common to the race. 
 
 His reply was, if you remember — 
 
 And common is the commonplace, 
 And vacant chaff well meant for grain. 
 
 I confess that I agree with him." 
 
 " Oh, Jenny, do not be so bitter. I am sure, I am quite sure, 
 that if dear mamma knew it, it would distress her almost as 
 much as this sad news to-day." 
 
 " You are quite right, Kitty ; that is, because she is an ange^. 
 Yet only think what she has suffered ! Is Fate a coward, think 
 you, that it should thus heap blow on blow on one like her, so 
 helpless and so innocent ; or how is it ? " 
 
 "The riddle of the painful earth" was growing too much for 
 this poor girl, as it does grow once or twice in a lifetime for 
 most of us ; and for some, alas ! all their hard lives through. 
 Her thin hand was clenched, her frail frame trembled, her largo 
 soft eyes flashed defiance — at the Universal Law. There was 
 one thing excusable about this poor impotent mutineer — that 
 she was not in rebellion on her own account. No one had ever 
 lieard her, cripple and invalid though she was, utter one im- 
 patient word with respect to her own condition. These bitter 
 reproaches against Fate — the scKva indicjnaUo that Swift felt upon 
 his own account, and would have had sculptured on his tomb- 
 stone — were all for her mother's sake ; she reviled the Inevit- 
 able, as the hen flutters her feathers in the face of the cruel fox 
 because her young — not herself — are menaced. 
 
 Mrs. Campden used to say of Jenny that she had an undis- 
 ciplined mind ; one of those severe but sagacious remarks that 
 even the shallowest people Avill bring forth sometimes, who are 
 always talking, and always with the view of making themselves 
 more or less disagreeable. 
 
 Kate herself, as we heard upon the occasion of our first in- 
 troduction to her, was by no means one who had accepted life 
 without question, or concluded it easy-going for evei'jbody, 
 
A CATASTROPHE. 267 
 
 because tlie way had been always, until receutl}-, made smooth 
 for her; but Jenny's revolt was so decided that it shocked hex* 
 into propriety of opinion, as a respectable Whig, finding himself 
 in Radical company, will shake his head, turn short round, and 
 retrace his steps. In argument she knew her sister was too 
 strong for her, so she wisely avoided it. 
 
 " My dear Jenny, all these things are too difficult for me," slie 
 said frankly. " Of course, I am well aware that dear mamma 
 does not deserve to suffer ; for if she does, who on earth would 
 escape suffering, as certainly some folks do ? Perhaps she 
 suffers — as she does everything else — for the sake of other 
 people ; of you and me, for instance. In the end she will bo 
 among the blessed for evei', but in the meantime she is martyred 
 for our sake ; being a lesson to us of obedience and submission 
 to the will of God such as we should never learn elsewhere. 
 One may say, if this be so, it must be cruel to wish, her to re- 
 main with, us ; and yet w^e are both so selfisli that we cannot 
 bear to think of parting with so sweet a teacher." 
 
 " That is true, at all events," said Jenny softly. " I will go 
 to her now, lest our absence should excite her suspicions. I shall 
 say that I have seen you, and that Uncle George is gone. Kiss 
 me Kitty." 
 
 The two sisters embraced tenderly ; they had never had the 
 quarrels that sisters do ; thanks, perhaps, to Jenny's condition. 
 
 If Fate was resolute to be hard upon them, it would at least 
 find them united. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! Kitty ! news, news ! " cried Tony, running joy- 
 fully into his mother's room one morning. She was not yet up; 
 yielding to her daughters' entreaties and to the monitions of her 
 own growing sense of weakness, she had of late consented to 
 take her morning meal in her bedroom. 
 
 As her son entered, she rose from the pillow with eager eyes. 
 
 " What news, my child ? It is not post-time yet. How com 
 there be news ? " 
 
 Kitty too, who was arranging some late autumn flowers in a 
 little vase upon the dressing-table, so that her mother should 
 see them reflected in the glass, turned round Avith a beating^ 
 heart. " The ship must have arrived at Rio ! " thought bhc. 
 
 " Oh mamma ! " said Tony, his ardour greatly cooled, und 
 
ibS FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Lalf-conscious of liarlng aroused undue expectations, "the first 
 Know has fallen upon the fell. It is quite high up ; but ono 
 can see it plainly, and it looks so beautiful. Margate says that 
 it will not go away again till late in the spring ; and that its 
 coming so early is a sign of a hard winter. What is the matter, 
 dear mamma t 
 
 Mrs. Dalton had sunk back on the pillow, and covered her 
 face with her thin hands. What sort of news she had expected, 
 Kitty knew not ; but it was plain that the disappointment had 
 been a terrible blow. 
 
 "A hard winter," she repeated, "a hard winter." 
 
 " That is what Margate t-ays," continued Tony, re-assuringly ■, 
 " but Margate may not be right, you know. And even if she 
 is, what will it matter ? The snow will fall and fall ; the beck 
 will be frozen ; the roads v^-ill be choked up, so that only light 
 carts can come ; and we shall be snug and cosy in Sanbeck, all 
 by ourselves, just as though wo were out of the world." 
 
 " Out of the world," repeated his mother, slowly. 
 
 "Yes, mamma; but why should we care, being all together," 
 reasoned Tony, gently. '* I have heard you say yourself, that 
 you are always happy when you have us about you ; and I am 
 so glad that I am not at Eton this half." 
 
 She was kissing him now in a strange, passionate manner, and 
 the rare tears were streaming down her cheeks. Kitty would 
 have drawn the boy away ; but she signed to her to leave him. 
 
 " You hnve not forgotten Avho is not here amongst us all, 
 Tony ? " Avhispered she. 
 
 " Oh no, mamma : I often think of dear papa." 
 
 " And pray for him, darling ? Do you pray for him ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed I do ; every night and morning," answered he 
 in her ear, "just as you taught me. There is no snow whero 
 he is gone, Jenny says. — I went to Jenny hrst, because I knew 
 she was up and at her desk. And I have promised her to write 
 to him all about it. Margate says there will be skating on the 
 mere, and sleighing ; the timber trucks make capital sleighs, 
 and the boys will draw me — half a dozen of them at a time, 
 Margate says — and one shoots down the fell like an arrow. 
 Now, all that will be something to write about to papa. I don't 
 mind writing, when I have got something to write about — that's 
 Icr difficulty, Jenny says ; so it happens to clever people as 
 well as to stupid ones. And oh, dear mamma, I do hope you 
 will get out as far as the bridge to-day, and see the snow ou 
 the fell." 
 
A CATASTtOFIlE, 2G9 
 
 Poor Tony came back to tliot as his one strong point, ana 
 the sole excuse for liis enthusiasm ; bnt he felt that it was not 
 po stronor as it was, and that he had overrated the importancG 
 of his tidings. He even understood that his mother's thoughts 
 -wove too occTipied with "dear papa" to take much interest in 
 the natural phenomenon which had taken place; but beyond 
 that, matters were a puzzle to him. Kitty, on the other hand, 
 now felt that Jenny had been right wlxon she said that her 
 mother suspected something was amiss ; thfit her apprehensions 
 respecting the Flamborough Head and the precious life it carried 
 were not less poignant than hers and Jenny's, though they had 
 not the same sad foundation. She bad never said one word to 
 her of her walk to the mere with Uncle George, or even referred 
 TO his visit; a suspicious circumstance of itself, and which, 
 joined to what she had seen that morning, made tender Kitty's 
 heart bleed. 
 
 Jenny had now no secrets from her sister as respected the 
 steamer. Jeff had written again — at Jenny's desire — describing 
 what had happened at Lloyd's ; how first " the Committee " 
 had announced " that they would be glad of information regard- 
 ing the Flamborough Head" and how afterwards it had been 
 placed in the dread list of "Missing Vessels." Yet even he 
 had not said one word of the paragraph about the wreck, wishing 
 to spai'e his correspondent, and ignorant that ill news was 
 already known. 
 
 So week after week went by, and the snow fell as Margate 
 had prophesied it would do — heavier than it had been known 
 to fall for many a year in Sanbeck ; no roll of wheel nor beat 
 of hoof was heard — and indeed, save the doctor's pony and the 
 butcher's light cart from Bleabari'ow (the latter only at long 
 intervals), there was no traflfic of any kind in the little valley. 
 The voice of its stream was hushed, and its fir-trees, too heavily 
 weighted by the snow, had ceased to murmur ; all was silence 
 and solitude. The Daltons were literally out of the world. 
 Few letters arrived for them now, even when the postman 
 came, which was not always (for there was danger of him 
 being " smoored " in the drifts) ; the most sympathising folks 
 cannot be always writing to condole with us, and there was no 
 opportunity, alas ! in this case for aught else but condolence. 
 Our misfortunes are wearisome to our friends as well as our- 
 selves, and make dumb both us and them. As to the Daltons' 
 ordinary acquaintances, who had been very numerous, the 
 family had "gone under," and were already forgotten. Kitty 
 
270 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 was the one who suffei-ed most from this i.-olalion ; io her 
 mother it seemed -well Io be ulono with her wretchedness ; and 
 Jenny had occupation^tho bahu for anxious minds. She was 
 for over writing and reading. Kitty was fond of reading, but 
 not of study ; she was not omnivorous, like her sister, and the 
 library of the late Mr. Landell had few attractions for her. Siie 
 was, in truth, a devotee at the shrine of the circulating library ; 
 a persecuted faith, but one which has a great many charming 
 followers. As the family subscription in London was not you 
 :mn out, the books came down with those of the Campdeus to 
 Riverside, and were afterwards forwarded by carrier. 
 
 " If the snow permits it, pray send me over our batch of 
 books," wrote Kitty imploringly to Mary ; " it is a case of real 
 deistitution ; I am starving for light literature : not a novel has 
 met my eye for a fortnight. I am now reading the ' Pilgrim's 
 Progress' — the most recent work in the library of the Nook." 
 
 Mrs. Campden denounced this note as "flippant," considering 
 the circumstances of Kate's position. The writer, indeed, was 
 by no means in a flippant mood ; only she no longer wore her 
 heart upon her sleeve with respect to Mary. She did not feel 
 inclined to lay bare to her her miserable anxieties, and affected 
 a gaiety that she was far enough from feeling. It is true wo 
 should never affect anything ; but Kitty would have found it 
 hard to please Mrs. Campden now by any style of composition. 
 With a large class of persons, the unfortunate, like the absent, 
 are always in the wx'oug ; and besides, the mistress of Riverside 
 was ano-ry with the girl for refusing or withholding encourage- 
 ment to Mr. Holt. 
 
 However, the books were sent off as requested, and reached 
 their destination, although with some difficulty, and not until 
 late in the afternoon. The carrier, who was suitably enter- 
 tained in the kitchen by Margate, in recompense for his 
 courage, gave a terrible account of his journey. If his cart 
 had not bten the best built and lightest of all carts, and the 
 horse a pikragon of strength and endurance, he could never 
 l^.ve come up the valley ! The snow was five or sis feet deep 
 in many places, and hung so heavy on the hedge-rows that they 
 looked like white walls ! He tossed off his glass of spiiits so 
 quickly after his meal, in order that he might get home before 
 dark, that he found he had just time for another. The treasure 
 he bad brought with him Avas taken into the parlour, and at 
 once divested by Kitty of its coverings. She had thrown down 
 the brown paper and the white upon the ground, and plunged 
 
A CATASTROPHE. 
 
 27t 
 
 iTito a first volume of her favourite antlior; and nnrlcr his 
 l)enign influence Time, notwithstandiiit^ its "weight and -weari- 
 ness and woe, was flying. She only knew that it was growing 
 Iftte because of the waning light, which made her bring the 
 enchanted pages nearer to the window. Presently, her mother- 
 entered the room, and her first act was to pick up the discarded 
 wrappings of the parcel. 
 
 " Oh mamma, I am so sorry," said Kate, remorsefully. 
 Neither she nor her sister, though neat enough in their personal 
 appearance, were tidy; whereas, if Mrs. Dalton had a weakness, be- 
 sides good-will for everybody, it was for putting things straight. 
 
 " Nay, nay, my dear," answered she, smiling ; " don't 
 reproach yourself : it was natural enough that, in you^r eager- 
 ness for the kernel you should forget the husk." 
 
 "But that I should have made you stoop to pick them uji, 
 mamma — I am quite ashamed of myself." 
 
 And she cheerfully shut up her book with the air of a good 
 nun, who has prescribed for herself a penance. 
 
 "Nay, my darling ; I am going to look through our weeklv 
 accounts ; so do not punish yourself in that way. I don't want 
 you to make yourself agreeable jus^t now ; only please to get the 
 lamp, for my old eyes will not serve me in this twilight." 
 
 Neither Margate nor her myrmidon ^,as entrusted with the 
 trimming of the lamp, which, with many another household 
 duty, was now Kitty's peculiar care. Notwithstanding the 
 economical fashion in which the Daltons lived at the Nook — it 
 was much more meagre than what fine folks call "quiet" — 
 their establishment was to be even still more reduced ; it was 
 found that Lucy could not be retained beyond the quarter. 
 The fact was, with all their good sense and wish to spend as 
 little as possible, certain free-handed habits — a shilling hero 
 and sixpence there, and food for whoever set foot in the hou^e 
 on real or pretended service — could not be discarded all on io 
 sudden. In vain the weekly accounts were pared to the thinnest 
 proportions; the "extras" somehow swallowed up the savings. 
 Of course it would be a pang to part with their last attendant : 
 but not so severe as it would have been a few weeks aoo. 
 Although her emoluments were the same as before, Lucy v.o.t 
 not so easily reconciled to the roughness of the new regime a.'- 
 were her mistress and the young ladies ; and she complained oi 
 Uje lack of "society." Mi*rgate's gossip — for it is not to be 
 Mipposod that Nature had denied her the usual springs o€ 
 ccnyeiTjation — itself by no means piquant, was also er-tirely iocai; 
 
272 FALLEX FORTUNES. 
 
 v,'!iilG"thc p'livl," as the third retainer of the family was scornfully 
 ^'.cnominated by the lady's-maid, was a, mere sponge or sucker. 
 Her ears and mouth Avero open for everytl^inf, but there 
 was no reciprocity. Wc cannot all of ns be self-drnyir..:* for- 
 ever ; it is something if one makes a temporary sacrifico at tiie 
 shrine of duty, and poor Lncy had found by this time that her 
 piromise of life-long service to her old employers wonld be not 
 a little irksome to keep. So she was parting from them, 
 thongh on the best of terms ; and in the meantime Kitty was 
 learning to "make herself useful " about the house — a very 
 elastic phrase, which, as we have seen, included lamp-trimming. 
 A neater-handed Phyllis than Kitty it is impofsible to inzagine ; 
 'ind whatever she set her hand to she graced. If you could 
 have seen her now, as she comes np the oake:, stairs with tho 
 lamp, burnished, and throwing its mellow light upon her 
 golden hair, you would have said t]-.at the Daltons had one 
 family ornament at bast still left to them, one rare and 
 beautiful picture, which — however humble its frame — would not 
 escape the judicious eye of the connoisseur. 
 
 " Congratulate me, mamma, upon my success," said she, a^ 
 she stepped carefully into the j^aidcur over the raised threshold 
 that had been very literally a stumbling-block from generation 
 to genei'ation of the dwellers in the Nook, " Does it not burn 
 well ? " 
 
 There was no reply; and, hastily setting down the lamp, 
 Kitty looked around her in some trepidation. Under the deen 
 window-seat where she had herself been sitting a few minutes 
 l-.ofore, lay a motionless figure. 
 
 " Mamma ! " shrieked she, in an agony, and was down on her 
 Icnees beside her in a second ; then " Lucy ! Margate ! Help ! 
 help ! " rang through the old house. 
 
 Her first thought was of physical aid, and therefore she did 
 not call Jenny ; yet Jenny arrived somehow — though her 
 chamber was farthest off — as soon as the others. When tlie 
 kitchen-girl, rushing in with the rest, wrung her hands and 
 cried, "She is dead, she is dead!" it was Jenny who said, 
 " Hush, fool ! " as Margate afterwards observed, " like a man/' 
 and took the direct.'on of affairs. 
 
 " Lrfb her up and put heron the sofa," v/as the order thit 
 tiireo pciir of strong and willing arms promptly oVyed ; and, v.. 
 the meantime, Jenny's own hands had removed the pillow. 
 
 " She has fainted ; that is all, Jenny,"' whispered Elitty, v'ilb. 
 anricus pleading. 
 
TONTS EXPEDITION. 27^ 
 
 *' How did it happen ? Where did you find ber ? " returned. 
 feho other, in the same low voice. 
 
 " Just as you saw her. I had left the room for the lamp, only 
 a minute or two." 
 
 •■ What is that newspaper in the corner ? " 
 
 "It is what the books were wrapped in ; mamma has just 
 taken them up." 
 
 Jenny walked quickly forward and picked up the paper. Her 
 eye, glancing quickly over the page, fell at once on the heading : 
 '• Supposed loss of the Flaynhorough Head." " Good God, KitCy, 
 mamma has read it — the paragraph about the wreck. Margate, 
 some one must go for Dr. Curzon instantly ; not one moment is 
 to be lost." 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, there is not a soul to send. If we had 
 known it before the carrier had gone ; but there is not a man 
 nearer than Farmer Boynton's ; and the snow " 
 
 " I will go," cried a small voice, half -choked with tears ; and 
 Tony, who had crept in unobserved, and was standing by his 
 mother's side in a passion of silent grief, instantly left the room, 
 and the next moment was seen flying across the courtyard. 
 
 "The poor child has not even put on his cloak," murmured 
 Margate, pitifully. The night was falling, and the snow was 
 deep ; but at that awful time, with that lifeless form and death- 
 like face lying before them, neither Kitty nor Jenny could think 
 of aught save her who had given them being. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 tony's expedition. 
 At nine years old some town-boys are already men in matiera 
 upon which a large class of men most pride themselves : in self- 
 reliance, habits of economy, and the art, if not of getting on in 
 the Avorld, at all events of taking good care of themselves in it. 
 In seven years more, if such a lad is in the costermonger line, 
 he will even have a wife and a carriage. Bat in the upper 
 classes, our boys remain boys for a long time — some of th«j2i, 
 under esceptiunally favourable circumstances, even all fcheir 
 lives — and notwithstanding the boasted advantages of our public 
 schools, are strangely helpless and dependent. They are trusted 
 early enough (occasionally too early) to go to the play by them- 
 selves with a sovereign in their pocket ; but without the sove- 
 reign:^ — without, that is to say, the adventitious aids, and claims 
 upon the services of others, to which they have always bee-.* 
 
 T 
 
274 Fallen fortunes. 
 
 accusiomed — the British, school-boy is no match for the streel; 
 Arab of one-half his years. "When Master Anthony Dalton 
 set out on his errand to Dr. Curzon's, he had not even " the 
 light heart and the thin pair of breeches " so much eulogised bj 
 philosophers as adapted to the needs of human life. He had a 
 very heavy heart and knickerbockers. There was nothing on 
 the side of this gallant young gentleman, aged nine, but pluck 
 and a good cause ; and there were a great many things — in- 
 cluding the wind, which was from the north-west, and blew 
 right up the valley — against him, 
 
 liike the rest of his race, he was of delicate constitution, and 
 had been brought up delicately, as was natural enougb in a 
 family in which he was the only boy. Town-born and town- 
 bred, he had never seen the country save in summer-time, till he 
 came to the Nook, and had probably never been out in it, save 
 in a carriage, after dark. He was not the least of a " molly- 
 coddle," and certainly no coward ; yet if the road to Dr. Curzon'ii 
 had been throughout in its normal state, and well lit as a 
 London street, circumstances had been such with Tony as to 
 render his present expedition, in the phrase of his women-folk, 
 " quite an undertaking ; " and considering that the night soon 
 grew to be so dark that he could scarcely see a yard before him 
 and that the snow was everywhere two feet deep at least in the 
 roadway, and sometimes half-a-dozen, it must be allowed thai 
 the child had his work before him. Of difficulty, however, and 
 far less of danger, Tony had no thought as he ran down the 
 noiseless road towards the bridge. His mind was full of his 
 mother, the sight of whose death-like features had appalled him, 
 and his one consuming idea was to bring Dr. Curzon to her side 
 and save her life. He no longer sobbed, but husbanded his 
 breath for her dear sake, and plied his little legs. It had been 
 his intention at first to go to Farmer Boynton's as Margate hatl 
 suggested, and get a messenger from among the men at the 
 homestead ; btit the farm was some way up the valley, in the 
 contrary direction to the doctor's bouse, and he felt that time 
 would be lost by his so doing. If he could fetch the doctor 
 himself — and the snow was not very deep as yet, though hu 
 made but slow progress — help would reach the Nook all the 
 sooner. Behind wei'e the lights of the village ; on the left wag 
 the solitary beacon of Boynton's farm ; to the right lay the long 
 road, so white and yet so dark, with no glimmer from house or 
 homestead ; yet to the right he turned, and plunged un through 
 the half -yielding snow. 
 
TOi\Y*S EXPEDITION. 275 
 
 It was a pitiful struggle, as struggles against Kature in her 
 iron mood mostly are ; and the odds, always great against poor 
 humanity, were in this case overwhelming. The little lad did 
 not even know, what any child who does " the wheel " for half- 
 ])ence from the knife-board could have told him, how to husband 
 liis breath. He was almost "pumped out " already, yet he ran 
 on at the top of his speed. It was grown too dark to distinguish 
 the hard snow from that which was rotten and gave way to hia 
 light ti'ead, or to avoid the deep furrows left by the carrier's 
 cart. A slight bend of the road had already hidden the lights 
 behind him, and walls of snow shut him in to the right and left. 
 His mind reverted to a picture in the old house at home of the 
 retreat from Moscow, of a young conscript left behind by his 
 comrades, and perishing in the white and solitaxy waste. It 
 had taken hold of his childish imagination, and he had often 
 dreamt of it in his little cot, and been glad to wake in the 
 morning and find his mother's face looking down upon him 
 with her sweet smile. At that i-ecollection his heart smote him 
 for having forgotten the condition in which he had left her, even 
 for a moment, and he sped on with renewed vigour. If will 
 could have done it, Tony would have run on to York, had it 
 been necessary ; but unhappily it is not true that wherever there 
 is a will there is a way. The boy began to stumble, and then to 
 stagger, like a drunken man. His legs still moved, but mechani- 
 cally ; he had lost control over them, and was presently landed, 
 head first, in a snowdrift by the wayside ; there he lay for a few 
 seconds, half unconscious. He would have been glad enough to 
 Temain there for ever, but the thought of his mother still spurred 
 him on, and he contrived to extricate himself. There was a 
 shai'p pain in his right foot, as though a hot iron had seared it ; 
 his shoe had come ofi" in the snow. As he ran on, he sent forth 
 one wild passionate cry — a bitter acknowledgment of faitare, 
 rather than an ajjpeal for aid ; then stumbled and fell. 
 
 " Hulloa ! there ; hulloa ! " responded a gruff voice. Tony 
 heard it, but as one hears a voice in dreams. 
 
 " I say, hulloa ! " continued the voice reproachfully, as though 
 a civil observation of that description, civilly put, had deserved 
 a civil reply. Then the light of a lantern gleamed over the 
 track, and John Bates, the Bleabarrow carrier, came cautiously 
 along it, and almost fell over the boy's prostrate body. Then 
 he exclaimed " Hulloa ! " again, but this time in a very aston- 
 ished tone — it was a word he had evidently found capable of 
 great modulation — and stooping down, picked up poor Tony. 
 
375 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " Why, Lulloa ! young gentleman " — liere the word expressed 
 €oainiiseration as well as surprise — " this is a pretty game, es- 
 pecially played with * one shoe ofi and one shoe on/ like ' my 
 man John ' our Emmy sings about* It's my opinion as it's 
 precious lucky for thee that the old mare came to a full stop just 
 where she did, or thou wouldst never have seen the Nook again." 
 He carried the boy back to his cart, which was stuck fast m the 
 snow, a few yards ahead, and placed him tenderly among some 
 empty sacks. 
 
 " Well, this settles me not to try to pusli on any more. — Coom, 
 Ned, coom " (here he addressed his horse) ; " let us turn round 
 and go back to Sanbeck." 
 
 " The doctor, the doctor ! " cried Tony, suddenly, raising him- 
 self from the sacks. " Mamma's ill, and wants the doctor." 
 
 " And could they find nobody in all the place but a little lad 
 like thee to fetoh the doctor to thy mother such a night as 
 this ? " 
 
 *' Yes; a man could have gone from Farmer Boynton's, but I 
 thought I could go quicker myself. Oh, please let us go at 
 once." 
 
 " But the wheels can't move a yard that way; and I doubt 
 whether I could get there afoot myself. To be sure, I could 
 take Ned out, and ride him, and leave thee here in the cart." 
 
 " I said I would fetch the doctor," said Tony, resolutely, "and 
 I'd rather do it." 
 
 " Very good; and so thou shalt. With thy bare foot, and in 
 Fuch sad plight, it will be better for thee to be put to bed at 
 Dr. Curzon's. So I will ride Ned, and take thee before me. If 
 it had not been for the good stuff they gave me at the Nook, I 
 should have been starved o' cold by this time ;; and one good 
 tnrn deserves another." 
 
 The honest carrier needed not have thus found an excuse for 
 an act of benevolence which was natural to him. Most men who 
 paPS their lives exposed to wind and weather have wholesome 
 nature?. The possession of an " Emmy " of his own, too, doub(> 
 less made "the soft spot" in Mr. John Bates's Leart still softer. 
 He unharnepsed the horse ; and throwing a sjr.ck or two on his 
 bare bnck, for Tony's accommodation, mounted,, and placing the 
 boy before him, moved slo'.'trly along the snow-choked way to- 
 wards the doctor's house. They reached it at last, taking sis 
 times the time they would have done upon ordinary occasions; 
 and scarcely less astonished was the worthy doctor at their ap- 
 pearance than if they h»4 been two veritable E jiights Templars, 
 
TOJVV'S EAPEDITJOA. 27 f 
 
 travelling- nccording to 11ie ancient custom of their order. lie 
 looked grave, indeed, wlien Tony told him his errand ; but rcas- 
 suming his habitual cheerfulness, at once ordered his pcny to 
 be brought round. 
 
 " As for you, young gentleman, since you have lost a shoe," 
 said he, " you had better sleep at my house." 
 
 But Tony besought so earnestly to be taken back to the Nook, 
 to see about mamma, that having been fortified as to his inward 
 boy with something hot, and wrapped up in various warm 
 coverings, he was once more placed before the carrier, who had 
 made up his mind to stay the night at Farmer Boynton's ; and 
 the three started together for Sanbeck. It was an expedition 
 that in aftei'-years Tony never forgot, down to its minutest 
 details ; the great events of human life stamp not only them- 
 selves upon the mind, but all the surroundings which accompany 
 them : the snow-clad road, the leaden night, and every incident 
 of his noiseless journey, were destined to hang in that picture- 
 gallery of the past (which there are none so poor as not to 
 possess) for ever ; the very motion of the sturdy shoulders of the 
 horse the boy so unwontedly bestrode, recurred to him long 
 after his two companions had paid the debt of nature. 
 
 Though they rode through the muffled courtyard of the Nook 
 without a sound, the servant-girl, who was on the watch, ran 
 out to meet them, and whispered sometliing in the doctor's ear; 
 he was off his pony in an instant, but not before Tuny had 
 scrambled down from his huge steed. 
 
 " No, my boy," said the doctor, gravely, as the lad was about 
 to limp upstairs ; " you must not go to your mamma's room just 
 now." 
 
 " What is the matter. Sue ? Is mamma worse ? " cried Tony, 
 wildly ; his little legs trembled under him with fatigue and 
 apprehension of he knew not what. The girl picked him np 
 in her strong arms, and placed him in a chair by the kitchen 
 fire. 
 
 " No, no ; now the doctor has come all will be right," said she ; 
 " but you must not run about without your shoes. What a walk 
 you must have had through the snow and dark ! " 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing ; at least, nothing to cry about ; " for the 
 girl had begun to sob hysterically. " Tell me about mamma." 
 
 A thin, shrill, quavering cry was heard above-stairs. 
 
 "What is that, Sue?" 
 
 "You have got a little baby brother, IMaster Tony; such a 
 dear little thing ! " 
 
378 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Tony was ncnpliiBSPfl. He had always understood that the 
 doctors brought these little strangers ; but if Dr. Cur/on had 
 brought this one, he must have carried it in the crown of hig 
 hat — a performance Tony had never seen equalled save by a 
 conjurer in London, who had brought a bowl of gold-fish out 
 of the same receptacle. 
 
 " I should like to see my baby brother, if I can't see mamma,''" 
 said Tony, dreamily ; he had but a faint interest in this newly- 
 arrived relative, and he felt dreadfully tired. 
 
 " So you shall, if you will just lie down in your bed a bit : it 
 is your bedtime nearly, and you mmi take off your wet things, 
 you know." 
 
 " But you'll call me directly mamma asks to see me ?" pleaded 
 the boy. 
 
 " Oh yes. Master Tony, yes : when she asks, I will." There 
 was something strange in the girl's voice and manner, which he 
 could not understand. But he was too worn out for guessing 
 riddles. He even submitted to be carried into his own little 
 room, an indignity he had not endured for many a year, and 
 was put to bed like a child, or a gentleman who has taken too 
 much champagne. 
 
 In the morning he awoke so late that the sun was streaming 
 full upon his bed, and upon Jenny's thin, white face, who was 
 bending over his pillow with an expression that he had never 
 seen her wear before ; it was tender, but yet grave and almost 
 Btern. 
 
 " Have I ovei'slept myself, Jenny, and got late for lessons ? " 
 said he. Then rapidly collecting his ideas : " And how is 
 
 mamma ? Sue promised that when she asked for me Oh 
 
 Jenny, what is the matter ? " 
 
 " Mamma will never ask for you again, dear Tony, nor for 
 any of us. She is " 
 
 "Dead ? " The boy bui-st into passionate sobs. " Oh, don't 
 say dead, Jenny ! " 
 
 " Yes, darling. We have lost the best mother that ever 
 children had." 
 
 " Oh mamma, mamma ! " cried Tony, stretching out his little 
 arms. It was Iterrible to see so young a creature so torn with 
 anguish. 
 
 The door opened, and Kitty entered, her beautiful face puck- 
 ered with weeping. " You have told him, then, Jenny ?" said 
 phe, in broken tones. 
 
 ^' Yes, dear ; I thought it best," 
 
BEREAVED. 279 
 
 " But why, ff'% did tbey not send for me ? Why did they 
 let me sleej) ? " asked Tony, reproachfully. " Did mamma never 
 ask " 
 
 "Yes, darling, yes," said Kitty; "she did ask for you, but 
 2iot in time ; and when we told her you had gone for the doctor, 
 through the dark and snow, she thanked you with her sweet 
 eyes. 'My poor, poor boy,' she said. It is we who are to be 
 pitied, darling, and not she, for she is an angel in heaven." 
 
 " Sue told me I had a baby brother ? " said Tony, softly, after 
 a little pause. 
 
 " Yes, deal', you have." 
 
 " How strange and sad it will be for poor papa," continued 
 the boy, thoughtfully, "to hear that mamma has gone to heaven, 
 and that there is a baby brother ! " 
 
 Neither Kitty nor Jenny coiild make reply. They had not 
 the heart to tell him that in all human probability the news 
 that had broken their mother's heart was true ; that they three 
 — and the baby boy — were left alone in the world ; not only 
 motherless, but fathei'less. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 BEREAVED. 
 
 What change happens to those who have cast off this mortal 
 coil, He only knows who has put it for a brief span upon us; 
 but it can hardly be mnch greater than that which l^efalls the 
 living whom the beloved ones have left behind thera. 
 
 To know they have departed, 
 
 Their voice, their face, are gone ; 
 To feel impatient-hearted, 
 
 Yet know we must Hve on, 
 
 is an experience that transcends all others in this world. The 
 vacant chair in the household that has been knit together in 
 bonds of love, has all the sacredness of the altar, and ten times 
 its suggestiveness. For the time it seems as though the sun 
 had vanished from the skies and all was dark. The home has 
 lost its charm, and is more hateful, because more full of bitterest 
 remindings, than any stranger's roof. We weep, we plead, we 
 beat against the gates of heaven, to call the lost one back — in 
 vain. What is wealth, or health, compared with that which 
 yesterday we thought bnt a common blessing, taken as a matter 
 <*f course, treated as though it would remain with ns fpr ever, 
 
iib F.I L LEX FOR Tl WES. 
 
 and now is gone ! Oli cruel Fate ! unpltying Arbiter ! Oli 
 AVorker of Desolation and Despair ! 
 
 'Tis better to liave lovcJ and lost. 
 Bays one, 
 
 Than never to have loved at alL 
 
 It may be so, but that is too bard a saying for us even to 
 understand, mncb more to dei'ive comfort from it ; for the love 
 of the departed one was a portion of our very selves, the spring 
 of our every action, the theme of our deepest thought— and be 
 has left us for ever. It is idle to tell us we shall meet again. 
 What consolation is it to the child who weeps and clings, when 
 sent from home for the first time to school, that there will be 
 holidays at midsummer ! And we are in worse plight than be, 
 for we are not sure — the very best of us are not quite sure — 
 that there unU be holidays. And if there be, what change will 
 not be wrought in us. We may be children then no more ; and 
 he that has gone before may bo unrecognisable. " Death is com- 
 mon." " All is for the best." " It is the will of Grod." Cold 
 comfort all. 
 
 Think of the Nook in Saudbeck, with the snow without, and 
 the pale corpse within; the orphaned gii-ls and Tony, well-nigh 
 penniless, well-nigh friendless, with their helpless charge, but 
 one day old. There are tens of thousands in the land in worse 
 plight than they ; and tens of hundreds, rich in this world's 
 goods, who complain that they have no object in life, and devote 
 themselves to Ritualism, Exeter Hall preachings, or old china, 
 in default of it. 
 
 The man who had killed Mrs. Dalton was poor Mr. Marks, 
 the butler at Riverside, who had thoughtlessly wrapped around 
 Mr. Mudie's books that fatal Times ; but he was, after all, but 
 the immediate cause of her decease ; she would have died any 
 way — so Dr. Curzon said — in bringing that new life into the 
 world. For weeks she had dragged on with a breaking heart ; 
 consumed with unutterable apprehensions upon her husband's 
 account ; uncheei-ed by hope ; and laden with anxieties for her 
 children's future. *' If she ain't gone to heaven, sir," observed 
 old Margate in confidence to Dr. Curzon, " there ain't no such 
 a place." An observation worth a good many beaten -out and 
 attenuated remarks to the same effect which were made by others 
 on the occasion. 
 
 They laid her in the sunniest spot of the little God's-acre — 
 the purest pmbo^imcnt of gopd it had ever knQ\Yn — apd paany 
 
BEREA VED. 2Sr 
 
 a ;2:cnuine tear was flvoppoil fur lur JVoni cn-es onnscd to pay 
 sucli tribute. Dr. Cui-zou was deeply affected, aud Mr. Camp- 
 den also. Kind Jeft*, whose coming down from town for such, 
 a pui'pose was stigmatised by a certain lady as " a most ridicu- 
 lous act of extravagance," was among the mourners, and wept 
 almost as bitterly as little Tony himself. The two girls accom- 
 panied the body to the grave, as likewise did Mrs. Campden and 
 her daughter. 
 
 " I would go much farther than to Sanheck churchyard," 
 said the former, " to show my respect for the memory of 
 dearest Edith ;" and thei'e is no reason to doubt her word, 
 though there would probably have been limits as to distance. 
 
 She meant to be kind after her fashion, but she was certainly 
 not judicious in entering as she did upon the material aspect 
 of their affairs with the poor mourners on the very day on 
 which cheir mother had been laid in her grave. Her daughter 
 and herself had returned with them to the Nook after the 
 funeral ; while her husband and the doctor, with Jeff and Tony, 
 were taking a walk towards the mere, which the melting of the 
 snow during the previous week — one of sunshine and compara- 
 tive mildness — enabled them to do. " It is so much more easy 
 for men to escape from disagreeable scenes than women," as 
 Mrs. Campden justly observed; although she might have added 
 that certain scenes disagreeable to all men are not so to all 
 women. We do not mean to say that Mrs. Campden absolutely 
 enjoyed her visit to the Nook upon the present melancholy 
 occasion, but without doubt it had some pleasing features for 
 her. It was an occasion that — in many senses — could be im- 
 proved, and she was fond of improving an occasion. Without 
 exactly putting herself in the place of the girls' " natural pro- 
 tector," — which would have involved something besides privi- 
 leges — she was in an undeniable position for ofieriog advice, if 
 not for absolute dictation ; and for playing the patroness as far 
 as that game could be pluyed for love. As their only kins- 
 woman, she had really succeeded to some authority over them, 
 and Kitty, at least, was willing to admit it. 
 
 "My dear girls," said she, impressively, "you have a right 
 to look to me in future — for counsel ; and, God willing, it shall 
 never be denied you. Your dear mother's death has in no 
 respect altered your position in my affections, unless it be to 
 make you dearer to me. I am sure my Mary feels the same." 
 
 " Kitty and Jenny both know that, mamma, without my 
 telling them," said Mary, brusc|uely. She had a consciousness. 
 
28^ FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 quickened by a certain expression !n Jenny's eye, that this 
 speech of her mother's was not quite what it shotild be, or, at 
 all events, that it was not very warmly appreciated. 
 
 " My dear child, in a solemn hour like this, one should not 
 only think, but speak the words of cheer. It has pleased an 
 inscrutable Providence to deprive your cousins of their natural 
 guardian ; indeed, there is only too much reason to fear of both 
 their parents. They are, unhappily, also left but slenderly pro- 
 vided for. Under these circumstances, it behoves those who 
 love them to speak with tenderness, yet with decision. It is 
 impossible at their age that they should know the world, or 
 what is best for them to do in the world ; and it is my duty to 
 tell them that in reality their choice is very small. Even with 
 the experience of their good mother to aid them, they have 
 found it hard, I fear, to make both ends meet ; and they will 
 find it still harder now." 
 
 " Do you call these ' words of cheer,' madam ? " inquired 
 Jenny, suddenly, with the air of a person who asks for informa- 
 tion. 
 
 " They are words of truth, at all events, my poor girl," 
 answered Mrs. Campden, pityingly, " as you will surely dis- 
 cover ; though, indeed, I was not addressing myself so much 
 to you as to Kate. Well, in this, your extremity, as I may truly 
 call it, a friend has unexpectedly proffered his aid." 
 
 " Mr. Holt, I suppose ? " said Jenny, coldly. 
 
 "Yes, it is Mr. Holt, Jane ; though I don't know why you 
 should suppose any such thing," answered Mrs. Campden, ro- 
 provingly. "You have no claim upon his good oflSces, so far 
 as I know, in any way. Yet only consider what he has donr. 
 From the moment that that dreadful paragraph appeared in the 
 newspaper which has already worked such woe — poor Marks 
 is quite broken-hearted about his share in the matter, and I 
 hope it will be a lesson to him never to act without thought, as 
 long as he lives — I say, ever since these miserable tidings came 
 to England, Mr. Holt has been moving heaven and earth to get 
 your father's insurance-money paid " 
 
 Kitty started to her feet. " What ! is there, then, no hope ? " 
 cried she. 
 
 Jenny trembled in evei-y limb, but remained silent. Her 
 courage was greater than that of her sister, but her strength 
 was small. 
 
 " I fear that there is very little hope, Kitty," said Mrs. 
 Ci^mpden, quietly. " We must not disguise from ourselye? 
 
BEREA VED. 283 
 
 wliafc 1ms really happened. The ship is many weeks behind its 
 time, and has been already ' written off ' — I believe that is the 
 phrase — at Lloyd's ; and then there is this shattered boat picked 
 up belonging to it. The Flaviborough Head is painted on it 
 Nothing can be more morally conclusive. On the other hand, 
 there is a difficulty about the payment of your father's insurance 
 by the Fahn Branch, because his death cannot be substantiated. 
 Mr. Campden could tell you all about it, because he is a director 
 of the Company, but he naturally feels a delicacy in talking of it. 
 ]<^rom his very connection with the matter, his lips are in a 
 niiinner sealed." 
 
 " Why ? " inquired Jenny. 
 
 " My good girl, I wish you would not speak so brusquely. It 
 is positively startling. You must really get out of that curt 
 manner, which is the reverse of conciliatory. Of course I don't 
 mind it myself, that is to say seriously — but others may take 
 objection to it ; and under present circumstances it behoves you 
 to make no enemies, but all the friends you can. The reason is 
 surely evident enough why my husband, being a director, and 
 indeed the chairman of the Palm Branch, can take no steps that 
 may prejudice its interests on behalf of a personal friend. The 
 Company has for the present refused to pay, and in the meantime 
 money will be wanting to you for a hundred things — for what 
 has happened to-day, for one. Forgive me for alluding to mat- 
 ters that must needs give you pain ; but this is no time for false 
 delicacy. Well, you want money at once, and for the present 
 the Fahn Branch will not pay the sum to which you would be 
 entitled if the fact of your father's death could be established. 
 Under these circumstances, the kind friend of whom I speak 
 has offered to advance you whatever may be i^equired." 
 " That is very generous," said Kitty, softly. 
 " The advance would be made on the security of the in- 
 surance," observed Jenny. 
 
 " Well, yes, of course it would. But if your father is alive 
 the loan is lost, for where is he to find the money to repay it ? " 
 
 I " Then in that case Mr. Holt would be giving us the money, 
 would he not ? " continued Jenny. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and there are very few persons, let me tell you, 
 who would make so noble, so large-hearted an offer." 
 
 i " Let us hope there would be also very few persons who would 
 
 i| accept it, Mrs. Campden." 
 
 I " Jane, you must be mad ! " cried Mrs. Campden, angrily. 
 
 I *' Kate, if you have any influence with your sister — for it seera^ 
 
284 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 T have none — I tio trust you ^vill exert it for lior own benefit. 
 She does not understand her position. ' 
 
 " You are wrong there, Mrs. Campden ; thanks to your plain 
 speaking — a duty, as you call it, in which you have never failed 
 since our misfortunes began — it is quite impossible that any one 
 of us could misunderstand it. Kitty, of course, will do as she 
 thinks pi-oper ; but for myself I do not take one shdling of this 
 man's money either as loan or gift. I would starve tirst." 
 
 " My dear Jenny ! " cried Mary, with a little scream ; "pray 
 don't say such dreadful things. Mamma always exaggerates, 
 you know ; things are not so bad " 
 
 " Be quiet, Mary," interrupted Mrs. Campden, vei-y sharply ; 
 " you are talking like a fool. If things are not so bad with your 
 cousins, it is only in the sense that they are not so bad as they 
 may be. It is impossible to imagine a darker future than 
 awaits them, should they decline this opportune, and, I must 
 say, most delicately offered aid. Fortunately, the decision does 
 not rest with Jane, but with Kitty. She is the house mauager, 
 and knows how matters stand ; aud with the debt for her mother's 
 vei'y funeral hanging over her head " 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " pleaded Kitty, pitifully. "Do not talk of that 
 to-day, I entreat you. Give me time — a few days at least — to 
 think over what you have said, and then you shall have my 
 answer." 
 
 " You will do as you please, my dear, of course," replied Mrs. 
 Campden, with a pitying smile ; " though why you should hesi- 
 tate, even for a moment, is inexplicable to me. However, so be 
 ft. And now I have a proposition of my own to make, which 
 has the merit, at all events " — here she threw a meaning glance 
 at Jenny — " of being open to no misconstruction. It is my in- 
 tention — for the present, at all events — to provide for the little 
 baby. It is strong and healthy enough. Dr. Curzon says, not- 
 withstanding its t^omewhat premature arrival, so that a wet 
 nurse is as unnecessary as she would, under the circumstances, 
 be unjustifiable ; and our lodge-keeper's wife, Mrs. Hardy — who, 
 it seems, had a gi'eat affection for its poor mother — has consented 
 to take charge of it. We have plenty of cows, you know " 
 
 " Oh, please, Mrs. Campden, I couldn't do that," interrupted 
 Kitty, decisively. " The baby is the greatest comfort we have 
 left to us. It is never out of my arms or Margate's, and she 
 understands all about it quite as well as Mrs. Hardy. The 
 milk is as good here, too, as at Riverside " 
 
 " My cleiar child, that is not the question," put in the other, 
 
BEkEAVJ^D. 5SS 
 
 emphatically. " Tlie qaestiou is, do yoa get the milk for no- 
 thing ? Wh}-, of course you don't ; and therefore to keep the 
 baby would be an act of extravagance." 
 
 " My dear mamma, I never heard of a baby being an article 
 de luxe,'' said Mary, smiling. 
 
 " Very likely not ; but your cousins are unfortunately in a 
 position to feel it as such," returned her mother, gravely. " It 
 is not as if you would be separated from the child by auj dis- 
 tance, Kitty ; and then, when you come over to Riverside, you 
 could always see it. And if it was seriously ill, I should take 
 care to let you know, of course." 
 
 Poor Kitty's face had been growing longer and longer through- 
 o-ut this speech, for the baby was inexpressibly dear to her, as 
 well on its own account as on that of lier mother, of whom it 
 Hcemed to be a portion. Jenny could find forgetfulness of her 
 miseries in reading and writing ; but for herself, the soft, snoozie 
 little form she rocked to sleep upon her bosom was her only cure 
 for the heartache. When Mrs. Campden talked so calmly of its 
 being " seriously ill " miles away from her, Kitty shuddered. 
 
 " Indeed I could not part from the baby, Mi*s. Campden. It is 
 almost the greatest treasure I have left in life ; and I don't think," 
 added she, with a faint smile, "it is a very expensive luxury." 
 
