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 172, ST. JOHN STRBET, B.C.
 
 STRETTON. 
 
 % Itoiwl. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY KINGSLEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "GEOFFREY HAJ1LYN," " RAVENSHOE,' 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1869. 
 
 [All rights reserved.]
 
 
 STBETTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Does Nature sympathize with disaster? Of 
 all poets' fancies, that is the most foolish. Is 
 ' ' the wind to he howling in turret and tree ' : 
 whenever disaster, and sin, and terror are 
 walking abroad ? We should have fine wea- 
 ther, I trow, were that the case. 
 
 The crystal purity of a perfect evening at 
 the end of April was settling down over the 
 beautiful valley which lies between Shrewsbury 
 and Ludlow ; on the one hand, the Longmynd 
 rolled its great sheets of grouse-moor and 
 scarps of rock up, fold beyond fold ; while, on 
 the other, the sharp peak of Caradoc took the 
 evening, and smiled upon his distant brother, 
 the towering Plinlimmon ; while Plinlimmon, 
 in the West, with silver infant Severn streaming 
 down his bosom, watched the sinking sun after 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 k 2 STRETTON. 
 
 Caradoc and Longrnynd had lost it ; and when 
 it sank, blazed out from his summit a signal to 
 his brother watchers, and, wrapping himself in 
 purple robes, slept in majestic peace. 
 
 Down below in the valley, among the mea- 
 dows, the lanes, and the fords, it was nearly 
 as peaceful and quiet as it was aloft on the 
 mountain-tops ; and under the darkening 
 shadows of the rapidly leafing elms, you 
 could hear, it was so still, the cows grazing 
 and the trout rising in the river. Day was 
 yet alive in some region aloft in the air, loftier 
 than the summits of Plinlimmon or Caradoc, 
 for the democratic multitude of the stars had 
 not been able as vet to show themselves 
 through the train of glorious memories which 
 the abdicated king had left behind him. The 
 curfew came booming up the valley sleepily, 
 and ceased. It was a land lapped in order and 
 tradition ; good landlords, good tenants, well- 
 used labourers, if ever there were such in late 
 years in England. Surely a land of peace ! 
 
 Who comes here, along the path, through the 
 growing clover ? Who is this woman who walks 
 swiftly, bareheaded under the dew ? Who is this
 
 STRETTON. 
 
 strange-looking woman, with an Indian shawl 
 half-fallen off her shoulders, with clenched fists, 
 one of which she at times beats on her beauti- 
 ful head ? Can it be Mrs. Evans, of the Castle, 
 or her ghost ? Or is it her in the flesh, and 
 has she gone mad ? 
 
 Such were the questions put to one another 
 by a young pair of lovers, who watched her 
 from beneath a plantation where they were 
 innocently rambling. The young man said, 
 " That is a queer sight for a fellow courting," 
 and the young woman said, " There was too 
 much love-making there, I doubt." And the 
 young man said, " How about the banns next 
 Sunday '?" And the young woman said, " Have 
 your own way about it, and don't plague me," 
 which I suppose, meant " Yes." 
 
 We must follow this awful, swift-walking 
 figure of poor Mrs. Evans, and watch her. 
 
 She was an exceedingly beautiful woman, in 
 exact age forty-one, with that imperial dome- 
 like head, and splendid carriage of that same 
 head, which the Merionethshire people say is a 
 spcclalltc of the Merediths, though I have seen 
 it elsewhere. If you had told her that she had
 
 4 STBETTON. 
 
 Celtic blood in her veins, she would probably 
 have denied it ; but she was certainly behaving 
 in a most Celtic manner now. Anything more 
 un-Norman than her behaviour now, cannot 
 l)o conceived. The low, inarticulate moans 
 — the moans which mean so much more 
 than speech— the wild, swift walk, the gesticu- 
 lation, the clenched fists, all told of Celtic 
 excitability ; yet she was no Celt. It is only 
 the old, stale story of Illbernis ipsis Hlber- 
 niores. She was behaving like a Celt because 
 she had been brought up among them ; but 
 there was a depth of anger and fury in her 
 heart which must have come from the conquer- 
 ing race. 
 
 As she neared her husband's castle, she grew 
 more calm, adjusted her shawl, and put her 
 hair straight ; for she feared him, gentle as he 
 was. He would have lain down so that she 
 should walk over him ; but he would have been 
 angry with her had he seen her in her late 
 disorder. And she had never seen his wrath but 
 once, and that was towards his own son ; and 
 she did not care to face it, for it was as deep and 
 passionate as his love. So she bound up her
 
 STRETT0N. 
 
 hair, left off clenching her fists, pulled her 
 shawl straight, and, stepping in by the flower- 
 garden, let herself in by the postern, and ap- 
 peared before him, as he stalked up and down 
 the library. 
 
 "Is it over, darling of my heart?" he 
 said. 
 
 "It is all over," she said, spreading her 
 ten white fingers before her. 
 
 " And how is she ?" he asked. 
 " She is dead !" answered Mrs. Evans. 
 "Dead! dead! dead!" she was going on 
 hysterically, when he caught her in his arms 
 and kissed her into quiescence. 
 
 "Be quiet," he said; "there is trouble 
 enough without more. What have we done 
 that God should afflict us like this ? Is the 
 child alive?" 
 
 "Yes; but it cannot live," replied Mrs. 
 Evans. " It is a weak thing : but God for- 
 give us, there is no doubt about its father." 
 
 In the house of Evans, the qualities of 
 valour in war, of faith to the death with 
 friends, and of strict probity towards the 
 women of the estate, were always considered
 
 G 
 
 STRETTON. 
 
 to lie hereditary — more especially the last 
 quality. The servants in the family were always 
 taken from some family resident in the 11,000 
 acres which made the estate. Such of them 
 as were traditionally supposed to require the 
 quality of good looks, the ladies' -maids and 
 the pad-grooms, were always selected from 
 three or four families notorious for those quali- 
 ties. Again, even in such a strong family as 
 the Evanses, nurses were often required, and 
 were selected always, if possible, from one of 
 those three or four families : so that, in fact, 
 most of the servants, male and female, were 
 actual foster-brothers of some one member of 
 the house. The idea of any wrong was ac- 
 tually incredible ; but it had come, and there 
 was wild weeping over it. 
 
 The prettiest girl of all these good-looking 
 families had been the very last admitted into 
 the Castle, as companion and lady's-maid to 
 that splendid beauty, Eleanor Evans. Admit- 
 ted, do I say '? She had been admitted when 
 she was a wailing infant of a week old, as 
 foster-sister to the equally wailing Eleanor : 
 for Mrs. Evans had not been so lucky as usual,
 
 STKETTON. 7 
 
 and had kept about a little too long. Elsie 
 grew up almost as much at Stretton as she did 
 at her own cottage, and had been as free of 
 the Castle as was her foster-sister Eleanor. 
 
 Perhaps, because she had had only one 
 nurse while Eleanor had two — who can say? 
 she grew up very delicate and small, though 
 very beautiful. Eleanor (I was going to say 
 Aunt Eleanor, but must not as yet) grew up so 
 physically strong that the wiser old ladies, 
 after looking at her through their spectacles, 
 pronounced that she was very splendid, but 
 would get coarse. We shall sec about that 
 hereafter. 
 
 It was on the eve of Waterloo that the gentle 
 little maid was fully accredited for the first 
 time to her full powers of being thoroughly 
 bullied by Eleanor. " Now, you little fool, I 
 have got you, body and bones," said Eleanor, 
 when they went up-stairs together, " and I'll 
 make you wish you were dead in a week;" 
 which made the little maid laugh, and yet cry ; 
 upon which great Eleanor bent down over her 
 and kissed her. " What is the matter with 
 you, you little idiot ?" she said. "You want
 
 8 STKETT0N. 
 
 bullying, and you shall be bullied. Come, up, 
 and take my hair down." And the little maid 
 did as she told her. 
 