 " You know your own affairs best, my deai%" answered Mrs. 
 Campden, coldly. " I meant nothing but kindness by my oflfer." 
 And she rose, and preened down her black silk and crape, in sign 
 of flight. " We have put up our horses at Farmer Boynton's, 
 so that no unnecessary expense should be imposed upon you ; and 
 I do hope you will be as considerate for yourself, Kitty, as your 
 friends are for you. You understand what I mean. Now, I 
 do trust to hear from you to-morrow or the next day, that your 
 foolish scruples with respect to the offer of our common friend 
 have been overcome." She kissed Kitty as she spoke ; but Jenny 
 had already betaken herself from the room, and Mrs. Campden 
 perhaps was not displeased at the circumstance. She was not 
 so indifferent to Jenny's brusqueness as she affected to bo ; the 
 plain speaking on which she piqued herself was very unwel- 
 couie to her in others ; and, besides, Jenny had a habit of 
 quietly ripping up her satin speeches, and showing the seamy 
 side of them, wiiich made her particularly dislike that young 
 lady. Of the baby, on the other hand, Mrs. Campden took a 
 gracious leave — the woman's heart must be bad indeed that does 
 not warm to a baby — and yet its infant charms by no means so 
 intoxicated her as to warp her practical good sense. 
 
286 FALLEN FORTUNES, 
 
 " It's a dear little baby," said Mary ; " is it not ? " as she aud 
 her mother crossed the bridge towards the farm. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and healthy too ; though, under the circum- 
 stances, one can hardly wish that it should live." 
 
 " Fie, mamma; how you talk ! " returned Mary, not a litile 
 shocked. It was creditable to her to have retained her suscep- 
 tibilities so long ; her mother's honest speech and high princi- 
 ples still gave her rather " a turn" occasionally. 
 
 " Well, the point is, what is the poor little creature to livo 
 ■upon ? " returned the elder lady. " Even when Mr. Dalton's 
 insurance-money is paid, there will hardly be enough for three 
 mouths, much less for four. I suppose you don't wish your 
 papa to be saddled with the maintenance of a second boy for all 
 his life ? " 
 
 " Well, that does seem hard upon us, certainly," answered 
 Mary, her thoughts reverting to Jeff with some disfavour. 
 
 " Of course it would be hard — in fact, it is out of the question ; 
 and yet you say (rather disrespectfully, I must needs remark), 
 ' How you tall^ mamma ! ' when I say it is no charity to hope 
 the child may live. If the carriage is ready, I shall not wait 
 for your father. It will do him all the good in the world to 
 walk home ; and I am sure the accommodation at the farm is 
 not at all what our horses are accustomed to." 
 
 In a few minutes the carriage drove by — close to the new- 
 made grave — with the two ladies sitting in it alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 JENNY AT BAY. 
 
 Mb. CAMtDEN was upon the whole not sorry to have been left 
 "behind by his wife at Sanbeck ; the short way to Riverside over 
 the crags was not, indeed, very nice walking in winter weather } 
 but it was no great distance to Bleabarrow, where " the fly " 
 could be procured to take him home ; and he was really glad of 
 being alone with Jeif,and of having a word or two in private with 
 the two girls. Jeff had received no summons to Riverside upon 
 this melancholy occasion — Mrs. Campden objected, as a matter 
 of principle, to people running into expenses for mere sentiment 
 — but had invited himself to Dr. Curzon's. 
 
 " I should like, if it would not be inconvenient to you," he 
 wrote the doctor, " to pay the last tribute of respect to the best 
 and dearest friend I have had in the world ; " and the doctor 
 had allowed the plea, and welcomed the lad warmly. 
 
JEMNV AT BA Y. 287 
 
 He looked soitlettiiug more tlian a lad now ; his life in town 
 had given Mm an air of independence and self-possession, though 
 without the least touch of conceit. He looked handsomer than 
 ever, though his dark eyes were heavy with woe, and his fair 
 face shadowed with grief, as he walked with little Tony ahead 
 of their two companions, and talked in a low voice of the do 
 parted dear one. 
 
 With the squire and the doctor, as was natural, the future of 
 the orphaned Daltons formed the chief topic of conversation ; 
 and in connection with it, Mr. Campden mentioned the offer 
 that had been made by Mr. Holt. 
 
 " It was a deuced kind thing of the man, that I must say," 
 observed he, when he had delivered this information, which ho 
 felt somehow had fallen flat. 
 
 " Very much so," said the doctor, " if it was disinterested." 
 
 " There was no promise attached to it whatsoever, my good 
 friend ; the offer was made quite free." 
 
 " Still, from what I have seen of Mr. Holt," persisted the 
 other, " I should think he was a gentleman who looked, in some 
 shape or another, for his quid pro quo. Moreover, I believe him 
 clever enough to gauge the nature of those with whom he has 
 to deal. If he lends our young friends money, he places them 
 under an obligation ; and there is only one way — as it seems to 
 me — by which that obligation can be discharged." 
 
 "I think you are not very charitable to Mi\ Holt," said Mr. 
 Campden, with a little flush. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the doctor, drily. " Still, I think it 
 hard upon the girl to place her in such a position. Suppose a 
 lovely young woman, for example (and what can bo more 
 likely ?), advanced me money upon very doubtful secui-ity — 
 should not I be bound, if I could not repay her, to make her 
 Mrs. C. ? " 
 
 "I believe you're right, Curzou," said Mr, Campden, sud- 
 denly ; " it has struck me in the same light myself. The money, 
 if they want it, shall be forthcoming some other way." 
 
 He gave a great sigh as he said that, as a thrifty man might 
 do who has made up his mind to some extravagance ; but Mr. 
 Campden was not thrifty, and though he was counting the cost 
 of what he had resolved to do, it was not the expense that made 
 him sigh. If he advised the girls not to take this money, 
 especially if his wife had already persuaded them to do so, 
 " there would be the deuce of a row" he knew, with JuHa. 
 
 " I say, Jeff, what is your opinion of Mr. Holt ? " inquired 
 
a88 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 tlie docto? presently, pitt-iiiucr his voice so as 1o reach the 
 othei's ; "that is, so tiir as you can tell it consistently with 
 loyalty to your chief." 
 
 " Aye, we mustn't disclose the secrets of the prison-hoase, 
 must \-e ? " said Mr. Campden; " hov/ we rig the markets and 
 all that." 
 
 ** I am bound to say that Mr. Holt has been uniformly civil 
 to me," replied the young fellow, frankly. " Nay, nor. only 
 civil, but considerate. In my iscnorance and inexperience, I 
 have no doubt made lots of blunders in business matters, and 
 he has never said a word about them. And this is the more 
 creditable to him, because he hates me very cordially, and he 
 knows that I hate him." 
 
 " My dear Jefi', I am astonished at you ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Campden. The doctor looked astonished too, but with a sly 
 twinkle in his eyes that did not speak reproof. 
 
 " No, sir ; we don't like one another, and we never shall," 
 continued the young man ; " but I do my duty by him, I hope, 
 and, as I say, I have nothing to complain of in his behaviour 
 to me." 
 
 " Well, I have known many partnerships carried on on worse 
 terms," observed the doctor, cheerfully. " But how was it that 
 oil and vinegar were got to mix in the first instance ?" 
 
 " The explanation is very simple, doctor. Mrs. Dalton — God 
 bless her I— asked Mr. Holt to take me, and advised me to go. 
 And — and — " hete Jeif began for the first time to exhibit 
 embarrassment — '* nothing else happened to ofier itself." 
 
 For the second time the colour came into Mr. Campden's 
 face ; he could not but remember the circumstances under 
 which Jeff had been driven from Riverside. It Avas quite a 
 relief to him that a bend of the road here showed them the 
 village — they were nov/ returning from the mere — and once 
 more introduced, by association, the topic of the morning. 
 
 " I should like to have a few words with your sisters before 
 I start, Tony," said the squire, " if they feel equal to see me." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure they would see you. Uncle George, because 
 
 " here he stopped short ; what he had in his mind was, 
 
 •'because they could see Mrs. Campden, who is not half so 
 nice;" but, unlike that lady, he sometimes felt a hesitation in 
 speaking his mind. 
 
 "Because he is their best friend; eh, Tony?" observed tho 
 doctor, hastening to the rescue. " That is quite right. Wo 
 three will take another turn together while the squire goes in. 
 
JENNY AT BAY. 389 
 
 Since Mrs. Campden's departure that afternoon, the L,wo 
 Bisters had not met. Kitty had devoted herself to the baby, 
 and Jenny had remained in her own room, endeavouring iu vain 
 to devote herself to her books. They were both aware that it 
 behoved them to be doing something: not to give themselves 
 over to the grief that was importuning them to become its 
 prey. They only showed their weakness by avoiding the little 
 drawing-room when they conveniently could ; since it was th^^re 
 that the sense of loss oppressed them most. The unfinished 
 piece of work ; the still open desk ; the book half read ; the 
 empty lounging-chair, were for the present daggers, each of 
 which stabbed them to the very heart. Perhaps, too, the con- 
 sciousness of their disagreement — or rather of their want of 
 accord — with respect to the proposition made by Mrs. Campden, 
 had helped to keep them apart for that half -hour or so. A quarrel 
 was impossible between them at any time, much more on the 
 very day when they had laid in earth the being they had loved 
 best upon it, and who had repaid their love with such usurious 
 interest. There were reasons, as I have shown, why these two 
 from the first should not have gone the way of most sisters in 
 this respect; and since misfortune had befallen them, the bonds of 
 love between them had been naturally strengthened and tightened. 
 It is a poor fancy, indeed, that has painted Love as flying out of 
 the window when poverty knocks at the door. With those within, 
 if they be not utterly worthless, he remains a more cherished guest 
 than ever. Indeed, it was only their ordinary close ajQTection and 
 unanimity which gave any importance to the difference of opinion 
 between the two sisters ; it seemed so strange to each that the 
 other should take an opposite view of any matter. 
 
 Jenny on her part had no doubt whatever as to the course 
 they were bound to follow with respect to Mr. Holt's offer. If 
 Bhe had thought Kitty was seriously thinking of accepting it, 
 she would have oeen furious. She saw it at once in the very 
 light in which it appeared to Dr. Curzou. " This impudent 
 man was offering to lend his money upon the very best of 
 security — namely, on Kitty herself. If the offer was accepted, 
 it was, in fact, the offer of his hand !" What hesitation, tliere- 
 fore, need there be as to their reply ? As to Mrs. Campden's 
 making the proposition, that was only to be expected, after 
 what had already happened, and was another reason, if sncb 
 Avere wanted, for declining it. Sooner than see her Kitty 
 sacrificed on the altar to Mammon, for the sake of herself and 
 Tony and the buby, she uvidd have *' starved firi.t." 
 
 u 
 
2gj FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 But besides tliis bitter feeling, there was a fire kindled ia 
 Jenny's breast that flamed against almost everybody ; nay, 
 Avhich resented the blows of Tate itself. She had taken it ill in 
 church that day that the Bleabarrow clergyman — of whose euro 
 Sanbeck formed a portion not much visited except in the 
 summer months — should have spoken of her mother's future 
 with charitable confidence. The words of Hamlet addressed to 
 the ofiiciating minister at Oijhelia's grave would have expressed 
 her thoughts. What priest on earth had the right to eulogise 
 her mother, far less to hint a doubt of her perfection ? As for 
 the outside world, she scorned it ; the chill touch of misfortune 
 had withered up her soul, and shut her sympathies within very 
 narrow limits. Her own flesh and blood — Jefl: and the Doctor, 
 Nurse Haywood and Uncle George — were now all tlae world 
 held- that was dear to her ; and even Uncle George Avas suffering 
 in h^r opinion as the husband — or rather because he was the 
 slave — of his Julia. Under these circumstances, it was perhiaps 
 creditable to poor Jenny that she had been as civil to Mrs. 
 Campden that afternoon as she had been. 
 
 Kitty, on the other hand, was actuated by different feelings. 
 Her mother's death had left her — until her father's return, ol 
 which, however, she at least still entertained a hope — head of 
 the family ; and her soul was filled with the sense of that 
 responsibility. The proposition made on behalf of Mr. Holt did 
 not strike her with that force and significance which' it had for 
 her sister ; she saw in it a kindness, unexpected indeed, but 
 explicable enough on the ground of his friendfehip for her 
 father. She looked upon the money as a loan, not as a gift ; 
 and, though even so it would be unpleasant to accept it, she did 
 not think it consistent with, her duty to those left in her charge 
 to refuse such an offer point-blank. She had not yet made 
 herself aware how their slender finances actually stood, and 
 therefore could not measure the necessity of the case ; and she 
 was solicitous not to lose a friend for her dear ones, and still 
 more not to make an enemy. That she could be resolute 
 against dictation, when her heart counselled resistance, has been 
 proved by her refusal of Mrs. Campden's generous proposal to 
 take the baby ofi" her hands; but Jenny had left the room 
 before she had displayed this fortitude. 
 
 It was, therefore, under some sort of misunderstanding, rather 
 than disagreement, that the two sisters now met in the little 
 sitting-room, having been summoned thither by the squire's 
 arrival. 
 
JENNY AT BAY, 291 
 
 " My darlings," Said lie, gently, " this is a sad day for you ; 
 bat I thought you would not mind seeing Uncle George." 
 
 The sight of these delicate girls, so pale and mournful, in their 
 simple black dresses, affected him deeply. He noticed that 
 Kitty wept, while Jenny was quite dry-eyed, and yet that the 
 latter looked the more pained and hopeless of the two ; that was 
 probably, thought he, because of her physical ailment, poor 
 thing. He tenderly embraced them both, and then spoke some 
 hopeful words about their father. 
 
 " Jeff says that it is by no means thought to be a desperate 
 case with regard to the Flaiuhurow/h Head, even now, and that 
 j)ersons are still found to insure her, though, of course, at a 
 
 great pi-emium — Come, come, girls, cheer up ; 1 hope and 
 
 trust that my old friend may come home to see liis darlings yet." 
 
 "Not all his darlings — not the best of tiiem," moaacd Kitty, 
 wringing her little hands. 
 
 "J have no hope. Uncle George," said Jenny, quietly. 
 
 " Well, well ; time will show, lass. My prayer is that your 
 poor father may be restored to be your guide and protector. 
 But if it please God to deny this, material matters will, on the 
 other hand, be less untoward with you. His life is insured — 
 though, singularly enough, I never knew it — in a Company of 
 which I am a director, for five thousand pounds. The worst is, 
 that some time may elapse before the proof arrives — that is •" 
 
 "We understand," interrupted Jenny, quietly. " Mrs. Camp- 
 dcn explained it." 
 
 "Yes, yes; and about Holt's offer, and so on. Well, I have 
 been thinking since that you might have some hesitation in 
 accepting that. Now, suppose a little arrangement should be 
 entered into between you two and me, no one else knowing any- 
 thing about it ; there would not be the same objection, would 
 there ? Here are two hundred pounds — that would be enough, 
 eh?" 
 
 " Oh, yes. Uncle George; but " 
 
 " Now, my dear Kitty, it's a loan ; you need have no false 
 pride in the matter." 
 
 " But I am not sure that we shall want it, Uncle George — at 
 least, not just at present. We shall live very, very quietly 
 now ; shall we not, Jenny, you and I ? and as for Tony, he 
 will soon be off our hands. It is such an indescribable plea- 
 sure to us to think that the poor boy will, for the next year or 
 two, at all events, feel no disadvantage from his change of for- 
 iime, since you have so kindly offered to send him to Eton." 
 
292 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 "To Eton?" said Mr. Campdon, reddening. "Yes,, to be 
 sure there was some talk of that. But Mrs. Campden was think- 
 ing perhaps some other school — I mean in the boy's own interest 
 — might, under the circumstances, be more suitable." 
 
 " Oh, dear ; I am so sorry I " said Kitty. " Papa went away 
 so pleased that Tony was to go to Eton ; and mamma — I think, 
 somehow, dear mamma had set her heart upon it. Moreover, 
 Uncle George, you promised it," observed Kitty, gravely. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I believe I did, and I should like to do it 
 
 still ; but, the fact is, Mrs. Campden thinks • However, 
 
 no matter about that ; I promise you the boy shall go to as 
 good a school as Eton." 
 
 " Subject to what Mrs. Campden thinks." 
 
 " Oh, Jenny, Jenny ! " cried Kitty, reprovingly, 
 
 Mr. Campden's face turned from red to white. It was the 
 first time either of the girls had seen Uncle George " put out," 
 except by his wife. 
 
 "You should not speak to your father's friend like that, 
 Jenny," said he, severely. "It is not becoming in a young 
 girl." 
 
 " It is becoming in no one to break his word, and least of all 
 because " 
 
 "Be quiet, Jenny!" cried her sister, with passionate plead- 
 ing. " How can you, can you talk so, when Uncle George has 
 just been so kind ! " 
 
 "What Jenny says will make no difference as to that," said, 
 the squire, coldly. " The two hundred pounds are quite at your 
 service." 
 
 " But I am not sure that we shall want them, Uncle George," 
 said Kitty, timidly, and flushing very much at the sight of Mr. 
 Campden's pocket-book. It held those very same notes which 
 had been offered to John Dalton on the eve of his luckless 
 departure from Riverside, and been declined. 
 
 " You will certainly want them, my dear," said he ; "if not 
 to-day, to-morrow. It is ridiculous to suppose that you can 
 keep house — and pay unlooked-for expenses also — on your little 
 income, without any hope of its being increased." 
 
 " We Imve hope, Mr. Campden," said Jenny, slowly. " And 
 I, for my part at least, had rather not take " 
 
 "You talk very foolishly, girl," interrupted Mr. Campden, 
 with irritation : " if you suppose you can earn your own living. 
 you must be mad. I know vou a^e thinking of yonr lacework ; 
 bxit Lady Skipton was writing about it only the other day to 
 
/ENNY AT BAY. 293 
 
 Mrs. Campden, and assured h.ev that, commercially speaking, ii 
 was valueless." 
 
 It was a cruel tiling to say, even in anger, but the squire 
 little knew what pain he was inflicting. The thought that her 
 little private note to Lady Skipton, with its oifer of the lace, 
 had been made the subject of correspondence between her lady- 
 ship and Mrs. Campden, was gall and wormwood to her. " That 
 woman " must have known, then, that she had tried to sell her 
 wares in Town, and had failed. 
 
 " It is not the lace at all, Mr. Campden, which I have in my 
 mind," said Jenny, speaking very firmly. 
 
 " What is it, then ? " 
 
 " It is a secret. I cannot tell you what it is even if yon pro- 
 mised not to tell." 
 
 " Jenny, you are insulting me," 
 
 " No ; I am but telling the truth ; though, if I did insult you, 
 it would be only what your wife did to us to-day, and has been 
 doing every day since we were poor." 
 
 " This is very sad," said Mr. Campden, looking at Kitty, 
 
 "Yes, it is," continued Jenny, passionately; " it is very sad 
 to think that one's friends should be so base. I say these things 
 because I am angry; but Kitty thinks the same, though she 
 does not say them." 
 
 " There is some frightful mistake," murmured Mr. Campden, 
 helplessly. The alteration in his wife's manner towards her late 
 guests since their misfortune had by no means escaped him ; 
 but he had flattered himself that he alone had seen it. 
 
 "A mistake!" cried Jenny, scornfully. "Yes, it is a mis- 
 take, and very frightful, too, to insult people because they are 
 poor ; to patronise them ; to endeavour to humiliate them by 
 gifts at the expense of others. That, however, is what one must 
 needs expect of some natures — women's natures. But that a 
 man — a man — shoald promise something to an old friend, and 
 then, when that friend has been lost at sea, and his wife is dead, 
 and his children desolate, should break his word, at the instiga- 
 tion of another — that, I say, is base ! " 
 
 In her indignation and bitterness, Jenny had risen to her 
 feet. If she had been a strong, big woman, red of face and loud 
 of tongue, one might have set her down as a virago ; but being 
 pale and wan, and speaking most musically all the while, 
 although her words flowed like a torrent, it was impossible for a 
 man to despise her wrath. 
 
 '' I cannot stay here to listen to these things," saJd Mr. 
 
294 
 
 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Campdon, also rising from his seat. " I came Lere, Heaven 
 knows, -witliout expecting any sucli scene — I wished to do yon 
 nothing but kindness, and I wish it still — Kitty." 
 
 " I know it. Uncle George, and Jenny knows it," sobbed poor 
 Kittv ; " only she was put out by the disappointment about Eton : 
 not on her own account, of course, nor even on Tony's, but 
 because it was mamma's wish that — that — and because to-dny 
 of all days " 
 
 "Yes, yes; I see," said Mr. Campden, his kindly nalare re- 
 asserting itself ; " it has been very unfortunate. But don't let 
 us part ill friends." 
 
 Kitty's answer was to throw her arms about his neck and 
 cover him with tears and kisses. 
 
 " Come, Jenny," said he, " you will shake hands with Uncle 
 George ? " 
 
 "Oh yes; I will shake hands with you — Mr. Campden; and 
 I thank you for all your kindnesses in old times." 
 
 " Well, the old times will come again, my girl, some day; anC. 
 you will be sorry to have been so bitter with us at Riverside, 
 and I should be sorry too — only I shall have forgotten it." 
 
 " No, Mr. Campden ; you will not have forgotten it, though 
 it is kind of you to say you will ; and the old times will never 
 come back ; they are dead and gone." The tears came into her 
 large eyes, her voice trembled, her frail limbs gave way beneath 
 her, and she would have fallen, but for Kitty's protecting arm, 
 Avhich in a moment encircled her waist. 
 
 *' Don't speak, darling ; don't worry yourself," whispered 
 Kitty ; " Uncle George has not gone away angry ; there is no 
 mischief done — at least I hope not. And I don't blame you for 
 what you said — no, not one Tait." 
 
 "Whosoever had deserted them, whomsoever they had lost, 
 these two loving hearts were one, and the stronger for their 
 intertwining. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 L LOVER DISMISSED. 
 
 Although Kitty strove to comfort her sister all she could, she 
 was herself filled, not indeed with sorrow for Jenny's plain 
 speaking, for that had her secx'et approbation, but with a^jpx'c- 
 hensions for the result of it. She felt that there was now a 
 gulf between their late friends at Riverside and themselves, 
 which it would require all her address to bridge over : and they 
 
A LOVER DISMISSED. 295 
 
 were in such sore need of friend?!. And Jenny on lier part was 
 oonsumed with regret that she had distressed her sister. As to 
 Mrs. Campden and Mary, she had washed her hands of thorn 
 for good and all ; and even with respect to Uncle George — sho 
 could never think of him as Uncle George again ; he had shown 
 himself weak beyond expression : whatever she had said (I am 
 afraid she did not quite remember what she had said) fell short 
 of his deserts, and she did not repent it ; but she regretted 
 having selfishly given way to her own impulses. She felt that 
 others might be made to suffer for her audacity, who, unlike 
 herself, would have preferi"ed to be patronised, and humiliated, 
 and laid under obligations, rather than starve. What right 
 had she to indulge her passionate indignation at the expense of 
 her sister, and poor Tony, and the unconscious babe ? These 
 bitter reflections occurred to her, as she lay upon her couch in 
 the drawing-room, racked with pain, and trembling witji the 
 excitement of her late interview. Kitty had been sumnioned 
 to the baby, and there was no one to interrupt her solitary 
 thoughts. She had not wept since she had seen her mpther 
 laid in her grave that morning ; the fountain of her tears was 
 dry, and where it should have been, there was a fire that sefemed 
 to burn up her very brain. 
 
 " Where was justice — for it was idle to talk of mercy-*-'where 
 was barest justice fled ? What had they all done todeserte so 
 hard a fate ? Could not the merit* of that late departed one 
 win for her beloved children a spark even of hope ? (Sh^ bad 
 talked of hope to Mr. Campden, in a momentary spirit of pride, 
 but she had, in fact, next to none.). Was there no such a thing 
 as genuine friendship in the world ? friendship that would 
 stand the test of .1 " : 
 
 " Jenny ! " 
 
 " My dear Jeff, how you frightened me ! " cried she, holding 
 out both hands. " I thought you had gone home with the 
 doctor." 
 
 " What ! without having had one word alone with you and 
 Kitty ? ISTo ; I only waited till my betters had had their s&y." 
 
 " You mean Mr. Campden ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course. But why speak of him in such a tone ? 
 
 " Oh, it's a long story. I have been a little angry ]witL 
 him because he is rich and we are poor ; that's all." 
 
 " Well, but that was very wrong. I am going to be richj 
 some day." 
 
 >' ' Some day,' my poor Jeff! " 
 
296 FALLEN FORTUNES, 
 
 " Now, don't call me 'poor,' whatever you call me," retumed 
 he, smiling; "people in the City don't like it. I was really 
 in earnest, when I said 'some day;' and I meun Bome early 
 date, proximo (you have no idea how classical we are in our 
 business letters). I have not told a soul save yourself, but I 
 should not be the least surprised if Holt was to make me his 
 partner." 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
 " Well, that is scarcely complimentary, Jenny. How do y Du 
 know that I have not exhibited a great commercial genius K 
 Seriously, however, it is because he finds I am an honest man — 
 quite a lusus naturce, I assure you, in his particular line." 
 
 " But you are not a man at all, Jeff; though I must say you 
 look very like one. How you are grown and filled out ! You 
 ha,vo got to be quite good-looking ! and how becomingly you 
 blush." 
 
 " Yes ; that is why I am so valuable to Mr. Holt. If one 
 cannot blush oneself, it is something to have a confidential 
 cleik who blushes. Of course I was joking about a partner- 
 ship, at least for the present ; but there is no calling in which 
 a man can become rich early so easily as in ours. And, upon 
 my word, I've hopes." 
 
 " Ah, dear Jeff, how I envy you ! " sighed Jenny. " How 1 
 wish 1 could see any prospect of making a little money ! " 
 
 " Well, well, don't despair. Of course that depression in tlic 
 lace-market — the unexpected alteration in the quotations — was 
 very disappointing." 
 
 " It was worse than that, Jeff. Can you imagine anything 
 BO base as that woman's telling Mrs. Campden of my applica- 
 tion, although I had put ' Private and Confidential ' upon my 
 little note to her?" 
 
 " I can very easily imagine it, my dear Jenny. I have wit- 
 nes.sed too many delicate 'operations ' — though not in lace — to 
 be astonished at anybody's baseness. However, you have an- 
 f,ther string to your bow, remember." 
 
 " Oh, Jeff, have you any good news of that ? " 
 
 •'Not at present; but then there is no bad news." 
 
 " Good. I have been schooled to be thankful for small mer- 
 cies. I shall ask no more questions. Here is Kitty ; perhaps 
 you would like a word with her alone ;" and Jenny was off in 
 a moment. Kitty entered the roo7n with a roll of flannel in 
 lier arms, which was the baby. 
 
 " My dear Jefi", I can't shake hands, you see. Oh, you 
 
A LOVER DISMISSED. 297 
 
 naughty boy ! " For the young gentleman, since he could not 
 shake hands, had saluted her with his lips. 
 
 " I thought that was what you meant, Kitty," sa d he, with 
 simplicity. 
 
 " You thought nothing of the kind, sir ; and I am very angry 
 with you ; or at least I should be, if I had the heart for it. 
 How nice it was of you, dear Jeff, to come so far for a single 
 day, just to " 
 
 " Don't talk like that, Kitty : your dear mother was the 
 kindest friend I ever had or ever shall have ; and your poor 
 father " 
 
 " Oh, Jeff, do not speak of him as though all hope was gone ! " 
 
 "I did not intend to do so, Kitty; I only meant that he was 
 to be pitied, as indeed he is." 
 
 " Ah, if he only knew ! I scarcely venture to wish him to be 
 alive, when 1 think, that if he is not, dear mamma and he may 
 be even now together. I know not what to hope, nor even to 
 pray, Jeff. Things are very, very bad with us; and yet we are 
 told that they will be so much worse." 
 
 *' Who says that ? " said Jeff, with a flash of his black eyes. 
 " He was a brute, whoever he was." 
 
 " Well, it was a lady, my dear Jeff." 
 
 " Let us say a woman, Kitty. I can guess who the person 
 was. She told you that it was her duty to speak the wuole 
 *ruth, did she Hot ? We have people in the City who tell us the 
 came, and who are not believed by anybody. If your father is 
 dead, then of course things are bad indeed ; but even so, there 
 is some one else, to whose care he confided you when he went 
 away; a friend who will never desert you while life is in him." 
 
 " Alas, he has already deserted us, Jeff; or rather, I am afraid 
 we have seriously offended him." 
 
 "I think you must be mistaken there, Kitty." 
 
 "No, Jeff; it happened this very day. You must not speak 
 of it„ becansp it would hurt Jenny. But I feel we can no lunger 
 count upon Uncle George — that was." And Kitty stooped down 
 over her unconscious burden, to hide her tears. 
 
 " But I don't mean Uncle George at all," answered the other, 
 gravely. " It was to another person that your father spoke these 
 words when he left Riverside : ' Remember, you are their only 
 protector now ' Yes, it was to me, Geoffrey Derwent. I was a 
 boy then, but ,hoso words made a man of me. They are en- 
 graver on my heart ; so that no change nor time can ever erase 
 them," 
 
c!98 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " Oh, Jeff, clear Jeff, did he say that ? " 
 
 " Yes, darling ; and more than that (though I did not mean 
 to tell you it for a long, long time ; till I should he in a better 
 position to — to speak of such things) — when he was going away 
 — perhaps for ever — and my heart was full for his sake, I 
 thought it Avould be wrong to— to keep it a secret from him ; 
 and I told it, Kitty." 
 
 She was sitting on the sofa, with her head bent over tho 
 child, so that he -could not see her face, and that gave him 
 courage ; though his voice trembled, and its tone was hoarse and 
 low. 
 
 " I told him how I loved you, Kitty ; and — though I was but 
 a boy, friendless and almost penniless — your father (God bless 
 him for it !) was tender and gentle with me, seeing perhaps that 
 I was speaking truth at all events. He promised nothing in- 
 deed : how could he ? But he did not deny me. He said, when 
 he came back, we two should speak together about that matter, 
 -yihat was not much, you may say ; but to me it was a great deav 
 • — for, Kitty, you are all in all to me. Don't answer me yet', 
 don't treat me less kindly than your father did ; only promise 
 that some day — years to come, if it must be so — that %ve two may 
 speak together about that matter. But if you have — other 
 yie^.g " — here the boy -stopped, half-choked — " then tell me 
 now, at once, fshall never- blame you; I shall hope for your 
 happiness with — with the man I ^am thinking of— in spite of 
 hope." 
 
 She shook her head. "You are cruel, like the rest," she 
 murmured. 
 
 " I cruel ! and to you, Kitty ? " sighed he. " Oh no. What- 
 ever seems good to you and right to you, will be sufficient for 
 me. If you say ' No ' — just * No ' to the question that my heart 
 is asking, I will ask no other. You shall never be troubled by 
 me this way again. The purpose of my life as respects you and 
 yours will be just the same. I shall do all that in me lies for 
 you, for Jenny, for Tony, for that poor little one who lies in 
 your arms. I shall be always their Protector, if not their only 
 one." 
 
 " What is it you want me to say, Jeff? " said Kitty, suddenly. 
 Her tears were no longer falling : she looked up at him without 
 flinching, though her white face showed her pain. 
 
 " Can you ask me, Kitty ? It is the simplest of all questions ; 
 Do you love me ? " 
 
 <' Wo all love you J Jeff," 
 
A LOVER DISMISSED. 299 
 
 The boy made an impatient gesture. " You are ffeiieing witk 
 me, Kitty. Yes or no ? " 
 
 " I am not fencing, Jeff. I will frankly tell you, that if I 
 were my own mistress, without others depending upon my 
 choice — othei's whose interests I am bonnd to consnlt before my 
 own inclination — I might be foolish enough to say : ' Boy as you 
 are, I will trust your love, and some day entrust my happiness 
 t© your keeping.' It would, perhaps, be folly in me, and. cer- 
 tainly an injustice to yourself, to say as much ; but you are so 
 dear to me, Jeff, that I might have been tempted to do it. As 
 matters stand, however, it is wholly out of the question. I 
 might well say that on a day like this — the darkest in our lives, 
 with the rustle of the earth upon our mother's coffin-lid still 
 ringing in my ears — your topic is ill chosen ; but I am willing 
 to believe that your very love for my dead mother in a manner 
 sanctifies your love for me, and excuses the expression of it. 
 Let me say rather, that neither to-day, nor for many days — 
 nor perhaps for many years to come — is it likely that marriage 
 will be in my thoughts at all. They will be occupied, dear Jeff, 
 with very sober, very simple, and what most folks would call, 
 with very ' uninteresting ' things — the making both ends meet 
 in a very humble household ; the feeding, and clothing, and 
 teaching them. If they ever get pudding, it will be either Jenny 
 or I who will have to cook it. I shall not probably have the 
 time or the opportunity even to read about love in a novel, much 
 more to make it. That is the pi'ogramme of my future life, 
 Jeff. It is not pleasant — it is no use pretending that it is — but 
 I mean to make the best of it. Pray, don't make it harder for 
 me by saying any more." 
 
 " I will not say a word more now, Kitty " 
 
 "That's right," interrupted she, quickly. " It is close upon 
 the doctor's dinner-hour, and you must not keep him waiting. 
 I hope jou will dine with us the next time you come, and pass 
 your opinion on our padding. We shall be always — always glad 
 to see you, Jeff." 
 
 The baby was in her lap now, and she held out her hand for 
 him to shake. Instead of doing so, he carried it slowly to his 
 lips and kissed it. 
 
 " God bless you, Kitty ! " he said. 
 
 " God bless you, Jeff! " 
 
 He looked so handsome, so honest, and so loving, that there 
 was a struggle even in that self-sacrificing bosom to add some- 
 thing more ; but ghe did not. She heard him run downfstairs, 
 
300 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 and Jeany call out " Jeff ! " as he passed, in vain, and Tonj cry, 
 "Jeff! Jeff! where are you going?" without reply; then the 
 front door was opened and closed very quickly, but gently too, 
 as though he who went forth had not, even in his haste, for- 
 gotten it was the house of sorrow. 
 
 Kitty moved to the window, but too late, because of her little 
 burden ; there was nothing to be seen save the thickening dusk 
 and the slow-falling rain. He had gone. 
 
 When Jenny entered the room half an hour afterwards — she 
 had been talking tenderly and gravely to Tony in her own 
 chamber — she found Kitty at her mother's desk. It had not 
 been opened since her death, but now the neat little account- 
 books and the memoranda of their scanty incomings, were all 
 spread out upon the table, with already a note or two of Kitty's 
 own. Jenny took in the situation at a glance. 
 
 " Kitty ! " cried she, with a burst of penitence, " I have been 
 very wrong. It is you who have the responsibility, and the 
 trouble, and the care of us ; while I have only indulged my 
 passion and my pride. If it is not too late — if the mischief I 
 have done is not irreparable — pray, think no more of my opinion, 
 of my prejudices.'' 
 
 " Hush, hush, my darling ! You have done no harm, or at 
 least nothing wrong, which is the greater matter." 
 
 " You are an angel — you are like our mother," answered 
 Jenny, vehemently ; " and I am unworthy to be your sister. 
 Henceforward, I will never oppose what you think right. How 
 is it with us, Kitty ? Are we very, very poor ? Will it be 
 necessai'y — shall you ask Mr. Campden for that money ? " 
 
 " For some of it, darling, I am afraid we must." 
 
 " And Mr, Holt ? We need not take that — that loan he 
 offers, need we, Kitty ? at least, not yet — there may be brighter 
 days." 
 
 " 1^0, dear ; we will not take Mr. Holt's money. No, no, no I " 
 
 There was a calmness and decision in Kitty's tone which wero 
 rare with her ; her face was very pale, and wore a set expression 
 ■which was new to it. 
 
 Jenny looked at her sister for a moment with wondering eyes, 
 then rushed into her arms. 
 
 " Oh, Kitty, I am so glad, so glad ! " she cried, bursting into 
 tears. " Dear Jeff will be dearer to me now than ever." 
 
 " Be silent, Jenny, don't speak of him ; I can't bear it," wag 
 the unexpected reply, delivered with strange vehemence. Then, 
 in gentler but firm tones she added : " Forgive me, dai'ling, but 
 
KITTY'S DREAM. 301 
 
 you have given me pain. You are wrong, quite wrong, in 
 thiniiug — wliat you said. Here are the bills and the banker's 
 book ; let us look over the accounts together." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIIT. 
 
 kitty's dream. 
 That cynical phrase about " not being able to afford to keep a con- 
 science," has a solid foundation in fact. There are some, indeed, 
 who would rather perish than do anything contrary to their 
 sense of what is right (though even that is a sacrifice which 
 varies with the value men set on individual existence) ; there 
 are as many more who would perish rather than endure a 
 humiliation — who would take poison rather than swallow their 
 pride. It is only the popular religion — a very different thing 
 from Christianity — that has made Death so terrible as to be 
 weighed against shame ; but when it comes to the pinch, 
 Necessity, or what we choose to consider such, overrules the 
 law of the mind. This is a matter upon which drawing-room 
 philosophers and comfortable divines are no judges. It seems 
 so easy — and is so easy — to be independent, chaste, and honest, 
 when there is only a temptation to be otherwise ; but when the 
 temptation becomes an alternative — on the one side, poverty, 
 death, ruin, for example ; on the other hand, competence, not 
 only for ourselves, but for those we love, that is quite another 
 matter. Conscience has then a new antagonist, the first of his 
 own laws ; a sense of right, almost as strong as himself, which, 
 allying itself with these various opponents, generally succeeds 
 in overthrowing him. That " second thoughts are best," among 
 all lying proverbs, holds the pre-eminence ; second thoughts in 
 morals are never best, but only, as it is natural they should be, 
 second-best. 
 
 John Dalton had so left his affairs, that, if he should now bo 
 dead and drowned, as it was almost certain he was, he had paid 
 up his legal liabilities, as he imagined, to the last shilling. Even 
 the scoundrels who had " floated " the Ijara mine could never 
 point to his children as the offspring of a defaulter. His shares 
 would have been paid up in full to the last penny. But his 
 efforts to effect this had left him impoverished indeed r all that 
 his family had to live upon was the interest of some two or three 
 thousand pounds, and a certain small sum which he had left for 
 emergencies in his wife's hands. Moreover, he had unhappily 
 omitted to reckon a few outstanding debts, such as always attend 
 
302 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 a rich, man's expenditure, almost n-tiknown to himself, and whicii 
 he generally settles with a suddiu cheque, and a malediction 
 upon his own forgetfulness. The creditors w-ere of that agi'ee- 
 able kind — may I instance one's tobacconist ? — who do not 
 plagnc lis quarterly, nor even half-yearly, for one's little ac- 
 count ; but who, when we start upon a sudden for Brazil, and 
 are likely not to come back again, get naturally nervous, and 
 would like to see the colour of our money. When I said that 
 Mrs. Dalton's correspondence had much fallen off in number 
 since the family misfortunes, I should have made honourable 
 exception of these gentlemen, who had not failed to send in th( ■ 
 bills to her with the remai^k that "an early settlement won I 
 oblige." Of course, she had acceded to these requests — whicli 
 indeed, were only reasonable — but in so doing had not left 
 enough, money behind her to defray her own funeral expenses. 
 
 This was the conclusion that Kitty was compelled to arrive 
 at, after a careful study of the financial position of the family. 
 Jenny did her best to assist her in the investigation ; but she 
 was not so good at figures, and chiefly confined herself to 
 " approving " what her sister made of them, like any City 
 director, except that she did not get five hundred a year for 
 doing it. They had enough, they reckoned, to go on with in 
 their humble fashion — especially as Lucy was leaving them — 
 but, for the present, ready money was indispensable. Under 
 these circumstances, there was nothing for it (even Jenny 
 owned) but to apply to Mr. Campden for some portion of that 
 loan which he had voluntarily placed at their disposal, and 
 which Kitty at least had certainly not unconditionally declined. 
 She therefore dispatched a letter to the squire, very warmly 
 and gratefully worded, but at the satne time expressing herself 
 as practically as she could with respect to the money itself. If 
 her father should return to them, he would, of course, himself 
 become responsible for the repayment of the loan ; and if God 
 had willed it otherwise, the insurance he had effected on his life 
 would enable his children to repay it. A few days ago she 
 would certainly not have used so business-like a style in ad- 
 dressing her correspondent ; but now — though without having 
 adopted poor Jenny's views — she was less inclined to wear her 
 heart upon her sleeve, even to Uncle Greorge. By return of 
 post a letter came from Riverside in Mrs. Campden's hand- 
 writing. 
 
 Kilty looked at the envelope with vague alarm. She had no?. 
 put " Pi'ivate " outside her note to the squire, though she had 
 
KITTY'S DREAM. 303 
 
 felfc hbcself inclined to do so ; and was it possible tliat ter late 
 hostess had opened it, and replied to it herself ? She felt a 
 flush rise to her cheek, for whatever had been her need, she 
 would never have applied for aid to Mrs. Campden, nor even to 
 her husband, had she thought he would have made his wife a 
 confidante of the fact. He had given Kitty distinctly to un- 
 derstand that :he transaction would be a private one. The 
 envelope was weighty, and contained, along with a pretty long 
 communication, two five-pound notes. She had asked the squire 
 for fifty. 
 
 "Dear Kitty," the letter began — "In the absence of Mr. 
 Campden, who is in London, I took the liberty to open your 
 note, thinking thai it might require an immediate I'eply. Its 
 contents have astonished me exceedingly. I am grieved not 
 only upon your own account, but upon hers of whom you speak 
 — for whose sake, as you would have me believe, you have 
 thought proper to make your very singular application. I 
 cannot think anything would have distressed your poor mother 
 herself more than the step you have thus thought proper to 
 take. Let us hope, in the sphere to which she has been re- 
 moved by an all-wise Providence, that she is ignorant of the 
 circumstance. "What you have asked Mr. Campden is, in plain 
 English, to (jlce you fifty pounds. There is even an allusion to 
 a larger sum, which it seems you have been trying to persuade 
 him to promise you, or which he has promised you of his own 
 head. To take advantage of my husband in such a matter is, 
 as you must be well aware, Kitty, to take advantage of a child ; 
 and it is my duty to protect him against any such attempts. 
 However, I will confine myself to the fifty pounds. You speak 
 hopefully, and I hope you have reason for your confidence, of 
 your poor father's return home ; but if he does return, have 
 you painted to yourself what will be his true position ? Have 
 you — has anybody — the least cause to suppose that he will be 
 in a condition to repay the debts of his family ? One of his 
 best friends — and yout- best friend, if you will permit him to be 
 so — has assured me that he has gone to Brazil in pursuit of a 
 mere chimera ; that he will come back poorer, if that be pos- 
 sible, than he went. 
 
 " Now, Kitty, it is my bounden duty to speak plainly to you. 
 It is this very carelessness of other people's money that has 
 brought yt»ur father to this pass. He gambled away first hiK 
 own fortune, and then your mother's ; and now he seems to 
 
304 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 expect to nse the money of his friends as though it was his own. 
 I have good reasons for stating that he proposed to draw upon 
 my poor husband — while abroad — as on his own banker ! Yon 
 are doubtless shocked at this revelation ; yet, if you examine 
 the matter, the difference between your present application and 
 that most outrageous one is only in degree, fifty pounds, a 
 hundred pounds, two hundred pounds — so we go on when this 
 terrible course has been once begun. You think, perhaps, my 
 husband is made of money, and that it does not signify how 
 much you ask. The money, my dear girl, is nothing indeed 
 compared with the sacrifice of principle that would be involved 
 if it were given you, and to which I, therefore, for one, would 
 never consent. But even the money is something. Mr. Camp- 
 den is no doubt what some people would call a rich man ; bufc 
 rich people have calls of which poor people have no conception : 
 he has his position in the county to keep up — an imperative 
 duty — and a thousand other sources of expense, which you 
 would hardly understand should I enumei'ate them. With 
 respect to the expenses of the funeral, I have made inquiries, 
 and considering the simplicity with which it Avas conducted, in 
 accordance with your mother's wish — and which does honour to 
 her good sense — I find ten pounds will be am-ple, and I therefore 
 enclose that sum. I am very glad to find that by frugality and 
 care you will be able for the future to make both ends meet; 
 always live within your income, dear Kitty, and then, what- 
 ever it may be, you may account yourself rich. 
 
 " I am sorry you did not accept my proposition with respect 
 to the baby ; a home, however, will always await it at the 
 lodge, should you alter what I must venture to call your 
 ill-iudged resolution, 
 
 " And this brings me, Kitty, to another subject, the import- 
 ance of which must be my excuse for once more breaking it to 
 you. Do you know what you are doing, and do you know 
 whom you are Mwdoing in rejecting the advances of Mr. Holt ? 
 From him a loan of fifty pounds, or of five hundred, could 
 indeed be accepted with a good grace, and would be advanced 
 with something more than alacrity. If ever there was an 
 example of a girl's ' sinning her chances,' you, Kitty, are surely 
 now affording it. What excuse can you possibly make to your- 
 self for rejecting what I may almost call this gift of Providerice, 
 I cannot imagine. You may have your reasons; but they are 
 most certainly mere personal ones, and you muoL fo'give mo for 
 • diJiug, selfish ones. Do you reflect that it only rests with >ott 
 
KITTY'S DREAM. 305 
 
 to give to your little household a natural protector ? (At present 
 I do not see how it is possible for you to leave home even to 
 go out as a governess.) Some men — nay, most men — would 
 hesitate to marry a penniless girl surrounded by incumbrances ; 
 but this man is one in a thousand ; and yet you treat him 
 as if there was another such to be picked up any day and any- 
 where — in Saubeck, for example. However, I have said my 
 say. 
 