 " Set all the doors open," said Eleanor, 
 " that I may walk to the end of the corridor 
 and back. A dog would not sleep to-night. 
 Oh, Charles ! brother of my heart, acquit thy- 
 self well ! My father and mother are praying 
 for the heir of the house, but I — I, girl, cannot 
 pray ! Why are you weeping, girl ? ' ' 
 
 " I was thinking of Master Charles and the 
 battle, miss." 
 
 " What is he to you ? How dare you cry 
 while I am dry-eyed ! Idiot ! Good Duke ! 
 Good Duke ! Tarre ! He should wait behind 
 Soignies for Blucher ; but he knows. In front 
 of Soignies there arc open downs. Child, why 
 do you weep? Is it for your brothers, who 
 have followed mine'? I do not weep for my 
 brother " 
 
 Yes, but she did though. Broke down all in 
 one instant, while the words were yet in her 
 mouth. But it was soon over. She was soon 
 after walking up and down the corridor, with her 
 hair down, speculating on the chances of the war.
 
 STRETTON. 9 
 
 Late at night she came to her father and 
 mother's bedroom. They had not gone to bed, 
 but sat waiting for news, which could not pos- 
 sibly come for a week. " Mother," she said, " I 
 can do nothing with my poor little maid. She 
 has got hysterical about her two brothers at 
 the war, and keeps accusing poor Charles, who, 
 I am sure, never tempted them." 
 
 " What ?" said Mrs. Evans, sharply. 
 
 " Keeps on accusing Charles, in the most 
 senseless manner. I am sure " 
 
 " Go and sit with your father," said Mrs. 
 Evans. " Engage his attention ; keep him 
 amused. I'll see to the girl." 
 
 She went and saw to the girl ; but took un- 
 commonly good care that no one else did. She 
 was an hour with her. When she came back 
 to her husband's bedroom she found Eleanor 
 sitting up, with a map of Belgium before her, 
 chatting comfortably, but solemnly, about the 
 movements of the armies. 
 
 She had seen the girl, she said ; and the girl 
 was hysterical about her brothers, and accused 
 Charles of leading them to the war. The girl was 
 weak in her health, and would be always weak.
 
 1 STRETTON. 
 
 The girl bad always been a fool, and apparently 
 intended to remain one. Tbe girl must bave 
 change of air and scene. She bad an aunt at 
 Carlisle, who kept a stationer's shop. Tbe girl 
 must go there for a time ; for there was trouble 
 enough -without her tantrums. Charles, with 
 his furious, headlong way of doing things, 
 ■was almost certainly killed, &c, &c 3 with a sly, 
 kind eye on her husband and her daughter. 
 
 They both were on her in a moment, at suph 
 a supposition. She, when she saw that she 
 bad led them on the wrong scent, recovered her 
 good temper, and allowed them to beat her from 
 pillar to post, while they proved that the allies 
 would carry everything before them, and that 
 nothing could happen to Charles (except ac- 
 cidents of war, which arc apt to be numerous). 
 Yet, complacent as she was, there were times 
 when her hands caught together and pulled one 
 another, as though the right hand would have 
 palled the lingers up by tbe roots. These were 
 tbe times when she was saying to herself, about 
 her own darling son, "He had better die there ! 
 he bad better die there !" 
 
 For tbe rest nothing was to be noted in this
 
 STRETTON. 11 
 
 lady's behaviour for the present, save that the 
 new lady's-maid was sent to Carlisle, that Mrs. 
 Evans seemed to take the news of Waterloo 
 rather coolly, and that she received her son, now 
 Captain Evans, with extreme coolness on his 
 return from Waterloo, covered with wounds and 
 glory. 
 
 She thought him guilty. Why should she 
 say to him, "Honourable conduct is of more 
 avail than glory?" He was chilled and 
 offended, for he felt himself innocent. 
 
 What was he like at this time? For the 
 present we must take his sister Eleanor's ac- 
 count of him, who says that he was the very 
 image of his son, Eoland, — which must be very 
 satisfactory to the reader. The ladies may like 
 to know, however, by the same authority, that 
 if my friend, Eleanor, is right, and that Charles 
 Evans was like his son Eoland, that he was 
 also, by the same authority, extremely like 
 Antinous. 
 
 Antinous Charles had been brought up with 
 this poor, pretty little maid, Elsie, and he had 
 fallen in love with her, and she with him,
 
 12 STRETT0N. 
 
 which was against the rules of the house of 
 Evans, for she was foster-sister of his sister. 
 They loved like others. In what followed, 
 Charles's own mother was against him, and 
 gave him up as a villain who had transgressed 
 the immutable traditions of the house. One of 
 the girl's hrothers was killed at Waterloo, one 
 came home with Charles, as his regimental 
 servant. Charles gave out that he was going 
 to London ; hut his silly servant came home to 
 Stretton and vaguely let out the fact that 
 Captain Charles had not heen to London at 
 all, hut had been to Carlisle to see his sister, 
 Elsie. 
 
 Mr. Evans's fury was terrible. He wrote in 
 a friendly way to the colonel of Charles's regi- 
 ment, begging him, as an old friend, to recall 
 Charles instantly, and save him from what 
 he feared was a very low intrigue. He sent 
 old Mrs. Gray, the girl's mother, off to Carlisle 
 after her daughter at once, bearing such a 
 letter as made Charles avoid home in return- 
 ing to Chatham, at the peremptory summons 
 of his commanding officer. 
 
 Lei: us say hut little about it. as it is not
 
 STRETTON. 13 
 
 among such painful scenes as this that we shall 
 have to walk together. Charles had not been 
 very long at Carlisle, but he had been too long 
 it seemed. The unhappy girl came home, and 
 was confined in six months' time. She died 
 that night, but the child lingered on, and on. 
 Did Mrs. Evans wish that it should die ? 
 Who can say ? Did she wish the disgrace 
 buried and ended ? Who can say '? I think, 
 however, that she slept none the worse after 
 Mrs. Gray came to her and told her that the 
 child was dead. 
 
 It had been baptized, and so was buried and 
 registered — the illegitimate sen of Elsie Gray ; 
 the sexton patted down the turf, and all the 
 scandal was over and done. Old James Evans 
 said that Charles was now free for a new start, 
 and had better go to India on his roster, and 
 had better not come home first. And so a 
 pale and rather wild-looking young captain 
 paraded his company on the main-deck of the 
 East India Company's ship, The Veda, and 
 sailed for India accordingly. 
 
 " Taking things rather coolly," you say. 
 Why no, but somewhat hotly : yet submitting.
 
 14 STRETTON. 
 
 This young fellow of a captain had violated 
 every traditional rule of his house, and felt 
 guilty. Yet he "was not without sources of in- 
 formation. He dared not face his family in 
 the state of things as they were ; and he dared 
 not see the woman he loved hest in the world. 
 He consoled himself and her by passionate, 
 wild, foolish letters, carefully transmitted, and 
 carefully and tenderly answered, not only to 
 poor Elsie, hut also to his sister Eleanor, whom 
 we shall see again. When unhappy affairs of 
 this kind take place, there are apt to be domes- 
 tic scenes. I will give you one. 
 
 At breakfast, one bright May morning, some 
 two months before the child so soon to die was 
 born, Eleanor had a letter, and was reading 
 it. Her mother looked at her father, and her 
 father looked at her mother, and at last her 
 father, Squire James Evans, spoke. 
 
 " My dear Eleanor you have a letter from 
 your brother Charles. Will you let me read 
 it?" 
 
 "No, I won't," said Eleanor. 
 
 "Is that the way to speak to your father?" 
 said Mrs. Evans.
 
 STEETTON. 15 
 
 " Yes," said Eleanor, " if lie proposes to 
 read letters which are not directed to him. 
 The letter is from Charles to me ; if he had 
 intended to let my father see it, he would have 
 directed it to him. He, on the other hand, 
 has directed it to me, and I mean to keep it to 
 myself." 
 