 '' ]\rary sends you her best love; slie is making up a little 
 pai'cel of things which I hope will prove useful to you: a dress 
 or two that she has outgrown, but which, we think will just suit 
 your figure ; and when the spring comes on, she will doubtless 
 find other articles that you may make available. Always your 
 sincere friend and well-wisher, " Julia Campden. 
 
 " P.S. — I think it would be better that you should treat this 
 note as private and confidential. Pray, consult your own good 
 sense before replying to the contents of it. Jenny has doubtless 
 many good points, but the state of her health must alone 
 prevent her exercising a dispassionate judgment." 
 
 This letter was a terrible blow. There was nothing in it to 
 give ground for absolute quarrel ; but Kitty felt that it hence- 
 forth divided her and liers from the Riverside people, as by a 
 great gulf. She even believed that it had been written with 
 that express object ; in which she probably did the writer wrong. 
 A more acute woman than Mrs. Campden might, indeed, have 
 expected to arouse some angry rejoinder, which would have 
 given her a good excuse for breaking with her needy kinsfolk 
 altogether ; but the mistress of Riverside saw nothing offensive 
 in the letter she had composed. She meant to put her foot 
 down with respect to any further attempt upon her husband's 
 purse ; and she used the opportunity, without scruple, of 
 placing Kitty's hopeless position before her, and of pointing out 
 the one way of escape ; lout she had no intention of deliberate 
 insult. She had, nevertheless, the sagacity to understand that 
 Jenny would view her letter as such, and hence she marked it 
 " private and confidential." Tliough she had not hesitated to 
 break the seal of a communication addressed to another, slio 
 gave her correspondent credit for more delicate scruples — and 
 took advantage of them. The children of this world are not 
 only wiser than the children of light, but they trade upon their 
 eimplicity. A rogue will often deny the existence of an honest 
 liUan, to save his own credit, thougli well aAvare that he i^ 
 
 z 
 
3o6 FALLRN FORTUNES. 
 
 lying ; but when he has fonnd one, he will use his honesfy fo? 
 his own purposes. 
 
 Kitty, too, was well aware that Jenny would have at once 
 designated the Avriter of such a communication as dishonour- 
 able, mean, cruel, and a number of other perhaps not wholly in- 
 applicable adjectives. The gift of the cast-off raiment would 
 have been especially offensive to her. Whereas Kitty, in her 
 humility, and her consideration for those committed to her 
 trust, was resolved not to take offence, even if it had been pur- 
 posely offered to her. It was unnecessary upon Mrs. Campden's 
 part to have been so energetic against any future application tn 
 her husband, N'othing, 'nothing would have henceforth induced 
 her to ask help of Uncle George. If the worst came to the 
 worst, she would rather sell herself, as this woman was urging 
 her to do, to Richard Holt. It would be horrible, it would bo 
 shameful ; but the humiliation could not be deeper, and the 
 advantage to others would be great and certain. If those two 
 five-pound notes had been the wages of shame, she could hardly 
 have regarded them with more intense loathing. Her finger.«i 
 closed upon them fiercely, savagely ; she longed to tear them ta 
 pieces ; most of all, she craved to return them, with a few civil 
 l)ut cutting words. That money, she felt, was as much given to 
 her out of charity — and that a charity which had no love in it 
 — as the cast-off clothes which were to follow. She felt like a 
 beggar (though she had aiever been one) who has been refused 
 the alms he asked, and has had a crust of bread flung at him 
 instead. If she could only have done without the crust, and 
 have flung it back to the giver ! There was one way Avhich 
 would, she knew, have Jenny's hearty concurrence, namely, that 
 they should sell some article of furniture in Bleabarrow, and 
 pay the undertaker's bill with the proceeds. But Kitty, always 
 just, refiected that such a course would excite country gossij), 
 and bring great discredit upon the squire, who was not answer- 
 able for his wife's actions, and indeed hardly for his own. 
 Another alternative was to borrow the money of Dr. Curzon. 
 But they surely had had enough of borrowing — or rather of the 
 attempt to borrow; and, moreover, they already owed the 
 doctor for many a professional visit. No ; Kitty felt she must 
 lake these two five-pound notes, and acknowledge their receipt 
 with words of thanks. 
 
 She had retired to her own room to read the letter, directly 
 ehe tad recognised Mrs. Campden's handwriting, and now she 
 meant to desti-oy it before she saw Jenny ; so that she could 
 
KITTY'S DREAM. 307 
 
 honestly" say '^ I have it not," if her sister asked to read it. But 
 heai'ing Jenny's knock at the door, she thrust the letter with its 
 enclosure into her pocket, and rose to meet her. 
 
 " Well, Kitty, what news ? I need scarcely ask, however ; 
 I can read it reflected in your flushed face. From a reason 
 over which he has no control — if you can call his wife ' a reason ' 
 — Mr. Campden cannot keep his promise." 
 
 " My dear Jenny, you said you wouldn't " 
 
 "I said I wouldn't interfere with what you resolved upon. 
 I may surely flatter my own foresight by ' spotting,' as Jefi' 
 calls it, these good people beforehand. The squire is weak as 
 water : lie would if he could, he says, but he can't." 
 
 " He says nothing of the kind, Jenny. The letter does not 
 come from him at all, but from Mx'S. Campden. She opened 
 my note, it seems, in his absence." 
 
 Jenny smiled. " What luck she must have thought it ! 
 I can imagine her gloating over a letter meant for somebody 
 else." 
 
 " Oh Jenny ! " cried Kitty, reprovingly. The thought crossed 
 her mind: "What a strange bitterness possesses my dear sister ! 
 Three months ago — nay, ten days since, while our mother was 
 yet alive — such sentiments would never have found harbour 
 within her, far less expression." 
 
 " Well," continued Jenny, " of course she will not let her 
 husband lend us the money, ' as a matter of principle.' " 
 
 " It is something like that," said Kitty, reluctantly. '"She 
 has sent us, however, ten pounds, which will, I hope, be 
 sufficient." 
 
 " I am glad it was no more," said Jenny, " for two reasons : 
 
 first, because it corroborates my view of her ; secondly 
 
 But never mind ' secondly ' for the present. Well, what else 
 did she say, besides hov,^ fond she was of us, and how it was all 
 for our own good ? May I see the letter ?" 
 
 " It is marked private and confidential." 
 
 " That was foolish of her, because I now know what it was 
 about. You do not wish, I suppose, dear, to talk upon tho 
 subject?" 
 
 " No, Jenny ; because it would be of no use." 
 
 " But you have not made up your mind ? " cried Jenny, 
 eagerly. " Before you do that, I must speak to you, darling ; 
 I must, I must ! " 
 
 " No, dear ; I have made up my mind to nothing — except 
 that we must take these ten pounds." 
 
3oS FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 '* Was tbere no niessfio-e from ^lai-y — dear I^Iary, who nserl 
 to hang about your neck so lovingly but a few weeks ago ? " 
 
 " Well, no ; nothing particular. She is going to send ug 
 some things that her mother thinks may be useful to us." 
 
 " What things?" cried Jenny, contemptuously. " A pot of 
 marmalade ; some shilling novels ; a yard of flannel — such aa 
 they send to the hospitals." 
 
 " There may be some flannel," said Kitty, quietly. 
 
 " Oh, I see : old clothes that are too fine for the lady's-maid. 
 Wo are in the first stage of our descent, my dear ; they will 
 send us nest year old clothes that are not fine enough for her. 
 For my part, I always thought Mary a humbug." 
 
 " Don't say that, Jenny ; she is not strong, that is all. You 
 might just as well say half the world are humbugs." 
 
 " Half the world ! I say nine hundred and ninety-nine hun- 
 dredths of them are so ! What saith the Scripture : ' One man 
 out of a thousand have I known ' — there is JefF, for example, 
 and there's the doctor — but ' one woman in a thousand I have 
 not known.' Or, at all events, she is not Mary Carapdon " 
 
 To this outburst, Kitty replied nothing ; and further ques- 
 iioning upon Jenny's part was put a stop to by the entrance of 
 Tony m a wild state of excitement. Snmething had come for 
 him "registered" by the post ; he had met the postman in the 
 village, and gone back to the ofiice to sign for it ; and what did 
 they think it was ! They would never guess if they guessed 
 for ever : it was a watch and chain ; a beantiful gold watch and 
 chair.) ! 
 
 " Why, Tony, who could have sent it ? " cried Jenny, de- 
 lighted at the lad's delight ; then the joy faded out of her face, 
 and she looked at Kitty, whose cheeks had become crimson. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," cried Tony. " I should have thought 
 
 it was Jeff, only dear old Jeff could never have The 
 
 ]iost-niark was Coi'nhill, too, and he said Mr. Holt's office was 
 close by Cornhill." 
 
 " It came from Mr. Holt," said Jenny ; " I know his hand- 
 writing. We must send it back again." 
 
 " Send it back ? " cried Tony, growing very red in his turn. 
 " Why should I send it back ? I think it was very kind of him. 
 Tie has always been very civil to me; and every fellow has a 
 watch who gees to Eton." 
 
 "I don't think we can send it back, Jenny," said Kitiy, 
 '^'ravely. " It is sent to Tony, yon see." 
 
 "Yes; that is so mean of him," answered Jenny, stamping 
 
A7 Try 'S DREAM. 309 
 
 lier little foot. *' He kuew there would be a difficulty about 
 '■eturniug it." 
 
 " It would be exceediugly rude to return it, just because you 
 don't like hiin," said Tony, confidently. " If you did, you may 
 depend on it, he would never send me anythiug again. See 
 here ; when you touch this button, the back opens, and there 
 arc the wheels and things. My dear Kitty, what are you at? 
 Janny, Kirty is crying into my watch-works." 
 
 And indeed, v.hile endeavouring to be interested in Tony'a 
 t i-easuvc, poor Kitty had not been able to restrain a tear. She 
 laughed the matter oif, however, in an hysterical sort of Avay, 
 and before the afternoon post went, had helped Tony with hia 
 letter of thanks to the sender: his tutor and literary adviser 
 ill ordinary, Jenny, having flatly refused to have anything to do 
 with it. 
 
 It gave Kitty a pang, we may be sure ; but since the present 
 v;as to be accepted, it was needful that it should be duly 
 acknowledged. That watch and its works cost her more than 
 it cost the buyer ; it haunted her thoughts all that day, and 
 oven her dreams at night. This is what she dreamed : She 
 was in a room full of figures like those at Madame Tussaud's, 
 except that they all moved by machinery. There was her dead 
 mother looking at her with pitying eyes; and her lost father, 
 with changed, remoi'seful face, his h:iir and clothes all wet. 
 These and many others revolved slowly ai-ound her at some dis- 
 tance, but none approached ber. She herself was boi-ne slowly 
 but irresistibly forward towards a figure with outstretched 
 arms. It was Richard Holt. His chest was bare, and where 
 his heart should have been, she saw toothed wheels at work, 
 all gold ; just as she had seen in Tony's watch, only larger. 
 She heard them moving and clicking with a harsh monotonous 
 noise, louder and louder as she drew nigh. Then, as she came 
 quite close, the ai*ms — a picture she had seen in a " History of 
 the Inquisition " at home no doubt suggested this — suddenly 
 shot out knives and daggers, and were just about to enfold her, 
 when with a shrill scream she woke. 
 
3 xo FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 CSAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 AN AUTHOR AND HIS EDITOR. 
 
 About halfway between the Bank of England and BasingliaU 
 Street* — a position somewhat typical of many of its tenants — 
 lies Abdell Lane. A street so narrow, although the houses are 
 but three-storied, that in the sunniest days it is always dim and 
 cool, except at noontide ; while throughout the winter and half 
 the spring, the inhabitants pursue their avocations solely by arti- 
 ficial light. Their callings are various ; and in many cases would 
 be difficult to explain to the public satisfaction ; and yet they 
 have some right to be called respectable, since a rent of about 
 two hundred pounds fer annum is paid per room. OS Abdell 
 Lane lies Abdell Court, connected with the larger thoroughfare 
 by a huge arch (itself honeycombed by human tenements), 
 through which the astonished passenger comes upon a tree, a 
 pump, and a paved yai'd, in which for hours at certain seasons 
 the sun is distinctly visible. The rents are higher here than in 
 the lane, although the place is only approachable by foot-pas- 
 sengers. In fact, that is a circumstance which is a ground of 
 boast to its residents, since it shows that the commercial element 
 (in the shop form) does not intrude itself. On the side of each 
 door are painted in black and white the names of each occupant, 
 as in Lincoln's Inn and the Temple ; but there are no lawyers 
 in Abdell Court. They are chiefly brokers, with a good sprink- 
 ling of that mysterious class of gentry called " financial agents." 
 Unpromising as the material soil appeared, the seed of many ;i 
 goodly mercantile tree had been dropped in Abdell Court, to grow 
 and grow, and to bear golden fruit ; also other trees, quite as 
 promising, but which, never coming to maturity, are by many 
 contumeliously termed "plants." On the ground-floor of one ol:' 
 these houses there sits, in what might be called by contrast wiih 
 its congeners, quite a spacious apartment, a gentleman with 
 whom we have made acquaintance under other circumstances. 
 Black and grey are now his only wear, but the neatness and 
 completeness of Mr. Holt's attire is almost as remarkable as it 
 was at Riverside. Perhaps it is the effect of that sombre dress, 
 Imt he certainly looks paler and older than when we saw him 
 last : the hair about his temples has thinned, and the lines about 
 Lis mouth have deepened ; if we did not know that his invost- 
 
 * lu this street is situiited tlie Court of r>;iiikruj_itjy. 
 
AN AUTHOR AND HIS EDITOR. 3tt 
 
 nients are always made with sagacity, and have never given him 
 cause to lose a wink of sleep, we should call his expression care- 
 worn. He has an open ledger before him, and a pen in his 
 hand; yet he is not engaged in calculation. A letter, inalarge^ 
 round, and rather sprawling hand, lies on the page beneath his 
 eyes, and he is conning it attentively. 
 
 "Dear Mr, Holt," it runs — "I cannot say how much I am 
 obliged to you for your beautiful present ; the watch is much 
 too handsome, I am afraid, for a boy like me, but I will try to 
 lake great care of it. I have just found out that it strikes the 
 hours and the quarters. We have been in great trouble, as Jeff 
 will have doubtless told you ; but my sisters are pretty well in 
 health, and beg to be remembered to you. — I am yours truly and 
 obliged, " Anthony Dalton. 
 
 " P.S. — Please give my love to Jeff." 
 
 Mr. Holt had read this somewhat bald epistle half-a-dozen 
 times, and yet was as interested in it as ever. " It is cleverly 
 written," he muttered to himself; "but it is not all one piece. 
 * Much too handsome, ' and ' Will try to take great care ' — that 
 IS not the boy's. I wonder which of the girls helped him with 
 't ? ' JeS will have told you ; ' that is like Jenny's touch. She 
 ]iretends to believe that I only hear of their welfare through 
 "9erwenn; and then, again, ' Grive my love to Jeff,' sounds like 
 ner sharp tongue. She writes that to annoy me. But then she 
 would never have made him say that they begged to be remem- 
 bered to me. I am sure that's Kitty ; dear, delicious, tender- 
 hearted Kitty ! " He heaved a deep sigh, and stroked his forehead 
 "with his hands. 
 
 " How nearly I lost her ! " he went on softly to himself. " If 
 things had not gone just as they have, she would be by this 
 time out of my reach. What a frightful risk did that madman 
 make me run ! " He rose from his seat, and pulling down the 
 window, although the day was bitterly cold, stood facing the 
 draught. " Two months, three months, four months, and not y, 
 scrap of news of the ship. All must surely be safe now. The 
 very stars in their courses have fought for me. However, it is 
 the very last boon that I will ever ask of Fortune ; hereafter, I 
 am independent of her. If I wex'e bankrupt to-morrow my 
 books would be a model. There is not a flaw from first to last. 
 If it had happened otherwise, I wonder if I could have weathered 
 the storm ? With the World, perhaps, but with him never. He 
 would have been implacable, unmerciful. It Avould have bcca 
 
313 PALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 no wonder, pooi' devil. Aud aim — yes, slie would have loatlied 
 me. I cau nnderstaud now how it is that men who cannot 
 possess those they love, are driven to kill them ; as to killing 
 themselves, that is the most natural thing in the world ; and next 
 to that — yes, I can understand it." 
 
 Besides the usual almanack in its frame, and one or two plans 
 of estates in the West Indies and elsewhere, there were several 
 huge maps hung up in the room, to one of which he now directed 
 his attention. This was a map of South America, showing a 
 great deal of the ocean that lies between us and it, with tho 
 track of steamers marked out upon it. He had done so many a 
 time before, and he now again took his pen, and with the handle 
 of it traced out the course. So engaged was he in this occupa- 
 tion, that he did not notice a knock at his door, nor the entrance 
 of a visitoi', until his roicc — a rich, unctuous, and somewhat 
 boastful voice — announced his presence. 
 
 " Hollo, Holt ; how are you ? Studying a sea-chart, eh ? That 
 looks dangerous for somebody, since you are a shipowner." 
 
 " Yes," answered the other, coolly ; " I was trying to fix upon 
 the most convenient spot for scuttling a craft." 
 
 " Well, begad ! you looked as if you really loere when you firsi 
 caught sight of me. South America, eh ? Brazil, I suppose ? 
 Mines, for a hundred ! " 
 
 " You are always right as a rule, Dawkins ; and since this 
 particular case happens to be the exception, that proves it. My 
 mind was not fixed on the land at all, but on the sea. I was 
 wondering whether, by any possibility, the Flamhorough Heacl 
 could bo still above water." 
 
 " I'll bet you ten to one against it ; come, I'll bet you twenty. 
 You have not underwritten her, have you ? " 
 
 " Not I. I was not thinking of the vessel at all, but of a poor 
 fellow who sailed in her, John Dal ton." 
 
 " Oh, indeed. Friend of youi's, I remember. Well, I shall 
 say nothing against him, then. But of all the overbearing, in- 
 solent fellows I ever met — without a penny to bless himself, too 
 -he was about the worst. By jingo ! you should have heard 
 what he said to Lady Beevor, in my own house, under my own 
 iroof. We all thought he was off his head." 
 
 '* Yet he vas a general favourite, and thought very agreeable," 
 observed Hoit. 
 
 *' Agreeable ? Then I don't know what it is to be agreeable." 
 
 " Possibly," said the other, dryly; "or perhaps you annoyed 
 him. If Dalton was rubbed the wrong way, you saw sparks." 
 
Ay AUTHOR AND HIS EDITOR. 313 
 
 " Sparks, begad ! It was a general conflagration. Ladv 
 Beevor lias never forgiven my asking him to meet her. It would 
 have been a libert j in Kothschild ; bnt for a ruined man ! Foi* 
 it was after he xoas ruined, in that licira mine. Curiously 
 enough, I came to talk to you about that very thing. You 
 never had anythmg in it your>-elf, I believe ? " 
 
 " Why do you say that, my good sir, when you know I Ziai .i"' 
 
 " Well, well, don't snap my nose off. It was a piece of deli- 
 cacy on my part, because I knew you plumed yourself on never 
 being connected with anything shady." 
 
 " Oh, I see. Why didn't you say you were going to be 
 delicate P I could scarcely come to that conclusion from 
 analogy." 
 
 " I don't know about analogy," said Mr. Dawkins, frankly. 
 " I came here on business. There are people still inquiring 
 about that Mine, I hear." 
 
 " Indeed ? Do you want to buy any shares ? They are not 
 quoted, but they can be got cheap — except for the liability they 
 entail." 
 
 " Well, no; I don't exactly want to buy any — myself. But, 
 do you know " — here he dropped his voice to a whisper — 
 "Beevor does not think so badly of them." 
 
 " So badly of themas Wia^ .''" answered Holt, contemptuously. 
 "If he thought well of them, why didn't he buy some of 
 Dalton's ? He had an opportunity, jou tell me; and Dalton, 
 poor fellow, would have been only too glad to sell. You know 
 what everybody else knows, I suppose, about the Lara ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but there's that fellow Tobbit, the expert " Mr. 
 
 Holt made a sign for silence, and touched a hand-bell. 
 
 There entered a handsome young fellow from the nest apart- 
 ment, where, indeed, he could have been seen sitting at his 
 desk, throughout this interview, through the glass door which 
 communicated between the two rooms. 
 
 "Mr. Derweut, you can take an hour, if you please; I shall 
 be here myself till three." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." The young man was about to leave the 
 room, when his eye fell on Tony's letter ; the colour came into 
 his face, and he hesitated, as though about to ask a question. 
 
 "I had news of our friends in Sanbeck, by-the-bye, this 
 morning," observed Holt, carelessly ; " they desired to be re- 
 membered to you." 
 
 Jeff bowed, and passed into the inner room, from which 
 another door communicated with the passage. Not until he 
 
314 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 was seen from the window crossing tlie courtyard did Mr. 
 Dawkins speak again. 
 
 " You have a new clerk, I see, Holt. He has an honest :ace; 
 but he is deuced young to be ti'usted." 
 
 " Yes ; but I don't trust him." 
 
 " Oh, I see. Some relative, I suppose ? Comes from the 
 country, I think you said ? " 
 
 " I didn't say so ; but he does." 
 
 "Do you think he heard me mention Dalton's name ? " 
 
 " No ; and if he did, it would make no difference. I only 
 sent him out because I had no occasion for his services jtist 
 now, and I know the lad pines for the open air. His life has 
 been passed in it." 
 
 " That is very considerate of you. "Where do you think he 
 is gone ? to Primrose Hill ? " 
 
 Some people have no resources in themselves : Mr. Dawkins 
 was not one of these. He could even laugh by himself — at a 
 joke of his own making — and he did it now. 
 
 "My dear Holt, what a deep card you are!" said he, iu^ 
 niiringly. " It is a wise man who has a fool for his clerk 
 Then he proceeded to business. It does not concern us to knu 
 how these two gentlemen discussed the character of Mr. Tobbi: 
 the great mining expert, or to what conclusion they came ; let 
 it suffice to say that Mr. Dawkins departed from Abdell Court 
 convinced, despite the opinion of his millionaire friend, thid 
 speculation in Laras would be unprofitable. 
 
 Let us rather follow the footsteps of Greoffrey Derwent durini; 
 his hour's holiday. It was not the first by many that his em- 
 ployer had given him during the wearisome days he had passed 
 in his new calling ; he had really shown the consideration to 
 him Avhich Mr. Dawkins had suggested in irony, and had treated 
 him Avith marked politeness at all times. Moreover, he had 
 given him an msight into business affairs, for which Geofii'ty 
 was more grateful than for all else. It gave him hopes o1 
 making his own way in the world, when he came of age, am' 
 the slender fortune should accrue to him of which Mr. Campdcu 
 was the trustee. It was even possible, he thought, that the 
 money might be advanced to him by his good-natured guardian 
 before that period. It is amazing how far a good introduction, 
 backed by tolerable wits and a little money, will go in certain 
 City callings which (like the ham in the sandwich) lie between 
 the Commercial and the Professional, and yet belong by rights iu 
 ucither. Notwithstanding his speech to Mr. DawkiuK, Mr. Holt 
 
AN AUTHOR AND HIS EDITOR. 3^5 
 
 did put trust in Geoifrey, for he liad found out that the yo-ailg 
 fellow could hold his tongue ; and, as he never confided to him 
 anything discreditable, it was fair to suppose that the business 
 of Holt and Company, though certainly of a heterogeneous 
 description, was boyia fide and respectable. Indeed, as Jeif 
 reflected, how could it have been otherwise, since Mr, Dalton 
 had been (as he undei-stood) in some measure connected with 
 it ? nay, still more, had not Mrs. Dalton herself recommended 
 him to his present employer ? This fact alone had really given 
 JefF a certain respect for Mr. Holt, which, as we have seen, he 
 had been far from entertaining at Riverside ; and, being very 
 sensitive to kindness, this feeling would, in any other case under 
 the same circumstances, have grown to be regard ; but it is 
 quite possible to respect people without liking them — indeed, it is 
 almost as common as to like them without respecting them — 
 and Jeff disliked his employer very cordially. He woiild work 
 for him faithfully, and consult his interests as though they were 
 his own. But he could not return goodwill for what he felt was 
 only a pretence of it. Every act of civility of his employer he, 
 in fact, more or less resented, since he was well aware that he 
 was indebted for it to Kate Dalton. He knew that the other 
 calculated upon his telling the truth concerning his life in 
 Abdell Court, and was resolved that he should have nothing 
 but good to tell. He was not even afraid of that pretty con- 
 stant correspondence that he must have been aware went on 
 between his enemy Jenny and his young assistant. There was 
 security in Jeff's honesty, equal to any guarantee that could be 
 got with sign and seal in the neighbourhood of Abdell Court. 
 Holt had not been sorry that his one invitation to Jeff to dine 
 Avith him at his club had been respectfully declined, upon the 
 transparent pretence of a previous engagement ; business rela- 
 tions run comparatively easy even when folks are not en rapport 
 with one another, but social intercourse is more difficult to be 
 maintained. Mr. Holt had never so much as inquired where 
 Jeff's lodgings were, and Jeff was not likely to volunteer the in- 
 formation : they were two very small rooms, in a suburb of 
 Islington, which had been recommended to him, through Mrs. 
 Dalton, by Mrs. Haywood. They were cheap and clean, and he 
 vvould be able to see green fields from them when the spring 
 (•rune. In spite of his ardour for work, and for " getting on," 
 A\ hich was immense, he pined for the counti-y, even in these 
 winter days. But on the occasion of which avc speak — his 
 hour's holiday —ho did not go, as Avas suggested, to Primiuse 
 
|16 FALLEN FORTUNES, 
 
 Hill ; he bent liis steps to a spot whicli puts forth leaves fet 
 every season, Paternoster Rov.^. What would Mr. Da^ykms 
 have thought of his friend's sagacity, had he guessed he em- 
 ployed a clerk who was not only a fool, but an author ! Yet so 
 it must be, since Jeff enters an establishment over Avhich 13 
 WTittcn, " Office of ' The Smellfungus Magazine,' " and, passing 
 through the outer apartment, which coarse minds would call a 
 book-shop, knocks at a little door inscribed " Editor's Room." 
 It is that knock which betrays him to us; any would-be contri- 
 butor might have gone so far as to knock — but not like that. 
 The knock of a would-be contributor, especially one of tender 
 years, is a very modest one ; it sounds like that of a poor rela- 
 tion, or of a little child who cannot reach the knocker except 
 with the tips of his fingers. Now, Jeff's summons, given 
 sharply with the knob of his umbrella, was the knock of an ac- 
 cepted contributor, and something more : of a contributor why 
 hasn't been paid. 
 
 He did not even wait for the answering " Come in," but 
 entered at once. " The City " — whose motto, like that of pooi' 
 Dalton's travelling companion, is " Push " — had already done a. 
 great deal for Jeff. Besides, he was still in some respects that 
 most audacious and irreverent thing in nature, a boy. We havo 
 at prci-ent only seen him in the society of ladies, or of his 
 natural guardian, or of his employer ; but with the world at 
 large Mr. Geoffrey Derweut was something more than at his 
 ease. When he suspected that anyone was imposing upon him, 
 he was particularly free-spoken, to the verge of rudeness. He 
 had not the modest and retiring manners Avhich good and 
 charitable people are accustomed to attribute to literary 
 geniuses when discovered young. 
 
 It must be owned that there was little in the sanctum into 
 which Jeff thus impetuously intruded to excite veneration. It 
 Avas a little stuffy room, lit by a skylight, and boasting of no ether 
 furniture than a bookcase, tilled with volumes of " The Smell- 
 fungus Magazine," a table, and two chairs ; but in one of these 
 tv/o chairs was a Being who ought to have commanded respect, 
 for he was nn Editor. A small, plump man, of cheerful aspect, 
 whiskerless and bald, he presented the appearance of one who 
 had been endeavouring to get rid of all his hair for five-and- 
 forty years, and had triumphantly succeeded. He so beamed 
 with blandness and good-nature that it was like being at 
 Brighton, or standing in front of one of Mr, Dyce's pictures, to 
 look ai him; you felt yuu wanted shade. 
 
AN AUTHOR AND HIS EDITOR. 
 
 317 
 
 " How are you, Mr. Derwent ? Deliglited to see you," eaid 
 he, lioidiug out a podgy hand, and pressing Jeff's with fervency. 
 " I have just been correcting your proof for nest mouth's 
 number. I never saw so rapid an improvement in to vonng a 
 ■writer — it's marvellous." 
 
 "Yes; I thought thab second one would fetch you, mysuir,"' 
 said Jeff, coolly. 
 
 "Fetch me ? Oh, I see ! "Well, the quaintncss of ■^he matter 
 of course goes for something. But, as I said to you belbro, I 
 cannot but think that the mind which could grasp the salient 
 points of so dry a theme — could so clothe dry bones with flesh 
 and blood — might essay something original." 
 
 " The mind has done it," observed JefF, dryly, produchig a 
 manuscript from his pocket. '" Hero is a story of old times : 
 local colouring, archaeological details, spirit of chivalry ; in short, 
 the whole boiling." 
 
 " The whole Oh, I see ! You mean it is all redolent of 
 
 antiquity. Found in a chest, I hope, as I suggested, with a 
 few words of introduction to explain the circumstance. Good ; 
 and stated, I perceive, with great fraukunss and simplicity. 
 You find it easy to be frank, Mr. Derwent, I daresay ? " 
 
 " My nature, Mr. Sanders," observed Jeff, indiffereutly. 
 
 " Yes. Now, what astonishes me in your writing is its ob- 
 jectiveness." 
 
 " Ah ! that astonishes myself," said Jeff, with a little yawn. 
 
 There was a long pause. 
 
 " Why, bless my soul," said the editor, whose face was now 
 invisible behind the manuscript, " this is a satire ! " 
 
 " I should rather think it was," replied Jeff, " and a deucedly 
 good satire too." 
 
 *'Eh ! " Mr. Sanders looked over the top of the manuscript 
 at Jefi'. The young gentleman's face was import urbal:)Ie ; he 
 was tapping his right boot with his umbrella. " This is most 
 extraordinai^y," murmured the editor. 
 
 " That is quite my idea of it," observed the other. " I never 
 wrote anything half so good before." 
 
 " I was not referring to the manuscript," rejoined Mr. San- 
 ders, blandly; "that is good, no doubt— in its way, Jnit 
 satires are scarcely quite the sort of thing for 'The Smellfungiia 
 Magazine.' " 
 
 " I didn't mean ifc for the ' Smellfungus,' " cried Jeff. 
 
 "Eh ! what ?" The editor looked up again, but Jefl' was only 
 tapping bis other boot. 
 
3 1 8 FALLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 "This is not for yon. This is to go to some magaziue that 
 pays. Pray, don't be angry, my dear sir ; I am aware that your 
 magazine is solvent — I mean, that pays its contributors." 
 
 "Now, this is hard," said Mr. Sanders, looking at his book- 
 shelves for sympathy ; " for it was I who brought this young 
 man out — correct me, if I am mistaken, Mr. Derwent, but I 
 think I was the first — as editor of ' The Smellfungus Maga- 
 zine' " 
 
 " And proprietor," interrupted Jeff. " That is where the 
 shoe pinches. The literary side of your character is perfection ; 
 it is the financial side which is in fault. I have never seen the 
 colour of your money." 
 
 " So young," murmured Mr. Sanders, " and yet so grasping ; 
 this is quite a revelation to me." 
 
 "Very good," said Jeff; "I shall make no extra charge on 
 that account, but I must have twenty pounds for the story." 
 
 " Youth is sanguine," observed Mr. Sanders ; " and likewise 
 full of high spirits. You must be joking." 
 
 But Jeff only looked in the fire, and repeated, " Twenty 
 pounds," 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you v)hat" said Mr. Sanders, clapping his 
 knee, like a man who has resolved to do something regard- 
 loss of expense — " I'll tell you ivhat. In consideration of the tw(- 
 papers I have had for nothing, added to the cost of this story — 
 for tliere must lie no doubt for the future about the market 
 value of such articles — I will give you five pounds. But 
 it must be understood that you give 'The Smellfungus' the 
 refusal of your next work, and at the same proportionate 
 price." 
 
 " I'll take the five pounds," said Jeff*, after a little pause, "on 
 account. Or, look here : pay me ten pounds down, and you 
 shall have the story." 
 
 The deft celerity with which INIr. Sanders produced his 
 cheque-book, filled in a cheque, and also a receipt upon stamped 
 paper, was quite pleasant to see. " Short accounts make long 
 friends," said he, cheerfully. "And now, my dear sir, that busines:-! 
 is over, let me congratulate you on having permanently joined 
 the staff of ' The Smellfungus.' I see before you a great — or at 
 least a considerable future. You have the art — a very rare 
 one — of making dry details palatable ; of putting fire into old- 
 world facts. All you want are materials. You must come and 
 dwell in the shadow of the British Museum." 
 
 " I live at Islington," observed Jeff, simply. 
 
THE EXODUS. 319 
 
 " Then you must come by the 'bus to Bloomsbury, Tlie 
 British Museum, has beeu bequeathed to you by the natiou to 
 furnish you with facts for ' The Smellfungus Magazine.' " 
 
 " Very good," said Jeff. " I will accept the legacy." 
 
 "It is wonderful to me how — out at Islington — you can have 
 procured such materials as you have done. However, tho whole 
 affair is remarkable : that at your time of life your taste should 
 lead you to grasp these details of the past • " 
 
 "So young, so grasping," interrupted Jeff. "Well, I must 
 be off now. Ta-ta." 
 
 "Good-bye, my young friend, good-bye," said Mr. Sanders, 
 impressively. Then softly repeated to himself: "Ta-ta. He 
 said Ta-ta. That lad is a phenomenon. Antiquarianism is a 
 passion with him, and yet how he talks ! I wonder whether 
 Chatterton talked like that ? He reminds me very much of 
 Chatterton — in some respects." 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE EXODUS. 
 
 When an overwhelming grief befalls us, it seems for a moment, 
 even to the humblest, to dwarf all other cares. lb is only the 
 rich, however, who can afford to indulge it. With the poor, 
 the next day, or the day after, some miserable need i^iishest 
 divine Sori^ow from her stool, and compels attention. Even 
 ivate Dalton, whose sense of duty was so strong, and whose 
 consciousness of responsibility so keen, had in the anguish of 
 her loss underrated the more sordid troubles that were awaiting 
 her. The cold touch of Death had numbed her somewhat to 
 tlie meaner pain. But though the weight of sorrow still op- 
 pressed her solely, she now began to feel the other burdens that 
 pressed upon her. Lucy was gone, her wages paid to the last 
 farthing, and her fare to town — but without any present such 
 as her young mistress yearned to make her ; and her loss Avas 
 felt, but not in gain. One mouth the less to feed made bur. 
 small difference in the household expenses, already reduced to 
 the most economical figure. Do what she could, Kitty found 
 her little income did but just keep pace with her outgoings. 
 And there were still some debts. Dr. Curzon's bill — whicli 
 must have grown to be a pretty long one by this time — bad 
 not yet been sent in ; and Kitty dared not ask for it. Yet it 
 seemed to her shocking, and almosb sacrilegious, that what was* 
 flue for medical attendance on her poor mother in those later 
 
320 I' ALLEN FOIC TUNES. 
 
 ■weeks, as vroll as on Jenny, should not be settletl. The parcel 
 of cast-off raiment had come from Riverside, and Kitty had 
 humbly arrayed herself in one of Mary's dresses. It -was 
 nothing more, she had said to herself, than hundreds of well- 
 born and well-bred girls, who are not rich, are wont to do. 
 "You will not bo offended if I send you baby's pelisse, who hag 
 grown out of all knowledge," is a very usual thinq' for one 
 mother to write to aiiother who is her friend or relative, bu' 
 happens not to be so rich in this world's goods. It is as comni; : 
 as Dick's old clothes being " cut up" for his brother Jack. vVn i 
 it is the same, or almost the same, with, other garments. Y( t 
 Fomehow Kitty felt it. The change from complete equality with 
 her cousin to this state of dependence, obligation, subordination 
 — there was no actual term for it — had been too sudden for it to 
 be accepted yet as a matter of course. 
 
 Jenny, who had been reading about " doles " in her old books, 
 used to speak of these gratuitous garments as "the RiTersido 
 dole," and could not be persuaded to make use of them. Some 
 of the furniture from Cardigan Place had come packed in sack- 
 ing; and "When ray clothes are worn out, Margate and 1 are 
 going to set to work at dressmaking with that" she said. " Mrs. 
 Campden will like to see me in sackcloth, I know ; and it will 
 no doubt be very becoming." 
 
 But neither Kitty's meekness nor Jenny's mock-humility 
 availed them in a financial point of view, even though the former 
 affected a distaste for butcher-meat — which was essential for her 
 delicate sister — and took to eating bread and cheese. 
 
 One afternoon Mrs. Campden drove over to the N'ook, and 
 found their little dining-table spread with one chop for Jenny, 
 and the loaf and cheese. Tony, as often happened now, had 
 been asked to dine by the good doctor. 
 
 " Cheese is very bad for you, Kitty," said she, taking in the 
 situation at a glance; "and I am afraid you will find it false 
 economy." 
 
 " It agrees with rae very well, I thank you," said Kitty, with 
 the nearest approach to bitterness that her gentle nature had 
 ever shown. 
 
 " Well, I am glad of that ; but I think a good dinner woulcl 
 be an excellent tiling for yon. If you will come home with me 
 to-day — you and Jenny — I will send jou back at night. IMary 
 is a\A!iy at the Skiptons', in Eaton Square, as you know, but 
 Mr. Campden and 1 will do our best to make the evening pasa 
 afTi'oeahly." 
 
THE EXODUS, 321 
 
 *' 1 don't like to leave baby for so many bourd, tbank you,' 
 said Kitty. 
 
 "Very well; tben I won't ask Jenny to come alone, because 
 I know slie bates to be separated from yon." 
 
 " Quite rigbt," said Jenny ; " I do." 
 
 It was astonisbing', as Mrs. Campden afterwards observed, 
 bow soon that girl bad lost ber manners. Some folks wei'e 
 always independent of mere position in that respect, but Jenny 
 ■was evidently the creature of circumstances. It was only her 
 being in ill-bealtb that bad made people imagine ber to have 
 deHcate susceptibilities and so fortb. Her good-breeding bad 
 been in reality but skin-deep. 
 
 If Mrs. Campden, however, was severe on Jenny, she was 
 very gracious to Kitty. " Ah, my dear, Mary writes that 
 Baton Square witb Leonora Skipton is not to compare with 
 Cardigan Place and Cousin Kitty. She sticks to old friends, I 
 promise you. I have said my say, you know, about the matter ; 
 but you can hardly imagine bow Mary clings to the hope of 
 seeing you resume your proper place in the world." 
 
 To tbis Kitty replied nothing ; and presently Mrs. Campden 
 took ber leave, upon tbe whole well satisfied witb her recon- 
 naissance. 
 
 " That bread-and-cbeese business can't last for ever," said she 
 to berself. " Miss Kate will soon come round to common sense, 
 or else I am much mistaken." 
 
 And she wrote a letter to Mr. Holt that very night, bidding 
 bim be of good cbeer, for that matters were working in the 
 rigbt direction. She bad been a matchmaker — having bad little 
 else to do — all ber life, but she bad never entered into any 
 matrimonial plot with sucb gusto as in tbis case. The day 
 wben she saw Kitty Mrs. Holt, and on which she would be able 
 to say " That girl owes it all to me," would indeed be a proud 
 one to her. And she saw it now at no great distance. 
 
 Her visit left the two sisters, as usual, in greater despondency 
 than it bad found tbem. 
 
 " Mrs. Campden's reference to our bread and cbeese was in 
 exceedingly bad taste," said Kitty, witb unwonted indignation. 
 •' I tbink you deserve great credit, Jenny, for not flying out at 
 her." 
 
 "My dear Kitty," returned her sister, " I have bad my say, 
 as Mrs. Campden berself calls it, about that woman, and have 
 made up my mind to hold my tongue. Besides, it was your 
 bread and cheese, not mine. Do you suppose I don't see how 
 
 7: 
 
322 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 yen are starviiif^ yourself for my sake ? '* added sLc, with a 
 Budden burst of tendei-ness. 
 
 " No, no, darling ; I am doing nothing of the kind ; I am all 
 right," sobbed Kitty. They were weeping now in each other's 
 arms. " It was very foolish of me to be so angry, but she was 
 cruel to taunt us with our poverty. What can be the good of 
 that ? " 
 
 "(7oofZ/" cried Jenny, with passionate contempt. " Do you 
 imagine she ever thinks of ' the good ? ' She talked like that in 
 order to have an excuse for sending us broken victuals as well 
 as cast-off clothes. Who cares what she says ! " 
 
 " That is true. It is Uncle George's conduct that hurts me, 
 not hers. He ought to have written, or come over, or some- 
 thing, after that — that letter of his wife's." 
 
 " He is a coward ; that is the long and short of it. You 
 
 never showed me that letter, Kitty ; but — " 
 
 " I burnt it," interrupted Kate. 
 
 " I know you did. I only wish to ask you one question about 
 it. Was there anything in it insulting — I mean disrespectful — 
 to dear papa ? " 
 
 "There was something about him, not exactly insulting " 
 
 *' I understand ; you need say no more, Kitty. I suspected 
 as much. If I had known it ; well, things are best as they are ; 
 but pray, never let me meet Mi's. Campden again. I will not 
 answer for my toogue, else. The very sensation of being in 
 that woman's neighbourhood stifles me." 
 
 Nothing more was said on the matter ; but Jenny, notwith- 
 standing her observation that matters were best as they were, 
 was furious at the reflection that Mrs. Campden was probably 
 under the impression that she had seen that communication to 
 Kitty, and yet had not resented its insults to her father. 
 
 The morning after next brought two letters to the Nook, 
 where now the postman so rarely delivered one. 
 
 "Well, Jenny, here is an invitation for us all to go to town ! " 
 cried Kitty, triumphantly. 
 
 " Not from the Skiptons, surely ? " 
 
 " Well, no ; from nobody quite so fashionable. It is from 
 Niirs3 Haywood, at Islington. Her house is vacant, it seems ; 
 and if we would only come and live there till dear papa returns 
 — or — or something turns up. Of course we must not take ad- 
 vantage of \\xQ dear creature's kindness as to terms ; but even if 
 we paid her a moderate rent, it would, I do believe, be cheaper 
 than living here." 
 
THE EXODUS. 
 
 323 
 
 " j\Iay I sec the letter ? — Ah, then, you have been writing to 
 hcv to ask whether we could come, because of what I said to you 
 Mic. other daj^ about my hating to be near Riverside ! Oh, 
 Kitty, Kitty, you think of everybody but yourself ! I know you 
 would dislike living in town in such a dilferent way from 
 what " 
 
 " Indeed, I should not," interposed Kitty, flushing up. She 
 lead an objection to live in London, but it was certainly not that. 
 She had a vague fear that Mr. Holt would find opportunities of 
 pressing his suit. 
 
 " Well, if you really wouldn't mind, Kitty, I should so prefer 
 it. And fancy what a pleasure it will be to dear old nurse, and 
 —Jeff ! " 
 
 Kitty was silent for a little ; then quietly said : " There was 
 a letter from Jeff, was there not ? " 
 
 " Yes, darling ; but as you won't show me yours, I won't show 
 you mine — -just yet. You are not jealous, ai"e you ? " 
 
 Either from the idea of leaving Sanbeck, or for some other 
 reason, Jenny was for a wonder in high spirits; and these some- 
 times, as the phrase goes, carried her away Avith them. 
 
 " No, darling, I am not jealous," answered Kitty, gently ; 
 *' but I thought you told me that you liked being at the N'ook 
 because of the old books, which were so useful to you in your 
 Writing." 
 
 " Did I, dear ? Then I was talking nonsense, as I very often 
 do." And again she smiled. It was seldom that she did so; 
 but when she did, the smile gave her delicate, intelligent face a 
 rare beauty, and a softness which of late it had sorely lacked. 
 
 Kitty kissed her. 
 
 " We shall have to sell all our things, Jenny, or most of them, 
 before we can get away quite free from debt, and set up house- 
 keeping again in London. I suppose they must be sold in 
 Bleabarrow." 
 
 " Very good, my dear," answered Jenny, cheerfully. " Write 
 to the auctioneer at once ; or shall I write ? I know the gen- 
 tleman, for he made my reclining-couch. I think I made rather 
 '^. conquest of him, and he may take off that one-eighth per 
 cent, which Jeff has got so much to talk about." 
 
 " What a pleasure it is to see you laugh again, Jenny," said 
 Kitty, fondly. 
 
 "And what a cheap pleasure," answered the other, gaily, 
 "which is a great consideration. By-the-by," added she, with 
 yj.dden gravity, "there is one debt we have quite forgotten, 
 
324 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 though I of all people ought to have remembered it— there is 
 the dear old doctor's account to be settled." 
 
 The light faded out of her face, which had once more grown 
 bright and young ; it was as though a child had suddenly beea 
 debarred from some long-promised treat. 
 
 " I have been thinking of it a great deal, Jenny. If he 
 charges us as he ought to do, it will be a long bill — because you 
 know there was his attendance upon dear mamma. Still, I am 
 sure, it will be as reasonable as he can justly make it. We 
 must sell a little more of the furniture, that's all. Nurse Hay- 
 wood's house has almost everything we shall require, you 
 know." 
 
 " It is a dreadful thing for a poor family to have an invalid 
 in it," said Jenny, in a low voice. " Mrs. Campden was right 
 there." 
 
 "Mrs. Campden is never right — at least about -ws," replied 
 Kitty, decisively. " Of course we would have you well if we 
 could ; but you are dearer to us as you are, than anyone else 
 could be in the rudest health. Now let us set to work, Jenny, 
 at once, since we really are going away, and forget all our 
 invalid fancies in active employment." 
 
 " For which I am so very useful," said Jenny, bitterly. 
 
 " There are other and better ways of being useful, my dear, 
 than in cording boxes and carrying them up and down stairs. 
 Yon can write to the auctioneer, as you suggested, for example ; 
 and you can pen a few pretty lines to the doctor, asking him 
 to be so good as to let us know what we owe him; he will like 
 it better coming from you than from me ; and besides, you can 
 express yourself ten times as well as I can. It is not a very 
 agreeable task, I fear, my darling." 
 
 "It is not worse than things you have to do yourself, Kitty, 
 every hour of the day," answered Jenny, passionately. " You 
 are starving yourself — you are working yourself to the bone, 
 for others ; and I won't be spoilt in this way, and treated like a 
 child ; I won't, indeed." 
 
 Kitty opened her large eyes at this outburst ; but before she 
 could reply, Jenny had sat down at her mother's desk and seized 
 a pen. 
 
 " Don't talk, please," said she, with a sudden change from 
 vexation to mock-gravity, " because I am engaged in business." 
 
 The notion of "business" as associated with that fragile and 
 immaterial creature was so utterly incongruous and absurd, 
 that Kitty, whose laughter, fortunately for her, was always 
 
THE EXODUS. 32s 
 
 tnticli nearer to her lips tlian the tears t6 her eyes, could not 
 restrain her mirth. 
 
 Both Jenny's letters were answered promptly enongh. The 
 auctioneer came over from Bleabarrow in person, appraised the 
 furniture, gave them a rough estimate of what it would fetch, 
 and received his instructions. Everything was to be sold with- 
 out reserve, except the piano, a few books, and some knick- 
 knacks that had belonged to their mother. 
 
 Dr. Curzon sent his reply by return of post, to the effect that 
 in c.Tse Mr. Dalton should come home with a gold mine in his 
 pocket, he would send them in such a bill as could not be made 
 out without consultation with Dr. Jefferson, who was an expert 
 in that art; but otherwise that they should get no bill from 
 him. His hand, it was true, was against every man and in 
 every man's pocket, he said, but that he did not make war 
 against young ladies. Moreover, that such an idea had been 
 imputed to him had given him mortal offence, which nothing 
 but their all coming to dine with him on the ensuing day could 
 wipe out. 
 
 This communication had a very different effect from what the 
 writer had intended ; for its recipient broke down as she read 
 it, and gave way to a burst of tears. 
 
 Poor Jenny ! The hardness of the world made her bitter, 
 and its softness made lier weak ; or was it the contrast between 
 them that affected her more than either ? 
 
 But both sisters argued that Dr. Curzon's bill must be paid, 
 and they sent by Tony a few earnest yet graceful words to that 
 effect, as well as an acceptance of the doctor's invitation. 
 
 " Your bill shall be sent in," was the reply brought back, 
 along with an intimation that the doctor's " private equipage " 
 — wtiich was in fact the Bleabarrow fly — should be sent for 
 them on the morrow. 
 
 Upon the whole, it was a more cheerful little dinner-party 
 than could have been expected. Their host did not seem sur- 
 prised that they were bent on leaving Sanbeck, though he ex- 
 pressed the regret which, without doubt, he felt upon his oAvn 
 account. Very little was spoken about the Campdens; their 
 host was far from saying anything to widen the breach between 
 the families ; but when Kitty spoke of the annoyance which she 
 feared the sale at Bleabarrow would cause at Riverside, he 
 observed drily : " It is generally disagreeable to see folks drown, 
 especially in shallow water ; but it is less painful to some people 
 than wetting their own shoes. At all events, I have no sym- 
 
326 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 pathy to spare, under such circumstances, for tb(>s.'3 upon tlie 
 bank." 
 
 Jenny said nothing, but thanked him with her eyes. 
 
 She would have been still more grateful to him had she 
 known what happened on the morrow ; how the doctor rode up 
 to Riverside, and breaking through that neutrality which it 
 behoves every medical man who practises in the country to 
 maintain, had attempted to plead the Daltons' cause with Mrs. 
 Campden. He lost it, of course, and his temper with it ; and 
 in the end gave a piece of his mind to Mr. Campden, who made 
 one in the interview, and about one-tenth of one in the con- 
 versation. 
 
 His wife had observed that the Dalton girls had behaved 
 disrespectfully to her in coming to this decision about giving 
 up their house without consulting her. "And as for selling 
 their furniture in Bleabarrow, under our very noses, as it were^ 
 it is most inconsiderate and disgraceful." 
 
 " It is ill-judged, my dear," said Mr. Campdon ; "butthert 
 cannot be any disgrace in selling one's own property to pay 
 one's debts." 
 
 "I agree with Mrs. Campden," said the doctor, "that it is 
 very disgraceful." 
 
 "There, you see; Dr. Curzon agrees with me.' "cried the 
 lady, triumphantly, " He knows the cii'cumstances, and espe- 
 cially his patient. Miss Jenny's character, who, you may depeud 
 upon it, is at the bottom of this. vShe would do anything to 
 spite me, because I thought it right to set before her sister her 
 true position." 
 
 This attack on his favourite Jenny cut the last strand of the 
 doctor's patience. 
 
 "Your wife mistakes me, Mr. Campden. I think it a great 
 disgrace that the sale should take place ; but the disgi'acc lies 
 at your door, not thcii'S. If 1 had your mojicy, or one hvin- 
 dredth part of it, 1)eforc I would permit two helpless girls, my 
 kinswomen, to be sold up " 
 
 "Insolent apothecary !" interrupted Mrs. Campden, shrilly, 
 " how cZare you ? You know nothing about the matter. You 
 never had two shillings to rub against one another. My hus- 
 band's money, indeed ! I should like to know what you, would 
 do with it ? " 
 
 "Well, then, I'll tell you, madam. The. very fii'st thing I 
 would do with it, if I were he — though it cost me fifty thousaiMl 
 pounds — would be to get a divorce from my wife." And will* 
 
The exqdus. 357 
 
 that the doctor clapped his hat on his heaci, aud walked out of 
 the house, not to enter it again for many a year. 
 
 This little scene did not tend to increase the cordiality of the 
 tenants of Riverside towards those of the Nook. It did, in 
 fact, widen the breach between them exceedingly. When the 
 sale was over, and it wanted still a week to the time fixed^ foi 
 the Daltons' departure, Mrs. Campden wrote a coldly civil letter 
 to Kitty, oiferiug the use of her carriage to take them to the 
 station. This Kitty rightly took as a polite hint that a farewell 
 visit to Riverside might be dispensed with, which was so far n 
 great relief. At the same time, the sense that they had been 
 separated so soon and so utterly from those they had considered 
 their best friends, by the bare blade of poverty, was keenly felt. 
 She also trembled to think of the isolation that had befallcit 
 those committed to her trust. At present, however, thanks to 
 the necessity for exertion consequent on their departure, this 
 last consideration did not press so hard upon her ; but she 
 knew that it was, as it were, in abeyance, to become cruelly 
 poignant when they should find themselves in the wild waste of 
 London. 
 
 The last hou.r the two girls and Tony spent at Sanbeck was 
 passed at their mother's grave. Workmen of all kinds arc 
 tardy in the country, and the pretty headstone, with its simple 
 " Our Mother," and the date upon it, had been only just 
 erected. The doctor met the little pious band returning from 
 the churchyard, and promised them that Mrs. Dalton's resting- 
 place should be henceforth his peculiar care. "You must come 
 down and see the flowers growing upon it, my dears," he said. 
 And much else he said, as welcome and as comforting ; how 
 they had yet left to them in the little valley one friend on whom 
 they could count at all times — not very able, but good for some- 
 thing at a pinch, and very, very willing. 
 
 " But you have never sent that account you promised, and 
 therefore we don't tnist you," said Kitty, severely, wishing to 
 fcitop Jenny's tears, which were flowing freely. 
 
 " I have brought it with me," said he; and he gave it her. 
 •' It is the last remembrance you will have of me, as is the case 
 with all doctors. And now good-bye, darlings." 
 
 He rode ofi" on his stout pony as the Riverside carriage came 
 thundering into the courtyard. 
 
 There were still a few minutes to spare before parting with 
 old Margate. (The maid, more open-mouthed than ever, was to 
 accompany them as baby's nurse and boitle-holder.) Kitty's 
 
3i8 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 housewifely instincts caused her to look at tlio total o* thfl 
 do tor's " little account." 
 
 " Oh Jenny ! " cried slie, " what do you think that wicked old 
 dear has done ?" 
 
 " Charged us too little, of course — something ridiculously 
 small. I knew he would." 
 
 " My dear, he has receipted the bill. What are we to do ?" 
 
 But Jenny had already left the room, and the last box was 
 being put on the carrier's cart. 
 
 " I really am afraid it won't do to pay Dr. Cnrzou^ Jenny," 
 paid she, I'everting to the subject when they were seated in the 
 carriage. " We must write him a pretty letter of thanks 
 together, instead." 
 
 "Yes; he will value that higher than your cheque, Katty, 
 God bless him." 
 
 They did no'''. speak much more together as they drove down the 
 quiet valley where they had left their dear one behind them. 
 Tlieir hearts were too full of memories — and perhaps forebodings. 
 
 When they got into the train — -a second-class carriage hap- 
 pened, by good fortune, to be empty — Kitty again broke silence. 
 
 "What on earth had you to say to Charles, Jenny?" 
 (Charles was the Campdens' footman.) " Of course, I gave 
 something both to him and the coachman." 
 
 " Don't be afraid, my dear, of my paying people twice over," 
 returned Jenny, laughing. "I assure you I mean to be as 
 careful of my money as though I were ever so rich. I was 
 only discharging a little debt." 
 
 "What debt?" 
 
 " The debt we owe to Mrs. Campden — that horrid ten pounds 
 she lent us. If the doctor had taken his dues, I should have 
 felt bound to pay them, so far as I could, out of my privy 
 purse, since the bill was incurred on my account. But now— 
 oh, I am so glad to have sent that woman back her ten pounds! 
 I didn't do it insultingly, mind; I just sent a few lines as wo 
 wore leaving the Nook, to thank her for the use of the carriage 
 — for you know she said she had sent it principally on dear 
 Jenny's account — and enclosed the amount of her late loar. 
 Oh dear, how nice it was ! How happy I feel ! " 
 
 " But, my dear Jenny, where did you get the ten pounds ? " 
 
 "From here," said Jenny, touching her forehead with her 
 loretinger, "from here, my dear. I draw upon my imagination, 
 and my imagination draws upon a firm in Paternoster Row 
 which honours its -^-hcaueit." 
 
THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM. 329 
 
 CHAPTER XLl. 
 
 •THE SWING OF THE PENDDLVM. 
 
 Life is not all sorrow even to the sorrowful. There are hours 
 when the sick are well, when the prisoners are enfranchised, 
 when the poor are wealthy. It may be that they only seem so 
 by comparison with their usual lot (for has not happiness been 
 defined by a sad sage as freedom from pain?); yet they are, 
 happy ; buoyant, thankful, believing, for a little while, that the 
 sun shines for them as well as for others ; that Fate is not, 
 after all, so hard. Thus it was with the two sisters as they sat 
 together in the railway carriage, the one disclosing, the other 
 drinking in, the details of a literary success. 
 
 The baby was asleep, and Tony was endeavouring to teach 
 the open-mouthed maid the rudiments of travelling piquet. 
 She would count the sheep per head instead of per flock, and in 
 doing so missed the magpies, the donkies, and all that was 
 really valuable upon her side of the way. 
 
 "This news is wonderful, dear Jenny," cried Kitty, ad- 
 •vii:ingly. " The idea of your being a real live author ! 
 I thought that you had some idea of getting money by your 
 lace- work ; and so did dear mamma. We used to talk about it 
 together, though we never spoke of it to you, and she used to 
 tremble so lest you should meet with some disappointment. 
 She said people would not think so much of your lace, beautiful 
 as it was, when they had to pay for it." 
 
 " She was right, Kitty. I failed in the lace-line; I thought 
 T would try literature." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " murmured Kitty, overcome v.'ith tho 
 audacity of this idea. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I said to myself : ' I will be an author.' You 
 know I was always fond of scribbling. I suppose I had written 
 as much as Shakespeare from first to last ; though there was a 
 considerable difference in the quality." 
 
 " Don't let us say that," said Kitty, encouragingly. 
 
 " Well, other people said it, my dear (or the equivalent of it) 
 at all events ; editors especially." 
 
 "Editors! You write to editors, then?" Kitty regarded 
 her sister with a sublime surprise — an admiration tinctured 
 with ar^e. 
 
330 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " Why, no ; I got Jeff to take tlie things, and to offer them 
 as though they were his own productions." 
 
 " Jeff ! You made poor Jeff pretend to be an author ! But 
 how could he ?" 
 
 " He went to work as naturally as possible. He gave them 
 tragedy, comedy, melodrama, and sentimental effusions ; but no 
 one ever expressed a doubt." 
 
 " How charming \ " exclaimed Kitty, clapping her hand.g 
 together in joyful excitement. " And they were all accepted, 
 of course ? " 
 
 "No, dear; they were all rejected. The editors told Jeff 
 that he must have patience, and ' fill his basket,' (The expres- 
 sion puzzled him a good deal, by-the-by ; he said he had only 
 heard of one's ' bread-basket,' and how Avas an author to fill 
 that, if he could not sell his works.) He was to read more, they 
 meant, and not attempt to spin things out of himself, like a spider. 
 You shall read Jeff's description of it all some day. So I set to 
 work upon Mr. Landell's library. It was rather dry work at 
 first; but I ferreted out some curious and out-of-the-way tiling!-:^ 
 and made two articles out of them, and told Jeff to try his fo- 
 tunc with them with ' The Smellfungus Magazine.' And tht 
 editor actually accepted them." 
 
 " Only to think of it, Jenny ! Then you were in print ! 
 And yet you never told us ! How could you. keep such a secret, 
 and oh, Jenny, from dear mamma, too, whom it would have 
 pleased so much ! " 
 
 " I have often thought of that, dear," answered the other, 
 gravely; "but it does not matter now. What I had set my 
 heart on was to get money for us all — to show that I was not 
 going to be the clog and the burden to you that — that woman 
 at Riverside took it for granted I should be. And since for 
 those articles I got no money, I determined to say nothing 
 about them. But Jctt' — dear Jeff — so managed it that fcr 
 a story I wrote, all out of these old materials, I did get money. 
 The day you heard from Nurse Haywood he sent mc two fivc- 
 pc)V;nd notes from the editor. I should have given them to you 
 at once, only you spoke of Dr. Curzon's bill, and I thought they 
 ought to go towards that. Even so, it would have been very 
 nice ; but as it is — to have paid Mrs. Cainpden off with them — 
 it is simply delicious ! We are out of debt, and we shall havo 
 the means of livelihood. This was 'the hope' that I told that 
 woman we still had, and at which you smiled so sadly, when sho 
 came to call that day at the Nook : the hope of my being able 
 
 
THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM. 33 1 
 
 to maki money by my pen ; and you see it has been realised. 
 It is not sucb a Ijad world, after all ; if only dear papa cornea 
 home to ns. I think he will come now ; I do indeed. Every- 
 thing looks so much brighter, though I thought we were never 
 to have a ray of sunshine again. Kiss me, Kitty." 
 
 The two girls sat locked in a close embrace. 
 
 *' But, Jenny, why did you let us leave Sanbeck ? You will 
 DO longer have any books to — to " 
 
 " To ' gut.' That was the word the editor used to Jeff, little 
 knowing that he was giving advice to a lady. He said that at 
 the British Museum I should find any amount of old books to — 
 to perform that operation upon. It seems I have a talent for 
 evisceration." 
 
 " 1 daresay," said Kitty, confidently, *' though I don't know 
 what it means. It seems to me you have a talent for every- 
 thing. Oh, you dear, clever creature ! " cried she, holding her 
 at arm's length, " I declare I feel quite afraid of you ; I shall 
 never dare scold you again." 
 
 In the exuberance of her admiration, Kitty must needs con- 
 fide the fact of Jenny's authorship to Tony, but without 
 awakening the like enthusiasm, for that gentleman being deep 
 in his game of travelling piquet, which disinclined him to with- 
 draw his attention from external objects, and also not being 
 particularly interested in literary matters, only observed that 
 " Jenny was a stunner, and that he had always said so." And 
 if he had been informed that she had been made editress of 
 " The Quarterly Review," or " Punch," or both, he would pro- 
 bably have made the same observation. 
 
 This philosophy upon Tony's part, with which Kitty was 
 herself inclined to quarrel, amused Jenny exceedingly, and for 
 an hour or two she continmed in the highest sj^irits. Then the 
 long travel and comparative discomfort of the carriage began 
 to tell upon her feeble frame ; she grew pale with pain and 
 weariness, then sick and faint. They were fortunately still 
 alone, and all was done for her in the way of affectionate ten- 
 dance that could be done. Kitty Avas not one of those young 
 ladies who associate faintness with immediate dissolution, and 
 are frightened out of their small wits on beholding at attack of 
 illness; but she felt with anguish that the improvement which 
 was hoped had taken place of late in her sister's health must 
 have been less real than apparent. Perhaps those very attempts 
 to procure money by her pen, over which they had just been 
 BO sanguine, had exhausted and enfeebled her. At this thought 
 
33i PALLEN- FORTUA'ES. 
 
 the momentary sunsliine in poor Kitty's lieart was quite extiti- 
 gnished, and the clouds that covered it were darker than those 
 it had disjDclled. What were a few pounds earned now and 
 again, when set against the cost of Jenny's life ? As the light 
 fa-ded out from the short winter's day, and she sat with Jenny's 
 aching head pillowed on her breast, and with the baby's feeble 
 moan in her ears, she was filled with sad forebodings ; strange 
 thoughts of self-sacrifice and self -negation, which had for a 
 time grown unfamiliar to her, retook possession of her brain, 
 and turned her cold — as cold, but as steady, as a statue. As 
 t;:e whistle sounded, and the train plunged into the last tunnel, 
 s.i.'.o pictured to herself her last return from Riverside, alone, 
 Y/hcn Jenny and her mother had come to meet her at the station 
 and take her home. Now there was no mother, nor any home 
 that could be called such ; and none to meet, or 
 
 " Kitty ! Jenny ! — there's Jeif ! " cried Tony, excitedly, as 
 the carriage glided into the gas-lit station. And in another 
 moment Jeff's hand was on the door, and his bright face smiled 
 through the window-pane, as he ran beside the still moving 
 train. 
 
 How glad, and yet how sad, Kitty felt to see him ; glad upon 
 her sister's account, to whom she could now entirely devote 
 herself, while Jefi" looked after the baggage ; but sad upon her 
 own, for somehow his presence scattered and broke down those 
 " low beginnings of content," she had begun to feel in that 
 scheme of self-sacrifice which she had just now been painfully 
 elaborating. Oh, why had he come with his kind tones and 
 tender eyes, ere yet her mind had had time to harden in its 
 mould of duty ! 
 
 "Jenny is very tired, Jeff," was all her greeting to him, 
 except the thankful pressure of her fingers. 
 
 " Of course she is," returned he, cheerfully. " How could it 
 be otherwise after such a journey ! I have got a brougham for 
 her, so that she should not be jolted quite to pieces. So get 
 you into it, you three folks and a half; and I will follow with 
 Tony and the baggage in a four-wheeh)r." 
 
 " A brougham ! " sighed Jenny, looking more dead tha,n alive. 
 " I call that a wasteful extravagance." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! " he whispered ; " diKtingnished authoresses 
 don't ride about in hack-carriages in London, let me tell you, 
 whatever they may do in Sanbeck." 
 
 No further expostulation was made, for indeed nothing could 
 have been more welcome to poor Jenny's back and limbs than 
 
THE SWiyC OF THE PENDULUM. 333 
 
 khe cushions of the vehicle in question, which Jeff had had 
 supplemented for her especial use. She felt positively hotter on 
 her arrival in Brown Street, after their long drive through 
 miscalled " Merry Islington " — the dullest and drabbest of all 
 suburbs — than when she had left the train. She had been as 
 eloquent about Jeff's thought and kindness on the way as ntv 
 feeble voice would permit her to be j but Kitty had answered 
 nothing. She knew how tender and how true he was, and dared 
 not trust herself to praise him. To her great relief, he did not 
 present himself that night in Brown Street, but left the little 
 family to " settle down " in their new dwelling alone. If it was 
 not "like home," it was very unlike what ordinary lodgings 
 would have been ; instead of the smiles of a mercenary landlady, 
 there was the honest, kind face of Nurse Haywood to give them 
 welcome. It would not have beamed half so~ brightly had they 
 been rich folks who had agreed "for six months certain" at 
 treble the rent ; for she loved " the young ladies " as though 
 they had been her own children, and thought them the mo**t 
 beautiful and charming of God's creatures. " Master Tony'* 
 had always been her especial darling ; and the baby she regarded 
 as a precious and sacred charge bequeathed by its sainted mother 
 to the world, in compensation for her departure heavenward. 
 
 Kitty always used to assert that Nurse Haywood was " a 
 lady ; " and looking at her with her neat grey hair, and gentle, 
 quiet face, as she stood dressed in her new black silk, to welcome 
 the bereaved ones, you would have endorsed that opinion. 
 
 She wore a certain gold watch and chain a little ostentatiously, 
 to be sure, in the front of her dress, but then these had been 
 given her by Mr. Dalton's own hand, and she wished to show 
 herself mindful of him. Her face, like her person, was plump, 
 and, notwithstanding her advanced years, quite free from 
 wrinkles; and if her voice was somewhat broken, it was not 
 through age, but because, though old, she had retained all her 
 sympathies and affections (the more easily, pei haps, that they 
 were within narrow limits), and was sadly " upset " at the sight 
 of her dear ones. It was their trouble that troubled her ; and 
 her chief care and fear were that, accustomed as they were, as 
 she expressed it, " to the best of everything," the accommodation 
 ehe had to offer them in Brown Sti-eet would seem miserable and 
 insufficient. 
 
 The sight of Jenny, so wan and travel- worn, utterly overcame 
 her, and she could only exclaim, " My poor, poor lamb ! " as sh« 
 folded her to her he?jct. 
 
334 PA LLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 Ti-ury the " wind was tempered " to hev aud to all fhe shorn 
 flock in that hospitable dweliino^. It was humble, yet, as Kitty 
 shrewdly suspected, by no means so low-rented as the prica 
 Nurse Haywood had charged them. They would be none tho 
 less a burden on their old friend, because she would bear it like 
 a feather ; and if it lasted long, how could she bear it ! How- 
 ever, she drove those thoughts away, and for the present 
 resolved to feel only thankfulness. After the nice little supper, 
 at which Tony greatly distinguished himself, and which she 
 herself did her best to swallow, lest her hostess should ascribe 
 her want of appetite to fastidiousness ; and after she had seen 
 the rest of the party stowed away in their small dormitories, 
 and Jenny, dead-tired, had fallen asleep, Kitty sat down in her 
 room, over an unaccustomed fire, to cast up the expenses of the 
 day. Accounts had of old been hateful t'o her, but now she 
 found a refuge in them from thought. Their dry details shut 
 out alike reflection on the past and forebodings for the future. 
 
 Scarcely had she begun, however, when there was a gentle 
 knock. at the door, and there entered nurse Haywood. 
 
 "Now, my dear Miss Kitty," said she, perceiving the nature 
 of her occupation, " why on earth are you a-worriting youi'self 
 about pounds and shillings, instead of getting ready for your 
 bed, which, Heaven knows, you must want enough ? " 
 
 " But, my dear nurse," answered Kitty, smiling, " I must 
 needs look after not only pounds and shillings now, but shillings 
 and pence. You have endeavoured to spoil us, as usual, with 
 all sorts of luxuries, this fire in my bedroom for one. But, 
 indeed, you must not go on so. I told you in my letter how 
 very different things were with us, remember." 
 
 " I know that, and the more shame to them as brought it 
 about." Nurse Haywood firmly believed that the Daltons' mis- 
 fortunes had been caused by some wicked human agency, assisted 
 by the more or less direct assistance of the devil. " But you 
 liave no call to fash yourself with money matters yet a while. 
 There's near upon a hundred pounds, my dear, in the savings 
 1 sank, which is yours if it is anybody's, Heaven knows, since it 
 Vv'as all saved in your service." 
 
 " Nurse, nurse, don't talk like that ! " cried Kitty, breaking 
 down in spite of herself. " Do you think we have come here to 
 live upon your savings ? " 
 
 "You are come here to be comfortable, and not to worrit," 
 riituniod the old dame, decisively. "Your dear papa will be 
 lio/Xi'.; cOon, please God ; and a pi'etty thing it will be if he finds 
 
THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM. 33g 
 
 von have been denying yourself things in my house. And even 
 if he don't coins baok, do you suppose you have no fiiends ? " 
 
 " None but you, dear nurse ; except one or two who have all 
 the will, indeed, but not the power to serve us." 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; gentlemen who ride on horseback, 
 with their groom behind them, have generally money to spare ; 
 and one such at least has been here to-day to ask after you all. 
 A more civil-spoken gentleman, or who showed himself more 
 kindly towards you all, it is not easy to picture." 
 
 '* What was the gentleman's name ? Was it Sir William 
 Skipton ? " 
 
 " Very like, miss. He might have been all that, to judge by 
 his hat and boots, which you might have seen yourself in, just 
 as in that looking-glass. He didn't leave his name ; but he said 
 he -was a fi'iend of your father's — which went to my heart at 
 once, as you may credit. And he asked after you all, one by 
 one, down to the sweet baby. He thought you had come yester- 
 day, it seems, and called to inquire how you all were, after your 
 long journey." 
 
 " Was he a little man, with grey whiskers ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. Miss Kitty : he was a tall, fine-looking gentleman, 
 rather stifiish, I should have said, if he had not been so affable. 
 I am sure lie is a friend of yours, whoever isn't. But wliat I 
 came up to say was that here is a letter for you, as came by the 
 last post to-day, but which the sight of your sweet faces put 
 clean out of my old head till now. I thought I'd bring it up — 
 else you had much better not read it to-night — in case it was 
 anything about — about your dear papa." 
 
 "It is nothing about papa, I am sure," said Kitty, quietly, 
 having cast her eye on the address. '' And I shall take your 
 advice, nurse, and go to bed." 
 
 She at once proceeded to put away her accounts ; and after a 
 cordial " good night," the old dame withdrew. Then Kitty drew 
 her chair to the fire, and gazed at the still closed letter with 
 hard, despairing eyes. She had recognised the handwriting at 
 once as that of Mr. Holt ; and she thought she could guess the 
 nature of its contents. He had called in person, it seemed, that 
 very day, and now he had written her a letter. Fate was not 
 only hard with her but urgent, as though she had already 
 tendered her bubmission to it. 
 
 The eavelope was a large one, and held something weighty, 
 like that she had received from Mrs. Campden. Was it possible 
 f-nat thin 7~ian had dared to send her money — bank-notes ? No \ 
 
336 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 thank heaven i it was not that. There was a letter, act? some- 
 \}\\\\^^ official on a large piece of paper. The receipt of a pre- 
 mium from a life insnx'ance office for one hundred and twenty- 
 pounds. What could it mean ? The letter was, of course, from 
 Mr. Holt. 
 
 "}.[y Dear Miss Dalton, — In the hurry of your father'," 
 departure from England he omitted to pay his usual premium 
 to the Falm Branch. As in a few days it would have been over- 
 due, and the policy thereby have lapsed, I have taken the liberty 
 to guard against that contingency. The money has been paid 
 under protest — that is to say, if it should turn out — which 
 Heaven forbid ! — that your poor father should have deceased 
 before this date, the society will repay the premium in question, 
 together with the policy of five thousand jDounds. You will 
 perceive, therefore, that I have incurred no risk, nor yourself 
 any obli-^ation, by this transaction, which I have only effected 
 as a mere matter of convenience to yon, and of course not 
 without consultation with your friends. 
 
 "I did myself the honour to call in Brown Street to-day, but 
 mistook, it seems, the date of your arrival in town. Pray, make 
 my best compliments to your sister, and remember me most 
 kindly to my young friend Tony. The acquaintance of tho 
 remaining member of your family I have not as yet had the 
 pleasure to make, but I hope he bore his journey with equa- 
 nimity. — Believe me, my dear Miss Dalton, yours always most 
 faithfully, Richard Holt." 
 
 She took up the receipt again, and read it with scarlet cheek. 
 " Received one hundred and twenty pounds." She was indebted, 
 therefore, in that sura — or in nearly a whole year's income — to 
 thD man who paid it ; and when he wrote that no obligation had 
 been incurred on her part, he was writing an untruth, and one 
 which he knew could not impose upon her for a moment. Tho 
 " friends " with whom he had consulted were, of course, the 
 Campdens, or probably only Mrs. Campden. Surely " Uncle 
 George " could never have allowed himself to be a party to a 
 Bcheme which made her this man's debtor. 
 
 She had not known the money was due. The application, in 
 ^act, ks.d come through her father's bankers, who had been duly 
 instructed to pay it ; and since there were now no funds in hand, 
 they bad forwarded it to Riverside. How hopeless would siio 
 have felt at Sanbeck, bad she been aware of it ; and how hope- 
 less she felt now i Even if her father should come Lome lo- 
 
THE SlVhVG GP THE PENDULUM. 337 
 
 morrow — poorer, in all probability, than lie went — slic would 
 be none the less indebtei to Mr. Holt. Indeed, the certain news 
 of her father's death, and the consequent payment of his policy, 
 could alone acquit her of the pecuniary obligation, let alone any 
 other. Oh, cruel fate ! that her only escape from an unwelcome 
 — she dared not now say even to herself, now that the thing 
 might come to pass, a detested — suitor, should be, as it were, 
 over her father's corpse ! 
 
 She could of coarse decline to receive this help at all ; could 
 object to the premium being paid at all ; but then there was the 
 contingency which Mr. Holt had glanced at, of her father dying 
 after the premium had become overdue. He might be wrecked 
 somewhere at that moment, but still alive ; and yet he might not 
 come back alive to England. In that case his children would 
 lose the policy : that five thousand pounds, the possession or los3 
 of which would make all the difierence to them for their lives in 
 this world ; would insure them competence, or condemn them to 
 the poverty that one at least of them was so ill-fitted to bear. 
 
 That very morning — not twelve hours ago — Kitty had been 
 happy, hopeful, in her sister's triumph ; now it seemed an ago 
 since happiness had visited her, and, moreover, that it would 
 never visit her again. Her future looked dark indeed. The self- 
 sacrifice she was contemplating was one which no man can esti- 
 mate ; there is nothing like it in the experience of his sex ; for 
 when a man marries a woman for her money, it is she, and not 
 himself, when all is said, who in truth is sacrificed. 
 
 In many cases, indeed, such as poor Kitty's, the gilded chain 
 soon ceases to gall ; it is only a few to whom romance is neces- 
 sary, and the purchased bride finds her life very tolerable ; but 
 Kitty vv^as conscious of an obstacle to her self-abnegation, which 
 made it ten times more hard for her, and almost a crime. In 
 giving herself to Richard Holt, she was casting away the offer 
 of Geoffrey Derwent's love ; and in her heart of hearts she had 
 accepted it. 
 
 " Oh mother, mother ! " crisd she despairingly, as she turned 
 upon her sleepless bed, " why, why did you leave me ! " 
 
 She had never l\lt tho need of an adviser and a comfortetr ec 
 Hrasb as no-y. 
 
3;jS t^ALLEN FORrUNES, 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 HOW THE PREMIUM WAS PAID. 
 
 Beown Street is not lovely, but it is far from being so meian. 
 choly a place of residence as that -wherein three-fonrths of the 
 population of London are doomed to pass their lives. There 
 was light in it and air enough, at least for persons in good 
 health ; and at the end of it, where the builder's money had 
 come to an end, and he went into the Bankruptcy Court, there 
 was still a space unoccupied by brick and mortar, through 
 which a glimpse of the country could be seen. This was not the 
 valley of Sanbeck, but it was open gi-ound, with a spectral tree 
 or two, holding its ragged arms aloft, as though in deprecation 
 of the advancing host of houses ; and afar off was what looked 
 like a village church — though it was, in fact, the tower of a 
 Waterworks Company. The dwellings in Brown Street were 
 clean, at least externally — at Mrs. Haywood's you could have 
 " eaten your dinner oif the floor," it w^as so spick and span — 
 and they had not yet begun to " peel," to exhibit those cracks 
 and flakes peculiar to stucco, which is analogous to some skin 
 diseases iu the human fx^atn©. The street was situated between 
 two magnets, or would-be magnets. There was an immense 
 public-house at one end, which had not yet succeeded in with- 
 drawing the custom of the humbler classes from the old pot- 
 house in the neighbourhood, but was convenient for those who 
 bked their beer on drauglit, and were not very particular as to 
 Avhat it was made of ; and at the other end was an ecclesiastical 
 edifice of iron, about which the pious part of the jDopulation had 
 not quite made up their minds. Service was performed there 
 every Sunday by a real clergyman ; but one likes one's church 
 to looli like a church, and it might not afford that security 
 against fire — in the end — which its material suggested. From 
 Brown Street ran off at right angles Little Brown Street, a sj^ot 
 devoted to the hatching of small shops of all descriptions, about 
 half of which were addled ; or rather the thing that was brought 
 forth — it was chiefly in the cheap newspaper and tobacco line, 
 toy line, or the cheap tailoring line, with a splendid picture 
 of the Fashions iu the window, — lived but a week or two ; 
 it sparkled, was exhausted, and went to the brokers. Tlio 
 omnibuses — one lino of them, at all events — kncv/ of the esisL- 
 %nc6 of Brown Street, because commercial gents of varioaa 
 
HO'/V THE PREMIUM WAS PAID. 339 
 
 kinds lodged t/licrc, and '.vere '' taken np " every morning within 
 a few hundred yards ox it; but the cabs ignored it, "Brown 
 Street ? Whore was Brown Street ? Might it be down away 
 hj the Duke oi' York's Head, ma'am ? " A question no lady 
 tare could answer. One may imagine, therefore, how entirely 
 'ar.kuowa it was to "carriage people." Yet on the very day 
 after the arrival of the Dalton family, the equipage of no less a 
 person than Lady Skipton did somehow contrive to find its way 
 there. " IS ever heerd of sich a place, my lady," said the coach- 
 man to his mistress, when directed to drive thither. " JSTever 
 seed sich a place," was his remark, in confidence, to the foot- 
 man, as the carriage bumped over the half-formed roads, and 
 over the broken bricks that plentifully strewed it; "it's a 
 cruelty to a carridge and 'osses.'' 
 
 Jenny was not visible to her ladyship : after that episode of 
 the lacework, she would not have seen her under any cii'cum- 
 stances, but on this occasion she was really too ill to do so. The 
 journey had utterly knocked her up. So Kitty received her 
 alone. She was far from well herself, for she had had but little 
 sleep ; and she had been thinking all the morning what sort of 
 reply she should write to Mr. Holt's letter. But she felt that 
 she was not in a position to refuse to see anybody who might be 
 of service to them. It was a sickening thought that even her 
 friendships — as she had been accustomed to call them — must 
 now be alloyed with views of self-interest. With Lady Skipton 
 came her daughter Leonora — Lenny, as Kitty was wont to call 
 her — who had attended classes with her in old days, and, next 
 to Mary Campden, had been her greatest confidante. She was a 
 pleasant little person, with a great deal of hair and a fairy 
 figure. Everybody wondered how such an elephantine mamma 
 — her ladyship weighed about eighteen stone — could have pro- 
 duced such a gazelle. She was one of twins, her sister having 
 died in infancy, or she would probably have been double the 
 size. She had written poems; one, "To my Aller Bijo in 
 Heaven," was very much admired in her family circle. Kitty 
 had always believed in her sensibility, and defended it against 
 Jenny, who derided her ("She is too much 'up,' Kitty; like 
 ginger-beer ") ; but somehow she now mistrusted Lenny's im- 
 passioned greeting. 
 
 " You got my letter, my darling, of course ? " said this young 
 lady. 
 
 She had indited one to Sanbeck upon the death of Mrs. Dalton, 
 full of (Quotations from the poets, and which had jarred on 
 
340 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Kitty's sorrow-laden ear. It had been a relief to Ker that Lcnnt 
 had written " Don't reply," the one piece of ti'ue consideration 
 in the letter. 
 
 " How terribly you must have sufiered," she went on. " Ho v 
 pale you look, darling." 
 
 "Black never becomes the complexion," said Lady Skipton, 
 encouragingly. "When she is in colours again, she will look 
 more like herself. I am so sorry about poor Jenny ; but doubt- 
 less the change of air will do her good. I am afraid she was 
 annoyed with me about her lacework ; she sent back the little 
 present I enclosed to her." 
 
 Then for the first time Kitty learnt the story of the unsold 
 lace. 
 
 " She never mentioned the matter to me, L?vdy Skipton," 
 answered she, when it had been related to her. 
 
 " Come, then, let us hope she was not offended," replied her 
 ladyship, cheerfully. " I hope you will both come and dine with 
 us, as soon as you get settled my dear ; of course it is a little 
 soon," said she, with a glance at Kitty'.- mournful garb, " bnl, 
 then we are old friends." 
 
 " I am afraid we shall not be great diners-out for the future,''' 
 said Kitty. 
 
 " Now, don't you go and shut yourselves up, my dear," repliLdl 
 her ladyship, promptly. " In your case, particularly, it viould 
 he most injudicious. I won't promise to send the carriage, be- 
 cause Robert is so particular about his horses ; he is in the worst' 
 of tempers at this moment, because there is a brick or two in the 
 road : but when you come in a cab, mind, that is always mii' 
 affair. I should never forgive myself if I caused you any ex- 
 pense, just now ; though I have good reason to believe that the 
 little inconvenience you may now be sufferiug from will soon ho 
 over." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," said Kitty, coldly, almost defianHy. 
 " though it is news to me." 
 
 " Well, well, perhaps I am premature ; I thought, from some- 
 thing that dropped from Mrs. Campden But no matte i', 
 
 I hope our horses — by-the-bye, they are old friends of yours, 
 Kitty, for Sir William bought them of your papa — are not 
 catching cold. Lenny, just see where Robert has taken the 
 carriage to." 
 
 Lenny looked out of the window and reported progress in tli© 
 direction of the public-house. 
 
 " I thought so," said her ladyship with irritation, ** Well, 
 
JIOIV THE PREMIUM WAS PAID. 341 
 
 my clear, you see we didn't lose a day in calling on you. By* 
 the-bye, you have never shown us that dear delightful baby. Is 
 it like your poor mamma, or who ? " 
 
 " The baby is asleep," said Kitty. 
 
 " Bless it ! " cried Lenny, clasping her little hands ecstatically 
 " What is its pretty name ? " 
 
 " John. He is called after dear papa." 
 
 "Very right, very proper," said Lady Skipton. "If I had 
 had a boy, I had made up my mind to call it after its jsorjia; 
 Ihough, to be sure, when there is a title in a family, the thing 
 becomes imperative. Little Tony, of course, is at school ? " 
 
 " No ; he is at home for the present." 
 
 " Well, well; I daresay you are wise. So long as you can 
 exercise authority over a boy, he is best among home influences. 
 Come, there is Robert at last ; he is wiping his mouth with the 
 back of his hand, so one knows what lie's been after. My dear 
 gii'l, I do assure you it is not altogether a disadvantage to have 
 to drop your carriage ; that man's the plague of my life. God 
 bless you ! " 
 
 Kitty submitted to an impassioned caress from Lenny ; and 
 then, to her great relief, the visit was over. She felt a secret, 
 conviction that it waspo?«-pre?/(ire conge ; and it proved correct. 
 Lady Skipton's invitation to dinner was repeated, after a conside- 
 rable interval ; but she found it impossible — on account of Robert} 
 — to bring lier carriage again to Brown Street. Her afternoon's 
 adventure in the wilds of Islington gave her a subject for con- 
 versation for many a day, with opportunities for dwelling upon 
 her favourite topic, the abominable behaviour of her coachman, 
 and for delicately hinting at her own patronage of friends in 
 reduced circumstances. " I was not going to desert those dear 
 girls because they happened to live in Islington ; but what I 
 went through to see them I shall not easily forget. The people 
 stared at us as though we were a travelling circus ; I don't think 
 a. carriage was ever seen in the neighbourhood before ; and 
 Robert was in the sulks for a month afterwards ! " Sir William 
 jjent Kitty a brace of partridges and a hare from his country- 
 f.eat. There would have been more, w^'ote his wife, but that the 
 birds were so wild that year in Berkshire. 
 
 When Kitty went upstairs, she found Jenny had not yet risen, 
 although she had announced her intention of doing so. 
 
 " I felt a little giddy, Kitty, so I thought I'd be lazy. And 
 \ write in bed in pencil just as well." 
 
 '* Pray don't think cl' writing, Jenny," imploi'ed her sister. 
 
342 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " Yon nro quite feverish, and your eyes are ever so mnch 
 bright or tl^an thej ought to be." 
 
 " That is because I am so anxious to hear about those dear 
 Skiptons," laughed Jenny. " Was her ladyship affable, notwith- 
 htanding that we live in Brown Street ? I am bound t» say I 
 didn't expect her to come and see us. Lenny, of course, was as 
 gushing as ever. She will write a poem about us, called 
 ' Fj-iends, though Fallen,' or some such title : I can see her at it." 
 
 " I daresay they meant well, Jenny ; but I must confess that 
 it was all rather unsatisfactory." 
 
 " Then it must have been very bad indeed," said Jenny. 
 
 " Well, they didn't even ask to see poor Tony, though they 
 knew he was in the house, and you knoAV Tony used to call 
 Lenny ' his wife,' for years." 
 
 " Ah, you see we can't be too particular — or too little parti- 
 cular — about young gentlemen who are not eligible. The 
 simple fact is, my dear," said Jenny, di'opping her tone of 
 raillery, "the Skiptons are rubbish. Our position is that of a 
 sieve, through which we find our sham friends are all dropping 
 out. Nurse Haywood, Dr. Curzon, and Jeff, remain to us ; but 
 the rest are all in the dust-heap. Let them lie there. I feel 
 that we shall henceforth be independent of them, I am satisfied 
 — weighing one thing with another, and not even taking into 
 consideration the fact, that dear papa's society has been a sun- 
 shine among all these shady people, for which they will always 
 owe him gratitude — that we are indebted to them for nothing. 
 For the future, let us be careful to incur no obligations." 
 
 Kitty's heart sank within her ; she had Mr. Holt's letter, 
 with his receipt for the premium, at that very moment iu her 
 ])ocket; and Lady Skipton's hateful words — "Any little incon- 
 venience you may now be suffering, I have good reason to believe, 
 from something that dropped from Mrs. Campden, will soon bo 
 over " — were still ringing in her ears. 
 
 " Above all things," continued Jenny, " I am thankful to 
 think we have got rid of Mr. Holt. To tell you the honest 
 truth, I had really begun to think, dear Kitty, that from some 
 mistaken notions of duty to your family, you might have been 
 induced to listen to that man. Of course, you could never hp.vo 
 liked him. What ? You don't say that ? " 
 
 " Why sJionld I say it, Jenny ? He has certainly shown him- 
 self well-disposed towards us." 
 
 " Yes ; but for reasons of his own. Of course he wishes to 
 ingratiate himself with yo^l. But do you suppose he has fallen 
 
now THE PREMIUM WAS PAID. 343 
 
 in love with me, and Touy, and the baby also ? I saw tbrongh 
 that man — I flatter myself — from the first ; and I see him — in 
 my mind's eye, Horatio — to the end. Shall I tell you what I 
 see ? " 
 
 " No, Jenny. I don't wish to hear it. Besides, you are exciting 
 yourself ; and I am quite sure that quiet is what you want. 
 Pray, do not try to write to-day." She took the p«?3.cil and 
 paper from Jenny's hand, who gave them up without resistance. 
 
 "Pei-haps you are right, darling: I will let my brains lie 
 fallow for a day or two ; they seem all in a muddle, some- 
 how." 
 
 Kitty had never seen her sister looking so ill since they had 
 left Riverside. The excitement she had lately gone through, 
 combined with the fatigue of travel, had evidently much affected 
 her. Instead of being the prop and stay she fondly hoped to 
 be, it was more probable she Avas about to be seriously ill. Dr. 
 Curzon had always said : " Jenny is progressing, and that is 
 well, for standing still in her case is impossible ; there must be 
 impi'ovement, or else retrogression, which Avonld be dangerous. 
 Her constitution is deficient in rallying power." The plain 
 Snglish of that professional exjDression was only too clear to 
 Kitty. 
 
 Here, then, was another and urgent reason why she should 
 make up her mind to accept Mr. Holt's assistance ; yet, in doing 
 so, she felt that she would be accepting so much more, that it 
 gave her pause. Jefi" was sure to call that evening on his way 
 home from office, for he lodged close by; and she resolved — not 
 to cousult him ; no, him least of all men ; but to ask him one 
 question before answering Mr. Holt's letter. After that she 
 would take her own way in the matter, without seeking advice 
 from anyone. 
 
 As she was taking her frugal supper with Tony — for the 
 housekeeping was now in her own hands — JelF arrived. She 
 felt a disinclination to be alone with him, born of her mistrust 
 in her own fortitude ; her heart was Avax towards him, and 
 melted at his presence, though she was so resolved he should 
 not mould it." 
 