 Mrs. Evans wept. 
 
 Squire Evans said, " This is well. My son 
 has been a villain, and my daughter backs him 
 up." 
 
 " You do ill to call your son a villain, sir," 
 replied Aunt Eleanor. " Call him fool and 
 coward ; but you do ill, you two, to call him 
 villain." And so Aunt Eleanor, then, by the 
 way, a very beautiful young girl of eighteen, 
 takes up her letter, and scornfully sweeps out 
 of the room, with her nose in the air. Fine 
 times indeed ! 
 
 Poor Elsie Gray was with her mother, as we 
 said, and that devoted woman had more than 
 one trouble on her hands at a time. It turned 
 out now that young Eobert Gray, the soldier- 
 servant of Charles, had quietly, without leave 
 of his commandant, without the slightest
 
 1 6 STRETTON. 
 
 means of supporting her, married a pretty girl 
 two parishes off, and now wrote coolly to his 
 mother from Chatham to announce the fact, 
 and inform his mother that the young lady 
 would come to her for her confinement. 
 
 This child, as Mrs. Gray could tell, was horn 
 at the same time, or nearly, as the other. And 
 the soldier's child lived, while the child of his 
 master died. Little Gray grew up, and grew 
 strong. And we shall have to see a great deal 
 of him in many positions. It was about three 
 weeks after, Mrs. Evans came wringing her 
 hands through the green lanes, lamenting the 
 dishonour of her husband's house and her own, 
 that the other little child wailed itself into 
 silence, into peace, into death, and was heard 
 of no more.
 
 STRKTT0N. 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Was Mrs. Evans sorry ? Who can say ? 
 Those Merediths and Ap-Merediths, who call 
 themselves Celtic, yet are as Norse as they 
 can look at you out of their two eyes, have a 
 singularly un-Celtic trick of concealing emo- 
 tion. Eleanor could not say whether her 
 mother was sorry or glad. 
 
 It was not the custom, in families of that 
 class, for the mother to allude, even in the 
 most distant way, to her daughters on ap- 
 points regarding marriage relations. Mrs. 
 Evans broke through this rule once, and when 
 her daughter and she were alone, said, very 
 quietly, " That child of Gray, the soldier's, is 
 growing strong and hearty. You are old enough 
 to understand that if things had gone right, 
 that child would have called you aunt. His 
 father is the brother of the woman whom you 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 STBJETTON. 
 
 should have called sister, had it not been for 
 the incalculable villany of Charles." 
 
 '• Mother, leave Charles alone. I will not 
 have Charles abused." 
 
 "A most maidenly, daughterly speech," said 
 Mrs. Evans, scornfully. 
 
 "Mother, I mean all duty; but circum- 
 stances alter cases." 
 
 " This is well." said Mrs. Evans. " This is 
 uncommonly well. There is some old cross of 
 the Evans blood coming out here. This is the 
 
 Duchess of N 's blood, I doubt, which is 
 
 now defying her own flesh and blood." 
 
 "Don't talk like that, mother." 
 
 "I will not," replied Mrs. Evans; "bui 
 allow me to tell you that if Lord Ilomerton 
 had heard you utter such atrocious sentiments, 
 he would at once cease his visits, and would 
 not propose.*' 
 
 "Oh, he lias proposed," said Eleanor. " He 
 proposed yesterday." 
 
 "What did he say?" said Mrs. Evans, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Well," said Eleanor, coolly, "he merely, 
 as 1 believe men do (and dreadful fools they
 
 STRETTON. 19 
 
 look when they do it), asked me if lie might 
 consider himself engaged to be married to 
 me?" 
 
 "And what did you say'?'' asked Mrs. 
 Evans. 
 
 " I said that 1 was at a loss to conceive 
 what he had seen in my conduct which induced 
 him to take such an unwarrantable liberty." 
 
 "Good heavens !" said Mrs. Evans. " Then 
 are you off with him ? ' ' 
 
 " I never was on with him that I know of," 
 said Eleanor. " He is a good fellow, and I like 
 him well ; but I don't see why I should marry 
 him. We shouldn't get on. He is not reli- 
 gious, and does not care for his estate." 
 
 " Your influence would have made him care 
 for both his estate and his religion," said Mrs. 
 Evans. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," replied Eleanor. "George 
 is a man, although we never hit it off together." 
 
 " Is it hopeless ?" said Mrs. Evans. " How 
 did you dismiss him ? " 
 
 " Well, I kissed him, and as he went out of 
 the room, I gave him a pat on the back, and I 
 said, ' Go on, George ; go off to Greenwood.
 
 20 STRETTOX. 
 
 There is a girl there, worth iifty of me, who is 
 •lying for you. You would never have made 
 such a fool of yourself about me, if it had not 
 been for our two families.' And then he 
 wanted to kiss me again, but I would not 
 stand that. And so he rode off to Greenwood, 
 and I think you will find that Laura Mostyri 
 will be announced as Lady Homerton next 
 week." 
 
 " You will never be married, at this rate," 
 said Mrs. Evans, biting her lip. 
 
 " Never mean to make such a fool of my- 
 self," replied Eleanor. 
 
 " A woman must marry to get position and 
 station," said Mrs. Evans, looking keenly, and 
 in a puzzled manner, on this radiant young 
 beauty of eighteen. 
 
 "I have both," said Eleanor. " I have the 
 Pulverbatch Farm, and that will bring me in 
 6500 a year, and take up all my time. I tell 
 you that I don't choose to have any husband 
 but one, and he is my brother Charles. Let 
 us drop this perfectly vain conversation, and 
 tell me what you want done about this child." 
 
 Mrs. Evans was beaten by that inexorable,
 
 STRETT0N. 21 
 
 beautiful face. She said, after a pause, " I 
 wish you quietly to be godmother to it, and 
 when I am dead, to look to it. We have done 
 evil enough to that family as it is." 
 
 " Is it to be brought up as a gentleman ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Certainly not," said her mother; "only 
 respectably. I wish you would undertake it 
 for me, for the sight of the child and of the 
 whole of that family is distasteful to me." 
 
 Eleanor said, "Yes," wondering. But when 
 she said yes she meant yes, and she did what 
 was desired of her.
 
 9 2 STRETTON. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The sudden and very lamentable death of 
 Squire James Evans in the bunting-field 
 threw a gloom, not in the mere newspaper 
 acceptation of the term, but in reality, over 
 that part of Shropshire, for nearly a week. 
 He was a most deservedly popular man, and 
 what they wrote on his tomb was every word 
 of it true. He was a good son, a good 
 husband, a good father, a good landlord, a 
 pious churchman, a firm friend, and he died 
 without one single enemy. One little fact was 
 omitted from his tombstone : he died without 
 being reconciled to his son, at least formally. 
 There may have been a reconciliation at heart, 
 and those low. inarticulate moans, as he lay 
 dying in his groom's arms in the ditch, may 
 have been the attempted expression of it; but
 
 STUETTON. 23 
 
 the niouth was loose in death before they were 
 ever uttered. 
 
 Mrs. Evans was not long after him. She 
 was aged and worried, and she moped and 
 brooded until she died. The old clergyman 
 who attended her at the last, left her at the 
 very last with a dissatisfied and rather puzzled 
 face. Eleanor she would not see for the last 
 four days. 
 
 Well, she died. And it took nearly six 
 months to communicate to Squire Charles his 
 most sudden and unexpected succession. He 
 came home at the end of a year, and found 
 Eleanor, his sister, in possession, keeping all 
 things square for him : receiving rents, bullying 
 attorneys, walking up and down among the 
 farms, in a dress which was considered remark- 
 able even in those times, and attending to the 
 wants of the tenants. She had practically 
 given one of the family livings away, quite 
 illegally, though the young curate to whom she 
 gave it, took possession, as a matter of course. 
 On the other hand, she had been rather tight 
 with the tenants on the subject of repairs ; 
 and, it is reported, used the word "humbug,"
 
 24 STRETTON. 
 
 just then coming into fashion, on more than 
 one occasion. They tell an idle tale, those 
 Shropshire folks. They say that she and the 
 steward were standing together on the terrace, 
 when Sir Charles rode up, on his arrival from 
 India ; that the steward said, " Thank heaven, 
 he has come at last." And that Aunt Eleanor 
 said, " I quite agree. Now you and he take 
 the estates in hand, for I am sick of it. And 
 a nice mess you will make of it together, you 
 two." 
 
 They did nothing of the kind, however. The 
 property did rather hetter under the more libe- 
 ral rule of Squire Charles than under the near 
 and close rule of his sister, Eleanor. Women 
 are apt to he very near and mean in business. 
 They will give as few men will give, but they 
 will haggle about sixpence, while they are irri- 
 tating a good tenant. Was not the Antiquary, 
 as near a man as another, upbraided by his 
 usually submissive womankind for "raising the 
 price of fish on them"? 
 
 Eleanor the beautiful whiffed away from her 
 brother's establishment at once, leaving him to 
 manage his somewhat irritated tenants, and
 
 STRETTON. 25 
 
 retired to her own farm at Pulverbatch. She 
 marched off with her young child Gray. 
 
 The scandal about Charles Evans and Elsie 
 Gray was known to very few persons, and was 
 now almost forgotten even by those few : 
 scarcely half a dozen all told. As for the 
 county, they had never heard of it, and even if 
 they had, would have taken small note of it, 
 for there were plenty of scandals of the same 
 kind in any one of their families. If it had 
 got wind, the more ill-natured of them would 
 have been pleased at such a fiasco occurring in 
 such a saint-like family as the Evanses. But 
 then it never did get wind, and Charles Evans 
 was welcomed to his ancestral halls by the 
 county generally, with lute, sackbut, psaltery, 
 dulcimer, and all manner of musical instru- 
 ments. He lied a little, I doubt, at the very 
 first reception, for on being inquired of by the 
 county, where was his sister Eleanor, he re- 
 plied, that she was not well, and having been 
 overpowered by his sudden return, had gone 
 home to her farm at Pulverbatch ; whereas, 
 the truth was that she was perfectly well, and 
 had told him the day before that she was not
 
 26 STRETTON. 
 
 in sufficient temper to meet all these idiots, and 
 walked off to Fulvcrbatch, promising to come 
 back to him as soon as he had got rid of his 
 fools. 
 
 Yet they had had a pleasant meeting these 
 two : worth giving perhaps. He took her in 
 his arms, and she wound her fingers in his 
 hair. And he said — 
 
 " Love all the same, sister ? " 
 
 And she said : " Not all the same, but 
 more." 
 
 " Has anybody been ? " said the brother. 
 
 " I should like to see them," said the sis- 
 ter. "My dear, I must marry you. No other 
 arrangement is possible. Get rid of these 
 fools, and find yourself a good wife, and I will 
 come back and marry the pair of you." 
 
 "But who is to marry you?" said the 
 brother. 
 
 " You." said the sister.
 
 STRETTON. 27 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was a long time before Sir Charles married, 
 but at last, when he was five-and-thirty, he 
 married a Miss Meredith, a very distant con- 
 nection to him by birth, who, as Eleanor said, 
 had been kept by her parents for him, till, 
 like a brown Beurre pear, she was running a 
 chance of being mildewed. Eleanor came to 
 the wedding and signalized herself by utterly 
 routing and defeating a certain Squire Overley, 
 a most estimable man, of great wealth even 
 in Shropshire, who was supposed to be seeking 
 her hand in marriage. She was very civil to 
 him, but refused to speak of anything except 
 medical science and the management of 
 nursing sisterhoods. She beat that estimable 
 voung man, and saw that she had done so. 
 "Heigh ho!" she said, as she got into bed.
 
 '28 STRETTON. 
 
 " One more goose choked, and another fool 
 married. I'll he back with my pigs to-morrow. 
 Overley is a good fellow though, and I'll find 
 him a good wife. I wonder if Charley will let 
 me have that sixty acres that Pilgrim wants to 
 give up. If he don't I must give up my pigs ; 
 for buy meal, I won't." And so the great 
 Shropshire beauty went to her bed and slept 
 the sleep of the just. 
 
 Charles's marriage was one of the most 
 happy ones which ever took place, either in 
 Novel-land or Earth-land. Within a year 
 Roland, whom I hope you will get to like, was 
 born ; and Eleanor was asked to be godmother. 
 She, dating from Pulverbatch, replied that she 
 hated boys, because they were always wanting 
 their ears boxed. She would undertake this 
 part of a godmother's business with tin- 
 greatest pleasure, but as a conscientious 
 woman she could not, in this case. She had 
 invested, for her, heavily in old Berkshire pigs. 
 which took up the main of her time, and as a 
 boy's ears always required to be boxed on the 
 spot to produce the proper effect, she doubted 
 that she could not be always on the spot to
 
 STRETTON. 29 
 
 box thein, so she declined, and bred pigs, not 
 even coming to the christening. 
 
 The next year was born Edward, whom I 
 also hope that you will like. Once more 
 Eleanor was asked to be godmother ; once more 
 she refused, but she came to the great christen- 
 ing party, as she did not to the first one. No 
 one, not even her own brother, knew if she was 
 coming or not. A splendid present of plate for 
 the child had arrived from her, but she put in 
 no appearance until just before the second 
 lesson. Then she swept in, splendidly dressed 
 in grey silk, and sat down among the poor folks 
 by the organ. 
 
 Old Major Venables said, afterwards, " That 
 woman made a sensation ; but don't you think 
 she meant to do it ? I tell you that those 
 Evanses mean what they say, and do what they 
 mean, and the deuce can't prevent them. 
 What the deuce Eleanor means, I can't say 
 But she'll do it."
 
 30 STRETTON. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It soon became evident what she meant to do. 
 Although she protested against any religious 
 responsibility towards Edward, she nevertheh - - 
 undertook any amount of physical responsi- 
 bility. She even determined to assist at his 
 education, to attend as far as she could to his 
 diet, and to define and develop his character, 
 which latter part of her programme she accom- 
 plished by allowing him to do exactly as he 
 pleased, and giving him everything he asked 
 for. Mr. Evans told her that she would spoil 
 the child. ' c I want to spoil him," she said. 
 " He wants spoiling. I intend to gain an 
 influence over him by that means, and use it 
 for good. Our young one is a very sensitive 
 and affectionate young one, and must be treated 
 accordinglv."
 
 STRETT0N. .'51 
 
 ITeamvhile she had fairly done her duty, and 
 her mother's behests towards young Allan Gray, 
 the soldier's son. She had quietly and unos- 
 tentatiously got him well educated at Ludlow, 
 and at his own request had apprenticed him to a 
 jeweller's in Shrewsbury. She nearly considered 
 herself quit of him ; and his distant connection 
 with the family was scarcely known by any one 
 except herself, and almost forgotten even by 
 her. 
 