 " Jeff," whispered she, while Tony was engaged with a new 
 book his friend had bought him, " tell me the truth about dear 
 papa. Is there any hope of his coming back to us ? " 
 
 " Thei-e is always hope, Kitty," replied he, gravely. 
 
 "Where there is life," she answered. ''But is there life? 
 Is there any chance of his being alive ? '^ 
 
344 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Jeff did not answer, only beat softly witli his fingers on tke 
 table, and looked most miserable. 
 
 "Yon are loath to give mo pain," sbe said. " I would not 
 put you to pain unless there was a necessity for it. Dear papa 
 has insured his life for our sakes. Is it worth while to pay the 
 premium which has become due ? " 
 
 "Oh yes," returned the young fellow, eagerly. " You can 
 pay it under protest — that is, supposing that the policy should 
 have fallen due already ; in which case you will get the mo aey 
 back again. And then yon will make all sure. Lt is clearly the 
 right thing to do, if — if — it can be done." 
 
 "It can be done," returned Kitty, gravely. No more was said 
 upon the subject. When JefF was gone, and all the inmates of 
 this little house, save herself, were fallen asleep, and freed from 
 earthly cares, Kitty sat down and wrote her answer to Richard 
 Holt. In her own name, and for herself, she thanked him for 
 the payment of the premium. She spoke of it as a loan, of 
 course, but expressed her sense of his generosity as well as of 
 his forethought. She would not pretend that there was, as he 
 suggested, no obligation; she would not affect to understand 
 that his kindness had not herself for its object. She would 
 never encourage him ; nay, she would temporise and procrasti- 
 nate as much as she could ; but her weapons — weak though she 
 Felt herself to be — should be at least fair weapons, and therefore 
 liypocrisy could not make one of them. Many women will 
 deceive and cajole even those they love ; but this one was truth- 
 till to the man who, in her secret heart, was hateful to her. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 IN THE COFFEEtHOUSE. 
 
 The posb flies quickly in town, and the next afternoon brought 
 a letter from Mr. Holt, in reply to Kitty's, and asking permis- 
 sion to call on the ensuing day. She was well aware of tho 
 significance of this request ; he had called already without per- 
 mission ; but this would be altogether a different sort of visit ; 
 one wherein she could not deny nor excuse herself to him, and 
 which would be paid to her alone. Even should he not ask the 
 question upon which she knew he had so resolutely set his mind, 
 this interview would be the forerunner to it, and in permitting 
 it, she must needs foreshadow her reply. 
 
 ^o tjiink was torture; to delay was vain. Shf? fat down, ^ncj 
 
IN THE COFFEE-HOUSE. 345 
 
 wrote a few words ;it once to say that she should he at home at 
 the hour he had named. 
 
 The interval, which she had expected to pass in apprehensions 
 of his arrival, was spent in fears of another kind. Jenny grew 
 much worse, so bad that, in spite of her (for Jenny had small 
 contidence in unknown doctors), Kitty yielded to NursG 
 Haywood's advice, and called in the nearest practitioner. 
 
 " Aggravated febrile symptoms ; nervous debility ; and great 
 cerebral excitement," was his account of the patient. (He 
 talked like a medical handbook, but he was by no means ignorant 
 of his business.) " The young lady requires quiet — freedom 
 from anxiety of all sorts. How does she chiefly employ her- 
 self ? " asked he, of Kitty. 
 
 " In reading and writing." 
 
 "Yon mean by writing, composition? I thought so. The 
 very worst thing for her in her present condition. Reading she 
 must have in moderation ; but pen and ink must be kept from 
 her. And as soon as she is fit to be moved, I should recom. 
 mend sea-air." 
 
 Kitty bowed in assent — she believed him the more because 
 Jenny had always been recommended " Brighton " in the spring 
 — and blushing, tendered him one of her ten guineas. 
 
 " You have not lived in Brown Street long," he said, smiling. 
 " Science is cheaper here than in some places." And he re- 
 turned her thirteen shillings and sixpence. Freedom from greed 
 is one of the many virtues of the medical calling ; but to poor 
 Kitty this seemed only another proof how pitiful must be the 
 ease of her and hers, since even strangers compassionated it, 
 and returned her money. 
 
 " Perfect rest " and "sea-air." The prescription was doubt- 
 less good, but could only be carried out in one way — at her 
 own proper cost. If she had hitherto entertained a doubt of 
 the sort of reception that she should give to Mr. Holt, she had 
 none now. And yet things did not happen quite as she ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Mr. Holt came indeed with the punctuality of clockwork, but 
 matters had become by that time so serious with Jeniiv, that, 
 little else could be alluded to. 
 
 " I am very much shaken and unnerved," said Kitty, plead- 
 ingly ; " you must forgive me if I do not acknowledge your lato 
 kindness as it deserves." 
 
 " It deserves nothing," returned Mr. Holt. " I hope you will 
 n' t pain me by alluding to such a bagatelle," (He v:oiiM air hia 
 
346 FALLEN FORTUNES. .,^ 
 
 French, even to her.) "Bat if I can be of rcnl use, pr;!*^ 
 command me. N"ow, with respect to Brig-hton " 
 
 " My sis.ter cannot be removed for weeks," interrupted Kitty, 
 quickly ; '' she is very, very ill." 
 
 " Still, when she can, I adjure you to remember that the 
 means will not be wanting. If your father were — were in 
 England, do you suppose he would spare any expense for such 
 an object ? A hundred pounds, or a thousand ; what does it 
 matter ? We have a saying in the City that ' money may be 
 bought too dear,' but that does not apply to life." 
 
 His manner was most respectful, and yet tender; he took h'^r 
 hand in bis, and pressed it as be said the words, " Money may 
 bo bought too dear," which was inopportune, to say the least of 
 it. But she did not withdraAV her hand. 
 
 " I entreat you," he went on, " not to add to your real sorrow^ 
 by worrying yourself about pecuniary troubles ; for so long as 
 liichard Holt is alive they are vision ai-y. I shall send or call to 
 inquire daily; but I shall not intrude upon you while youi 
 f-ister remains so indisposed — unless it would be any relief to 
 you to see me," added he, with gentle pleading. 
 
 " You are very, very good," said Kitty. " 1 am not fit to see 
 anyone just now." 
 
 If he had hoped for any other answer, he did not show it. 
 His behaviour was the perfection of patience and devotion. 
 Kitty would have felt really sorry for him — as her mother had 
 done — if she had not been so wretched on her own account. It 
 was impossible to doubt that the man loved her ; and to be 
 loved without return is almost as bad (to a kind heart) as to 
 love under the like circumstances. 
 
 " Uid you walk ? " inquired she, mustering some show of 
 interest him, as he took his leave. 
 
 " No ; I rode : my horse is at the corner of the street. I left 
 it there because Mr. Derwent told me that your sister was so ill, 
 and I feared the noise would disturb her." 
 
 This was thoughtful of him in one way, but he was foolish to 
 have mentioned Jeff; it somehow stopped her thanks. 
 
 *' Good-bye," he said, "ray dear Miss Dalton ; or rather, I 
 ehould say aurevoirT 
 
 He came the next day and the next, but had no speech with 
 Kitty. Her place was by her sister's pillow, and shij could not 
 leave it. Thus once more it happened tliat by a caprice of Fate 
 Hhe was saved by one species of misery from the endurance of 
 (inptliei*. Weeks went by without much alteration in the con- 
 
IN THE COFFEE-HOUSE. 347 
 
 dition of the sick girl ; and then the spring came, and with it a 
 little renewed vigonr. In the meantime lier story had appeared 
 in " The Smellfungus Magazine," and achieved what in the 
 periodical world is held to be a success. A second edition oi' 
 that serial — the first had not been a very large one — had been 
 called for in consequence. Mr. Sanders had written to Jeff a 
 cautiously expressed letter of congratulation, bespeaking a 
 " more sustained work " from, the same " gifted pen, combining 
 fiction with antiquarian details," 
 
 " The beggar takes me for Walter Scott," was Jeff's observa- 
 tion. Yet he could hardly smile at this new proof of the editor's 
 misplaced confidence, for he knew that many a month must pass 
 away befoi^e she, whose representative he was, could resume her 
 pen, even if she could ever do so. 
 
 He wrote to say that indisposition would incapacitate him for 
 the present from writing for " The Smellfungus ; " and the next 
 day Mr. Sanders met him at luncheon-time in a City oyster-shop, 
 eating like Dando and drinking stout. 
 
 "You are writing for something else, you know you are," 
 exclaimed the editor with a burst of irritation. " I should have 
 thought the author of ' The Monk of Monkwearmouth ' [Jenny's 
 successful tale] had been more of a gentleman." 
 
 " He is nothing of the kind, and never made any pretensions 
 to it," said Jeff, coolly. 
 
 Mr. Sanders thought him more like Chatterton than ever. 
 
 One morning, Mr. Holt received a telegram, which, as was 
 usual with him, he opened in Jeff's presence. His table was 
 covered with letters every morning, yet he received more tele- 
 grams than letters, and none of these various communications 
 ever seemed to move him. But on this occasion he leant back 
 in his chair, and turned deadly pale. 
 
 " Are you ill, sir ? " said Jeff, with interest. 
 
 " 1 feel a little faint : it is the spring weather. Get me a 
 d raught of water." 
 
 When Jeff brought the glass, the telegram had disappeared, 
 and his employer was consulting " Bradshaw." 
 
 "I shall have to go away from ofilce to-day," said hp, 
 peaking more thickly than his wont. " I have been summoned 
 o — Plymouth. There will be no business of any importance to 
 ransact, I believe." 
 
 "Very good, sir. In case anyone wishes to see you, when 
 ( hall I say you will be back ? " 
 
 Mr. Holt did nob answer, Ife seemec| to be in difBcultiea 
 
_v^ FA L LEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 with his "Bradshaw," a work which he generally had at lu» 
 Sngers' ends, 
 
 " Tell the boy to fetch me a cab — a hansom," said he, pre^ 
 sontly. " There is not a minute to lose," added he, as it' to 
 himself. Tlien, before Jeft" could leave the room, his employer 
 uttered so terrible an execration that the young fellow turned 
 to look at him in astonishment. He had never heard him swear 
 before, and it really seemed as though he were making up for- 
 past omissions in that respect. Mr. Holt's usually calm facei 
 had become a sea of passion. 
 
 " I said a cah," exclaimed he, imperiously. Jeff himself flew 
 for a hansom, and as he caught one passing the archway out of 
 the court, Mr. Holt was at his heels. He did not seem to 
 notice him, and perhaps took him for the office boy, as he leapeo!' 
 into the vehicle. 
 
 "King's Oross^ — and drive like the devil," was his direction, 
 to the cabman. And the man drove off at the pace supposed 
 to be affected by his Satanic majesty. 
 
 In his hurry and passion, had his employer given the wrong' 
 address ? thought JefF; or had his statement that he was goina 
 to Plymouth been an untruth ? Certainly King's Cross was 
 not the station for that town. 
 
 He had left his letters behind him unopened — even those from 
 Livei'pool, where he had a small branch establishment, aiici 
 which generally claimed his first attention. Something seriou-. 
 bad certainly occurred. 
 
 At eleven o'clock arrived Mr. Dawkins, a pretty frequcm 
 visitor ii! Abdell Court. He appeared greatly excited ; \\'\.^ 
 neckcloth, always tight for his large throat, seemed almost to 
 suffocate him, making his face to swell and hii eyes to project, 
 in a very alarming manner. Where is your master ?" inquire'} 
 he, hurriedly. 
 
 '• Do you mean Mr. Holt ?" replied Jeff with stiffness. " lEci 
 is gone away, A telegram arrived for him this morning whieli 
 took him out of town." 
 
 "Ay; to Liverpool, of course," said Mr. Dawkins. " Then 
 the news is true, I suppose ?" 
 
 " What news?" 
 
 " Look here, my young fellow," said Mr. Dawkins, persua- 
 sively, " everybody must know it by this evening, and before 
 yonr employer comes back : it is a question of hours. You 
 cannot possibly do any harm by telling me just * Yes or No ' 
 about the Flamborongh Read. I can make it well worth your 
 
IN THE COFFEE-HOUSE. 340 
 
 v/iiile; " and lio tapped liis breast-pocket, v.Lich was always 
 bulging witli bank-notes. 
 
 Jeff looked at him severely. *' No ! " roared lie. He was 
 very angry, but he knew that words — as a vehicle for moral 
 sentiments at least — would be wasted upon Mr. Dawkins. 
 
 " Do you mean that the news isn't true, or that you won't 
 take the money?" asked Mr. Dawkins. 
 
 " I don't know the news, and I don't want your money," tm- 
 bwered Jeff, contemptuously. 
 
 " This is ridiculous," said Mr. Dawkins, regarding him 
 attentively. " Look here, young man : if anything should 
 happen to your employer — I don't say it will, mind, but if it 
 should — you may hear of something to your advantage by 
 callingr at this address." He pulled out a card and threw it on 
 the table. " What luck Holt has ! " he murmured as he left the 
 room. " But where on earth could he ever have met with such 
 a boy ? " 
 
 Just before one o'clock, Jeff the Incorruptible had another 
 visitor. A commissionaire called with a note for " Geoffrey 
 Derwent, Esq." Immediate; Bearer waits, was underlined upon 
 the envelope. 
 
 " Are you Mr. Derwent ? " inquired the messenger, scrutini- 
 ■singly ; " because I was to give this into your own hands." 
 
 " it is all right, my man. Are you from Islington ? " 
 
 Jeff was afraid there might be bad news from Brown Street, 
 ■where he had called every night and morning. 
 
 But the handwriting of the letter, which consisted of but a 
 few words, was strange to him : "A friend wishes to see you at 
 once upon important business at the Bold Templar's Coffee- 
 house, Ludgate HiJl, Please keep this communication private. 
 Ask for Mr. Phelps." 
 
 When Jeff looked up, the messenger had vanished. 
 
 The young gentleman was not of a romantic turn of mind. 
 " I believe it's Sanders, who wishes to keep me under lock and 
 key till I have produced a three- volume novel," mused he. " In 
 that case I shall be a prisoner for life. Or perhaps it's a dodge 
 to get into the office." This last idea seemed probable enough ; 
 and before Jeff left he gave the policeman a hint to look after 
 the premises in his absence, since the boy in charge was but an 
 inefficient guard. It was his own time for dinner, so he had no 
 compunctions about spending some portion of his usual hour in 
 answering the mysterious summons, which considerably excited 
 his curiosity. There was a teetotal smack about the Bold 
 
350 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Templar s Coffeo-liousc ; but none of Jeff's acquaiulaucos -were 
 teetotalers, having most of them the power of imbibing spirituous, 
 or at least malt liquors, without getting hopelessly intoxicated. 
 Perhaps, after all, the whole thing was a hoax, to which sjjeciea 
 of humour the young gentlemen of the Stock Exchange are 
 almost as much given as their seniors. At all events, Jeff waa 
 resolved to see it out. As he passed by Lloyd's, two men 
 pushed by him talking eagerly, and he thought he heard one of 
 them mention the Flamhorough Head. Was it humanly possible 
 that that vessel had come safe to port, after so many weeks and 
 months ? His reason told him it was not ; and yet the incident, 
 taken into connection with Holt's summons to Liverpool and 
 Mr. Dawkins' hint about great news, was curious. The Bold 
 Templar's Coffee-house was a third-rate establishment, situated, 
 not in the main thoroughfare of Ludgate Hill, but in one of the 
 small streets to the south of it. So unpromising, indeed, was 
 its appearance, that had it been evening instead of noonday, 
 Jefl; might have hesit-ated to enter it on such an invitation as he 
 had received. But as it was, he walked in unconcernedly 
 enough, and inquired of a very dirty waiter, who Avas lounging' 
 in the passage, with a napkin under his arm that matched his 
 linen, for Mr. Phelps. 
 
 The man nodded, and led the way through a swing-door into 
 a low-roofed and dingy coffee-room, arranged in compartments 
 like tall old-fashioned pews. 
 
 " Gent for Mr. Phelps," said the waiter, sharply; and imme- 
 diately from the farthest corner there emerged a stranger, who 
 came forward to meet the visitor. 
 
 A stranger, as I have wntten, he was to Geoffrey Derwenl, 
 and yet there was something about the man not wholly uii- 
 f:tmiliar to him. His face Avas dark and wrinkled, and his hair 
 was grey ; but his eyes were bright and piercing. He had 
 never seen so old a face with eyes so young before, save once. 
 
 " It was good of you to come so soon, Mr. Derwent, and on 
 so unceremonious a summons," said he, in grave tones. " Oblige 
 me by sitting down for a few minutes, and hearing what 
 I have to say." 
 
 He pointed to a seat in the compartment next to that from 
 which he had risen, and lighted better than most by a dusty 
 window. 
 
 Then Jeff could see that the man was curiously clothed, lika 
 one who had just come from travel in foreign lands, and to 
 whom either time or means had been wanting to equip himself 
 
LV THE COFFEE-HOUSE. Sj'I 
 
 like other people. The latter was probably the case iu thia 
 instauee, for eveu such clothes as he had were worn and 
 threadbare, as well as being of too slight a texture for the 
 season. 
 
 Jeff gazed at him long and eai'nestly ; while his new acquaint- 
 ance, as though to give the opportunity of doing so, drew out a 
 note-book and cut a pencil. 
 
 " We have met before, I believe, Mr. Derwent ? ' said he 
 presently, as if in reply to this examination. 
 
 " Never. But you bear a strong resemblance to one very 
 dear to me, though you are an older man." 
 
 " You mean John Dalton ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I a.m his half-brother, Philip Astor," returned the other, 
 still more gravely than before ; " and it is of John Dalton that 
 I wish to speak with you." 
 
 " Have you any news of him, sir ? " inquired Jeff, eagerly 
 " your tone gives me little hope ; and yet there is a report — ni 
 at least some sort of talk — in the City that the Flamboroucjk 
 Head has come into port." 
 
 " Indeed ! returned the other with some surprise. " 1 am 
 sorry to say, however, the news is false. You are acquainted, I 
 believe, not only with my half-brother, but with his family. 
 Be so kind as to speak out, as I am a little deaf." 
 
 " I am well acquainted with them," answerd Jeff in distinct 
 tones ; " they are the dearest friends I have in the Avorld."" 
 
 " And yet they are in bad circumstances, I understand ?^ 
 
 " They are not rich. When one says ' dear,' one does not 
 always mean a money value," returned Jeff, coldly. Pie began 
 to dislike this man, with whom, too, he now remembered Mr. 
 Dalton had had some sort of auarrel or litigation. 
 
 " The object of my inquiries is a friendly one, I do assure 
 you," observed the other, reading his thoughts. " I wish to be 
 assured of our friends' welfare, that is all." He paused ; then, 
 with a slight tremor in his voice, continued: "Are they all 
 well ? " 
 
 " Kitty is well." 
 
 " And still Miss Kitty, I suppose ? " put in the other, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Certainly," returned Jeff, with heightened colour. 
 
 " And she is not engaged to any one that you are aware of ? 
 Weil, well, I only asked, meaning no offence. And how are the 
 rest of them ?" 
 
FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 *' Jenuy lias been very ill, but she is ge!:t'>-)g somevvhah 
 better. She was always delicate, as you are probably aware ; 
 and her poor mother's death " 
 
 "I know, I know," interrupted the other, hastily; " tliut 
 Kad news has already reached me." 
 
 A heavy sigh broke forth from somewhere in the darkness o'' 
 the room. 
 
 " What is that ? "We are not alone," said Jeff, angrily, 
 " I do not choose to speak thus of the aiiairs of others in the 
 presence of strangers." 
 
 " It is a friend of mine in the next box." 
 
 " I don't care who it is. I won't ■ — — " Here Jefi' stoppeci 
 short, transfixed with awe. 
 
 A face was looking down upon him over the next partition 
 which he had never thought to see again. It was a worn 
 and weary face, older by ten years than when he had seen it 
 last — as old as that of his present companion, senior (as Jelf 
 knew) to him by many, many years — but it was tha-t of John 
 Daltoa. 
 
 " JefiP, do you know me ? " said a weak and haif-choked voica 
 very diJBferent from those musical tones that had once won every 
 'Bar. 
 
 " Oh yes, Mr. Dalton. God be thanked ! What joy, whiit 
 happiness you will have brought with you ! " 
 
 " Do you think so ? " inquired the other, eagerly, as they 
 pressed each other's hands. " Have they forgiven me, and not 
 yet forgotten me — my dear ones ? " 
 
 " Sir, they think of you and pray for you — I know Kitty prays 
 for your return even yet — every day and night." 
 
 " My Kitty, my own bright Kitty ! Jenny, you say, is better. 
 And the boy — dear Tony ? " 
 
 " He is as blithe as June, sir, and as gentle. To see him 
 watching by his little brother, amusing him— '' 
 
 " Ay, there is another," said Dalton, gloomily. " Her baby 
 boy." 
 
 " And as jolly a little baby as one would wish to see," inter- 
 posed Jeff, cheerfully. " He is the plaything of the whole 
 house, though Kitty and he are inseparables. They are all 
 well, Mr. Dalton, and need only to see their father's face again 
 to be all happy." 
 
 " God bless you, Jeff, for saying so ! I did not dai-c to a: u 
 about them myself, but got Philip here to be niy spokctma!.'. 
 ^Vhere are they all ? " 
 
IN THE COFFEE-HOUSE. ^3 
 
 " At Mrs. Haywood's, in Brown Street. The old dame is 
 flighted to have them, and they feel quite at home." 
 
 " Perhaps there is not much temptation to leave it," observed 
 Dalton, significantly. "Are their friends kind ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. There is Dr. Curzon — he came up expressly to see 
 
 Jenny; and, and Why, who could liclp being kind t/i 
 
 them ? " 
 
 " I see one who could not help it ; but I should like to hear 
 of others. Tell me the truth, Jeff", Are nvj children quite 
 deserted? Do none of all my old acquaintances visit the mother- 
 less and the poor in their affliction, for my sake or their own ? " 
 
 " Well, you see, Jenny has been ill of late " 
 
 " Was it infectious, then ? '' inquired the other, appre- 
 hensively, 
 
 "No, it was not infectious; but when there is illness, it is 
 well to keep a house quiet ; and, besides, Kitty made up her 
 mind, when she found herself in charge of the family, and there 
 was a necessity for great economy, to seclude herself as much 
 as possible." 
 
 " In spite of invitations and hospitalities," said Dalton, bit- 
 terly, " I see. The Riverside people, however, have surely 
 not forsaken them ? " 
 
 " There was a misunderstanding with Mrs. Campden, sir. 
 Jenny returned some money that she had sent them or lent 
 them ; and there has been a breach." 
 
 " And ' Uncle George ' took his wife's part ? " 
 
 "Upon my life, sii*,^' said Jeff, earnestly, " I don't think he 
 could help it." 
 
 " He must have some good in him, since you stick by him, 
 Jeff," answered Dalton, with a faint smile. "You see how it 
 is, Philip. There are just three — Dr. Curzon, Mrs. Haywood, 
 and this one here. Just three. Think of it." 
 
 " And a very good average," returned Astor, curtly. " I 
 have got one friend, just one. And perhaps I shall not have 
 him long," added he, moodily. 
 
 " As long as he lives, Philip," returned Dalton, quietly- 
 taking the other's hand. " JefF, you have stood by me, and. 
 mine. Take my brother also into your wide and loving heart. 
 It is through, him, next to God, that I am now alive. It is 
 through him that those who, I have just heard you say — and 
 bless you for it — were dearest to you, are about to be made 
 Lappy, I cannot see them to-day — at least not ye-.. I have 
 aomething to do first ; something " — here his voice grew very 
 harsh and stern — " that has nothing to do with happimess, bufe- 
 
354 FALLEN FORTUNES, 
 
 with woe, and wratli, and retribution. You are in Richard 
 Holt's employment, it seems, as good men have been before you. 
 Where is he ? " 
 
 " He left his office this morning, he said, for Plymouth, but 
 as I have reason to believe, for Liverpool." 
 
 Dalton and Astor exchanged significant glances. 
 
 " 111 news flies apace," said the latter. " What matters it ? 
 He cannot escape us." 
 
 " That is true," answered Dalton, in a slow tone of satis- 
 faction, " He would have to take my life ere he could do 
 that." 
 
 " And mine, John," observed Philip, in a tone of reproach. 
 
 " I know it," returned Dalton, with tender gravity; " but you 
 and I are one, brother." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 KETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 When Dalton arrived at Liverpool upon the day of his leaving 
 Riverside, it was too late to go on board the Flamborougli Head, 
 and therefore, notwithstanding his desire to be economical, bo 
 was compelled to sleep at an hotel. The next morning was a wet 
 one ; yet, for the sake of a few shillings, he sent his luggage by 
 a porter's truck, and went down through the rain to the docks 
 on foot. It was just such a,n aiTangement of the " penny-wise 
 and pound-foolish " sort as those unaccustomed to frugality aro 
 wont to make ; and grievously did he afterwards repent of it . 
 He found everything on board in confusion; there was a difli- 
 culty, or seemed one, about getting at the contents of his 
 portmanteau ; his cabin, indeed, was infinitely better than hc^ 
 had expected, thanks to his wife's kind extravagance, and not a 
 moment was to be lost in acknowledging that. One thing and 
 the other, in short, combined to make him careless of so small 
 a matter as damp raiment, and the end of it all was rheumatism 
 in the knees. This is a malady — let those who enjoy the ac- 
 quaintance of sciatica boast as they please — not easily matched 
 for habitual discomfort, and it crippled Dalton. It was somo 
 time before he could leave his cabin and so much as crawl about 
 the saloon, and even then he was subject to severe relapses. 
 On one of his " better days " he managed to make the grand 
 tour of the vessel ; he was on that part of the deck appropr.atcd 
 to second-class passengers, when suddenly his pains came on, 
 and he fell rather than sat down upon a coil of roj^e. 
 
RETROSPECTIVE:. 355 
 
 " You are ill, Mr. Daltou ; shall I give you an arm ? " said 
 someone in cold but courteous tones ; and, looking up, he saw 
 his half-brother. 
 
 The phrase " more familiar than welcome," which would have 
 suited Avith the sight of Aster's face a few days* back, had now no 
 meaning for Dalton. Any face that he had known of old, and 
 which therefore I'eminded him of home, was welcome to him. 
 
 " What ! you here, Philip ? " said he, with genuine emotion, 
 A pleased expression flitted across the othei''s grave grey fea- 
 tures ; for hitherto his half-brother had been scrupulous to call 
 him " Mr. Astor." 
 
 " Yes, John, it is I. I suppose I must say I am sorry to see 
 you, since you ax-e outwai'd bound, like myself, but, unlike me, 
 have left so many dear ones behind you. You are in pain, I 
 fear, too ? " 
 
 " I have got a touch of rheumatism ; that is all. But how 
 came you here ? I thought, from what Holt told me, you had 
 left England some time ago." 
 
 " It is not well to believe what Richard Holt tells you abaat 
 anything," answered the other, bitterly. " I should have thought 
 you had found out that for yourself by this time. If otherwise, 
 I am surprised you speak to me, after what he must needs have 
 told you about me." 
 
 " He told me nothing, except that he was dissatisiied with 
 you ; by which I understood that you had parted company on 
 account of some business disagreement." 
 
 " Dissatisfied ? '' echoed Astor, contemptuously. " Yes, he has 
 cause to be dissatisfied with me = he took mc into his employ- 
 ment upon speculation — in the hope that, after all, lyhould 
 make good my claim of legitimacy against yourself. He didn't 
 tell you ilmt, I'll warrant." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Dalton. " On the contrury, he gave me 
 to understand — though he never actually said so — that he re- 
 tained you out of his regard for mc." 
 
 "Regard for ijoul" exclaimed Astor, with a bitter laugli. 
 " Why, ho would have put all your money into my pocket-— 
 minus what he claimed as his own share — if the thing could 
 have been done. I would have gained from you what I con- 
 sidered my own, Mr. Dalton — as I still consider it — but I would 
 never have played you false, as lie did." 
 
 " But you have quarrelled with him, you confess yourself ? " 
 remarked the other, cautiously. He had his own suspicions of 
 his late business friend, but he felt that that was no reason for 
 believing all that a personal enemy might say against him. 
 
3S6 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 "Yes, we have quarrelled," answered Astor, frankly; " arK*^ 
 legally, it is I who have been in the wrong. He led me to 
 imagine that I was his partner. The whole plot is plain to me 
 now ; but I was deceived as easily as a child by a trick at cards. 
 John, tell me the truth. Did that villain ever hint to you that 
 I had forged his name ? " 
 
 " Never, upon my honour, Philip : he would not have dared 
 to do it." 
 
 " I thank you, brother, for that word," answei'ed Astor, 
 gravely. " Well, he might have done it, and, in a sort of way, 
 yet spoken what was true. He knew that I had meant no 
 wrong, but it might have been hard to persuade others so. He 
 gained a hold on me, at all events ; and when I got to know 
 more of his affairs than was agreeable to him, he used his hold. 
 I am no felon, John, believe me ; and yet, thanks to Richard 
 Holt, I am transported. He has compelled me to leave England 
 — as he has compelled you" 
 
 " He has not compelled me," answered Dalton, haughtily. 
 " In fact, I am doing so contrary to his advice." 
 
 "I understand," said Astor, quietly. "He wanted you tc 
 part with your shares ; but your motto was, ' Stick to the 
 
 " Good heavens ! how do you know that ? Why — Philip — it 
 was you who wrote that warning letter ? " exclaimed Dalton, in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " If four words can be said to be a letter ; yes, I did. You 
 are bound for Brazil, to discover if the advice be good, for your- 
 self. Time will show ; yet, I thiuk, you have acted wisely." 
 
 *' But, Philip, why should you have done so ? Why should 
 you have taken the trouble to do so good a turn to one whose 
 interests — and unhappily whose acts, though of necessity — h^vve 
 been so antagonistic to your own ? " 
 
 " Well, there was a reason ; for which you yourself owe me 
 no thanks." 
 
 " I owe you thanks, whatever it was." 
 
 " No. The thanks, if they turn out to be owed to anyone, are 
 due to Kitty." 
 
 " To my daughter Kitty ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and my niece," ansv/ered the other. " Listen, John, 
 Years ago, when that unhappy litigation between us had re- 
 sulted — though, as J thought, and as Holt thought, only tem- 
 porarily — in my defeat, I set foot for the first time under your 
 roof. We met ; not cordially, but without ill blood ; and you 
 would have behaved, if I had permitted you to do so, with what 
 
RETROSPECTIVE. 357 
 
 you doubtless considered — and indeed what was so, from youi' 
 point of view — with generosity. Well, we need not talk of that 
 now. You refused to acknowledge me as your brother. As 3 
 left your house, full of wrath and bitterness, a little maiden, 
 beautiful as a fairy, ran up to me in the hall, and with eager 
 eyes exclaimed : ' Why, you are Uncle Philip ! ' I snatched her 
 up in my arms and kissed her. It was very illogical in me, no 
 doubt — for if the little lady had known the circumstances of the 
 case, she would probably have been the last to give me such a 
 title — but I loved her for acknowledging the relationship that 
 you denied. She has forgotten me, no doubt, but I never forgot 
 her; and when, years afterwards, I discovered — no matter how — 
 that my employer. Holt, was bent on making her his wife " 
 
 "Ah, you know that, too, do you? I have sometimes sus- 
 pected it," said Dalton, gloomily. " Go on." 
 
 " Well, I say, when I found that that false hound had dared 
 to lift his eyes to Kitty, I swear I hated him for that worse than 
 all the rest. I had no means of foiling him, of course ; but I 
 felt that his opportunity could only lie in your necessity, and 
 therefore strove to avert your ruin. What losses he has caused 
 you, I know not ; my belief is he made a catspaw of you from 
 the first, and has robbed you right and left ; but with the liara 
 he has still connection, that is certain. I heard from Brand 
 (himself dismissed like me for knowing too much) that Holt 
 was pressing you to sell your shares, and so I wrote to you to 
 stick to them. That's the whole story," 
 
 Much of this was, of course, news to Dalton, though somehow 
 it only tended to confirm his own suspicions. Yet, after all, like 
 them it was but vague. He had a greater distrust of Holt than 
 ever, yet he had no more tangible ground than before for enter- 
 taining it. Had the opportunity, for example, been at once 
 afforded him of returning to England and taxing his late busi- 
 ness friend with mal-practices, he would scarcely have taken 
 advantage of it. No proof of any kind was to his hand. As 
 time went on, however, and he got to know" more of his half- 
 brother, his confidence in him increased, and in proportion his 
 suspicions of the man he had got by that time to consider their 
 common enemy. The little episode of Kitty's reception of her 
 uncle touched her father's heart, and out of it there flowed a 
 tenderness, not only towards Kitty herself, but towards him 
 who had thus recalled her and spoken of her so fondly; while 
 the anger As' or felt against Holt for daring to wish to win 
 Kitty's favour, combining with his own suspicions of that in- 
 tGutioCj mad'3 somehow a still stronger bond between tbcro. 
 
35 S FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 The intimacy between the saloon passenger and the second, 
 class man, as Avell as the unmistakable family lilceness between 
 them, excited considerable curiosity and some comment; and 
 here again Dalton endeared himself to Philip by at once owning 
 him as his half-brother, without saying a word of his illegiti- 
 macy. John's mother -v\'as supposed to have been married again 
 to a person of larger means than her first husband, and hence 
 the diil'erenoe of tlie social posHIon of the two brothers. It wn.i 
 generous of him, for it cost some sacrifice of ]nnde, but Phili]> 
 was more than gratefnl for it. No liberality which .Tohn hati 
 shown him in the past touched him half as nearly. Unhappily, 
 he w^as in no position to repay him ; for he was going to Brazil 
 a mere adventurer, as friendless, and even more penniless than 
 his kinsman ; but as a comforter and, when occasion required, 
 as a sick nurse, his companionship was invaluable. The two 
 men would sit together for hours talking over Holt's conduct, 
 chiefly in relation to John ; speculating as to whether he had 
 played him false in this and that affair, but especially concerning 
 the mine. And then for relief they would turn to Kitty, of 
 whom Philip was never tired of hearing ; and from her John 
 would diverge to his wife and the other children, and find at 
 least a patient and apparently an interested listener. 
 
 It was curious how the adversity which thus knit John to 
 Philip isolated him from the rest of his fellow-creatures. His 
 genial nature had been nipped and frozen by its cold breath, 
 and where the blossoms of wit and fancy had been wont to hang 
 in such profusion, there was naught now but bare boughs. 1 f 
 to anyone among the saloon passengers on board the Flam- 
 Imrough Head the social reputation of John Dalton was known 
 hy repute, he must needs have thought it ill-earned. Dalton 
 was, to be sure, an invalid ; but even when he was able to take 
 his seat at table, or hobble up to smoke a cigar upon the declc, 
 ho did not mingle in the conversation, but sat in silence and sad 
 thought. He was polite, of course, and answered when ad- 
 dressed ; but that was all. There were some young ladies on 
 board who interested ^\m — by some faint resemblance perhaps 
 to Kitty or Jenny ; but he was constantly asking himself how 
 it wo'^^ with Edith and the little household at Sanbeck. The 
 recii rion of the unpaid premium to the Palm Branch also 
 occurred to him, and gave him great uneasiness ; for though ho 
 strove to believe that Mr. Campden would surely discharge thr.t 
 debt for him, his thoughts were full of bitterness and disbelief 
 in the loyalty of all friends. From the little gaieties and amuse- 
 ments of life on shipboard he shrank with pain except on one 
 
RETROSPECTIVE. 359 
 
 occasion. The pretty custom bad just come in vogue of com- 
 mitting a miniature vessel, decked with ribbons, and named 
 after some young lady-passenger — to mid-ocean, laden with 
 letters for England, in hopes that some homeward-bound ship 
 would pick it up and act as postman. In this case, the fairy 
 craft happened to be named the Edith; and since it could but 
 carry a very limited mail-bag, there was much competition for 
 the privilege of sending letters by it. The coincidence of the 
 name with that of his Avife made John strangely solicitous to be 
 one of the favoured few, and he succeeded in his desire. Per- 
 haps his only happy hour on board the Flamhorougli Head was 
 during the launching of this fragile toy ; his eyes were the last 
 io watch it as it rose and fell upon the calm bosom of the ocean 
 in their wake. After that day there was no more calm. Stormy 
 weather set in, and with it the pangs of his rheumatism in- 
 creased. He was confined to his berth, and day and night lay 
 listening to the roar of wind and wave. Philip came to him, and 
 sat by his side, conversing as long as it was possible to converse ; 
 but after a time the gale so increased that no human voice could 
 well be heai'd. 
 
 One day — it was but noon, but the cabin window was so 
 hidden by sheets of water that it was almost dark — John asked 
 with difficulty, " Is there danger, Philip ? " 
 
 His brother nodded gravely, holding on meanwhile to the 
 side of the berth. The ship so pitched and lurched that the 
 floor was as often the ceiling as the floor ; the howling of the wind 
 and the roar of the sea were deafening and incessant ; but above 
 them both could be heard hurried movements upon the deck. 
 " They are getting out the boats. Is it not so, Philip ? " 
 "I will go nnd see. Do not fear, brother; I will not desert 
 you." 
 
 "I fear nothing — only for my poor wife and the children; 
 thank God, I am well within the days of grace, however." John 
 Dalton's thoughts, amid that whirl and woe, were centred on 
 the premium of his life assurance. Presently the door was 
 burst open — it would open in no other way now — and Philip 
 rushed in. 
 
 " Quick, quick ! You must get up ; and I will carry you on 
 deck." 
 
 " Not I," answered Dalton, resolutely. "What should I do, 
 a poor cripple, in this tumult ? Could I jump into a boat ? 
 Could I live in one if I did ? No. Let me drown in peace." 
 
 Philip's only answer was to seize him i» his powerful arms 
 snd drag him from his berth. 
 
36o FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 From thence, by immense exertion, Le got him across the 
 saloon; but np the cabin stairs, now steep, now sloping, and 
 now staggering towards them like a thing of life, it was impos- 
 sible to carry him : he was not only a helpless cripple, but every 
 movement gave him torture. 
 
 " Leave me, Philip, leave me ! " exclaimed he, vehemently, 
 *' God will reward you, though He will not sxaffer you to save 
 
 me. Tell Edith my last breath was " 
 
 There Avas a rush of water down the cabin stairs that swept 
 the men apart, aad dashed the speaker senseless against the 
 cabin wall. 
 
 When he came to himself, he was lying on the floor wet 
 through ; the turmoil of the elements had nowise abated, but 
 the trampling and hurrying overhead had ceased. Sometimes 
 all was in darkness — when the maimed and shattered vessel fell 
 into the trough of the sea — and sometimes there was light 
 enough to behold the devastation and wreck of the saloon as the 
 ship battled to the sui'face, and vv'as hurried on the crest of a 
 wave. Erom her aimless and uncertain progress, it was evident 
 that she no longer obeyed the helm, but was rolling like a log, 
 now under, and now above the water. 
 
 If John's personal discomfort had been less, he might even 
 now have congratulated himself that he had lived his life thus 
 long, and had not ended it upon Bleabarrow Crags, as he had 
 once thought to do : Edith could now have no sort of difficulty 
 in realising the five thousand pounds from the Talm Branch, 
 and there would be no guilt of self-murder upon his soul. But 
 his knees gave him such intolerable pain that he could think of 
 little else. He contrived, however, to drag himself on to one 
 of the couches let into the sides of the saloon, and presently 
 swooned away there. 
 
 When Dalton next woke to life he was in his own berth ; the 
 roar of the tempest had greatly diminished, but there was a 
 slush and whirl of water in his ears ; and he perceived-^or was 
 he dreaming ? — that some articles in his cabin were advancing 
 1 o and retreating from him in the strangest manner : they were 
 in fact afloat. From the complete absence of any sound save 
 that of the elements, it was plain to Dalton that the ship was 
 deserted. Yet how, if this were so, could he have been con- 
 veyed back to his berth ? His pains had abated, but he was 
 faint and sick with hunger, and conscious of some strange dis- 
 t nrbance in his brain. Was it a dream, or was it the fact, that 
 ^ome one was splashing about the cabin ? Dr. Curzon, perhaps, 
 upon his pony : yes, and with a prescription too, which he pei<» 
 
RETROSPECTIVE. 3^> 
 
 f^iisted in thrusting into his month — a mixture of biscuit, and 
 brandy, which, so revived him, that he presently sat up, and 
 said : " Hollo, Philip ! " 
 
 " Hollo, old fellow," answered his half-brother, cheerily ; " the 
 old ship floats, you see, still." 
 
 " Yes ; only the water is inside of her as w^ell as outside of 
 her ; is it not ?" said Dalton. It was a point that puzzled him, 
 and which he I'eally wished to have cleared up ; but the other 
 mistook it for a joke. 
 
 " Come, that is spoken like yourself, John. You are getting 
 round now, though you have had a bad touch of it." 
 
 Then Dalton began dimly to comprehend that he had been 
 ill for days. 
 
 " Where is everybody, Philip ? " inquired he, suddenly. 
 
 " The ship is water-logged : as for the people, I don't know 
 for certain," answered Philip, gravely; "but I fear that you 
 and T are all that now remain of them. That day when you 
 saw me last — to know me — was one I shall never forget. The 
 
 scene on deck was heartrending. The women You 
 
 remember those two girls who launched the Edith ? " 
 
 John nodded : he remembered their doing tliat, 
 
 " Well, they clung about the captain like poor demented 
 -r-reatures at the feet of their idol. Their shrieks, their cries for 
 help, whei'e no help could come, while the wind and waves 
 stormed at them like devils, were terrible to listen to. The 
 launching of the boats was with great difficulty effected ; but 
 some were staved in, and some were swamped with all on 
 bof.rd, before our eyes. It w^as a sea, the captain said, such as 
 it Avas scarce possible for a boat to live in. I told him how you 
 were left below stairs ; but he said, taking into account your 
 maimed condition, you had as good a chance of life — if chance 
 there was — in remaining thei'e, as in endeavouring to leave the 
 
 " And you V inquired Dalton, taking the other's hand and 
 pressing it with what little strength he had. 
 
 '' Well, I thought I would see the thing out along with you, 
 John. The boats, I verily believe, are lost, with all that Avent 
 with them ; and the old ship herself was bound to have gone 
 down too, but for some empty casks it seems she has below." 
 
 ' ' There is hope in your eyes, Philip ! " cried the other, eagerly. 
 " Is a sail in sight? " 
 
 " N"o, indeed. Only, since the ship has floated so long, lop. 
 pided and water-logged though she be " 
 
 " There is land a-hcad .P" exclaimed Dalton, excitedly. 
 
362 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 "You have hit it, John. There is land of some ROrfc ; and 
 you must make shift to come on deck and look at it." 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 IN BRAZIL. 
 
 ** To oome on deck and look at it " is not quite the professional 
 phrase for sighting land and deciding upon its bear:"dgs. But 
 the fact was that, except Dalton, there had probably not been 
 a man on board the Flamborough Head who knew less about 
 nautical matters than Philip Astor. These two men were, in 
 fact, the very last that a ship's captain would have selected to 
 help him to navigate a vessel, and almost the last whom any- 
 one would have chosen as coadjutors in such an adventure as 
 lay before them. Dalton Avas a product of the highest civilisa- 
 tion, if not of culture. His natural place was in drawing- 
 rooms and club-houses ; he had never done anything of a 
 menial, or indeed a useful kind since he had been a fag at 
 Eton, and was " blown up " (and worse), like another King 
 Alfred, for burning his master's toast. The idea of his being 
 shipwrecked on a desolate island was prepostei-ous, and should 
 have placed the stern Fate that brought him there among the 
 first class of humorists. 
 
 Philip Astor had, it is true, been more knocked about in the 
 world, but the shifts and contrivances to which he had been 
 pushed had been those of town life ; he knew scarcely more of 
 what may be called the rudiments of life — how to build, to 
 cook, to clothe himself, even to guess the time by the position 
 of the sun — than his more highly placed half-brother. At 
 present, however, he had much the advantage over him in 
 health and vigour ; and he now put forth his strength to tho 
 uttermost to carry his companion through the slush of the 
 saloon, and to assist him up the now sidelong staircase to the 
 deck. 
 
 Dalton was better, however ; he got along with much less 
 difiiculty than he had expected, and the fresh air revived him 
 wonderfully. The prospect itself was not exhilarating. The 
 storm had ceased, but left the sea of a dull leaden coloui*, as 
 though its liver (as must certainly have been the case if it had 
 one) had been much " upset." The ship it was a compliment to 
 call a ship at all. The masts were gone, though the stumps 
 A'ore left, and one of the steam-funnels ; some broken rigging 
 was trailing in the Avater, which was level with the bulwarks on 
 one side, ivhilc tho other was lifted up, and to a landsnifvn's 
 
IN BRAZIL. 363 
 
 eye tlireatened an overturn every moment. To stand upon tlio 
 sloping deck without holding- on to some fixed object was impos- 
 sible. Still the vessel moved, though very slowly, and fortu- 
 nately in the direction favourable to the voyagers' hopes. 
 
 In front of them lay a low, scantily- wooded island, with 
 sandy shore, and to this they were tending, though not in a 
 straight course. The wind was slight, and from the north-east, 
 and bore them io wards a, rocky promontory to the south of the 
 island, which formed one side of a little bay. If the ship should 
 drive ashore inside this promontory, matters might go well ; 
 but if outside, there was the open sea again, where the question 
 of her remaining afloat could be only one of a few hours at 
 farthest. The helm, even if she had a rudder — which was more 
 than doubtful — was gone, and the two men watched the course 
 of the vessel in utter helplessness. 
 
 Suddenly the wind shifted a little, and turned her head more 
 to the south-east ; that is, to seaward. It was now obvious that 
 she was about to miss the promontory. The two men looked at 
 one another in silent despair. 
 
 Then suddenly Dalton cried : " Can you find a hatchet, 
 Philip?" 
 
 Fortunately, in a corner of the deck there was one — the last 
 left of many that had been used to cut away the ship's gear on 
 that terrible day. 
 
 " If we can get rid of that rigging, perhaps she will wear a 
 bit." 
 
 A few powerful strokes from Philip's arm freed the ship from 
 this encumbrance, and at once she rose a little in the water, and 
 altered her course as was desired. 
 
 It was not just then a time for compliments, but afterwards 
 Philip told John that from that moment he was reconciled to 
 the idea of his (John's) having succeeded to the Dalton pro- 
 perty ; for that a man with such intelligence deserved to be 
 the head of the family. Thus the dismasted ship, though 
 rolling and swaying, yet floated into what, by comparison with 
 where she had been, might be called port ; that is to say, under 
 the sheltered side of the promontory, close to which, and in 
 almost shallow water, she grounded upon the sand, as safe (while 
 the weather continued fine) as though she were in the London 
 Docks. 
 
 Of this much in respect of their common adventures both 
 John and Philip often spoke ; but with regard to their subse- 
 quent life upon the spot they had thus had the good fortune to 
 reach, these twin Crusoes were very reticent. The fact waa 
 
364 
 
 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 that from, their excessive ignorance, they got on worse than 
 almost any persons in such a situation could have been expected 
 to do. The island, a small one, lying to the south of the Wesfc 
 India group, and little el^e than barren rock, could certainly 
 r.Lit have sustained them had they been dependent upon the 
 development or even the realisation of its resources. But for- 
 tunately for them, the sea had not robbed the Flamborough 
 Head of its contents, although it had damaged mucb of them 
 excessively. They lost no time in removing all the stores they 
 could lay their hands on to land, and took up their abode in a 
 cave upon the promontory, on vphich they erected a flag, to call 
 the attention of any passing ship. They had to thank the island 
 for nothing save indeed for a limpid spring, without which, it 
 might have gone hard with them, neither of them possessing 
 that kind of genius that hits upon scientific plans of extracting 
 fresh-water from plants, precious stones, or even from salt 
 water. 
 
 Before they got to the end of their preserved meats and 
 vegetables, their "extracts" of this and that, and their ship 
 l)iscuits, a Spanish vessel, bound for Rio, passed by, and, seeing 
 their signal, sent a boat, and brought them off. They came 
 away in very good case, and almost fit to be Fellows of All 
 Souls, hene nati (though, one of them, it is true, the law held to 
 be illegitimate), hcve vesiiti (for they had had all their fellow- 
 yjassengers' clothes to choose from, besides their own) ; ct medio- 
 criter dodi, that is to say, they were almost as ignorant of how 
 to provide for themselves as when they landed. Yet they had 
 learned something : to respect one another very heartily, and 
 also — this was especially the case with John — to look upon life 
 otherwise than through the tinted spectacles of society. He 
 had had cause to recognise very literally " a man and a bro- 
 ther" in his unacknowledged kinsman, to whom he owed his' 
 life twice and thrice over. If Philip had not remained with 
 him on board ship, he would have perished in his narrow cabin, 
 or certainly have never reached land ; and if he had reached j 
 land, he would have perished there, but for Philip's companion- 
 ship, cheerfulness, and sympathy. Even as it was, he had beei 
 consumed with apprehensions about those dear ones he had lef 
 at Sanbeck, and only too truly, as we know, had his heart mia 
 i?;iven him respecting Edith, overwhelmed as she must needs ' 
 by this time with the news of the loss of the Flamborough HeM 
 Jlis dead Avife, his orphaned children, were spectacles that 
 rarely absent from his eyes, and he had needed all Philip's san^ 
 guiuc arguments and pleasant "m-ophecies to win him froi 
 
IN BRAZIL. 36s 
 
 despondency. For the rest, his out-of-door life find simple fare 
 had physically bettered him ; he had got rid of his lameness, 
 and felt himself strong enough for any hardships that might 
 yet lie before him in his quest. Upon visiting San Jose, and 
 seeing with his own eyes how matters were with the gold mine, 
 his mind was as fixed as ever : much as he yearned for home, 
 he was resolved not to return thither with the mission unac- 
 complished for which he had left it ; and the opportunity was 
 now — at last — afforded him of effecting his object. The two 
 castaways had a sufficient stock remaining of the good things 
 saved from the FLamhorcmgli Head to make them very welcome 
 on board the Oadiz without the payment of passage money; 
 so Dalton's slender purse was still intact upon their arrival at 
 Rio. 
 
 Here, however, misfortune was awaiting him ; a letter that 
 had long been lying for him at the post-office informed him of 
 his wife's death. His forebodings, as we know, had pointed that 
 way with an inexorable finger, but they had not prepared him 
 for it, and for a time the news utterly overwhelmed him. To 
 say that Edith had been his better-half, his alter cjo, and the 
 good angel of his life, so far as he had permitted her to be so, 
 was feebly indeed to express what she had been to him ; and 
 with his anguish there was mingled the most bitter remorse ; 
 for had he not killed her with the work of his own hands ? Out 
 of the very depths of his wretchedness, however, came a motive 
 for action ; all the reparation he could now make to his lost 
 love and lover was to further the interests of her children. 
 Whether they were still left to him, or in what plight, he could 
 not tell, nor had he the means of informing tliem that they had 
 yet a father, since, unhappily, the mail-boat had left Rio the 
 very day before his arrival. 
 
 There was time to reach San Jose and return before the next 
 steamer left the port for England ; so the two brothers at once 
 started for their destination. They had to husband their re- 
 sources, and travelled slowly, and with what, six months ago, 
 Dalton would have felt to be great discomfort, much increased 
 by their ignorance of Spanish, or of the native tongue. And 
 even when they reached San Jose, they found they had by no 
 means accomplished their journey. The Lara mine, about which 
 people seemed to know little or nothing, was still far away, and 
 since it lay out of the main track, they were compelled to push 
 on thither on foot. 
 
 The scenery was splendid. They were always in sight of the 
 Btupendous Cordilleras, although they scarcely seemed to Bp* 
 
366 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 proacli them nearei'. The gold district lay between them and 
 these mountains. In the good old times, the precious metal had 
 been exclusively the produce of alluvial washings ; but these 
 had long become exhausted, and the gold now yielded was dug 
 deep up out of the solid rock, which cropped up on the surfact* 
 in dome-like masses, often covered with foliage. If Dalton's 
 mind had not been bent so earnestly on a single end, he could 
 not but have been enchanted with these scenes, in which men 
 contended so energetically with Nature and yet could not mar 
 her beauties. The two friends had passed by three such mines, 
 .and on the third morning of their travels came upon a fourth. 
 They asked its name of one they met upon the road who knew 
 a little English, and he had told them it was called the Qja'do. 
 It was situated in the most beautiful spot they had yet reached. 
 "Forest on fofest " hung above it "like cloud on cloud," so 
 that, though itself in an elevated region, it looked sunk in a shady 
 vale. A little river ran through it, which turned the stamping- 
 mills and the pumping machinery, which was in full action. 
 The din was incessant, yet by no means deafening ; and the 
 bustle and movement, contrasted with the quietness and sub- 
 limity of its natural surroundings, were very striking. The 
 chief engineer — who was one Mr. Blake, as usual an Englishman 
 — gave a welcome to his two wandering fellow-countrymen that 
 was more than cordial ; there being no inn in the place, he in- 
 vited them to dine, and after that repast showed them over the 
 works, which were of considerable extent. Not content with 
 watching the tram-carriages, bearing each a ton of the mineral, 
 coming steeply up from the shafts, they descended in them to the 
 depth of nearly a thousand feet to the very home of the gold. 
 Afterwards they had explained to them how the rough rock- 
 gives forth its treasure ; saw it freed from slate upon the 
 spalling- floors, and afterwards stamped fine, issuing through 
 the copper grates, to pass over the bullock skins, and — lowei' 
 down the inclined tables — over woollen cloths, the washing of 
 which yields the golden fruitage. Then they once more re- 
 paired to Mr. Blake's one-storied dAvelling, tiled and slated, 
 with its broad verandah hung with flowers and creepers, to be 
 again refreshed before they started on their way. With par- 
 donable pride he spoke of the Quito's prosperity, which, he said, 
 v/as but of recent date. He had been its engineer but for a few 
 months, and had taken it when it was in a veiy dej)i*essed con- 
 dition. There had been even a doubt as to whether it would 
 repay working at all, all its ancient wealth having been sup- 
 posed to bo exhausted 
 
MINE AND COUNTER-MINE. 367 
 
 His wife, also Euglisli, listened to the story of liis achieve- 
 meut as ttougli she had heard no word of it before. 
 
 "Your friend has suffered a recent loss, I fear?" observed 
 the engineer apart to Philip, for Dalton was in deep mourning ; 
 and the spectacle of the domestic happiness of his host and 
 hostess, and of their prosperity, touched his bruised heart with 
 a sense of contrast. 
 
 " Yes," returned Philip ; " losses of all kinds. His wife is 
 dead, and his fortune has been spent in the same sort of adven- 
 ture that has turned out so differently in your case." 
 
 " Indeed; I am sorry for it. The fact is, only about one in 
 six of these Brazil mines, formerly so profitable, now pay their 
 expenses. There is also a deal of roguery about some of them, 
 very difficult for those who are not upon the spot — I mean for 
 English shareholders — to get to the bottom of. I am afraid 
 some of my own calling — who are my fellow-countrymen, like 
 yourselves — do not always keep their hands clean. The agents, 
 the experts, and the engineers, have it all their own way, you 
 see, out here." 
 
 " Just so. Well, we are now bound for my friend's mine ; just 
 sach a one as you have described, I fear ; the Lara, and if you 
 can tell us anything about it, he will be greatly indebted to you." 
 
 " The liar a ! " echoed the engineer. " Are you really serious ? 
 Did you come from England to look after the Lara ? " 
 
 " Yes ; though, I am afraid, upon a fool's errand. The people 
 at Rio and those we have met upon the road seemed to know 
 little or nothing about it ? " 
 
 "Are you talking about the Lara?" here put in Dalton, 
 earnestly. " Can our host tell us anything about it, Philip ? 
 Pray, don't fear to tell me the worst, Mr. Blake," added he, 
 addressing his host. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by ' the worst,' Mr. Dalton," 
 returned the engineer, curtly; "but I have only to say thai 
 this mine here is the Lara. It has only been called the Quito for 
 the last six months." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVl. 
 
 MINE AND COUNTER-MINK. 
 
 Mr. Blake's astounding announcement was of course a revela^ 
 tion to his two guests, but they had the prudence to conceal the 
 fact as best, they could. The engineer was a thoroughly honour, 
 able fellow, and thoroughly loyal to his employers. It would 
 have been difficult to convince him — and on the whole Dalton 
 
368 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 thought it better not to try — that the mine with the condnct of 
 which he had been entrusted — and here again Holt had shown 
 his pecuhar idiosyncrasy in favour of honesty in other people — 
 was in fact a swindle of the most Machiavelian kind. Instead 
 of existing on paper only, like other fraudulent institutions of a 
 similar class, it did not exist on paper — that is, under its real 
 name — at all, but had a veiy actual and hona fide existence 
 in fact. The last local agent of the liar a. Brooks, had been 
 in the pay of Holt, and had played into the hands of his 
 creature Tobbit, the expert, in representing the mine to the 
 English shareholders as worked out and valueless. The whole 
 affair had been transacted with consummate skill, but not, 
 as we have seen, without exciting the suspicions of Philip 
 Astor, and even oE a certain financial circle in the City with 
 "which Sir Richard Beevor and Mr. Binks were connected. Up 
 to this time, however, the real state of things was undiscovered, 
 and for the present, Dalton thought it better it should remain 
 so. Of the proofs of it he presently acquired full possession, but 
 in dealing with, so astute a scoundrel as Holt it was expedient to 
 be very cautious ; while so long as the latter was kept in igno- 
 rance of Philip and himself having been saved from the Flam- 
 "borough Head, they would have a great advantage over him, 
 
 Dalton therefore confined the statement of his wrongs to the 
 fact that endeavours had been made to persuade him to part 
 with certain shares in the Lara, as being of no value. His 
 account of the affair was not indeed very intelligible ; and Philip 
 had to lend assistance by hinting that his brother's grievance 
 had — as grievances are aj^t to do — not left him altogether a 
 logical being upon this particular topic ; but the pair so far suc- 
 ceeded, that when they quitted Mr. Blake's hospitable roof, that 
 gentleman had no suspicion that he had been entertaining an 
 angel unawares in the person of one of his proprietors ; while, 
 on the other hand, it was pretty evident to Dalton that the only 
 individual who held any shares in the Lara beside himself -w-as 
 in truth Richard Holt, who held half of them, and had cer- 
 tainly left no stone unturned to secure the other moiety ; while 
 in the meantime, as though already possessed of it, he had been 
 receiving the proceeds of the whole, which made up a very sub- 
 stantial income. 
 
 "But for your * Slide to the Lara,' Philip," said John, with 
 grateful frankness, " I believe I should have let the scoundrel 
 buy my shares of me for a song." 
 
 "Nay, brother, it was not much to do — the writing those 
 four words ; but I hope you Vvill stick to me, in recollection of 
 
BREAKING IT. 369 
 
 them," answered Philip. The words were said in jest, but ihe 
 tone had a serious sadness in it, which stung the other to the 
 quick, 
 
 " Do you doubt it, Phihp ?" said he. " Do you conceive it 
 possible, that when I have grown rich again — ' assumed my 
 former social position,' as Mrs. Campden called it (I wonder 
 how that woman is behaving to my poor children; however, 
 George will keep her straight), that I shall inherit with it my 
 former follies; that I shall not know my true friends, those 
 who have been tried in the fire — and the water — from the false 
 ones, and above all, shall not cleave to the brother to whom I 
 shall owe all ?" 
 
 " We shall be quits," said Astor, pressing his hand, " and 
 more than quits, when you introduce me to Kitty as ' Uncle 
 Philip.' " 
 
 " Then I hope we shall be quits within the next six weeks," 
 was John's reply. 
 
 They returned to Rio, however, only just in time to catcli 
 the steamer Satwho, the fore-cabin fare of which almost ex- 
 hausted their finances. The ship was a slow one compared 
 with the Flamlorough Head, and Dalton was in such a state of 
 impatience and anxiety throughout the voyage, that Philip 
 feared he would have had a fever. A thousand apprehensions 
 consumed him, and as many hopes : among the former was the 
 dread that some news of their having been rescued by the 
 Spanish vessel should somehow reach England before them, 
 and set Holt upon his guard. 
 
 From Liverpool they came straight to town, yet not without 
 some vague tidings of passengers having been picked up from 
 the Flamhoroiujh Head preceding them, as we have seen, to 
 London. So much, indeed. Holt's Liverpool agent had tele- 
 graphed to him as took him thither in hot haste to learn the 
 truth. John and Philip had, however, taken the precaution to 
 enter themselves on board the Sancho under false names, nor 
 was it likely that they two of all that sailed in the ill-faled 
 steamer should have come home to blast his fortunes. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 BREAKING IT. 
 
 Jeff remained at his post in Abdell Court for the remainder of 
 that eventful day, though with a mind but little disposed for 
 his business duties. As he had expected, however, and to his 
 great relief, his employer did not return. The young Mlov 
 
 B B 
 
370 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 wonld have found it difficult indeed to maintain in liis presence 
 tliiit indifferent air and manner which Dalton had enjoined 
 upon him ; and however successfully he had played an assumed, 
 part with the editor of " The Smellfungus Magazine," it is 
 doubtful whether he would have been equally fortunate with 
 Richard Holt, When the office closed he betook himself 
 at once to Brown Street, where he found Jenny, for the first 
 time since her illness, sitting in the upstairs parlour — to which, 
 even with her ordinary lodgers, Mrs. Haywood hesitated to give 
 the title of drawing-room, but modestly termed it her " first- 
 floor front." There were flowers in the room, and in the 
 window-sill there was a flower-box fiill of bud and blossom 
 that filled the air with fragrance. 
 
 "Is it not beautiful?" cried Jenny, drawing her visitor's 
 attention at once to this unwonted ornament. "Does notour 
 room look a perfect bower ? " 
 
 " A very proper cage for a sick bird to dwell in, till she is 
 strong enough to fly at large in the sunny south," answered 
 Jeff", gallantly. 
 
 "Now, none of tliat, Jefi"; I am not Mr. Sanders, remember; 
 so please to stick to what I know rs your proper element — prose, 
 I can't think what has come to dear Kitty, that she should 
 suddenly rush into these extravagances. It is not only flowers, 
 but all sorts of delights and delicacies; and not for my sake 
 only, for she has actually bought Tony a trap, bat, and ball ! 
 One would have thought she had had a fortune left her — 
 except for her face, poor darling." Here her voice grew sud- 
 denly grave, " I am afraid there is something — I mean, more 
 1 lian Tony and the baby and myself — upon her mind, Jeff". I 
 can't make her out at all. She is sometimes quite extravagantly 
 gay : a piit-on manner, I am sure ; and then again she becomes 
 more depressed than I have ever yet seen her ; and that alas ! I 
 can see is natural. Do you know anything, dear Jeff, about 
 my Kitty that I dot^H know ?" 
 
 Jenny looked at him very earnestly as she said these words, 
 but the young man's face only reflected her own quiet sorrow. 
 
 "Nothing, I think, Jenny, that you don't know," he an- 
 swered. " She has avoided me — I may almost say shrunk 
 from me — for this long time ; ever since you have been ill, 
 indeed." 
 
 " And she has seen Mr, Holt," sighed Jenny. " Oh, why — • 
 oh, why have I been struck down like this," added she, passion- 
 ately, " and rendered a useless burden, while all things havii 
 been going wrong, Jeff, you'll losr hor; raax'k my words, mc 
 
BREAKING IT. ^71 
 
 shall all lose her, and she will fling herself away upon thai, man 
 for onr poor sakes." 
 
 "Don't, Jenny, don't! I beseech you not to give way. 
 Heaven will not permit so terrible a self-sacrifice." 
 
 "Ah, you think so," returned Jenny, bittei-ly. "It is a 
 happy faith." 
 
 " It is a true one." 
 
 " What, that horrible things are permitted to happen every 
 day ? T see there is another mail from Rio : the Scmclio has 
 arrived. That makes the Jifth; and still no news — no gleam of 
 hope." 
 
 " There is hope always, Jenny." She looked up at him as 
 quickly as the bird to which he had likened her, with swiftly 
 scrutinising glance. 
 
 " He has come ! Our father is alive ! " 
 
 Then, but for his arm, she would have fallen. Her cheeks 
 were white, her eyes were closed ; she lay upon his breast like 
 a thing of stone. 
 
 " Great heaven ! have I killed her with my stupid folly ? " 
 exclaimed Jeif in horror. " How could I hope to keep a secret 
 from eyes like hers ! — Jenny, Jenny, speak to me ! " 
 
 " I hear you : I shall live to see him yet ! " she murmured 
 faintly. " Lay me down — with my face to the wall, Jeff. Leave 
 me alone with ray Maker, whom I have denied. He will send 
 the tears presently." 
 
 " You will not speak of this, Jenny — just yet ? " said he, 
 once moi'e alarmed at her long silence. 
 
 " To no human ear : no, Jeff. Leave me now, and go to 
 Kitty." 
 
 Jeff left the room, closing the door softly behind him. In the 
 little passage he met Nurse Haywood. 
 
 " Well, Miss Jenny is getting on nicely, Master Geoffrey, in 
 she not ? " 
 
 " Yes, nurse. But she is tired, and wishes to get a little 
 rest ; so do not let her be disturbed. Where is Kitty ? " 
 
 " Lor' bless ye ; why, where should she be except Avith the 
 baby ? She can scarce ever be got to let him. out of her sight. 
 It's my opinion, what with attending to that dear child, and 
 housekeeping, and always being worried about this and that, as 
 she is a-wearing herself out. I daren't tell Miss Jenny, but I 
 liave come across Miss Kitty at times when she looks fit to 
 break her heart, though she has always a smile and a kind word 
 for a body w^hen she speaks to one." 
 
 "I Innne she mil speak to me, nurse. Please to say I wish to 
 
372 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 gee her on very particular business, and tlaat I will n5t detain 
 her long." 
 
 As he -waited in the sitting-room downstairs, revolving in his 
 mind how he should break his great news to Kitty, but failing 
 to hit upon a plan, there re-entered to him Mrs. Haywood. 
 
 " Miss Kitty is very sorry, sir, but she is much engaged ; 
 and if you would kindly write her a line instead of seeing 
 
 her " 
 
 " I must see her," interrupted Geoffrey, impatiently. " Did 
 you not tell her my business was very particular ? " 
 
 " Well, yes. Master Jeff, I did ; and that was the very thing, 
 to tell you the honest truth, as seemed to scare her. She has 
 got enough and to spare on her poor mind already, you see." 
 
 " Please go and tell her, nurse, that it is absolutely indis- 
 pensable I should see her, but that what I have to say will not 
 distress her. Be sure you tell her iliat.^'' 
 
 " Lor', Master Jeff, you ain't a-got any good news for her, 
 have you ? " answered the old lady in a tx'embling voice. 
 " Nothing about Mr. John — him as I remember as young as yoa 
 be, and as comely." 
 
 " There is no time to lose about what I have to say," answered 
 JeflF, with as constrained a mariner as natui^e permitted him to 
 assume; " and I do beg you will give my message." His heart 
 smote him at having to snub the good old dame, but he was 
 also irritated at her sagacity, or rather at the transparency of 
 his own attempts to conceal his errand. If his heart had been 
 in literature, Mr. Sanders would have read him as easily as a 
 proof-sheet : it was only where his feelings were not concerned 
 that Geoffrey Derwent could play the hypocrite. While he was 
 still conning that unwonted part, Kitty entered the room. 
 
 " Well, Jeff, what is it ? " cried she, holding out her hand. 
 " I never knew such a man of mystery. There is baby taking 
 his first beef-tea, and yet Nurse Haywood says I must leave him 
 to attend your highness." Her air and manner were too light 
 and gay to be natural to the occasion in any case ; but con- 
 trasted with her looks, which were wan and worn beyond any- 
 thing he could have anticipated, they seemed unreal indeed 
 Her eyelids were heavy and swollen, and on her fair white brow 
 sat unmistakable care and woe. 
 
 '* I am not come upon my own affairs, dear Kitty," said Jeff, 
 assuringly, " or I would not have been so importunate." 
 
 " The affairs of no one else can interest me — and all of us — 
 half so much," she answered smilingly. 
 
 ♦' I meant to say I should not have intruded here without a 
 
SHEARING IT. 373 
 
 fiufficient motive, Kitty — that is all. The fact is that- that — 
 Mr. Holt " 
 
 At that name a shadow fell on Kitty's face and chased her 
 emile away ; she had been standing hitherto, but now at once 
 sat down. 
 
 " That Mr. Holt has had a summons to Liverpool with 
 respect to the arrival of the SancJio." 
 
 " Ah yes ; that is the Rio steamer," she answered, sadly. 
 " The fifth that lias brought no news." 
 
 " Well, it has brought news." 
 
 " Of the Flamljorough Head ? What news ? " ii^quired Kitty, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " The ship was wrecked — that's certain; but there were som^ 
 survivors — two." 
 
 " Two," repeated Kitty, mournfully ; " but two ! " 
 
 " It is not yet known for certain — that is, publicly — who they 
 are; but — now don't cry, Kitty, darling Kitty — but there's a 
 hope." 
 
 "A hope? What! of papa's being alive, and he not here! 
 I don't believe it. I want no more such hopes, Jeff; I can't 
 bear them. They are killing me, I tell you ; they are driving 
 
 me to I don't know what I am saying, Jeff, but I can't 
 
 bear them." Her head had fallen forward upon her open hands, 
 and she was crying bitterly. 
 
 ' ' Do you suppose I could come here to mock you, Kitty ? I 
 came to comfort you, to gladden you." 
 
 "To gladdenrae?" She shook her head; her tone was as 
 though he had suggested the most unlikely thing on earth ; and 
 yet she raised her face all wet with tears. 
 
 " He is alive, Kitty ; your father is alive ! " She looked 
 like one awakened from a dream ; astounded, dazed : the light 
 of joy was breaking on the night of woe, but very slowly. 
 
 " Alive ! Papa alive ! Where is he ? " 
 
 " In England. You will see him soon. 1 have seen him." 
 
 "Thank God, thank God!" she murmured. "Oh, thank 
 God ! " 
 
 Still she did not rise, nor show any passionate excitement, 
 f-uch as he had expected, and had seen in Jenny. " Is he 
 well, Jeff ? " she went on slowly. 
 
 " Yes, quite well. Philip Astor is with him, and has been 
 very, very good to him. He is to be called Dalton now, and re- 
 cognised as his brother." 
 
 " When shall I see him ? When is he coming ? Why is he 
 not here ? " 
 
374 I^ ALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " Because he feared the shock might be too much for j-ou aiirl 
 Jemiy. He is close by. Shall I fetch him in, or -will you wait 
 a little ? " 
 
 " Wait a little — just a minute." As she spoke, a joyful cry 
 burst forth in the quiet street. Both glanced through the 
 window, and on the other side of the way was Tony clasped in 
 the arms of a thin grizzled man, in wayworn and outlandish 
 garb. Behind them stood another. They were looking towards 
 the house, and JefF beckoned to them fi'antically, and ran to the 
 front door. The next moment, Kitty, sobbing as though her 
 heart would break, was strained passionately to her father's bi'east. 
 
 "Don't cry, don't cry," he whispered, though the tears were 
 falling down his own weather-beaten cheeks like rain ; " and 
 you have not yet kissed dear Philip — your uncle Philiji." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 DOES KITTY KNOW ? 
 
 In Brown Street, Islington, was probably a happier reunion 
 that evening than any which took place in more fashionable 
 quarters of the town ; yet it was a happiness tinged with deepest 
 sorrow. Dalton's return brought with it to his children a keen 
 sense of the loss of her who would have given him his fittest 
 welcome ; and when his eyes rested upon his remaining dear 
 ones, he missed his Edith most. 
 
 His first question, after his greetings with Jenny and the 
 rest were over, was, " Where have they laid her ? " and he felt 
 pained and sorrowful when he learned that it was at Sanbeck, 
 hundreds of miles away; whereas, had it been possible, he 
 would have visited her grave, and wept over it that very night. 
 They told him too, at his own desire, of her illness and death : 
 how she died, as it were, for very love of him, since the shock 
 of his reported death had killed her. He was silent for many 
 moments, sunk, as it seemed, in a stupor of grief, when Kitty 
 stole from the room and brought down the babe — his Edith's 
 precious legacy, and placed it in his arms. 
 
 •'We four are still left to you, dear papa," said she. She 
 herself had been supported in her affliction by the sense that 
 others were dependent upon her, and she hoped it might be the 
 same with him. And so it was, though in a less measure. He 
 presently grew himself again, and began to ask them about this 
 and that. 
 
 " I hope the folks at Riverside have been kind to you, my 
 darlings, since you have been all alone ? " 
 
DOES KITTY KNO W? 37S 
 
 *' They meant to be kind, I think," said Kate. 
 
 " Meant to be kind," repeated her father, frowning. " There 
 is no difiELculty about expressing kindness. At least Philip here 
 found none, I know, in my case. Is there anything amiss with 
 the Campdens ? What have they done, Jenny ? " 
 
 "Nothing," answered Jenny, sententiously. 
 
 "We did not like the manner in which Mrs. Campden be- 
 haved to lis after mamma's death," explained Kitty: " it was 
 more manner, pei'haps, than anything else ; but our hearts were 
 sore, and easily hurt." 
 
 " Jenny, tell me," said Dalton. " That woman has behaved 
 badly to you. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " Not only 'that woman,' but the whole family, in my opinion," 
 returned Jenny, dryly. 
 
 " Surely not Uncle George ? " 
 
 " Uncle George is nobody at Riverside ; if he had been any-' 
 body, there is no saying what might have happened; but he ia 
 not. It is a wretched story from beginning to end, and they 
 are wretched people." 
 
 " If it be so," said Kitty, reprovingly, " do not let us talk 
 about them on a night like this." 
 
 " I am sure I never wish to mention their names," answered 
 Jenny. 
 
 " But do you mean to say," said Philip, " that these friends 
 of your father's — rolling in wealth, as I understand they are — 
 never held out a helping hand to you, Jenny ? " 
 
 " My dear uncle, you don't understand the matter; you should 
 get Mrs. Campden to explain it to you, as she was good enough 
 to do to us : ' Rich people have so many calls.' " 
 
 " If this is as you say, I will never set foot in that woman's 
 house again," exclaimed Dalton, angrily. 
 
 " That will be one call the less for her," observed Jeff, 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "And the Skiplou't; ? Have you yocu nothing of ibcm, luu r " 
 inquired Dalton. 
 
 "My dear papa," said Jenny, gravely, "you can't expect 
 folks who respect themselves — or who wish their coachman to 
 respect them — to bring their carriage to Brown Street. It is 
 no good asking after our old friends, for, except dear Dr. 
 Curzon, and those now under this roof, we have none." 
 
 It was a relief to Kitty that not a word was said about Mr. 
 Holt, though of him it could certainly not be averred that he 
 had deserted them. To her, terrible as it might seem, and did 
 seem to her own mind, the return of her father was not an 
 
216 FALLEN FORTUNES, 
 
 unmitigated joy. When Jeff liad informed her of it, she had 
 not evinced the delight he had expected, because the thought 
 had flashed upon her that, so far as she was concerned, he had 
 retui-ned too late. She was not, indeed, pledged to Holt, but 
 she felt compromised as respected him, and in honour bound to 
 accept him as her future husband. For some days past her 
 mind had been made up for the sacrifice, and she had already 
 plunged into little expenses upon Jenny's account in anticipation 
 of it. The money that was to take her sister to the sea, and 
 bring back the roses to her cheek, and which Holt had offered, 
 she had resolved not to decline. She was already under u 
 pecuniary obligation to him in the matter of the premium, 
 which could only be discharged in one way ; for, to judge by the 
 appearance of her father, he had come back even poorer than 
 he had left England. Well, she would now be able to help him 
 as well as the rest — four of them, instead of three — that was 
 all. 
 
 Still it was a relief to her that not a word was spoken about 
 the man the thought of whom was ever present with her, and 
 shadowed her young life with gloom and evil presage. In vain, 
 she had called up every argument to strengthen his cause, and 
 back the claim she felt to be unanswerable : his solicitude for 
 her and hers; his generosity; his patience and forbearance. The 
 very constancy with which he clung to her, and pursued her, 
 ranged itself upon the other side, and increased her sense of 
 repugnance — nay, of loathing. 
 
 It was a part of the plan agreed upon between Dalton and 
 Philip that they should say no more for the present about Holt 
 and his transactions than they should be absolutely obliged to 
 say ; and it surprised them both to find how easy it was to 
 maintain their reticence. Neither Kitty nor Jenny asked their 
 father one word about the Lara, nor put a question respecting 
 his pecu.niary affairs. It is true they had taken it for granted 
 that matters were the reverse of prosperous with him, which 
 would have been a sufficient reason for avoiding the subject ; but 
 in any case — poor though they were, and suffering from the ills 
 of poverty — such material woes were for the moment forgotten 
 in the joy of seeing him back again. 
 
 " I think I have reason to be proud of my darlings, Philip," 
 said Dalton, as the two walked together with Jeff from Brown 
 Street that night to the lodgings which that young gentleman 
 had procured them near his own. " I had ruined them, and as 
 it must have seemed to them " (he pointed to his shabby coat 
 "had failed in saving anything from the wreck of their for 
 
D OES KITTY KNO Wi %11 
 
 tunes, yet not a syllable have they spoken to me upon the sub- 
 ject, lest, doubtless, it should sound as a reproach." 
 
 " I expected nothing less," answered PhiKp, quietly. " 1 
 feel several inches higher since those two girls have called me 
 uncle. They have nothing sordid about them, such as T, alas ! 
 have seen in my fellow-creatures all my life." 
 
 " And it isn't as if they had not to think of shillings and 
 pence," put in Jefi", eagerly. " If you could know how Kitty 
 has cut and contrived, and striven to make both ends meet, 
 
 during the last sis months " Here he stopped, for a look 
 
 of intense pain came into Dalton's fa<;e. 
 
 " Well, well ; that will be all over now, I trust, Jeff. To- 
 night we have still to do some dirty work, and then we shall 
 have clean hands for the future ; we will avoid rogues and fair- 
 weather friends, and all worthless folk, and my dear ones shall 
 have no further cause for tears. I think Jefl: should know what 
 we are going to do with respect to Holt, Philip." 
 
 Their plan of attack, unfolded to their young friend at their 
 lodgings, was simple enough. 
 
 A letter was to be posted to Holt that night informing hiu'. 
 that his fraud respecting the liara mine was discovered ; and 
 that his malpractices respecting other affairs of Dalton, of 
 which he had had the management, was more than suspected. 
 Restitution was imperatively demanded ; and, in default of it, 
 he was assured that criminal proceedings would at once be 
 instituted. There wex'e no upbraidings ; but a more curt, deci- 
 fiive, and stern epistle was never penned. 
 
 Philip would have preferred that their opinion of Holt's 
 treachery should have been stated in Saxon English ; but 
 Dalton would not have it. Such a course, he thought, would 
 have taken for granted a certain familiarity to still exist be- 
 tween rim and this scoundrel, of whose connection with himself 
 he felc unspeakably ashamed. 
 
 " What makes me mad with him," said Philip, " is to think he 
 should have dared to lift his eyes towards Kate. Such vermin 
 jught to be poisoned out of hand. What do you say, Jeff ? " 
 
 " I am bound to say," returned the young fellow, gravely, 
 "that Mr. Holt — whatever may have been his reasons for it — 
 has been considerate, and even kind to me." 
 
 " But you are not going back to him, surely, after tlds .?" said 
 Philip, in amazement. 
 
 " Well, yes ; I shall go to-morrow, for the last time. He may 
 have something to urge, I do not say in excuse, but in extenuation 
 of his roguei-y. Your letter p:ives him no opportunity for this." 
 
37^ FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " Opportunity, indeed!" rejoined Philip, witb irritation. " 1 
 would send him a rope, to afford him the opportunity of ex- 
 tenuating himself on that. If you get talking witli that wily 
 scoundrel, my young friend, yon will be wound round his little 
 finger." 
 
 " Our Jeff — being honest — contends at a disadvantage Avith 
 most people," observed Dalton, laying his hand on the young 
 fellow's shoulder ; " yet in the end I should be inclined to back 
 him. Let him take his own way, and we will take ours." 
 
 Accordingly, Jeff went to Abdell Court next morning, a 
 usual. Mr. Holt had not arrived ; nor, said the office boy, had 
 he yet returned from the country. Upon his table was lyini; 
 the usual pile of letters, which it was Jeif's business to sort and 
 dispose of. Some he was empowered to open and answer ; 
 some he would open only and make an "abstract" of for his 
 employer ; others he would put aside for his private eye. 
 Among these last was one in Dalton's handwriting, with the 
 contents of which, however, Jeff was already acquainted. 
 
 Eleven, twelve o'clock passed, and yet Mr. Holt came not. 
 It would not have been surprising had his real destination of 
 yesterday been what he had pretended it to be ; but Jeff was 
 well convinced that he had not gone to Plymouth, but to Liver- 
 pool, and there was now ample time for him to have gone and 
 returned. At one o'clock the office closed for an hour, during 
 which Holt was accustomed to deny himself to everybody, 
 whether he was within doors or not ; and a little before one he 
 came. He looked jaded, wan, and pale, like one who had been 
 on a toilsome expedition, and failed in its proposed object — 
 or so it seemed to Jeff, who observed him narrowly — but there 
 was no other change in his appearance, no cowed or defiant 
 looks, such as might have been expected had he known that 
 Dalton had landed upon English soil. Jeff felt sure he did not 
 know. 
 
 "Well, what news, Mr. JJcrwcut ^ Who has been ? " 
 
 " Mr. Dawkins called just after you went away yesterday, 
 and appeared to wish to see you very much." 
 
 " What about ? " inquired Holt, quickly. "But it's no matter. 
 It was most likely about that cock-and-bull story about the 
 Flauiborough Head. I daresay you have heard it yourself, Mr. 
 Derwont ? " 
 
 " I have heard that some one — two persons indeed — have 
 been saved from the wreck." 
 
 " Well, it's true, for a wonder : Jones and Norton are their 
 names. I am sorry to say their story destroys the last gleam 
 
DOES KITTY KNOW? 3^9 
 
 of "What's this ? " He had been sorting the letters with 
 
 his hand, and presently came upon the one despatched from 
 Islington the previous nig-ht. "What's this ? " he reiterated, in 
 a voice grown suddenly hoarse and low. " How did it come ? 
 Where did it come from ? " 
 
 " It came by the early post, sir." 
 
 " It's strange," said Holt, with an air of indifference ; " quite 
 curious. Have yon ever seen a handwriting like that ? It 
 reminds me of one who certainly never could have written it \ 
 and yet it gave me quite a turn. You know whom I mean, I 
 daresay ? " 
 
 He did not attempt to open the letter, and the strong, huge 
 hand that held it in its gi-asp shook like a leaf. 
 
 " I know whom you mean," said JefF, gravely. " It is Mr. 
 Dalton's." 
 
 " Yes ; it is like John Dalton's writing." 
 
 *' It is his writing, sir." 
 
 " That is impossible ; that is ridiculous. The post-mark 
 disproves that. But there is a curious similarity, without 
 doubt. Has the boy gone to his dinner ? " 
 
 Jeff answered that he was ; and Holt moved to the door and 
 locked it. 
 
 " Now tell me, Mr. Derwent," said he, still toying with the 
 letter — " for you are one who tells the truth — what makes you 
 fancy that it was really Dalton who wrote this ? As a matter 
 of fact, as I have already stated, there were but two men saved 
 fi'om the wreck of the Flaviboroucjh Head" 
 
 " I know it, Mr. Holt: they were John Dalton and Philip 
 Astor." 
 
 " That's a lie ! — that's a lie ! " exclaimed the other, passion- 
 ately. " You are a liar, like the rest;" but his pale face belied 
 his words ; he staggex-ed rather than sank into his chair. 
 
 "You had better open the letter, and see who is the liar," said 
 Jeff, haughtily. 
 
 "You speak of Astor, but you don't know the man as I do," 
 continued Mr. Holt. "He is an utterly untrustworthy and 
 contemptible fellow. He was here once, in your place ; and I 
 trusted him too far, and he repaid me for my confidence by 
 forgery. He is not to be believed upon his oath. If there is 
 ikny thing in this letter founded upon his evidence " 
 
 " You had surely better read it, Mr. Holt," said Jeff, curtly. 
 He could not but feel some pity for this miserable wretch, who 
 evidently dreaded the thing he held in his quivering fingers aa 
 though it were a very adder. 
 
38o FALLEN FORTUNE^. 
 
 " What! you know its contents, then? " exclaimed tbe other, 
 sharply. " You are in the conspiracy with Astor and the rest. 
 You think it honest, do you, to take your wages here, and turn 
 against the hand that pays them ? " 
 
 "I know what is in that letter, Mr. Holt; but yet I am no 
 conspirator," answered Geoffrey, steadily. " On the contrary, I 
 came here to-day — for the last time — to do what good I could 
 for you. As for your wages, they were paid for work, I suppose ; 
 or if that was overpaid, you had your reasons for it ; but I owe 
 you thanks for civil treatment, and I am here to give them." 
 
 Holt had opened the letter by this time, and ran his eye 
 through its half-dozen pregnant lines. 
 
 "It is not Aster's word Mr. Dalton has taken, you see, sir," 
 continued Jeff, " but Ihe evidence of his own senses. He has 
 ])eon to Brazil, and seen the Quito. As for the other matters, 
 yon know best ; but " 
 
 "Ay, it is all over," murmured the other. "It is no use 
 holding on to a falling stock, Mr. Derwent, eh ? That's one of 
 the great principles of our business." Holt was looking at Jeff, 
 and speaking to him, yet he seemed almost unconscious of his 
 presence. His eyes had no speculation in them ; his tones were 
 mechanical. Presently he cried out, like one who is wrung 
 with a sharp, physical pain : " Does Kitty know of all this, 
 Jeff ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 MR. HOLT MAKES JEFF HIS CONFIDANT. 
 
 Under ordinary cii'cumstances, Mr. Holt could scarcely have 
 made an observation so displeasing, and calculated to set his 
 companion at odds with him, as that most nnexpected one with 
 respect to Kitty ; but the tone in which it was uttered, and the 
 look that accompanied it, disarmed the young fellow altogether; 
 nay, more, it filled his soul with compassion for this beaten 
 wretch. For if ever a man looked beaten in the battle of life, 
 not at one point, but at all, and not only beaten, but broken and 
 utterly despairing, it was the once prosperous, and demonstra- 
 tively prosperous, Richard Holt. 
 
 " Does Kitty know of all this, Jeff"? " 
 
 The use of the two familiar names was most significant, since 
 they comprised not only a confession of hopeless love, but an 
 ap])eal to the generosity of his rival. " Tell me," it seemed to 
 say, " for mei-cy's sake, if I am lost in the eyes of her I love, 
 as well as in those of the rest of the world ; or whether, so far 
 
AIR. HOLT MAKES fEFF HIS CONFIDANT. 3S1 
 
 as she is concerned, I can still hold, up my head ? I a}ji)eal to 
 you, because your heart is kind and sound, and you are one 
 neither to lie to me, nor, though I am heljDlcss and fallen, to 
 tread me under foot." 
 
 " Kitty does not know, Mr. Holt — as yet," answered Jeff, 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 " And yet you knew, and did not tell her ! " put in the other, 
 quickly. " There are few men in your case who would have 
 waited so long. Her father, however, has perhaps informed 
 her this morning ? " 
 
 '• No, Mr. Holt ; it was arranged that she is to bo told nothing 
 till he has had your reply to his letter." 
 
 " Then I will give him his reply," answered the other, calmly. 
 He opened a little box that lay on his office desk, and took from 
 it a sheet of figures. " Hei'e is my account with John Dalton," 
 said he, " which you can presently examine at your leisure. He 
 will find that I was a more honest man than he took me for — up 
 to yonder date," pointing it out with his finger. " The Itara 
 itself was a bona fide investment in the first instance. He and 
 I both made money out of it, and would have continued to do 
 so legitimately, but for my passion for the girl you love. That 
 Tvas what drove me to my ruin. Ah, you do not comprehend 
 that ! If you loved her, as I did — and as I do — it would be 
 easier for you to understand it. — Nay, forgive me. I was wrong 
 there. An honest love doubtless takes honest ways, and only 
 those, to win its object. Call mine dishonest, then, if you will ; 
 yet it was genuine of its sort, believe me. Its natare was 
 Jevouring, and I denied it nothing — honour, reputation, self- 
 respect, were all thrown into that fatal flame. From the first 
 moment that I beheld her, I swore to make that girl my wife ; 
 and now I shall die perjured." He smiled a wretched smile and 
 sighed, then wearily went on : " Her father would have none of 
 me. He had opened the doors of his house to me with reluctance, 
 and I found no favour there. In vain I Avorked for him and 
 enriched him. When I ventured uipon ever so slight an ap- 
 proach to familiarity with those belonging to him, he took no 
 pains to conceal his annoyance — his astonishment at my presump- 
 tion. I had some pride of my own also, and this wounded mo 
 to the quick. Since I had no chance to attain my object while 
 he was prosperoiis, I resolved to ruin him." 
 
 Jeif uttered an exclamation of disgust. 
 
 " I am sorry to offend you, Mr. Derwent ; but this is a relation 
 of facts. The last dying speech and confession of a man under 
 the gallowa, yoa know " (here he smiled again, if nossible uiujo 
 
382 FA LLEN FOR TUNES. 
 
 gliastlily than before), " and doos not concern itself wifcli senti- 
 ment. I had tried fair means to no purpose ; and I was not to 
 be baulked. I could not bend John Dalton, so I resolved to 
 break him. Hitherto, he had been, practically speaking, my 
 partner in all the business we transacted with one another ; noio 
 I made him unconsciously my confederate. I set rumours afloat 
 about the Lara, which brought down the shares, and then 1 
 bought them up. In the end, Dalton and I possessed the mine 
 l/etween us, though I told him afterv\'ards that I had parted with 
 all my interest in it. Whatever we had now to do in concert, 1 
 secured the lion's share of profit for myself — it is all there " 
 (he pointed to the schedule) " in black and white — not because 
 I was grasping, but because I wished to dock his gains. When 
 there was loss, it was he who chiefly suffered. I fed his ambi- 
 tion, and encoui'aged him to make a figure in politics as well as 
 commerce ; knowing that politics would cost him money and not 
 fill his pocket, as they do with some men. When funds began 
 to fail him, I matured my scheme concerning the mine. I sent 
 a creature of my own (the ' expert ' Tobbit) to Brazil, to report 
 upon the Lara — to the English shareholders (in reality to Dalton 
 and myself), with instructions to declare it valueless ; with what 
 success you know. Still I could not get Dalton to dispose of 
 his shares : some influence was at Avork— I now feel certain it 
 must have been that of Astor — to induce him to hold them. 
 His resolve to go to Brazil to look into matters for himself 
 filled me with dismay, yet I strove in vain to hinder him. When 
 he had once embarked, it was, I knew, but a question of a few 
 months, and then my fi-aud would be exposed. But if I could 
 only have secured Kitty in the meantime, that would not have 
 disturbed me. To that end I applied every means in my power ; 
 but though I had a keen ally in Mrs. Campden, I made no pro- 
 gress. You will learn all that from other soui'ces. You know, 
 even though the Fla^nhorozic/h Head went down, and Fortune 
 seemed to favour me to the uttermost, and to turn her back 
 upon those weak ones with whom I warred, that I was never 
 Kitty's accepted suitor." 
 