 Among the tastes early developed by Master 
 Edward, under his aunt's direction, was a 
 liking for jewellery, for bright and glittering 
 things. One of the greatest pleasures of his 
 life, for some little time, was riding into 
 Shrewsbury to shop with his aunt. Aunt 
 Eleanor had given him a watch and chain, and 
 on this chain he had the fancy to hang bre- 
 loques ; fish, lizards, crosses, lockets, which 
 you will. And this shop, where young Gray — , 
 Aunt Eleanor's other protege — was located, 
 supplied things of this kind, of Palais Royal 
 manufacture, cheap, soon dimmed in rust, soon 
 cast aside. Young Evans soon got over this 
 fancy of his for glittering things, though he
 
 32 STRETTON. 
 
 always retained his passion for gaudry ; yet bis 
 continual going into tbis shop, to get tbese two- 
 penny Palais Royal trifles, led to a result with 
 wbicb we bare to do. It led to an acquaint- 
 ance between bim and the youth. Gray, who 
 was deputed to sell tbem to bim. And the 
 youtb Gray was as fond of glittering and 
 gaudy tilings as was Cbilde Evans. And so the 
 youtb and tbe young boy, setting their beads 
 togetber, " Ye'll no binder tbem," as tbe Scotcb 
 say, from getting uncommonly fond of one 
 another. Roland always disliked bim, as far 
 as bis gentle nature could allow bim to dis- 
 like any one. But at any time, wben Roland 
 denounced young Gray as a sententious young 
 Metbodist, Edward would plead so well witb 
 bis deer-like eyes, that be would cause Roland's 
 objurgations to die away into silence. 
 
 Roland and Edward, wben old enough, were 
 sent to a school, wbicb I will call Gloucester, 
 to avoid personality, reserving always for my- 
 self, in case of action for damages, the right of 
 fixing my own dates. 
 
 Our young jeweller's master moved from 
 Shrewsbury to Gloucester a short time before
 
 STRETTON. 33 
 
 Roland and Edward went into school there to- 
 gether ; and so Edward and Allan Gray were 
 once more brought together. The acquaint- 
 ance between Gray and Childe Evans got 
 cemented there, not much to Roland's pleasure. 
 Edward bought no jewellery now, but got him- 
 self taken to strange places of worship by this 
 imperial-looking young jeweller's apprentice, 
 who could look at the splendid Roland as 
 though he were an Oliver (forgive me). Roland 
 did not like it, any more than the Doctor. The 
 Doctor said that Roland should speak to Ed- 
 ward on the subject. Roland, though only 
 fourteen to his brother's thirteen, declined. 
 
 " It would bring a cloud between Eddy and 
 myself," said the boy, " and I intend that there 
 shall be no cloud between Eddy and me till 
 we die." 
 
 Of course, with a fool of fourteen like this, 
 there was nothing to be done. The Doctor 
 pitched into Eddy. " It is not unknown to me, 
 sir, that you have been in the company of an 
 apprentice of this town, not only to a Dissent- 
 ing place of worship, but also to the Papist 
 chapel. It is the greatest scandal which has 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 STRETTON. 
 
 occurred at this school since its foundation, 
 shall write to your father." 
 
 "I wouldn't do that, sir," said poor little 
 Eddy ; "we were only looking about for our- 
 selves. And we don't like either the one thing 
 or the other." 
 
 " You like ! " said the Doctor. " You like ! 
 Here, I'll sort yow nonsense pretty quick. 
 What was last week's rnemoriter ? " " Non 
 ebur neque aureni," began the poor boy, " Mea 
 renidet in " 
 
 " Write it out twenty times, sir, and keep 
 school," said the Doctor. " We will have a 
 finish and an end of all this." 
 
 Eoland did his brother's task for him, and 
 was furious against the Doctor. But as Eo- 
 land' s fury against the Doctor will have to keep 
 six years, by which time it had become changed 
 to love and reverence, I will sa}* little about it. 
 Merely mentioning the fact that there was a 
 third member of the Evans family, a pretty 
 little girl, I will leave the Evans family — for 
 what will be to you a few minutes — and de- 
 scribe another Shropshire family.
 
 STRETTON. 35 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 Dld Mordaunt, of Mordaunt Hall, used to say 
 that his wife always had twins. When this 
 statement was examined, you found that Mrs. 
 Mordaunt had but two children — Johnny im- 
 mediately after her marriage, and Jemmy 
 twelve months afterwards, yet when 
 
 " The petrified spectator asked, in xm disguised alarm," 
 which was Johnny and which was Jemmy, 
 the problem used to be solved by saying that 
 Johnny was the fatter. But, then, neither of 
 them icas fat. 
 
 One — the elder — was broader, and less sym- 
 metrical than the younger one, James, more 
 commonly called Jimmit. During the holidays, 
 part of which young Edward Evans spent with 
 his Aunt Eleanor, these two youths were 
 frequent guests at her house. She pronounced 
 them to be entirely similar, and utterly devoid
 
 3G STRETTON. 
 
 of character. In which opinion she was not 
 ■wholly right. 
 
 The Evanses and the Mordaunts hoth went 
 to Gloucester together, and, as neighbours, saw 
 a great deal of one another. Both families 
 also had a little girl, younger than either of the 
 brothers, with whom, at present, we have no- 
 thing to do — they were in the school-room still : 
 and I have been turned out of the school-room 
 by the governess at lesson-time too often to try 
 and enter it again. By-the-bye, are gover- 
 nesses so dreadfully bullied and ill-treated as it 
 is the custom to represent ? For my part, ever 
 since I was six. years old until now, I have been 
 almost as afraid of them as I am of a school- 
 master, and have been used to see them have 
 pretty much their own way ; but there arc 
 families, and families, no doubt. 
 
 I must quit speculation to give a letter, which 
 was written at the time when these four lads 
 were at ages ranging from seventeen to nine- 
 teen, and were all going up to matriculate at 
 St. Paul's College — at either university you 
 like. It came from the head-master of Glou- 
 cester Grammar School, himself a man from
 
 STRETTOX. 37 
 
 Trinity College, Cambridge, and was addressed 
 to the Senior Tutor at St. Paul's — his old 
 friend and contemporary. 
 
 " Dear George, — You have asked me more 
 than once to send you a boy or two, and I have 
 always hesitated because I have always disliked 
 your college, its ways, and its works. Now, 
 
 however, that P E   and have 
 
 married off altogether on college livings, and 
 have undertaken cures of souls (their creed 
 seeming to be that gentlemen's sons have no 
 souls, or, like the French marquis, will be 
 saved by rent-roll) ; now that you are first in 
 command practically, I send you, my dear 
 George, not one boy, but a batch of four. And, 
 take them all in all, they are the finest batch 
 of boys I have ever turned out. 
 
 " Let us speak plainly to one another, for 
 we have never fairly done so. The reason of 
 our clinging so strenuously to university work 
 was the disappointment about Miss Evans. 
 Well, we have never spoken of it before. I 
 only ask you to stick to it a little longer, if it 
 is only to see this batch of boys through.
 
 38 STRETTON. 
 
 4 
 
 " I don't know whether I am justified in 
 sending them to you. You know, my dear 
 George, that your college has been under the 
 management of your old master and the three 
 men who have retired to the cure of agri- 
 cultural labourers' souls ; very fast, very disre- 
 putable, and most extravagantly expensive.. 
 Nothing seems to have done well but the boat, 
 which, having less than a mile to row, has, by 
 developing a blind, furious ferocity, kept the 
 head of the river. And in the schools you 
 have only had a few first-class men, all of your 
 training, with second, third, and fourth blanks. 
 
 "You say that you will mend all, and raise 
 your tone. Of course you will. If I don't 
 die, like Arnold, over this teaching, I will send 
 you any number of boys in two years, when 
 your influence has ' begun to work, and when 
 the influence of the three pastors so lately sent 
 out from high table and common room to catch 
 agricultural sheep by the leg with their crook 
 (Heaven save the mark !) has died out. But 
 at present I am dubious. However, I have 
 done it. Mind you the issue, as you will have 
 to appear before God.
 
 STRETTON. 39 
 
 "Now, I must tell you about these fellows, and 
 must go through them. In the aggregate, they 
 are an extremely queer lot. They are extremely 
 rude and boisterous, as my boys generally are, 
 though perfect gentlemen if you put them on 
 their mettle. They are absolutely innocent of 
 the ways of the world, and will, no doubt, get 
 thoroughly laughed out of all that by your 
 young dandies, whom I, as a Cambridge man, 
 most entirely detest. To proceed about the 
 aggregate of them, they are all very strong and 
 very rich. The total of their present income 
 is considerably more than you and I shall have 
 the spending of when we have worked ourselves 
 to the gates of death, and they have taken to 
 boat-racing — a thing I hate and detest from 
 the bottom of my soul, as being one of the 
 most stupid and most brutalizing of all our 
 sports. I know, however, that you do not 
 think so. If there was any chance of their 
 losing all their property together, we might 
 make something of them. As it is, you must 
 back up my efforts to make something of them. 
 Nothing stands in their way but their wealth. 
 