 Jefi" was not quick at figures, but he could calculate better 
 than any man what it cost his defeated rival to say those words. 
 And yet even he knew not their full meaning. This unhappy 
 wretch was not all evil (as some of us are, I fear, in spite of 
 some philosophic observers who have reported to the contrary) ; 
 since he could not marry Kitty himself, he was willing that the 
 man who might, and who certainly deserved to do so, should be 
 quite clear in his own mind that his wife had never plighted 
 
MR, HOLT MAKES /EFF HIS CONFIDANT. 383 
 
 troth — no matter tincTer -what circumstances — to another; lie 
 was willing that this should be, and he was above measure de- 
 sirous that Kitty in accepting Jeff should on her part feel un- 
 compromised as respected himself. It was not all generosity — 
 though people can afford to be generous when making their 
 %vills ; he was solicitous that his memory at least should not be 
 odious to Kitty. 
 
 " Do I speak plainly, Mr. Derwent ? " said Holt, altera short 
 pause. 
 
 " You are giving yourself unnecessary pain, sir," answered 
 the young fellow, kindly; " as for me, I am but a messenger to 
 carry back to those who sent me your acceptance of certain 
 terms." 
 
 " That is true ; but confession, they say, is good for the soul, 
 and I prefer you to any priest, Jeff." He was right there, so 
 far, at all events, as making his peace in this world was con- 
 cerned. He knew that in that young and generous nature he 
 should find such an apologist as he would have looked for in 
 vain elsewhere ; and that apologist would have the ear of her 
 whose censure or contempt alone had terrors for him. " As for 
 the terms you speak of," he went on, "I have no choice but to 
 accept them. The figures I have given you will show ray in- 
 debtedness to Mr. Dalton, to which the interest shall be added. 
 The calculation will take a little time — perhaps a few hours ; 
 may I ask, until they have expired, that this " — hero his face 
 showed a tinge of coloiir — " this matter of business may not bo 
 .spoken of, save among those to whom it is already known ? " 
 
 " So far as I have any influence, Mr. Holt, you may depend 
 
 " I ask no more, save one thing," interrupted the other, with 
 a wave of his hand ; the first i-ecurrence he had made to his 
 favourite continental manner. " Though easily granted, it is a 
 great favour, but it is the last I shall ever seek from you. You 
 hesitate to pledge yourself beforehand," added he, with a faint 
 .smile : " that is only natural under the circumstances. How- 
 ever, this little matter can be performed ' without prejxxdice,' as 
 the lawyers say : there is no dishonesty in it, I assure you ; no 
 harm to anyone, but some good, or at least some jileasure to mo, 
 whose pleasures are mostly come to an end." 
 
 " ] will do it, sir," said the young fellow, simply. 
 
 " Then good-bye, JefB; and may your life be a brighter and 
 a better one than mine has been." 
 
 " But the favour, sir ? " said the young fellow, greatly moved. 
 
 " Oh, it was mpvelxr ithat — t'hafc you would shake hands with 
 
384 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 me.'' He did ko. " After all that has come and gone, I raa 
 more than doubtful whether you would. It cost you soniethinp^, 
 Jeff, I saw ; but in the end you will not repent it." 
 
 Then resuming his usual business manner, he added : " John 
 Dalton will receive all his dues by to-morrow morning at latest ; 
 and your salary will be sent to you, up to this date, by the ?ame 
 post. I am sorry that circumstances have cansed us to part 
 company, Mr, Derwent ; but needs must when the devil dv-ves, 
 and he was certainly the coachman in this case. As for to-.:lay, 
 I have much business of a private nature to arrange, und have 
 no further occasion for your services." 
 
 As he said these words, ho sat down, and took up his pen : 
 Geoffrey bowed and left the room, and in a fesv minutes tiie 
 ofBce. His leave-taMug had been altogether different from 
 anything he could have imagined, and puzzled him, now that 
 it was over, even more than during its occurrence. The tone 
 and manner of the speaker had seemed to explain much at the 
 time, but now they were absent his memory failed to supply 
 til em ; the lights of the picture were wanting, and the impres- 
 £ion it produced upon him was one of unmitigated gloom. 
 
 Its tints would have been darker yet if he could have looked 
 — but a few hours — into the future. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 HOW MR. HOLT HASTENED MATTERS. 
 
 In spite of all that had happened to the family in whom Geoffrey 
 Derwent had so large an interest — the return of Dalton, his 
 recovered wealth, which would once more reinstate those be- 
 longing to him in their former position; and his own prospects, 
 which had altered so materially for the worse (for the " opening " 
 which he had looked for in business was now closed, and the? 
 gulf between him and Kitty yawned as wide as ever) — in spito 
 of all these important considerations, Jeff's mind, as he turned 
 his steps towards Islington, was mainly occupied with his late 
 employer. Notwithstanding all the villainy to which he had 
 confessed, the young fellow's heart was pitiful towards him ; not 
 a word of sorrow for his delinquencies against Dalton had passed 
 his lips, though he had promised material reparation; but on 
 the other hand, his sensitiveness as respected Kitty had been 
 extreme. It was for her — though sclCshly — that he had sinned 
 ■ — had gone through the fire of shame and the foul water of 
 fraud ; and Jeff's OAvn great love for her — though it would 
 B3ver have thus led 1dm astray-^^^iado excuses for his riyaU 
 
now J J A'. HOLT HASTENED MATTERS. 385 
 
 fle pictured him during those weeks when Dalton had first 
 sailed from England, and he must have been expecting day by- 
 day the tidings of the exposure of his crime, and pitied him. 
 It was perhaps pity misplaced, for Holt was a man with nerves 
 of iron ; a man, too, of means and subtle device, whom the law 
 could not have thrown on his back like a turtle (as it throvrs 
 the poor and dull who transgress it) to await trial and sentence ; 
 but judging his case by what his own would have been in the 
 like conditions, and also taking into consideration the fact that 
 the man was down, and harmless, Jeff, on the whole, was glad 
 that he had given him the hand, not indeed of friendship, but 
 forgiveness. 
 
 Jeff's day was all his own — as many days to come were, alas ! 
 likely to be — yet he hesitated to visit Brown Street, where of 
 late he had been so unwelcome. Moreover, he feared that he 
 should be subject to questioning there upon the events of the 
 day, which recent experience warned him that he was not fitted 
 to undergo ; he entertained the just conviction that Jenny 
 would have " turned him inside out " (as they say at the Old 
 Bailey) in five minutes of cross-examination. He resolved to 
 go, therefore, to Dalton's lodgings, and there leave a line to 
 state the result of his interview with Holt, with that proviso 
 added as to " the date of publication " of it, and then pass the 
 time as he could till evening. He found, however, a note at 
 the house awaiting him, asking him to come on to Brown Street 
 to dinner ; an invitation which he had not the courage — or the 
 cowardice — to refuse. 
 
 He found the family all in high spirits, with one exception. 
 Dalton, indeed, was not so debonair and joyous as he had been 
 wont to be ; his manner had something of sardonic exultation, 
 in place of its old abandon, and it became him less. He had 
 been hard hit, and he was a man not used to blows ; such men 
 return them with interest, and feel a pleasure in the repayment. 
 A rapid glance had passed between him and Jeff, which assured 
 him that his enemy was vanquished, Jenny, bright, gay, and 
 frail as a bird, was full of fun, with every now and then a dash 
 of spleen amidst her sprightliness, like a sparrow turned sparrow- 
 hawk ; she had been hit too (for was not each slight a blow to 
 one so fragile?), and was not one to forget it. The sudden 
 change for the better in the sick girl showed how much mental 
 trouble and material privations had had to do with her malady. 
 Tony was in tearing spirits, now dancing about his father, now 
 romping with Uncle Philip, whom he had taken to as naturally 
 e^ though he had been a member of the family from the first. 
 
 c 
 
r^^5 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Only Kitf.y wa=, iiot merry : when lier face was fuvned towards 
 her father or Jenny, it beamed indeed with smiles ; a sense of 
 gratitude seemed to environ her like an atmosphere ; but sho 
 was strangely silent, and when not addressed had a grave and 
 quiet look, that reminded one more of resignation than con- 
 tentment. Perhaps, Jeff dared to hope, she had been reflecting, 
 like himself, that the course of true love was not likely to run 
 smoother than of yore with them ; that this new-found pros- 
 perity, while it made self-sacrifice unnecessary, would still be a 
 fatal obstacle to her heart's desire. For that she knew that she 
 was once more prosperous, was certain. The air of the whole 
 party convinced him that such was the case, and especially the 
 air of good Nurse Haywood, who waited upon them at dinner 
 in person, and treated " Master John," as she still persisted in 
 calling Dalton, like a prince who has not only returned to his 
 native land, but come back to enjoy his own again. He would 
 have had of her best as long as it lasted — had he been a beggar, 
 but her behaviour would in that case have been less unlike a 
 ]irolonged flourish of trumpets. Indeed, it might be said that 
 there were cymbals also, for in her excitement and exultation 
 she clashed the plates together and broke a couple. 
 
 " It doesn't matter, if there are enough left to go round," said 
 Dalton. 
 
 " Thank heaven, it doesn't. Master John," answered the old 
 lady ; " for there ai'e plenty noxu where those came from." 
 
 She had got some bottles of champagne from the public- 
 house, the whole of which she would have dispensed to the 
 company, and thereby have poisoned them, for the Brown Street 
 vintage was execrable. 
 
 " I am afraid you don't like it, sir," said she, aggrieved ; 
 " but it was the best I could get at such a short notice." 
 
 '* The wine is excellent, nurse," said Dalton, gravely ; " but one 
 bottle is quite sufficient to drink the health of all o«r friends in." 
 The list of toasts, indeed, was short enough. They drank 
 Dr. Curzon's health ; and, in spite of her remonstrance, they 
 drank to Nurse Haywood herself, the men shaking hands with 
 her, and the two girls overwhelming her with caresses. It 
 would certainly have been no exaggeration had she observed in 
 acknowledgment, that it was the proudest moment of her life ; 
 lier only reply, however (aud how far preferable would it be 
 i f after-dinner acknowledgments in general took that form), was 
 a flood of tears. 
 
 \Ylien the ladies had retired, taking Tony the j-clucfrmfc (wlio 
 so far from findins" fault with the Brown Street champagne 
 
HO W MR. HOL T HASTENED MA TTERS. 387 
 
 had done ample justice to it) with them, Dalton laid his hand 
 on Geoffrey's shoulder. 
 
 " And now, lad, for your news from Abdell Court. I need 
 not ask if it be good news, for I have read so much as that 
 already in your face." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; it is good news. Mr. Holt admits all that is urged 
 against him, and promises to make the conipletest reparation ; 
 only for a few houi's — the time he named, indeed, must have 
 elapsed by now — he begged to be spai'ed exposure." 
 
 " What did the fellow mean ? " inquired Dalton, angrily. 
 *' Did he want to shut my mouth, if a man had asked me any 
 time to-day, is Richard Holt a villain ? " 
 
 " I think he merely meant that, until you had heard from him 
 this evening, he hoped you would not make his shame known 
 to your own family." 
 
 " My family ! " echoed Dalton, scornfully. " The scoundrel 
 has small claim to forbearance as respects them, I reckon. Do 
 you know, man," added he, with stern solemnity, " that it is 
 thanks to him that my dear wife is lying in her grave at 3an- 
 beck? ' 
 
 It \t js certainly true that through Holt's fraud Dalton had 
 been forced to leave the country, and that out of his absence 
 had arisen the catastrophe at the Nook. 
 
 Jeff hung his head ; the argument had gone home to him ; he 
 felt he had nothing more to say for the unhappy wretch, whose 
 hand he had taken that day for the last time. 
 
 " Come," said Dalton ; " let us not think of villains to-night. 
 There was one toast, Jeff, I didn't propose while the girls were 
 here, because I wished to save your blushes ; but I mean to 
 drink it now. Philip, fill your glass ; the sherry, I think, is a 
 little less deadly than that champagne. As good wine needs no 
 bush — if the converse be true, by-the-by, this wine should require 
 a thicket — so a toast that we drink with all our hearts needs no 
 speech. My toast is Geoffrey Derwent. You don't know him, 
 Philip, as I know him (nor did I know him, for that matter, as 
 I ought to have known him, till within the last two days). But 
 you may take my word for it that, young as he is, a truer heart, 
 or one more to be relied upon, in times that try men's hearts and 
 show what stuff they are made of, does not beat than his. I need 
 not repeat the story ; but Jenny has told me all about you, Jeff; 
 and if Kitty has told me nothing, there has been, I dare say, 
 some very good reasons for her silence. I have no secrets from 
 Philip here, not even that one ; and I have a particular object 
 in saying what I have to say before Philip. His notion is, that 
 
38S r ALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 v^itli returning prosperity, I sliall fall into tlie old tracks ; that 
 ' the deceitfulncss of aiclies ' " 
 
 "I never said so, John," interrupted Philip; "I only 
 thought ** 
 
 " Well, you see, he thought it," put in Dalton, quickly, " and 
 that is quite as bad. To put the matter beyond question, how- 
 ever, so far as you are concerned, Jeff, I wish, iu Philip's pre- 
 sence, to remind you of a certain confession you made to nie 
 with respect to Kitty, when you and I parted company at River- 
 side. Do you remember what it was, Jeff ? " 
 
 " Tes, indeed ; I remember very well, sir." 
 
 *' And do you recollect what I said to you in reply ? " 
 
 " You said you would talk to me about that when you camo 
 hack again." 
 
 " Very good ; and now, you see, T am keeping my promise. 
 Well, if you still love Kitty, and she loves you, she is yours, 
 Jeff!" 
 
 " Oh, sir, you are too good ! " cried Jeff, liis heart bounding 
 with joy and gratitude, though conscious of a doubt. " But, 
 alas ! I have nothing ; and Kitty will be rich ; and people will 
 Bay " 
 
 " Let them say what they like, and be hanged," cried Dalton, 
 vehemently. "If people ' — by which I suppose you mean one's 
 friends — would say a little less, and do a little more, when occa- 
 sion demands it, their opinion would be of more consequence." 
 He pushed his chair back from the table, and began walking up 
 and down the little room as he went volubly on : " It has always 
 of course been aoknowledged of Society, even by the prosperous, 
 that she was ' frivolous ' and ' hollow,' and all that sort of thing ; 
 but I could not have imagined, unless I had experienced it my- 
 self, how worthless and rotten at the core the cieature is. Tho 
 women are worse than the men, because they protest so much. 
 To think of the scores of them that have smirked and smiled, 
 and asked me after my ' dear girls ' with such tender sympat hy ; , 
 and then, when one's back was turned — as they thought for 
 good — and these same ' dear ' ones were left helpless and penni- 
 less — how not one — not one of these fino folks would hold a 
 finger out, or even say a word of comfort ! No, Jeff; don't talk 
 to me of what ' people ' may ' say,' or I shall be tempted to think ;! 
 that thosft who are not knaves in the world must needs be the ' 
 other thing." 
 
 Philip sat back in his chair, jingling some halfpence in hig 
 pocket — probably all the money he had — and very much applaud- 
 ing these remarks; but a keener observer would perhaps have 
 
no IV MR. HOL T HASTENED 31 A TTERS. 389 
 
 had a suspicion that Dalton was working himself up to this 
 display of vehemence, or, at all events, found it necessary 
 to nurse his wr;itli in order to keep it warm. The fact was, not 
 only was his nature cninently genial, and inapt for receiving 
 deep impressions, especially of an unpleasant sort, but second 
 nature — use — had made him regard the very class of persons he 
 was now anathematising as his own world, beyond which he 
 had few sympathies. His feelings, however, with respect to 
 Geoft'i-ey Derwent were genuinely what he described them to be, 
 and ho was perfectly honest in the offer he had just made him 
 of his daughter's hand. 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to go upstairs, my lad, and have a 
 few words with Kitty," added he, kindly, "while we old fellows 
 smoke a cigar ;" as he spoke he threw open the window, admit- 
 ting a little air, a good deal of dust, and the growing chorus of 
 some street hawkers, who at that period of the evening were 
 wont to " work " Brown Street, and supply it with the latest 
 sensational intelligence. 
 
 Jeff smiled his thanks, and left the room ; but his step on the 
 narrow staircase was not that of a lover who has " asked papa " 
 with success ; and on the landing he paused for full a minute, 
 weighing this and that, in most unlover-like fashion ; for, with 
 ail his good qualities — among which a loving heart was not cer- 
 tainly wanting — Jeff was intensely proud. His darling hope 
 '>iad been, if only circumstances had permitted it, that he might 
 have made for himself some position in the world — humble, but 
 not despicable, and such as he could have lifted Kitty out of her 
 difficulties to share. 
 
 In wedding her as things were, he would not indeed be 
 marrying her for money ; but the inequality in their fortunes 
 jarred upon his sensitive feelings. Among such natures — for 
 low ones find no difficulty in the matter — it requires a strong 
 mind and an exceptionally wholesome one to accept a pecuniary 
 obligation without repugnance. The worship of money is so 
 well established, that even those who ought to know it is an 
 idol are apt to treat it as a sacred thing. 
 
 In the drawing-room he found Kitty seated close to her sister, 
 with the latter's arm about her waist. It was generally Jenny 
 who "did the talking" when they were alone together, and 
 she had evidently bceii doing it on this occasion. Kitty had the 
 downcast looks of a listener who has been preachod at. 
 
 " Taik of JefE, and he makes his appearance ! " said Jenny, 
 saucily. 
 
 " I hope I am not intruding ? " observed he, humbly. 
 
390 PALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 " You are intruding on me, sir," said Jenny, rising from liei» 
 chair. " I have had quite enough of you below-stairs for the 
 present ; " and off she tripped, leaving the two young people 
 alone. The window was open here, as in the room below, but 
 the dust was less, and the wind that passed over the flower-box 
 on the sill brought charming odours with it. 
 
 " Klitty, dear, your father has been speaking to me most 
 kindly," said Jeff, hesitatingly. 
 
 " He is always kind, and in your case can never, I am sure, be 
 otherwise, Jeff," answered she, steadily. " He knows that he 
 owes you very much." 
 
 " I don't feel that, Kitty ; but I feel that whatever he owes 
 me, or can owe me, it can never be so much by a hundred times 
 as what he says he is prepared to give me. Can you guess, 
 Kitty, darUng, what that is ? " 
 
 " Jeff — Geoffrey," said she, in distressed tones, " did you not 
 promise at the Nook " 
 
 " Yes, dear," interrupted he ; " but that was different. The 
 circumstances are altogether changed. They are not indeed as I 
 could wish them to be, even yet. I am poor, I may say penni- 
 less, when compared with you " 
 
 " Oh, Jeff, how dare you ! " exclaimed Kitty, rising angrily 
 from her seat. " Do you suppose I am thinking of money ? Of 
 course, I have had to think about it of late — for others ; but in a 
 matter that concerns myself alone, can you think that your being 
 poor or rich can draw me, by a hair's-breadth, one way or another ? " 
 
 " It draws me, Kate," cried Jeff, simply. "It is the only 
 thing that draws me — just a hair's-breadth — away from you. I 
 thought, when I spoke to you at the Nook, that it was tho 
 reflection how ill off we both were as respected means ; and that, 
 in your unselfishness and generosity, you felt it right to be tho 
 prop and stay of your own household, and not to look outside of 
 it, even for such love as mine." 
 
 " It was partly that, Jeff ; but also, even then, there was 
 another contingency, and that, alas ! — the other obstacle, I mean 
 — has grown and grown; indeed, I don't know how I stand 
 respecting it. I — I — you must please to give me time, Jeff ; and 
 I can't promise ; indeed I can't." 
 
 " But you have promised no one else, Eatty ? " 
 
 " No ; at least not exactly ; but " 
 
 The shouting of the hawkers in the street was growing 
 nearer and nearer : as one on one side, and one on the other, 
 they bawled together, like singers in a glee who are out of 
 tune, it needed a practised ear to catch a word. 
 
MOli^ illR. ilOLT HASTENED MA TTERS. 39i 
 
 " This noise is dreadful," muttered Jeff; and moving quickly 
 to the window, he pulled down the sash and shut out the sound. 
 " You need time, Kittj, to think it over," said Jeff, softly ; 
 *' well, let it be so ; I was not impatient, you know, before." 
 
 It was not impatience, nor yet disappointment, nor diptress, 
 that agitated the speaker ; yet his face had blanched, and wore 
 an expression anxious and distrait. But Kitty's eyes were fixed 
 upon the floor, and saw him not. 
 
 " No ; you were patient, and good, and kind as you ever were, 
 Jeff," answered she, tenderly. " Whatever happens, I shall . 
 always think of you as — as all that. But indeed I must have 
 time." 
 
 " I am going noAV," said Jeff, and indeed his hand wa3 
 already on the door. Never sui'ely were two fond lovers so willing 
 that time and space should separate them, as these two seemed 
 to be. 
 
 Throughout the day, from the moment her father had told 
 her better times had come to them — he could no longer deny 
 himself that pleasure, though he had f ox'borne to speak of how 
 his fortune was about to be restored to him — Kitty had been 
 revolving in her mind her position as respected Holt. The 
 money that he had advanced for the life-insurance premium 
 would now be repaid to him of course, but could that acquit her 
 of her obligation ? and if it did, would it release her from the 
 implied though unexpressed consent she had given to accept of 
 his attentions ? It was easy to break with him indeed, but 
 could it be done with a good conscience ? In her heart of 
 hearts, Kitty knew she had made up her mind to marry this 
 man, and she feared that he knew she had done so. To marry 
 him now — all the forces that had driven her towards him having 
 suddenly ceased to exert their influence, while the dead-weight 
 of dislike still drew her in the opposite direction — she felt to be 
 impossible ; but she also felt, notwithstanding the arguments 
 which Jenny had just been pouring into her ear, and the still 
 stronger claims which love itself, in the person of Jefi^", was 
 urging, that much, very much was owed to Richard Holt ; 
 indeed that all was owed by rights, only that the debt was too 
 excessive for payment. At all events, it was for him to impose 
 what terms he pleased in default of its discharge. Until she had 
 confessed to him that notwithstanding all that had come and 
 ^onc she could never be his wife, she felt at least that it was 
 unbecoming to speak of marriage with another. Hence it was) 
 she had said : " I must have time." 
 
 And Jeff needed " time " too, though for a very different 
 
392 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 purpose. He could not uuderstaud her scruples, for Lad ndt 
 Mr. Holfc himself said : " I have wooed her without success , " 
 yet he felt confident that the obstacle to which she had alluded 
 was Holt, and no other. He was not at liberty — to say that 
 this man had already renounced his claim, if claim he had upon 
 her ; but something had suddenly taken place which might set 
 her at liberty another way. And yet, to do Jeff justice, it was 
 not that thought which was paramount in his mind as, having 
 quitted the jaresence of his beloved Kitty, he flew downstair.^, 
 and snatching up his hat, let himself softly out of doors. 
 Through the open window on his left he could hear Dalton and 
 his half-brother talking earnestly over their cigars ; he even 
 caught the name of " Holt " coupled with some adjective, 
 expressive of contempt and loathing : it was strange, con- 
 sidering what he knew of the man, that he should feel pained to 
 hear it ; but so it was. 
 
 Then turning to the right hand, he sped away after the two 
 street hawkers, who, having cried themselves hoarse, were just 
 about to enter the public-house at the corner, to refresh them- 
 selves Avith purl — a liquor as popular with gentlemen of t]Le'iT 
 calling as DubHn stout is said to be with our fashionable 
 sopranos. 
 
 " I want a copy of your paper, quick ! " he said, as he came 
 up with them. 
 
 "Well, you see, sir, it's the last we have," grumbled the mau 
 addressed ; " and I don't think as sixpence is too much " 
 
 Jeff threw him a shilling and snatched the newspaper out of 
 his hands, unconscious of the muttered remark of the vendor's 
 partner : " "Why didn't you ask the bloke a suverin for it ? " He 
 was a political economist of the soundest type, and had seen the 
 necessity, which the other had omitted to see and take advan- 
 tage of. 
 
 Jeff's practised eye lighted at once upon the big letters — 
 " Suicide Extraordinary in Abdell Court." 
 
 He had caught the name as he had sat at the open window, 
 though it had escaped the ears of those who were less familiar 
 with it, and at once associated the catastrophe with his late 
 employer. His air and manner during their late interview were 
 quite in consonance with such a deed, and even (as he now 
 thought) his shameless candour. Had not the vio-etched man 
 himself likened it to a confession at the gallows' foot ! 
 
 Within five hours or so of Jeff's parting with him at the office, 
 Richard Holt had blowp out his brains. 
 
HO I'y THE y LIVED E VER AFTERWARDS. 393 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 BOW THEY LIVED EVER AFTERWARDS. 
 
 Jeff crumpled the newspaper into bis pocket, and walked back 
 in baste to the bouse be bad just quitted. He would tell tbe 
 news at once to ]\Ir. Dalton, and tben Kate would receive it, as 
 it sbould be told, from ber father's lips. He knew Dalton'g 
 nature too well to fear that be would feel or express auy cruel 
 exultation at the death of his enemy ; but he was not prepared 
 for the grave solemnity with which he received the intelligence. 
 
 " I have news, which I am sure you will both deem sad news," 
 said Jell", as he closed tbe parlour door behind him ; "Mr. Holt 
 is dead. He shot himself this afternoon in his office in Abdell 
 Court." 
 
 " I am not surprised," said Philip, coolly ; " he was not a man 
 to live disgraced." 
 
 Dalton said nothing for a minute or so. It was not mere pity 
 that made him speechless ; it was something more — a certain 
 sympathy. His memory was recalling that scene on Bleabarrow 
 crags when he himself had been about to appear unsummoned 
 in the presence of his Maker. " Heaven have mercy on him 
 and forgive him, as I do ! " were bis first words. 
 
 " Poor devil !" said Philip, by way of epitaph, and as though 
 the subject, in its sentimental aspect, were thereby dismissed 
 and done with. "I hope we shall have no trouble in conse- 
 quence of this, about the shares and things." 
 
 " He said be ' had much business of a private nature to 
 arrange,'" said Jeff, "when I parted from him; and be bad 
 live hours of life before him then; I feel confident that they 
 ^'.ere passed in reparation." 
 
 " Let us hope for the best," said Philip ; which, let us ima- 
 gine, was a pious wish with regard to the dead man's future. 
 
 Then the two men began to talk, in quite a different manner 
 than that they would have used half an hour before, of Holt's 
 character. They both agreed that he was an excellent man of 
 business : keen, diligent, and firm as a rock in a storm. 
 
 "If be had cared for anybody but himself, he might have 
 been a happy man," was Dalton'a verdiot. 
 
 "You are wrong there, Mr. Dalton," said Jeff, confidently 
 " He cared for Kitty." 
 
 " Hang his impudence ! " said Philip. " Mind, I didn't say 
 hanjr Mm " 
 
394 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 Daltou frowned a little, but made no observatiun on tho 
 subject. 
 
 "Come," said lie, presently; "let us go up stairs, and break 
 it to the girls." 
 
 " If you will excuse me," said Jeff, " I would rather not see 
 them again to-night." 
 
 " As you please, my lad," returned Dalton. " You had better 
 look in at our place the first thing to-morrow moi^niug. Come 
 and breakfast with us, and then we can talk matters over." 
 
 Jeff accordingly went home at once, feeling that he had quite 
 enough to think about, but only to find there more material for 
 thought. At his lodgings he found a visitor who, his landlady 
 informed him, had been waiting his arrival there for hours ; a 
 certain Mr. Stretham, with whom, as Mr Holt's confidential 
 legal adviser, he had some slight acquaintance, 
 
 "You are surprised to see me here, no doubt, Mr. Derwent ? " 
 said this gentleman, in a tone which Jeff could not but con- 
 sider was, under the circumstances, somewhat jaunty and 
 indifferent. 
 
 " jS'o, sir, I am not surprised," returned he, stifily, "since I 
 already know what has happened." 
 
 " The deuce you do. Mr. Holt led me to understand that 
 his intentions had not been disclosed to anybody. He sent me 
 here with a most express injunction to see you to-night and 
 communicate them." 
 
 " His intentions, sir ? You cannot surely be referring to his 
 design of committing suicide ? Are you aware that he has 
 blown his brains out ? " 
 
 " God bless my soul ! " cried the attorney, startled into de- 
 voutness. " You don't say so ! Blown his brains out ! and such 
 clever brains, too! Well, that explains the whole affair, then, 
 which up to this moment has been so inexplicable to me. Hi 
 has made over all his property by a deed of gift. If he had lef ( 
 it by Avill and then put an end to his life, don't you see theri 
 would have been a difficulty about the matter ? As it is, every- 
 thing is quite simple. Even a verdict of felo de se — if a jury 
 could be got to find it — would not affect the disposition of his 
 money." 
 
 " I hope it has been so disposed, however, Mr. Stretham, in- 
 dependently of this deed of gift, that he has made restitution ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; we need not talk about that now. I guessed, of 
 course, that there was something wrong — it was about that LarK' 
 mine, was it not ? That money — every shilling of it— has all 
 been paid, or is in course of payment." 
 
I/OPy THEY LIVED EVER AFTERWARDS. 39S 
 
 " I ain most sincerely pleased to hear it," said Jeff, wrfch a 
 eigh of relief. " It must be owned that he did what he could 
 at last to put himself right with his fellow-men." 
 
 " Yes, and also to reward his friends," remarked Mr. Strefc 
 ham, with significance. 
 
 " Indeed," answered Jefi", indifferently. " 1 was quite un 
 acquainted with them ; I knew nothing of his social relations." 
 
 " I don't know that he ever had any, except with Mr. Dalton, 
 with whom it appears he has had disagreements. He has made 
 over the whole of his property — something over fifty thou- 
 sand pounds, I should say at a rough guess — to one Geoffrey 
 Derwent." 
 
 " Left it to me ! " esclaimed Jeff, astounded. 
 
 " Oh yes ; there is no mistake about that. I was to remind 
 you that he said you would have no reason to repent having 
 shaken hands with him. I don't shake hands myself, in a 
 general way — I don't think it professional ; but if I had thought 
 my late client was so gratified by the ceremony, I would never 
 have omitted it." 
 
 Jeff did not hear the pleasantry ; his mind was occupied, not 
 with his own accession to wealth, but with the difference of 
 position in which it would place him as respected Kitty. Gra- 
 titude to the dead man, and gratitude also to Dalton, who had 
 accepted him as his son-in-law without a penny, were contend- 
 ing in his heart. The former he could never repay ; yet, strange 
 to say, it affected him less of the two. It is the bane of the 
 base that even their , very . gifts lack tlie savour of giving: 
 moreover, it must be remembered that Holt, having no further 
 use for his , money, must needs have given it to somebody. 
 Afterwards, when Jeff came to think upon the matter, he felt 
 the dead man's generosity more keenly, and acknowledged it 
 in heartier fashion ; for the conviction was borne in upon him 
 — and it was no doubt a just one — that this vast fortune, given 
 to himself, was, in fact, only given to him in trust to Kitty, 
 who, as Holt had reflected, might have refused to accept it more 
 directly. 
 
 On calling at Dalton's lodgings the next morning he found 
 that Mr. Stretham had not exaggerated the completeness of his 
 late client's settlement of all claims on his estate. 
 
 It appeared afterwards that throughout the progress of his 
 frauds as respected Dalton, he had kept the most accurate 
 debtor and creditor account of matters, and was thus enabled to 
 re-pay every shilling— both principal and interest — in. which he 
 ■ Tvas indebted to him. 
 
396 FALLEN FORTUNE^. 
 
 "If lie could cook accounts, it must be owned," as Dalton 
 observed afterwards, when the matter had grown familiar, " he 
 could also keep them." He was, indeed, maugre a few grains 
 of honest sentiment, a great financier, and admirably fitted to 
 control the destinies of a joint-stock company or a foreign loan. 
 
 Kitty, I think, held another view of him, which — since he 
 was dead and gone — almost took the form of tenderness. She 
 understood the man, as regarded his aflFections, as only a woman 
 could have done. She knew that when he had persecuted her 
 most he had loved her as few men can love ; and now that he 
 had become a mere memory, and she could, as it were, afibrd to 
 do so, she in a manner respected him. 
 
 Even Jenny in days to come had a certain qualified praise for 
 Mr. Holt, with v/hom she would frankly confess she " had had 
 no patience until he left dear Jeff all that money." She thought 
 there was more real good in him — if "grit" be good— r-thau in 
 such fair-weather friends as the Skiptons had proved them- 
 selves to be. She deemed him " worth a dozen " of such as 
 Mrs. Campden ; but then, in Jenny's estimation, a dozen Mrf?. 
 Campdens were, to use a phrase of the auction-room, a very 
 " cheap lot " indeed. He was a rogue, but at least he did not 
 mingle his roguery with cant and " gush " and protestations of 
 eternal friendship, wherein the word " eternal " had even a less 
 extended sense than certain heretical theologians have of late 
 attributed to it. These remarks, of course, are, however, like a 
 Renter's telegram, " in anticipation of our usual advices." 
 
 It may be easily imagined that as even Kitty's tender con- 
 science had had little to urge against her union with Jeff as 
 matters had stood, that she saw no obstacle to her own happi- 
 ness, now that the other claimant for her hand had removed 
 himself from the field; while whatever "people" might have 
 " said " had the wedding taken place under other circumstances, 
 they had now notliing but congratulations to offer upon the 
 union between two young persons, not only so obviously fitted 
 for one another, but whose means were so proportionate. It 
 was every way a most " desirable " match ; and was ever any- 
 thing so " funny " as that father-in-law and son-in-law should 
 possess the same diamond mine (or something) in Golconda (or 
 fiOmewhere) together! The whole thing seemed so "provi- 
 dential," as though it had been *' pre-ordained, as it were, yon 
 know." 
 
 Dalton went about saying the bitterest things against Society 
 • — and yet mixing in it almost as much as he had been wont to 
 do. His smile was less genial, but his wit was even keener 
 
HO W THE V LIVED E VER AFTER WARDS. 397 
 
 tlian of old. He was quite as much soiiglit after as before, but 
 not so well liked. It was complained of him by a great lady of 
 fashion that Mr. Dalton would say " quite horrid things " at 
 times : by which it may be presumed her ladyship meant the 
 naked truth. The fact was, Dalton was like a fish out of water 
 among plain honest people, such as have no turn for epigram, 
 who are content to keep their claret till the second day, and 
 who use ready-made " dressing " for their salads. He knew that 
 there were other atmospheres purer and more wholesome, and 
 was angry with himself because he could not live in them ; or 
 at least that they did not suit him. It is the fashion to say 
 that adversity does us all good : but if it be so, John Dalton 
 was an exception. His wife's death was a terrible loss to him. 
 Doubtless such pure souls are well employed to whatever scenes 
 of bliss they wing their flight; but to the post of guardian 
 angel to her husband, whieh she had filled in this world to such 
 perfection, there was no successor, and he missed her gracious 
 influence sorely. 
 
 It must be said, however, to his credit, that notwithstanding 
 her vacant chair at his fireside remained unoccupied, the sweet 
 influences of home never lost their power over John Dalton. 
 
 After a sojourn at the seaside, which placed poor Jenny at as 
 good a standpoint in regard to health as she had ever been, ho 
 took the family to the old home in London which their mother's 
 memory had made so dear, and where a charming surprise 
 awaited them. Every article of furniture that could be reco- 
 vered from the purchasers at the sale was found there in its old 
 place ; and the same welcome and familiar faces greeted them, 
 from whom their father's Fallen Fortunes had at one time com- 
 pelled him to part. 
 
 The mistress of all, indeed, was absent ; but another mem- 
 ber of the family was installed there en jpermanence in the person 
 of Uncle Philip. 
 
 Society, with her fine perception of what is right, expressed 
 herself as astonished and even " pained " to perceive the land- 
 marks of legitimacy thus ignored ; but she was not absolutely 
 " outraged," as she would have been had the Quito proved less 
 remunerative. She contented herself with hinting that Mr. . 
 Dalton had doubtless his reasons for so singular a proceeding , 
 and that if everybody had their rights, perhaps it would bo 
 found that the case of Astor verstis Dalton had been decided 
 wrongfully. The report was, that Philip had his home and 1 
 his income upon the understanding that he did not marry, i 
 whereby complications might arise to give employment to gen- 
 
398 FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 tlemen of tlie lono; robe in the second generation ; and the 
 rumour received this much corroboration, that Philip remained 
 a, bachelor. 
 
 Jeff carried away his bride from her new old home at mid- 
 enmmer, but settled so near it, that Jenny and she were scarcely 
 moi-e apart than when they lived under the same roof. Her 
 baby brother continued to be her especial charge and idol long 
 .if ter she had children of her own ; and when many years after 
 he followed his brother Tony's example and became an Eton boy, 
 lie received every " half " such hampers from Sister Kitty as to 
 put to shame even the liberal contributions from his own home. 
 
 On the other hand, Tony and Jenny are as fast friends as 
 ever; and though the former took a creditable degree at Cam- 
 bridge, he has been heard to say, in the Society of Lincoln's 
 Inn, that all that now remains to him in the way of learning 
 which is worth a shilling was taught him by his second sister. 
 
 The chief guest at Kitty's wedding was Dr. Curzon ; and I 
 am afraid that the names of the company did not occupy a very 
 long paragraph in The Morning Post. There were plenty of fine 
 people who would have been glad to come, and I think Dalton 
 would by that time have so far forgiven his fellow- creatures as 
 to invite them ; but Kitty said : "No; if you please, papa; I 
 would rather have only real friends at my wedding." 
 
 It was very seldom she expressed herself with such decision, 
 yet somehow her husband was guided by her in most things. 
 
 '* She has a very light hand," Dalton used to say, " and Jeff 
 has a tender mouth." Above all things, Kitty had a horror of 
 " the City " and speculation of all kinds; and since it would 
 never have done for Jeff to be idle, she sent him into Parliament, 
 where he Avas greatly liked. Though not distinguished for ora- 
 tory, he spoke now and then sensibly enough ; and his opinion 
 upon commercial matters had some weight — at all events in the 
 smoking-room. It was generally supposed there that he had 
 been in eai'ly life " largely connected " with the City. Very 
 few people know more of other people's early lives. Curiously 
 enough, it was never whispered that he had been connected with 
 literature. " His good manners/' Dalton said, " forbade the 
 suspicion." 
 
 Jenny made quite a success as an authoress ; only her views 
 were " di-eadfully advanced," folks said, " and her observations, 
 joally, you know, so ver7j severe." However, she put her j^rin- 
 ciples, whatever they were, into practice, and aided with purse 
 as well as pen every genuine scheme of philanthropy if it only 
 kept it&Qilt' clear of patronia. She did not like patronage evcu 
 
HOn^ TIIEV LIVED EVER AFTERWARDS. 399 
 
 for other people, and as for herself it was dangerous to offer it. 
 A very benevolent duchess who met Jenny on a Board once 
 tried it on with her, and is said to have been greatly discomfited. 
 Dalton's version of his daughter's retort was that, shaking her 
 eurls and showing her teeth at Her Grace like a Blenheim 
 spaniel, she had said : " Madam, don't 'patronise me, or I'll bite." 
 
 I am afraid Jenny has never forgiven Society for its behaviour 
 to he"? and hers, when they " went under ; " but on the other 
 hand she does her best to help and comfort those who are in thb 
 same sad plight : for as to turning her back upon a friend — 
 she would as soon think of enlisting in the Horse Guards. She 
 was steadfast in all things, and from one resolution nothing 
 moved her — namely, that she would never speak to Mrs. Camp- 
 den. But for her, perhaps, some sort of reconciliation would 
 have been patched up ; as it was, the two families never renewed 
 their former intimacy. Mrs. Campden died in a few years— of 
 a cold, said the county paper, caught in distributing tracts to 
 "her poor people, by whom she was greatly revered;" but^ 
 strange to say, her loss brought Uncle George no nearer to his 
 old friends the Daltons. He knew that they harboured a bad 
 opinion of his Julia, and a certain chivalry of disposition for- 
 bade him to make advances to them. 
 
 In after-years indeed, Jeff and Kitty, with a whole tribe of 
 pretty children, passed a summer month at Riverside ; but the 
 old geniality was wanting ; Mr, Campden felt there was a sub- 
 ject sealed between them, yet one to which it was difficult not 
 to make allusion. 
 
 He knew his wife had behaved ill, of course ; but he made 
 excuses for her — such as we know nothing about. Women, as 
 everybody knows, will cling- to their husbands, be they ever such 
 scoundrels ; and men will cling — though not so often — to wives 
 who are mean and base, and make allowances for them such as 
 astound the lookers on. 
 
 Upon Jenny Dalton it was generally imagined that the plough 
 of Adversity had made deep furrows, while her sister had re- 
 mained unscathed, or that the marks of that rude discipline had 
 soon worn away. But I venture to think that judgment was 
 a superficial one. Kitty, like her mother, was a favourite in 
 society, but — like her — the roots of all her happiness lay deep 
 down in the garden-ground of Home. She forgave the world ; 
 but in her hea,rt slio never forgot its sorry treatment : she was 
 gracious in return for its civUities ; but she knew their value, 
 and was not to be (twice) deceived. 
 
 IS 1 range to say, her father, as I have hinted, was much mora 
 
40O FALLEN FORTUNES. 
 
 easily reconciled to his fair-weather friends, though ho would 
 sometimes gird at them. 
 
 " My darling," he ouce said to Kitty, after a great reception 
 at her house, and while he stood upon the hearth-rug, the last 
 guest, previous to departure for the smoking-room of his club, 
 "you have had a charming evening, and all these people have 
 made themselves agreeable — or tried to do it ; but don't be do 
 ceived by appearances ; you had three or four hundred ' dear 
 friends ' here, but not half-a-dozen of them are really worth a 
 button. You know we have tried it." 
 
 " Well, papa, I think we should make allowances. People 
 neglected us when we were poor, no doubt ; but no one, as a 
 rule, acknowledges a claim which is founded only on senti- 
 ment ; or if they do, they soon get weary of satisfying it. 
 Then, again, it is easy to say : * If we had been in their place we 
 should have acted very differently.' Perhaps we should, indeed 
 I know we should ; but tkey didn't know it. I have no doubt, 
 excuses — such as appeared justifications — occurred to them very 
 readily." 
 
 " Nor I neither, my dear," laughed Dalton. " What I fear 
 is, that, like your dear mother, you are so unsuspicious and so 
 tender-hearted, that you take aw serieux (as poor Holt would 
 have said) all these fine folks' professions. Now I believe that 
 all the really good honest friends who would stand by one at a 
 pinch can be counted upon the fingers of my two hands." 
 
 "Then, my dear papa, you are still very credulous," was 
 Kitty's unexpected reply : " it has long been my conviction 
 that the fingers of one hand would be amply sufficient for the 
 computation." 
 
 OODEN ANP CO. LJMITI;!). PKINTERS, GREAT SAl-FKON KILL. B.C. 
 
The Dawn of Light between her last 
 RHoments and Eternity. 
 
 As clouds of adversity gathered around, Marie Antoinette displayed a Patience and Courajre 
 
 in Unparalleled Sujlfrinas such as few Saints and Martyrs have equalled The Pure Ore of 
 
 tier nature was Init liiddeu under the cross of worldliness, and the scorching fire of suffering 
 evealed one of the teiiderest hearts, and one of the Bravest Natures that history records, 
 
 (Wiiicli will haunt all who have studied that treraendous drjina, 
 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.)" 
 
 .... " When one reflects that 
 a centi'Ty which considered itself 
 culij-'htened, of the most refined 
 civilization, ends with public acts 
 of such barbarity, one begins to 
 flitvMt of Human Natui-e itself, 
 I' lid fear that the bj-ute u-hich is 
 filivays in Human Nature, has 
 the ascendancy!" — Gower. 
 
 "Power itself hath not one- 
 half the Might of Gentleness." 
 
 " She who Kocks the Cradle 
 j:uUstlie World." 
 
 "Extinguish all emotions d 
 heart and what differences will 
 remain ? I do not say between 
 man and brute, but between Man 
 and mere inanimate Clod!" 
 
 —Cicero. 
 
 The UnspeaTjahle 
 Grandeur of the Human 
 Heart. 
 The Drying up of a single 
 tear has more Honest Farce 
 than Shedding SEAS OF 
 GORE!!! 
 
 All Hope of Guccour but from l rtee is r-asi i 
 
 What is Ten Thousand Times more Horrible than Revolution or War ? 
 
 g^ OUTKil^OEU NATURE I -^ 
 
 " World ! O men ! what are we, and our best designs, that we must work by crime to 
 punish crime, and slai , as if death had but this one gate?"— Btron. 
 
 "What is Ten Thousand Times more TeiTible than Revolution or War? Outraged Nature ! 
 She kills and kills, and is never tired of killing, till she has taught man the terrible lesson he 
 is so slow to learn— that Nature is only conquered by obeying her . . . . Man has his courtesies 
 in Revolution and ANar; he spares the woman and child. But Nature is fierce when she is 
 offended; she spares neither womun nor child. She has no pity, for some awful hut most good 
 reason. She is not allowed to have any pity. Silently she strikes the sleeping child with as little 
 remorse as she would strike the strong man with musket or ^the pickaxe in his^hand.^ „V,Mr'°"l'; 
 to God that some man had the pictr ' ' " " ^ -,.,..- ^,-. -^ » .« 
 
 o/prevaitib'e /ti-rrrring, the mass of 
 year."— KiNGSLiiV. 
 