 " Now, I will begin with them individually,
 
 40 STBETTON. 
 
 and I begin with Roland Evans. Do you re- 
 tain your old Platonic love for perfect physical 
 beauty, perfect innocence, and high intelligence 
 and ambition ? If so, you had better not see 
 too much of my Aristides, Antinous Evans. 
 The lad wonders why I laugh when I look at 
 him. I laugh with sheer honest pleasure at 
 his beauty. He is like the others, a boy of 
 many prayers, but of few fears. If he could 
 get his influence felt in your deboshed old 
 college, he would do as much as you, old friend. 
 But he is so gentle, and so young, that I fear 
 he will not do much for you at once. 
 
 " I pass to the elder Mordaunt. The elder 
 Mordaunt is a wonderfully strong, bull-headed 
 lad, whose course at school has been perfectly 
 blameless, fulfilling every possible duty, but 
 declining to show any speciality except wonder- 
 ful Latin prose. There is something under the 
 thick hide of him somewhere, for I have seen 
 it looking at me from behind that dark-brown 
 eye of his a hundred times. Can you fetch it 
 out ? I have not been able. I have often been 
 inclined to throw the book at the head of this 
 young man, in return for his quiet contempla-
 
 STRETT0N. 41 
 
 tive stare ; but I have never done so. I flog- 
 ged him once, because Sir Jasper Meredith (a 
 cripple) let off a musical box in chapel, and I 
 thought it was the elder Mordaunt. It was 
 arranged between the Mordaunts and Meredith 
 that the elder Mordaunt was to take the thrash- 
 ing, because little Sir Jasper was not fit to take 
 it. Sir Jasper Meredith came crying to me 
 afterwards, and told the whole business. I 
 never had occasion to flog the elder Mordaunt 
 again. Be careful of this fellow, George. I 
 don't understand him. You may. 
 
 " I come now to the younger Mordaunt. 
 And now I find that I have to tell a little story. 
 Young Mordaunt was an unimpressionable lad, 
 quite unnoticed by me, and nearly so by the 
 lower masters, under whose hands he was pass- 
 ing, who only made their reports on him to me 
 for extreme violence and fury. I have often 
 had to flog this boy — you say what a nice 
 employment for an educated gentleman— cela 
 va sans dire ; and on one occasion, I held him 
 ready for expulsion. It was the most terrible 
 case of bullying which had ever happened : 
 four fifth-form boys, just ready for the sixth,
 
 4 2 STRETTOX. 
 
 bad set on a sixth-form boy, just about to leave 
 us for the army, and beaten him with single- 
 sticks, to that extent that he had to be taken to 
 the hospital, as it appeared, with his own con- 
 sent, for he made no complaint. The younger 
 Mordaunt was one of the beaters, one of the 
 attacking party, and I was going to expel them 
 all, until the elder Mordaunt, backed by my 
 brother, the master of the lower third, ex- 
 plained the circumstances, upon which I did a 
 somewhat different thing. I held my tongue, 
 and gave the beaten boy a chance for a new life. 
 " The elder Mordaunt and the elder Evans, 
 Roland, lately grandfathers of the school, have 
 always respected and honoured one another. 
 But between the young Mordaunt and the elder 
 Evans there was for a long time a great dis- 
 like. I have it from a former monitor, now 
 Balliol scholar, that they actually fought on 
 three occasions. Of course they were no match ; 
 the elder Evans easily beat the younger Mor- 
 daunt, while the elder Mordaunt, although an 
 affectionate brother, positively declined to give 
 his younger brother even the use of his knee 
 during these encounters.
 
 STRETTON. 43 
 
 " The reason of the reconciliation between 
 these two was odd. The cause of these en- 
 counters was the persistent bullying of the 
 younger Evans, who was the fag of the younger 
 Mordaunt. I have always forbidden bathing 
 before the tenth of May, and have seldom been 
 disobeyed. On one occasion, however, the 
 younger Mordaunt disobeyed me, and before the 
 winter's water was run off, determined to bathe 
 in the weir, and having told his intention to a 
 few, started, taking his fag, little Eddy Evans, 
 to mind his clothes. 
 
 "It came to the ears of Eoland Evans and 
 old Mordaunt, who followed quickly with some 
 other sixth-form boys, and were happily in 
 time. You, as an Oxford man, know what 
 lashers are ; you know the Gaisford and Phil- 
 limore monument, set up to warn boys, if they 
 could be warned, of the deadly suck under the 
 apron. 
 
 " Well, the younger Mordaunt stripped and 
 headed into the furious boil. He was in diffi- 
 culties directly. Instead of being carried down 
 into the shallow below, he was taken under, 
 and disappeared. He rose again, and with
 
 44 STRETTON. 
 
 infinite courage and coolness, swam into the 
 slack water, and tried to hold on by the Camp's 
 heading. But it was slippery, and he was car- 
 ried again into the race, and turned over and over. 
 " When old Evans and old Mordaunt came, 
 angrily, on the scene, all they saw was young 
 Evans tearing the last of his clothes off. He 
 knew his brother's voice, and he cried out, 
 ' Shut down the paddles ; he has come up 
 again.' And then, forgetting cruelties which 
 he had suffered, and insults which he had wept 
 over in secret, he cast his innocent little body 
 into the foaming dangerous lasher, and had his 
 bitter enemy round the waist in one moment, 
 trying to keep his head above the drowning 
 rush of the water. Of course, Roland was in 
 after them in a few seconds. 
 
 " Cool old Mordaunt, who should be a gene- 
 ral, I think, had, while rapidly undressing, let 
 down the paddles. The pool was still now, too 
 terribly still, they tell me. The two elder lads, 
 swimming high and looking for their brothers, 
 saw neither, until the handsome little head of 
 Eddy Evans rose from the water, and said, v I 
 had him here, this instant, and he will be car-
 
 STRETTON. 4 5 
 
 ried back by the wash.' Eoland Evans, a splen- 
 did shoulder-swimmer, was with his brother in 
 a moment, and saw young Mordaunt drowning 
 on the gravel beneath him, spreading out his 
 fine limbs, like a Christopher's cross, with each 
 of his ten fingers spread out, taking leave of 
 the world. Never seen it ? Better not ; it is 
 ugly ; I have seen it several times, and don't 
 like it. Well, the two Evanses had him out 
 on the shallow before his brother, a slow breast- 
 swimmer, could come up, and saved him. 
 That is all my story. 
 
 " But it has changed this younger Mordaunt' s 
 life in some way. The great temptation of our 
 English boys is brutality and violence, and this 
 bathing accident has tamed him. The boy 
 prayed more, as I gained from his brother, and 
 desired that thanks should be given in chapel 
 for his preservation, coupled (fancy that ! to 
 me,) with the condition that the names of the 
 two Evanses should be mentioned with his. I 
 refused to do so : heaven knows why ! Where- 
 upon the boy turned on me, and, face to face, 
 refused to have any thanks given at all. He 
 said he would give his own thanks.
 
 46 STRETTON. 
 
 " He is entirely tamed, if you can keep him 
 en rapport with these two Evanses. He will 
 follow them anywhere, and do just as they tell 
 him, whether that be right or wrong. I never 
 liked him, and I still think him boyish in many 
 ways, though innocent almost to childishness 
 in the way you wot of. He has brains, more 
 brains than his brother. But he is a disagree- 
 able boy. He has a nasty way of sitting 
 straight up and frowning, and there is a petu- 
 lant preciseness about him which I cannot 
 bear. Try being civil and kind to him — I 
 have never been. You have more power in 
 that wa}< as a Don than I have as a school- 
 master. 
 
 " Now I come to my last boy, young Evans. 
 I won't say anything at all about this boy : I 
 leave him to you. If you can stand his pretty 
 ways, I can't. 
 
 " These boys will be a terrible plague to you. 
 They make so much noise : don't stop them in 
 that if you can help it. My best boys arc 
 noisy and outspoken. Coming from me, you 
 need not doubt their scholarship : keep it up. 
 They are, to conclude, an innocent lot of lads,
 
 STRETTON. 47 
 
 dreadfully rich, and have taken up, I fear, with 
 this most abominable boat-racing, which, how- 
 ever, is not so bad as steeple-chasing. 
 
 " Now good-bye. I have sent you a team 
 fit for Balliol in scholarship, for Christchurch 
 in breeding, and, I very much fear, for 
 Brazenose in boating. "Why Providence should 
 have placed so many of our public schools near 
 great rivers, where the stock gets steadily bru- 
 talized by that insane amusement, I cannot 
 conceive. Old religious foundations, you say, 
 always near rivers, then highways, and in the 
 neighbourhood of fish for fast days. Fiddle-de- 
 dee ! It all arises from the perversation (mis- 
 representation) of the edicts of the first origi- 
 nal council, in the year 1, when it was agreed 
 that everything was to be where it was wanted. 
 The only dissentient, you well remember, was 
 the devil, who moved as an amendment, that 
 there should be full liberty of conscience, that 
 every one should say the first thing which came 
 into his head, and everybody was to do as he 
 pleased. The great first council rejected, if 
 you remember, this amendment with scorn ; 
 but we are acting on it now. Let us take the
 
 48 STRETTOX. 
 
 benefit of the new opinions. Come over and 
 talk Swivellerism to me, and I will back myself 
 to talk as much balderdash as you. But don't 
 talk any of it to my boys. I insult you, my 
 dear George, by the supposition. 
 
 ''P.S. — A tall, handsome-looking young 
 booby, from Eton, comes with them from Shrop- 
 shire. His father, calling here with the fathers 
 of the other boys, asked me to say a good word 
 to you on his behalf. I would if I could, but 
 I don't know anything at all about him, except 
 that he is to be married to Miss Evans, by a 
 family arrangement, before he is capable of 
 knowing his own mind. He has been brought 
 up with the Evanses and the Mordaunts, and 
 therefore cannot be very bad. But you know 
 my opinion of Eton, and indeed of all public 
 schools except my own."
 
 STRETTON. 49 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Furnished with this important epistle, the 
 Dean of St. Paul's (college) felt a natural curi- 
 osity to see the young men who had attracted 
 so much of the attention of undoubtedly the 
 very best schoolmaster of the day, since the 
 dies infaustus when Arnold's old pupil came 
 down to breakfast with fresh questions, and 
 heard th&t'the master had called for his master, 
 and that he had arisen and followed him 
 speedily. 
 
 The Dean was a dry man, and a man of 
 humour. Saint Paul's was, in those times, 
 a queer, wild place ; it was partly "manned'' 
 by county gentlemen's and county parsons : 
 sons, from the counties of Gloucester, Wor- 
 cester, Shropshire, and generally from the 
 Welsh borders ; and partly from two grammar 
 schools in Lancashire and the West Eiding of 
 
 VOL. I. e
 
 50 STRETTOX. 
 
 Yorkshire. The two sets of lads never spoke 
 to one another. The former set were always 
 perfect gentlemen in their manners, though not 
 always in their morals : the latter were mainly 
 gentlemen in their morals, but never in their 
 manners. It was vinegar upon nitre with 
 them, and the dry, shrewd, caustic Dean looked 
 with great anticipation of amusement for the 
 curious "team" which the head-master of Glou- 
 cester had sent him up. 
 
 He had undertaken the Latin prose lecture of 
 that somewhat scholarless college, and had re- 
 peatedly said that it would bring him to an 
 untimely grave, but after a fellow-commoner 
 translating " The Art of Mingling in Society ' 
 in English of Addison, into Latin of his own. 
 the Dean had dropped the Latin prose lecture, 
 and had taken to the Greek. "You are safer 
 in Greek," he said. "I am not good in Greek, 
 and so I may live the longer. But I couldn't 
 stand the Latin any more." 
 
 So it was in the Greek prose lecture that the 
 Dean expected his young friends, with great 
 curiosity. They were the first who came, very 
 early, and they came sidling and whispering
 
 STEETTON. 5 1 
 
 into the room one after another, and sat down 
 in a row, each one saying as he went by, 
 "Good morning, sir," while the Dean stood 
 and looked at them. Can one not see him 
 now, with his broad shoulders, and his keen 
 eyes looking out from under his wig ? 
 
 They sat down in the chair opposite to him, 
 and he had a good look at them. The first 
 who came in was Eoland Evans, evidently leader 
 among them, a splendid upstanding young 
 fellow, with short curling hair, who carried his 
 head like a stag. "A fine face and a good 
 head," thought the Dean. " I wonder what is 
 inside it ?" Next to him came his brother — a 
 small, slight, bright-looking lad, rather too 
 pretty to please the Dean's taste, but pleasant 
 to see, with a wistful look in his clear brown 
 eyes, which the Dean did not disapprove of. 
 Next came the elder of the two Mordaunts, 
 gigantic, somewhat stolid in appearance, look- 
 ing as the Dean thought with Falstaff, " land 
 and beeves." Then came the younger Mor- 
 daunt, gigantic also, and rather cross-looking, 
 but with a good scmare head ; as he passed on, 
 he gave one look at the Dean, and let him
 
 52 STRBTTON. 
 
 know uninistakeably that be considered hini in 
 the light of his natural enemy. Last of all 
 came the "booby" who was to many Miss 
 Evans, and when the Dean looked on him, he 
 thought at once : " The rest are a puzzling lot, 
 hut there is no doubt about you ; you carry 
 your turnpike ticket in your hat ; you are a good 
 fellow, and so I think is that Eoland Evans." 
 
 But he was puzzlingly amused by them on 
 one account : four out of the five seemed 
 strangely cast in the same mould. Here were 
 two pairs of brothers, and a fifth young man, 
 and they were all cast in the same mould, with 
 the exception of the younger Evans, who seemed 
 poetical. Had this batch of lads come under 
 his notice with any other recommendation than 
 that of the shrewd Doctor, he would have set 
 them down for four young louts of the land- 
 holding persuasion from the western counties, 
 and have thought no more about them ; but 
 his friend had sent them to him as four of his 
 picked boys, and Balliol would have opened her 
 gates to tin in ; yet there they sat in a row be- 
 fore him, silent and apparently stupid, occa- 
 sionally sneaking their eyes up at his, as
 
 STRETT0N. 53 
 
 though to see what he was like, but dropping 
 them again directly. "Is there character 
 here?" the Dean asked himself. " K. should 
 know ; he said the} 7 were boisterous and trouble- 
 some. They are quiet enough now." 
 
 The odd contrast between the apparently 
 stupid insouciance of the Englishman at one 
 time, and his violent fury at another, seemed 
 to be hardly known to the Dean as yet : he got 
 an illustration of it. 
 
 The other men, to the number of some 
 thirty, dropped in, and the lecture proceeded. 
 Anything more saint-like than the behaviour of 
 the Shropshire five was never seen. The lecture 
 consisted in turning "Spectator" into Greek 
 prose, and after half an hour, every one being 
 ready, the Dean called on Eoland Evans, who 
 stood up, and on being told that he might sit 
 down, was very much confused. He read out 
 his few sentences of Greek prose, and the Dean 
 leant back in his chair. 
 
 " That is really splendid, Mr. Evans. I 
 could not write such Greek myself. Eead it 
 again, please, and listen to it, you others." 
 Eoland did so.
 