 ■ial eloouence to" put before the mothers of England the mass 
 reventible agony of mind which exists in England year after 
 
 MORAL.-Life is a Battle, not a VIctoryn Disobey yc who will, but 
 ye who disobey must suffer. ^,^^^_ 
 
LIGHT yersus DARK NESS, 
 
 "It is very characteristic of the late Prince Consort — a man himself of the purest 
 mhid, who powerfully impre.^sed and influenced others by sheer force of his men benevolent 
 nature — when drawing up the conditions of the annual prize to be given by Her Majesty 
 at Wellington College, to d(termine that it should be awarded Not to the Cleverest 
 Boy, nor the most Bookish Boy, nor to the most Precise, Diligent, and 
 Prudent Boy, but to the Noblest Boy, to the Boy who should show the 
 most promise of becominar a Large-Hearted, High-Motived Man."— *'"/cs. 
 "How nuVe in reason! how infinite in facility ! in action how like an Angel! in 
 apprehension hmo like a God." 
 
 "SHAKESPEARE, the Greatest Genius ■■^ho has ever yet lived," taught the 
 Divineness of Forgiveness, of Perpetual Mercy, of Constant Patience, of 
 lindless Peace, of Perpetual Gentleness. It you can show ma one who knew th'ngs 
 better than this man, show bini ! ! I kuow Mm EOt! ! If he had appeared as a DiviDe, 
 they would have Burned Him ; as a Politician, t: ey would iiave Beheaded Him. 
 " He Taught that Kindness is Nobler than Revenge ! ! 
 
 The Kev. George Dawson, M.A 
 "Earthly power doth then show likest And lh;it same prayerdoth teach u.s all to 
 God's render 
 
 When mercy seasons justice, The Deeds Of Mercy." — Shakespeare. 
 
 " And stich is Human Life ; so gliding on. 
 It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone I " 
 What higher ain; can man attain than conquest over human pain? 
 
 JEOPARDY OF LIFE, THE GREAT DANGER OF DELAY. 
 
 You can change the trickling stream, but not the Raffing Torrent. 
 
 WHAT EVERYBODY SHOULD READ.— How important it is to every individual to 
 have at hand some simple, effective, and palatable remedy, such as ENO'S " FRUIT 
 SALT," to check disease at the onset ! I ! For this is the time. With very little trouble 
 you can change the course of the trickling mountain stream, but not the rolling river. It will 
 defy all your tiny efforts. I feel I cannot sufficiently impress this important information upon 
 all householders, ship captains, or Europeans generally, who are visiting or residing in any hot or 
 foreign climate. Whenever a change is contemplated likely to disturb the condition of health, let 
 ENTO'S "FRUIT SALT "be your companion, for under any circumstances its use is beneficial, 
 auj never can do harm. When you feel out of sorts, restless, sleepless, yet unable to say why, 
 frequently without any • . arninj? you are suddenly seized with lassitude, disinclination for bodily 
 or mental exertion, loss of appetite, sickness, pain in the forehead, dull aching of back and limbs, 
 coldness of the surface, and often shivering, &c., &c., then ; ^ur whole body is out of order, the 
 sjiirit of danger has been kindled, but you do not know where it may end ; it is a real necessity to 
 have a simple remedy at hand. The pilot can so steer and direct as to bring the ship into safety, 
 but he cannot quell the raging storm. The common idea when not feeling well is: "I willwaitand 
 see, perhaps I shall be better to-morrow," whereas had a supply of ENO'S "FRUIT SALT" 
 been at hand, and use made of it at the onset, all calamitous results might have been avoided. 
 What dashes to the earth so many hopes, breaks so many sweet alliances, blasts so many auspicious 
 euteriirises, as untimely Death? 
 
 "I used my 'FRUIT SALT' in my last severe attack of fever, and I 
 have every reason to say I believe it saved my life."— J. C. ENO. 
 
 ENO'S " FRUIT SALT " prevents any over-acid state of the blood. It should be kept in every 
 ^<>''™,""i,.. Ill readiness fur any emergency. Be careful to avoid rash acidulated salines, and 
 use ENO S FRUIT SALT " to prevent the bile becoming too thick and (impure) producing a 
 gummy, viscous, clammy stickiness or adhesiveness in the mucous membrane of the intestjiial 
 canal, frequently the pivot of diarrhoea and disease. ENO'S "FRUIT SALT" prevents and 
 
 ^CAUTION.— Examine each Bottle and see the CAPSULE is rnarkid ENO'S 
 " FRUIT SALT." Without it you have been imposed on by a worthless imitation. Prepared 
 only at 
 
 ENO'S "FRUIT SALT" WORKS, LONDON, S.E.. by J. C. ENO'S Patent. 
 
[Marcli, i?94. 
 
 at Hist of 33ooits Pul)lisT)ta tj? 
 CHATTO & \VINDUS 
 
 214, Picca dilly, London, JW. 
 
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 27 
 
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 Green as Grass. 
 
 Philistia. 
 Babylon 
 Strange Stories. 
 Beckoning Hand. 
 In all Shades. 
 
 The Tents of Shem. 
 For Maimie's Sake. 
 The Devil's Die. 
 This Mortal Coil. 
 The Great Taboo. 
 
 Dumai'esq's Daughter. | Blood Royal. 
 
 The Duchess of Powysland. 
 
 Ivan Greet's Masterpiece. I Scallywag. 
 
 By EOUIIV I.. ARIVOIiD. 
 Phra the Phoenician. 
 The Constable of St. Nicholas. 
 
 By Al.AX .^r. AUBVX. 
 A Fellow of Trinity. | The Junior Dean. 
 The Master of St. Benedict's. 
 To his Own Master. 
 
 By Rev. M. BAKViVO OOUf.D. 
 Red Spider. I Eve. 
 
 By b»be:bx barb. 
 
 In steamer Chair | From Whose Bourne 
 By FRAIVK BASSKETT. 
 
 The Woman of the Iron Bracelets. 
 "BKIirE,"-Yashti and Esther. 
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 My Little Girl. By Celia's Arboar. 
 
 Caseof Mr.Lucraft. Monks of Thelema, 
 This Son of Vulcan. The Seamy Side. 
 Golden Butterfly. Ten Years' Tenant. 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
 By WAIiTER BE.SANT. 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 The Captains' Room. | Herr Paulus. 
 All in a Garden Fair | The I very Gate. 
 The World Went Very Well Then. 
 For Faith and Freedom. | Rebel Queen. 
 
 The Holy Rose. 
 Armorel of Lyon- 
 
 esse. 
 St. Katherine's by 
 
 the Tower. 
 
 Dorothy Forster, 
 
 Uncle Jack. 
 
 Children of Gibeon. 
 
 Bell of St. Paul's. 
 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 
 Verbena Camellia Stephanotis. 
 
 Bv ROBERT Bl'( HAIVAIV. 
 The Shadow of the Sword. | Matt. 
 A Child of Nature. I Heir of Linne. 
 The Martyrdom of lyiadeline. 
 Ood and the Man. I The New Abelard. 
 Love Me for Ever. Foxglove Manor. 
 innan Water. | Master of the Mine 
 lAfpman and the Man. 
 
 By IfiAS.r 4 A8i\E. 
 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 
 A Son of Hagar. I The Deemster. 
 
 S5y iTIAl'!-.lKE!\ t;«>gSSE i ,-V. 
 TheKed Sultan. 
 
 ffgOR'S'. & E8J.\IV<;E« *'03;l,i.',',^. 
 Ti\ansmigration. | Elacksmith&Scholar, 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 Village Comedy. | You Play Me False. 
 By WIIiS&IE i;OI,S.!IVM. 
 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 The Two Destinies. 
 Law and the Lady. 
 Haunted Hotel. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 '•I Say No." 
 Little Novels. 
 The Evil Genius. 
 The Legacy of Cain 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 Blind Love. 
 
 Armadale. 
 After Dark. 
 No Name. 
 Antonina. | Basil. 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 My Miscellanies. 
 Woman in V/hite. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 Miss or Mrs? 
 New Magdalen. 
 
 By BlITTOrV tOOfii. 
 Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 E. Bl. t;««I»Eie.--Geofi'. Hamilton. 
 
 By V. CSiVlIu MOTEfX. 
 Two Girls on a Bar^e. 
 
 By iUATT <;RI;TI. 
 Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 By B. IH. tISOKEK. 
 Diana Barrington. I PrettyMissNsYille. 
 Proper Pride. A Bird of Passage. 
 
 AFamilyLikeness | "To Let." 
 
 Ry WIEI,SA.?1 €VP1.ES. 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 ISy AEKMIOIV^E BAUWE'J'. 
 The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation 
 iiy KB. 4;Og.E:vaAlV BAVISJMOX. 
 Mr. Sadler's Daughters. 
 
 Bv EBAlSlltr.-t 5>AW!>iOx"V. 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 By JAIUES »E ITffBI.r.E. 
 A Castle In Spain. 
 
 By .1. r.EITH DERWE-V'B'. 
 Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers. 
 
 By f>B4'B& BOr^OVAlV. 
 Tracked tc Doom. 
 Man from Manchester. 
 
 By A. «;OIVAJV OOVEE. 
 The Firm of Girdlestone. 
 By iUis. ANIVIE EOWARi>£S. 
 Archie Lovell. 
 
28 
 
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 Thk Piccadilly (3/6) Novels — continued. 
 
 By G. itlANVfil^l.K FEIVIV. 
 The New Mistress. | Witness to the Deed. 
 
 By rEKCY FITZGERALD. 
 Fatal Zero. 
 
 By K. E. FRAIVCItil.OIV. 
 Queen Cophetua. I A Real Queen. 
 One by One. King or Knave. 
 
 Dog & his Shadow. 1 Ropes of Sand. 
 
 Pier. by 8ii- BAKTJLE FKERE. 
 Pandurang Hari. 
 Kl*. GAKllE'l'T.— TheCapel Girls. 
 
 By HAUL GAULOr. 
 The Red Shirts. 
 
 Bv t'HARLES OIBBOIV. 
 Robin Gray. I The Golden Shaft. 
 
 Loving a Dream. | Of High Degree, 
 The Flower of the Forest. 
 
 By E. Gt,AIVVIi:.l,E. 
 The Lost Heiress. I The Fossicker. 
 A Fair Colonist. | 
 
 By E. J. GOODMAN. 
 The Fate of Herbert Wayne. 
 
 By t'EC'If. GRIFFITH. 
 Corinthia Marazion. 
 
 By SVBNEV GRIINDV. 
 The Days of his Vanity. 
 
 By TIIO.IIAS HARBV 
 Under che Greenwood Tree, 
 
 By BRET IIARTE. 
 A Waif of the Plains. | Sally Dews. 
 A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 Colonel Starbottle's Client. | Susy. 
 A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's. 
 
 By JUIilAIV IIAAVTIIORIVE. 
 Garth. I Dust. 
 
 EUlce Quentin. Fortune's Fool. 
 
 Sebastian Strome. | Beatrix Randolph. 
 David Poindexter's Disappearance. 
 The Spectre of the Camera. 
 By Sir A. HELPP*,— Ivan de Blron. 
 I, HEIVDERSOIV.-Agatha Page. 
 By JTIi-s. IIUIVGERFORD. 
 Lady Yerner's Flight. 
 
 By Mrs. ALFRED HITNT. 
 The Leaden Casket. I Self-Condemned. 
 That Other Person. | Mrs. Juliet. 
 By R. A8IIE KING. 
 A Drawn Game. 
 "The Wearing of the Green." 
 
 By E. LYNN LINTON. 
 Patricia Kemball. I lone. 
 Under which Lord? Paston Carew. 
 "My Love!" I Sowing the Wind' 
 
 The Atonement of Leam Dundas. 
 The World Well Lost. 
 By II. W. LlTcv.-Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 By JISTIN ItlctARTBIV. 
 A Fair Saxon. I Donna Quixote. 
 
 Linley Rochford. Maid of Athens, 
 Miss Misanthrope. I Camiola. 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 My Enemy's Daughter. | Red Diamonds 
 Dear Lady Disdain. | The Dictator. 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 By GEOBGE iUA€DONALD. 
 Heather and Snow. 
 
 By AGNES MACDONELL. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 By BERTRAM MITFORD, 
 The Gun-Runner. { The King's Assegai. 
 Ibe Luck of Gerard Ridgeley. 
 
 The Piccadilly (3/6) Novfi.s— co/i^«Hf<<, 
 By D. C'lBRflSTIE iKSURRAY, 
 
 Life's Atonement. | Yal Strange. 
 
 Joseph's Coat. Hearts. 
 
 Coals of Fire. | A Model Father. 
 
 Old Blazer's Hero. | Time's Revenges. 
 
 By the Gate of the Sea. 
 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 
 First Person Singular. I Cynic Fortune. 
 
 The Way of the World. I A Wasted 
 
 Bob Martin's Little Girl. | Crime. 
 
 By MURRAY & HERMAN. 
 The Bishops' Bible. | Paul Jones's Alias. 
 One Traveller Returns. 
 BvIIUME NISBET— "Bail Up!" 
 By G. OHNET.— A Weird Gift. 
 
 By OUIDA. 
 Held In Bondage, Two Little Wooden 
 Strathmore. Shoes. 
 
 Chandos. In a Winter City, 
 
 Under Two Flags. Ariadne. 
 Idalia. Friendship. 
 
 Cecil 3astlemaine's Moths. I Ruffino. 
 
 Gage. Pipistrello. 
 
 Tricotrin. | Puck. A Village Commune 
 Folle Farine. Bimbi. | Wanda. 
 
 A Dog of Flanders. Frescoes.; Othmar. 
 
 Pascarel. | Signa. 
 laprax- 
 
 In Maremma. 
 Syrlin.i Guilderoy. 
 Santa Barbara. 
 
 Princess 
 ine. 
 By MARGARET A. I'AUI 
 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 By JAMES PAYN. 
 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 
 Less Black than We're Painted. 
 
 A Confidential Agent. 
 
 A Grape from a Thorn, 
 
 In Peril and Privation. 
 
 The Mystery of Mirbridge 
 
 The Canon's Ward. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 By Proxy. 
 High Spirits. 
 Under One Roof, 
 From Exile. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 Talk of the Town, 
 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 For Cash Only. 
 The Burnt Million. 
 The Word and the 
 
 Will. 
 Sunny Stories. 
 A Trying Patient. 
 
 By Mrs. HAMPBELL jPKAfeW. 
 
 Outlaw and Lawmaker. 
 
 By E, C. PRICE. 
 
 Yalentlna. j The Foreigners. 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. 
 
 By RIOSIARO PUY€E. 
 Miss Maxwell's Affections. 
 
 By CHARLES RKADE, 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 The Doubl3 Marriage. 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 The Course of True Love. 
 The Autobiography of a Thief. 
 Put Yourself in his Place. 
 A Terrible Temptation. | The Jilt. 
 Singleheart and Doubletace. 
 Good Stories of Men and other Animals. 
 Hard Cash. I Wandering Heir. 
 
 Peg WofBngton. | A Woman-Hater. 
 ChristieJohnstone. j A Simpleton. 
 GrifBth Gaunt. 
 Foul Play. 
 
 By Mrs. J. H. RI DUELS.. 
 The Prince of Wales's Garden Ps.rtv. 
 Weird Stories. 
 
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 29 
 
 The Piccadilly (s/O) Noveus— continued. 
 
 By AITIEILIE RIVES. 
 Barbara Dering. 
 
 By F. W. ROBIIVii^ON. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
 By ^V. CI.AKK RrSWECI.. 
 Ocean Tragedy. | My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone on a Wide Wide Sea. 
 
 By JOIIIV SAUIVDERS. 
 Guy Waterman. I Two Dreamers. 
 Bound to Wlieel. | Lion in the Path. 
 ISy BCATSI ARIIVE SAUIVDEKS. 
 Margaret and Elizabeth. 
 Gideon's Rock. I Heart Salvage. 
 The High Mills. | Sebastian. 
 
 By IBAWfiEV S VIABT. 
 Without Love or Licence. 
 
 By R. A. STERIVOAliE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By BERTHA TH01VIAJ4. 
 Proud Maisie. I The Yiolin-player. 
 
 By FRAIVCES E. TR0L.L.01*E. 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 Anne Furness. | Mab el's Progress. 
 
 The Piccadilly (3/6) Novels— continued. 
 By IVAIV 'TUR«EIVaEFF, Af. 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
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 Frau Frohmann. I Land-Leaguers. 
 Marion Fay. | The Way We Live Now. 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
 
 By V. C. FRASER-rVTI.EK. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 By 8ARAII TVTI,ER. 
 The Bride's Pass. I Lady Bell. 
 Buried Diamonds. | Blackball Ghosts. 
 
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 The American Claimant. 
 The £1,000,000 Bank-note. 
 Tom Sawyer Abroad. 
 Pudd'nhead Wilson. 
 
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 The Queen against Owen. 
 
 By J. |SJ. M'lNTEK. 
 A Soldier's Children. 
 
 BylTIAROAKET WilVITIAlV. 
 My Flirtations. 
 
 By E. ZOI.A. 
 The Downfall. I Dr. Pascal. 
 The Dream. | Money. 
 
 CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
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 By ARTEmirS ^VAR». 
 
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 By E»MONI> ABOUT. 
 
 The Fellah. 
 
 By IlAItllETOIV AIDE. 
 
 Carr of Carrlyon. | Confidences. 
 Bv iMABV AL,BFBT. 
 
 Brooke Flnchley's Daughter. 
 
 Bv nils. .\IiEXA!VI>ER. 
 
 Maid,Wife,orWidow? I Valerie' Fate. 
 
 By «RANT ALl^EIV. 
 Strange Stories. I The Devil's Die. 
 Philistia. This Mortal Coil. 
 
 Babylon. I In all Shades. 
 
 The Beckoning Hand. | Blood Ro>al. 
 For Maimie's Sake. | Tents of Shem. 
 Great Taboo. | Dumaresq's Daughter. 
 The Duchess of Pov/ysland. 
 
 By E. I-ES'JER AKNOI.B. 
 Phra the Phoenician. 
 
 By AliAIV ST. AFBViV. 
 A Fellow of Trinity. | The Junior Dean. 
 The Master of St. Benedict's. 
 By Rev. S. BARINO OOITI.B. 
 Red Spider. | Eve. 
 
 By FRANK BARRETT. 
 Fettered for Life. | Little Lady Linton. 
 Between Life and Death, 
 The Sin of 0!ga Zassoulich. 
 Folly Morrison. Honest Davie. 
 Lieut. Barnabas. A Prodigal's Progress. 
 Found Guilty. I A Recoiling Vengeance. 
 For Love and Honour. 
 John Ford; and His Helpmate. 
 
 By W. BESAIVT & .1. RIl^E. 
 This Son of Vulcan. I By Celia's Arbour. 
 My Little Girl. Monks of Thelema. 
 
 CaseofMr.Lucraft. The Seamy Side. 
 Golden Butterfiy. I Ten Years' Tenaut. 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 'Twas In Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
 By ^VAI.TER BESAIVT. 
 
 Dorothy Forster. I Uncle Jack. 
 
 Children of Gibeon. | Herr Paulus. 
 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 
 The Captains' Room. 
 
 All In a Garden Fair. 
 
 The World Went Very Well Then. 
 
 For Faith and Freedom. 
 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 
 The Bell of St. Paul's. [ The Holv Rose. 
 
 Arniorel of Lyonesse. | The Ivory Gate. 
 
 St. Katherine's by the Tower. 
 
 Verbena Camellia Stephanotis. 
 
 By-SIIEESIiK Y BEAUCIIABIF. 
 
 Grantley Grange. 
 
 By A1TIBBO.se BIERC'E. 
 In the Midst of Life. 
 
 By FREDERICK BOAr,E. 
 Camp Notes. | Savage Life. 
 
 Chronicles of No-man's Land. 
 
 By BRET IIARTE. 
 Callfornian Stories. | Gabriel Conroy. 
 An Heiress of Red Dog. I Flip. 
 
 The Luck of Roaring Camp. Maruia. 
 A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 By IIAROED BRYDGE^. 
 Uncle Sam at Home. 
 
 By ROBERT BIJCIIA1V4N. 
 
 The Martyrdom of 
 
 Madeline. 
 Annan Water. 
 The New Abelard. 
 Matt. 
 The Heir of Llnne. 
 
 The Shadow of the 
 
 Sword. 
 A Child of Nature. 
 God and the Man. 
 Love Me for Ever. 
 Foxglove Manor. 
 The Master of the Mine. 
 
 By IIAIil^ CAIIVE. 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 A Son of Hagar. | The Deemster. 
 
 By Coiiiniander tJAlTIERON. 
 The Cruise of the "Black Prince." 
 By Mrs. EOVETT CAITIERON. 
 Deceivars Ever. | Juliet's Guardian, 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Two-Shilling Novels— continued. 
 By Ai;»'Jl'|i\ C'l^AKK. 
 For the Love of a Lass. 
 
 By iUis. AKC IggClt C'l-IVE. 
 
 Paul Ferroll. 
 
 Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife. 
 
 Bf ITIAt;iiAKg<:i\ ft'OaSBAIV. 
 The Cure of Souls. 
 
 By C. AI.I>»T«IV C'«B-«.Si\'M. 
 The Bar Sinister. 
 
 Sweet Anna Page. | Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 Fight with Fortune. | Village Comedy. 
 Sweet and Twenty. | You Play me False. 
 Blacksmith and Scholar. | Frances. 
 By ^Vll.Itlli t'OI>rMI\M. 
 
 My Miscellanies. 
 Woman In White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 "1 Say No." 
 The Evil Genius. 
 Little Novels. 
 Legacy of Gain. 
 Blind Love, 
 
 Armadale, 
 After Dark. 
 No Name. 
 Antonina. | Basil. 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 Miss or Mrs ? 
 Mew Magdalen. 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 Law and the Lady 
 The Two Destinies 
 Haunted Hotel. 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 
 By n. J. C01.«tUflS«>liIV. 
 Every Inch a Soldier. 
 
 By DIITTOIV COOK. 
 Leo. I Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 By €,. EOBEKT CieAB>B>«M:»i. 
 ProDhet of the Great Smoky Mountains. 
 
 Byi?aA'B"r CRliM. 
 Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 By B. n. tKOICEK. 
 Pretty Miss Neville, i Bird of Passage. 
 Diana Barrington. 1 Proper Pride. 
 "To Let." I A Family Likeness. 
 
 By ^V. i^VPf.ES.— Hearts of Gold. 
 
 By AI.l»«OIVI»iK l)AfJi>E r. 
 The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation. 
 By KBiAi^iMBiW BJAWWOtV. 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 By JAiTIEW 1)E lUHff-T.BC. 
 A Castle in Spain. 
 
 By J. BiEia'aa i>ebeweivt. 
 Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers. 
 
 By tllARBvEW OK'BiEIX.S. 
 Sketches by Boz. I Oliver Twist. 
 Pickwick Papers. | Nicholas Nickleby, 
 
 By BICK nOIVOVAN. 
 The Man Hunter. | Caught at Lastl 
 Tracked and Taken. | Wanted ! 
 Who Poisoned Hetty Duncan? 
 The Man from Manchester. 
 A Detective's Triumplis. 
 In the Grip of the Law. 
 From Information Received. 
 Tracked to Doom. | Link by Link. 
 Suspicion Aroused. 
 By iMi-H. ArVME E»WA FC8>BCJ*I. 
 A Point of Honour. 1 Archie Lovell. 
 By M. BETIBAlM-EMWAHtW.S. 
 Felicia. ! Kitty. 
 
 By EBAV. E«GB.E«TOIV.-Roxy. 
 By «. IWAIVViiiLiE FEINI^. 
 
 Ibe Mew UistresB. 
 
 Two Shilling Novki.s— fc/id'iiKccf. 
 
 B«y B»EK«:;V Ffl'a'Z41 KBEAB.D. 
 Bella Donna. I Polly. 
 
 Never Forgotten. I Fatal Zerp. 
 The Second Mrs. TillotGon. 
 Seventy-five Brooke Street. 
 The Lady of Erantome. 
 BSy P. FBTK«EB£AB.» and others. 
 Strange Secrets. 
 
 AB.gtANV B>E FONB8B.AI\«iB'«'- 
 Filthy Lucre. 
 
 IBy ««. E. FIIAIVl'Ba,B,OrV. 
 Olympia. I Queen Cophttna. 
 
 One by One. King or Knave? 
 
 A Real Queen. | Romances of Law, 
 By BJABOB.O t- R«BiB>E Bt B rti . 
 Seth's Brother's Wife. | Lawton Girl. 
 t»r«'f. by Sir BiAliTfl.E FBCBiBtE. 
 Pandurang Harl. 
 IflABIV B'-aSBrtU KI.Bi.- Oneof Two. 
 
 BSv B<:i>\VAI«B> «,iABCBCEI"l'. 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 By <;3B,aSKKT OAUIi. 
 A Strange Manuscript. 
 
 By «'BMAa£g.E« OIBBOIV, 
 Robin Gray. i In Honour Bouiid, 
 
 Fancy Free. Flower of Forest. 
 
 For Lack of Gold. Braes of Yarrow. 
 What will the The Golden 3hatt. 
 
 World Say? Of High Degree. 
 
 In Love and War. Mead and Stream. 
 For the King. Loving a Dream. 
 
 In Pastures Green. A Hard Knot. 
 Queen of Meadow. Heart's Delight. 
 A Heart's Problem. Blood-Money. 
 The Dead Heart, i 
 
 By WBa.B-BAIIB ^BB.BERT. 
 Dr. Austin's Guests. I James Duke. 
 The Wizard of the Mountain. 
 
 B£y F:BSIVE<:ST <;B.AI\VBB.a-E. 
 The Lost Heiress. | The Fossicker. 
 By BIEIVaSV « BSIC VBB.I.E. 
 A Noble Woman. | Nikanor. 
 
 BSy t!B-;4;aB. tf,il£flFFlTBI. 
 Corlnthia Marazion. 
 
 By JOBBIV BBABKEBS'rO^J. 
 Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck. 
 
 Biy ANBSBeaOW BB ABiE.B B».\ %'. 
 Every-Day Papers. 
 
 SSy S.a«ly a>B'S<'B<'ir« BBAICt>V. 
 Paul Wynter's Sacrifice. 
 
 By TBBOIIBAW BaAliE>V. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 |{y .1. Bta<:BSAVBtl'K BBA B^^VOi^ S>. 
 The Tenth Earl. 
 
 BSy JIB.BAIV IB A MTIBOB? Hi B \ 
 Garth. I Sebastian Stromo. 
 
 EUica Quentin. Dust. 
 
 Fortune's Fool. Beatrix Randolph. 
 
 Miss Cadogna. I Love or a Name. 
 David Poindcxter's Disappearance. 
 The Spectre of the Camera. 
 
 BCy Mil- ABTBB&TaS IBEI^I*!>(. 
 Ivan de Biron, , 
 
 Ky BlEi>SCV IBEKITaAIV. J 
 A Leading Lady. • 
 
 fltv iet<:AB»4»IV IBII.Bv. 
 Zambra the Detective. 
 Bt .aOBBrv BB a BiBi.— Treason-Felony, 
 
 By Mv». CANBIEl, »OEV. 
 The Lover's Creed. j 
 
CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 T"'o-Shilling Novels— fO'i/i'iKfrf. 
 
 By mvs. HEOilViE JIIOOJPKK. 
 The House of Faby. 
 
 By TI4^B&1<: IBOPIi.IIV». 
 'Twixt Love and Duty. 
 
 tSv lUiM. BaaL>rV4wtCKFOCCV. 
 A Maiden ail Forlorn. 
 In Durance Yilo. I A Mental Struggle. 
 Marvel. I A Modern Circe. 
 
 Bv iTii-s. AiiFEsico laurvT. 
 
 Thoriiicroft's Model. I Self-Condemned. 
 That Other Person. | Leaden Casket. 
 
 By .SS'^ArV JirVtJIiliOW. 
 Fated to bo Free. 
 WM. J AMKCiOIV.-My Dead Self. 
 
 By IIAKKIBiTT JAV. 
 Dark Colleen. | Queen of Connaught. 
 
 BSy IfEAKK B£S:K!«iIlA \V. 
 Colonial Facts and Fictions. 
 
 BSy as. ASBIi: BiBNfi. 
 A Drawn Game. | Passion's Slave. 
 "The Wearing of the Green." 
 Bell Barry. 
 By JWBEirV B.r;vS.-The Lindsays. 
 
 By Bi. BiVNN B.BIVTOfS'. 
 Patricia Kcmbali. I Paston Carew. 
 World Well Lost. "My Love I" 
 Under which Lord? 1 lone. 
 The Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
 With a Silken Thread. 
 The Rebel of the Family. 
 Sowing the Wind. 
 
 By BBENBV ^V. LUCY. 
 Gideon Fieyce. 
 
 BSy jiJS'rarv iticI'ajjtibv. 
 
 A Fair Saxon. I Donna Quixote. 
 
 Llnley Rochford. Maid of Athens, 
 
 Miss Misanthrope. | Camiola. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 By JIlKi^Ea 1TIA«'«'«»I.B.. 
 Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet. 
 
 BJy A<swB<:s mAvannHnn.t.. 
 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 RiATBBAESBrVE S. ITBA4;nt-'«BB>. 
 The Evil Eye. | Lost Rosn, 
 
 By W. SI. MAS.I.O<.;ai. 
 The New Republic. 
 A Romance of the Nineteenth Century. 
 
 55y Bf-B-OSiKIVd't; inABJ:agVA'r. 
 Op;n! Sesame! | Fighting the Air. 
 A Harvest of Wild Oats. 
 Written in Fire. 
 
 JSy J. i^aAfSTICKI^IIAlV. 
 Haifa-dozen Daughters. 
 By I£BANa>B<:i£ MATTafiEWS. 
 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
 By B.fc<HVAaSi> RSE8SB5BC;ii. 
 The Man who was Good. 
 
 By JEAtV iriaiSWS.BCITIA?^.-*. 
 Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion. 
 
 By ffBi-s. iTa«a.E.*iwoisTaa. 
 
 Hathercourt Rectory. 
 
 BSv .B. »<:. ITBSJBJBJOt'Bi.. 
 Stories Weird and Wonderful. 
 The Dead Man's Secret. 
 From the Bosom of the Deep. 
 
 <?> i»aaJB?KAV a»u! BiEJSUAIV. 
 One Traveller P.eturns. 
 Faal Jones'? All^g, | The Bishops' Bible. 
 
 Two-Shili-Ing Novels — continued. 
 
 Bv a>. (i;aitsa.<^Tai<: itEiraeBSAv. 
 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 
 Hearts. 
 
 Way of the World. 
 
 Cynic Fortune. 
 
 A Model Father. 
 Joseph's Coat, 
 Coals of Fire, 
 Val Strange. 
 A Life's Atonement. 
 By the Gate of the Sea. 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 First Person Singular. 
 Boo JViartin's Little Girl. 
 
 By BBKrVSaV lygaTKUAV. 
 A Game of Bluff. | A Song of Sixpence. 
 
 BSy BBlh^ai'; Nfi.^^UKT. 
 "Bail Up!" I Ur. Bernard St. Vincent. 
 
 E?y AB.Sl'E O'gS ArVB.«rV. 
 The Unforeseen. | Chance? or Fate? 
 
 i5y «eois<,;es oaa.'VET. 
 
 Dr. Rameau. i Last Love. | Weird Gift. 
 
 BSy l?E»-s. ODiBB'BBAN'B'. 
 Whlteladies. | The Primrose Path, 
 
 The Greatest Heiress in England. 
 BSy ITBis. flEOBEEilT O-BEEBB^BiV. 
 Phoebe's Fortunes. 
 
 BJy OUB3>A. 
 Held in Bondage. \ Two Little Wooden 
 
 Strathmore, 
 Chandos. i Id alia. 
 Under Two Flags. 
 CecilCastlemaine's 
 
 Gage. 
 Tricotrin. | Puck. 
 Folic Farine. 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 Pascarol. 
 
 Signa. [ine. 
 
 Princess Naprax- 
 In a Winter City. 
 Ariadne 
 
 Shoes. 
 Friendship. 
 Moths. I Bimb'. 
 Pipistrello. [mune, 
 A Village Com- 
 Wanda. | Othmar. 
 Frescoes. 
 In Maremma, 
 Guilderoy. 
 Rufnno. I Syrlln. 
 Santa Barbara. 
 Ouida's Wisdom, 
 
 Wit, and Pathos. 
 
 BBABSWABEET ACJIVES I'AL'E, 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 asy .B A, TEES B»AVIV. 
 Bentinck's Tutor. By Proxy.] 
 
 Murphy's Master. 
 A County Family. 
 At Her Mercy. 
 Cecil's Tryst. 
 ClyffardsofCIyffe. 
 Foster Brothers. 
 Found Dead. 
 Best of Husbands. 
 Walter's Word. 
 Halves. 
 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 Humorous Stories. 
 £200 Reward. 
 Marine Residence. 
 Mirk Abbey. 
 
 Under One Roof. 
 High Spirits. 
 Carlyon's Year, 
 From Exile. 
 For Cash Only. 
 Kit. 
 
 The Canon's Ward 
 Talk of the Town. 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 A Perfect Treasure. 
 What He Cost Her. 
 Confidential Agen t. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 The Burnt Million. 
 I Sunny Stories, 
 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 
 A Woman's Vengeance. 
 
 The Family Scapegrace. 
 
 Gwendoline's Harvest. 
 
 Like Father, Like Son. 
 
 Married Beneath Him. 
 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 
 Less Black than We're Painted. 
 
 Some Private Views. 
 
 A Grape from a Thorn. 
 
 The Mystery of Mirbridge. 
 
 The Word and the Will. 
 
 A Prince of the Bloc<i. 
 
32 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO &. VVINDUS. 
 
 Two-Shilling Novels — continued. 
 
 Lady Lovelace. 
 
 By KDOAle A. POE. 
 
 The Mystery of Marie Roget. 
 
 liy Ittis. CAMPBEI.!. PKAED. 
 The Romance of a Station! 
 The Soul of Countess Adrian. 
 
 By E. c. vasatE. 
 
 Yalentina. [ The Foreigners. 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. 1 Gerald. 
 BSy KaC'HAa?,I> I'llVtE. 
 
 Miss Maxwell's Affections. 
 
 By 1'ItABL.ES aSEAWE. 
 
 It is Mever Too Late to Mend. 
 
 Christie Johnstone. | Double Marriage. 
 
 Put Yourself in His Place. 
 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth, 
 
 The Course of True Love. | The Jilt. 
 
 Autobiography of a Thief. 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. | Foul Play. 
 
 The Wandering Heir. | Hard Cash. 
 
 Singleheart and Doublefacc. 
 
 Good Stories of Men and other Animals. 
 
 Peg Woffington. I A Simpleton. 
 
 Griffith Gaunt. I Readiana. 
 
 A Perilous Secret. 1 A Woman-Hater. 
 
 By Mrs. J. H. IC" ^ESSa.ai. 
 Weird Stories. 1 Fairy Water. 
 Her Mother's Darling. 
 Prince of Wales's Garden Party. 
 The Uninhabiied House. 
 The Mystery in Palace Gardens. 
 The Nun's CUrse. | Idle Tales. 
 
 By AMEIjIE rives. 
 Barbara Dering. 
 
 By F. W. ROBINSOIV. 
 Women are Strange. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
 By JAIVIE* aSUNCIlTIAIV. 
 Skippers and Shellbacks. 
 Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart. 
 Schools and Scholars. 
 
 By W. €a.ABE8i KUSSEliL.. 
 Round the Galley Fire. 
 On the Fo'k'sle Head. 
 In the Middle Watch. 
 A Voyage to the Cape. 
 A Book for the Hammock. 
 The Mystery of the "Ocean Star." 
 The Romance of Jenny Harlowe. 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone on a Wide Wide Sea. 
 <,)I^OR«E AUWrSTlS ^SAIiA. 
 Gaslight and Daylight. 
 
 asy joaaix »AaJiva>ERS. 
 
 Guy Waterman. | Two Dreamers. 
 
 The Lion in the Path. 
 
 li 64ATaBAHIi\E SAUIVDEKS. 
 
 Joan Merryweather. I Heart Salvage. 
 The High Mills. | Sebastian. 
 
 Margaret and Elizabeth. 
 
 By G-EOK<SE at. SIiTI«. 
 Rogues and Vagabonds. 
 The Ring o' Bells. 
 Mary Jane's Memoirs. 
 Mary Jane Married. 
 Tales of To-day. | Dramas of Life. 
 Tinkletop's Crime. 
 Zeph. I My Two Wives. 
 
 Two-Shilling Novels— io;i(i>i!(frf. 
 By ABTIlUlt » liE IX' JHir,E V. 
 
 A Match in the Dark. 
 
 By HA^VL-EV SMART. 
 
 Without Love or Licence. 
 
 By T. ^V. Sa»Ea«MT. 
 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 
 The Golden Hoop. I By Devious Ways. 
 HoodY/inked, &c. | Back to Life. 
 The Loudwater Tragedy. 
 Surge's Romance. 
 
 Bv R. A. STEKIVBAEE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By R. EOUAS STEVENSOIV. 
 New Arabian Nights. | Prince Otto. 
 BV BERTH A THOMA!?;. 
 Cressida. ] Proud Maisie. | Violin-player. 
 By WAl^TER TaaORNBHat V. 
 Tales for Marines.] Old Stories Re-told. 
 T. AI>OL.a>iaU!9$ TR0E1.01>E. 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 By E. Ea.EAIVOR ra£«X.IiOI»E. 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 Anne Furness. I Mabel's Progress. 
 By AIVTfS®I\V TROL,ai4»a»E. 
 Frau Frohmann. I Kept in the Dark. 
 Marlon Fay. | John Caldigate. 
 
 Way We Live Now. | Land-Leaguers. 
 The American Senator. 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
 The Golden Lion of Granpere. 
 
 By jr. T. TBOWBRia>€iE. 
 Farnell's Folly. 
 
 By IVAN TURGEIVIEFF, &c. 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 By MARK TWAIiV. 
 A Pleasure Trip on the Continent. 
 The Gilded Age. | Huckleberry Finn. 
 Mark Twain's Sketches. 
 Tom Sawyer. | A Tramp Abroad. 
 
 The Stolen White Elephant. 
 Life on the Mississippi. 
 The Prince and the Pauper. 
 A Yankee at the Court of King Arthur. 
 By t'. C;. FRASEIt.TVTEEK. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 By SARAH TVTI^ER. 
 The Bride's Pass. I Noblesse Oblige. 
 Buried Diamonds. | Disappeared. 
 Saint Mungo's City. 1 Huguenot Family, 
 Lady Bell. | Blackball Ghosts. 
 
 What She Came Through. 
 Beauty and the Beast. 
 Citoyenne Jaqueline. 
 
 Bv AABS<»N WATSOrV mid 
 B.iEa.IAS IVASSERMArVIV. 
 The Marquis of Carabas. 
 
 By WII.EIAM WESTAl.l.. 
 Trust-Money. 
 
 Bv Mrs. E. II. IVIELIAlflSOIV. 
 A Child V/idow. 
 
 By J. S. WINTER. 
 Cavalry Life. I Regimental Legends. 
 
 By H. F. VVOOB. 
 The Passenger from Scotland Yard. 
 The Englishman of the Rue Cain. 
 B5y I.ndv W«00.-Sabina. 
 CEB.BA B'ARItEBt WOOEB^EV. 
 Rachel Armstrong; or, Love & Theology 
 
 By EBMBJNB YATES. 
 The Forlorn Hope. | Land at Last. 
 Castaway. 
 
 OGDEN, SMALE AND CO, t.«««tTKD, PRINTERS, GREAT SAFFRON HILL, BiG. 
 
ESTABLISHED 1851. 
 
 BIRKBECK BANK, 
 
 Southampton Buildings, Chancery Lane, London. 
 
 TWO-AND-A-HALF per CENT. INTEREST allowed on DEPOSITS, 
 repayable on demand. 
 
 TWO per CENT, on CURRENT ACCOUNTS, on the minimum 
 monthly balances, when not drawn below £ioo. 
 
 STOCKS SHARES, and ANNUITIES purchased and sold- 
 
 SAVINGS DEPARTMENT. 
 
 . For the encouragement of Thrift, the Bank receives small sums on 
 deposit, and allows Interest monthly on each completed £i. 
 
 "BABY'S 
 SOAP." 
 
 BIRKBECK BUILDING SOCIETY. 
 
 HOW TO PURCHASE A HOUSE for Two Guineas per Month. 
 
 BIRKBECK FREEHOLD LAND SOCIETY. 
 
 HOW TO PURCHASE A PLOT OF LAND ^or Five Shillings 
 per Month. 
 The BIRKBECK ALMANACK, with full particulars, post free. 
 FRANCIS RAVENSCROFT, Manager. 
 
 A Superior, Mild, Pure REMELTED (not " MILLED'7 
 
 Soap, prepared specially for the INFANT'S FIRST SKIN. 
 
 Delicately perfumed and imparts the fragrance of VIOLETS. 
 
 Generally useful for 
 
 CHILDREN OR ADULTS WITH TENDER SKIN 
 
 Price 6d. By Post for Stamps. 
 ** BAUER'S HEAD (ANdIbAThTsOAP." 
 
 A Pure REMELTED fnot " MILLED ") Refined and 
 
 Perfumed Soap. 
 Cleanses. Strengthens and promotes the GROWTH of 
 HAIR, removing scurf and producing Healthy Action of 
 the SKIN. 
 A. Luxury for Bath and Toilet. 
 
 An Excellent Shaving Soap. 
 Price «d. By Post for Jliianips. 
 " This Soap -jill be welcomed and extensively used as a pre- 
 f^able substitute for the numerous irritatine Shampoo 
 washes, as it not only imparts a most pleasant and refreshing 
 sen-^ation to the Skin, but a peculiar Softness and BrilUancy 
 to the Hair."— The Court Circular. 
 
 Sold by all Chemists, Perfumers and Stores. Prepared only by 
 
 OSBORNE, BAUER & CHEESEMAN, Perfumers to the Queen, 
 
 Proprietors of" Jnconiparnble SmelUng !i«alti; " (as supplied to the Queen), 
 
 "Glycerine and Honey Jellv." •• Ruby Lip Balm." " ChllliUne," or 
 
 Chilblain Jelly, "Pure Oatmeal Soap," &c., &c. 
 
 19, GOLDEN SQUARE, REGENT STREET, LONDON, W. 
 
 [394] 
 
 "HEAD 
 SOAP." 
 
 (Registered Title.} 
 
ii 
 
 §00 
 
 ^8 
 
 O 7^ 
 CO 
 
 Q -, I/) -> 
 
 m> 
 
 CTcrfS ^ 
 
 00 o — ;i3 
 _ T^D rn 
 ^ •" CD 7D 
 
 
 
 
 O 
 C o 
 
 11 
 
 ■J 
 
 
BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 PECIALITIES 
 
 Sent Ab\ 
 FROi 
 
 rH:oivi:iLS 
 
 t?a\ Strangeways, 
 
 MANCHESTER. [i894. 
 
 [ACKSON'S BENZINE RECT. 
 
 ' At 6d., Is. and 2s. 6d. ; by Parcels Post, 3d. extra. 
 For taking out Grease, Oil, Paint, &c., from all absorbent fabrics. Dress or 
 Drapery, Kids, Bocks, and Manuscript it cleans with equal success. 
 
 HXGKSSrr AlATARD 
 
 AT THE 
 
 WORLD'S FAIR, CHICAGO, 1893. 
 
 H.R.H. 
 
 PRINCE 
 
 ALBERT'S 
 
 CACHOUX 
 
 Price 
 
 SIXPENCE. 
 
 Inland, 
 
 by Post, 
 
 SEVENPENCE. 
 
 Dainty Morsels in the form of Tiny Silver Bullets, which 
 dissolve in the mouth and surrender to the breath their 
 hidden fragrance. 
 
 TACKSON'S Chinese Diamond CEMENT 
 
 
 At 6d. and Is. ; by Inland Post for Is. 2d. 
 
 For Mending every article of Ornament or Furniture, Glass, China, 
 Earthenware and What Not. 
 
 TACKSON'S RUSMA. 
 
 ^ At Is. ; by Inland Post for Is. 2d. 
 
 For Removal of Hair from the Arms, Neck or Face, without the use of the razor, 
 as well as Sunburn or Tan from the Skin. 
 
 Sold by the Principal Dr uggists at Home and Abroad. 
 
 rf TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT TT T T T f 
 
ONE OF THE THINGS 
 
 WE ARE APT TO GRUMBLE AT 
 
 IN FRANCE, 
 
 The providing of on e^s own soap at hotels ! 
 Permit me to remark thai this is one 
 of those things 
 
 THEY DO MANAGE BETTER IN FRANCE 
 
 than we do here. I am strongly of opinion 
 that every one wlxen travelling should 
 earry Ids or her oivn soap as one ta.kes 
 one's own haVr-hmvsh or sponge. It is 
 miieh more cleanly , and there can he no 
 better providing in this respect for the hot 
 sun and ivann winds and dust of travel 
 than a cahe of 
 
 "PE ARS" 
 
 whieh^ undev such ciremnstanees, I have 
 found very efficient in the ptrevention of 
 sunburn and allied annoyances. 
 
 FROM AN ARTICLE BY 
 
 Dr. Andrew WILSON,F.R.S.E., 
 
 Locturer on Physiology and Health under the *• Combe Trust; " 
 Editor of "Health."