 K 
 
 4 STRETTON. 
 
 "Do you all write Greek like this at Glou- 
 cester ? This is refreshing. Good heavens ! 
 when I think of the trash rny ears are dinned 
 with. Here, Mr. Mordaimt the elder, read 
 your piece next : let me see if it runs in 
 families, or is common to the school." 
 
 Old Mordaunt — sitting, as we used to say at 
 school, one place below young Evans — did so, 
 and his piece was very good. " Now, young 
 Mr. Evans, read yours." 
 
 It appeared that these youths were under 
 the impression that they could take places. 
 They had come in and sat down in their old 
 Gloucester class form. Young Eddy Evans 
 had in his piece a passage of Addison's or 
 Steele's in which occur the words, "pray do 
 not deceive yourself on this matter." Young 
 Evans gave it "in] irXoyoa^rj." "Whereupon 
 both the Mordaunts rose to their feet, and 
 sried with one voice, "I challenge." 
 
 Before the astonished Dean could say one 
 word, the two brothers were at it tooth and 
 nail. 
 
 " I challenged first," said old Mordaunt. 
 
 "You did nothing of the kind," said the
 
 STKETTON. 55 
 
 younger. " You read the fourth chapter of 
 Acts, and see what happened to Ananias and 
 Sapphira." 
 
 "That's a pretty thing to say to your own 
 brother," said old Mordaunt. 
 
 " Not a worse thing than trying to cut your 
 own brother out of a place. Why do you 
 challenge ? ' ' said the younger brother. 
 
 "Because it's Greek Testament, and wrong 
 in person," said the elder, scornfully. 
 
 " Testament Greek is good enough — better 
 than you could write. I challenge on other 
 grounds. Ask him, sir, what letter he puts 
 before the sigma." 
 
 The younger Evans, confused and directed 
 by his evil genius, said hurriedly, " Epsilon." 
 The younger Mordaunt at once sank back in 
 his chair with the air of a man who had done 
 a happy thing, and. addressing the Dean, 
 said — 
 
 " This, sir, is a specimen of the scholarship 
 -of the Doctor's house-boys. If a commons- 
 house boy had made such a mess, he would 
 have been cobbed by the school." 
 
 At which dreadful words wrath and fury
 
 56 STRETTON. 
 
 were depicted on the faces of the two Evanses, 
 and of Maynard, who was engaged to their 
 sister. Young Evans rose, perfectly calm, and, 
 addressing the Dean as " Doininus," said that 
 as the rules of English society prevented one 
 boy from personally asking any explanation 
 from any other hoy in class, and indeed, in 
 any place but the playground, whether he, the 
 Dominus, would be so good as to demand, in 
 his character as Dominus, of Mordannt minor, 
 when he was caned last, and what it was for. 
 Whereupon Maynard, who had taken no part 
 as yet, cried out, " Go it, young Evans !" 
 
 " It was your brother who pressed the spring 
 and set it going," said old Mordaunt. 
 
 " It was nothing of the kind; and no one 
 knows it better than yourself," said Eoland 
 Evans. " I never touched it ; what did he 
 want with it at chapel?" 
 
 " I suppose he could take his musical snuff- 
 box into chapel," said old Mordaunt, now, after 
 the preliminary skirmish, in close alliance with 
 his brother. " I suppose he had as good a 
 right to bring his musical box in as you had to 
 bring in your Buttmann's Lcxilogus."
 
 STRETTON. 57 
 
 " Well, you need not turn up old things like 
 that," said Eoland Evans. 
 
 " Then you leave my brother alone, and I'll 
 leave you alone. As for you, young Evans, you 
 ought to have the Lexilogus banged about your 
 stupid young head, and you would have had 
 three months ago." 
 
 The Dean had by this time partly recovered 
 from the stupor into which he had been plunged 
 by this unexpected and violent storm. He 
 found breath enough to say, " Gentlemen, I 
 must really request, and of necessity insist, 
 that this unseemly objurgation ceases at once." 
 After a few growls and sniffs the lecture pro- 
 ceeded. The Gloucester boys' Greek was all 
 nearly first-class, and then the Dean waded 
 away into a slough of miserable stuff, which 
 was furnished to him three times a week by the 
 other men of his college. 
 
 A deaf fellow-commoner was blundering 
 along through his piece, and the Dean thought 
 that everything was going right, when the 
 younger Mordaunt, who had been frowning and 
 bristling for some time, finding his recollected 
 wrongs too great to be kept in any longer,
 
 58 STRETTON. 
 
 suddenly broke into articulate speech. To the 
 unutterable terror and confusion of the whole 
 lecture, he said, in a loud voice : 
 
 " Those two Evanses and Maynard double- 
 banked young Perkins in the play-ground one 
 Saturday afternoon, when the fellows were 
 bathing, and took his money from him. And 
 they took nineteen pence halfpenny, and all he 
 ever got back was a shilling and a sixpence, 
 and the shilling was bad." 
 
 "It was the same shilling we took from him," 
 cried Eoland, " and your fellows have double- 
 banked ours a hundred times." 
 
 "What became of the three half-pence then?" 
 said old Mordaunt. 
 
 " They spent it in Banbury tarts," said 
 young Mordaunt. 
 
 "There were no coppers at all," said May- 
 nard. " And you can't get one Banbury tart 
 under two-pence. Now then, what do you 
 think of that?" 
 
 The Dean again recovered himself. 
 
 " In the whole course of my experience, 1 
 never saw anything like Ibis," he said. "I in- 
 sist on perfect silence You live Gloucester
 
 STRETTON. 59 
 
 men will remain after lecture. I insist on 
 silence. Mr. Jones, go on." 
 
 " Now we shall all get lines, and liberty 
 stopped," said 3'Oimg Mordaunt, aloud, "and 
 it was that young Evans began it." 
 
 "It was not," said young Evans, em- 
 phatically. 
 
 "Will you hold your tongue, sir," said the 
 Dean, in a voice which they knew they must 
 listen to. And so the lecture went on and was 
 finished. When it was done, the five remained, 
 and young Mordaunt whispered to old Evans, 
 " He won't flog the lot." 
 
 The Dean began on them : " Gentlemen, 
 your Greek is excellent, but your conduct has 
 not been good. Mj t friend warned me that 
 you were boisterous. I have no great objec- 
 tion to juvenile spirits — in fact, I like them ; 
 but I must most emphatically insist that you 
 will not quarrel in my lecture. You no longer 
 take rank as schoolboys : we give 3*oung men 
 of your age brevet rank as men. I must 
 request that this does not happen again." 
 
 Old Mordaunt shoved young Mordaunt, who 
 shoved young Evans, Avho shoved Maynard,
 
 60 STRETTON. 
 
 who shoved Roland Evans, by which he under- 
 stood that he was to be spokesman. His 
 speech was so odd, so very simple, so very 
 provincial, so full of the argot of a provincial 
 school, that the Dean scarcely understood it. 
 He said : 
 
 " Sir, we are very sorry to have offended 
 you ; for myself, I have always been dead 
 against barneying in class, for the mere purpose 
 of spinning out the pensum. I have also tried 
 most consistently to make friends between 
 doctors' boys and common-house boys, prin- 
 cipally, I will allow, for the sake of the boats. 
 But these jealousies do exist, sir, even among 
 friends, as we are : I am sure all true friends. 
 But these jealousies have existed for a long- 
 time, and are not likely to cease. I will take 
 it on myself to say, sir, that they shall be 
 stopped in class, and not carried into play- 
 ground, and that we would rather, having be- 
 gun so unluckily, be punished by task instead 
 of by stoppage of liberty." 
 
 The Dean impatiently paced the room, and 
 scratched his wig. "What the deuce," he 
 said to himself, "am I to do with such boys as
 
 STRETTON. 61 
 
 these ? Aii Eton or Harrow boy would know 
 more of things at fourteen. Why does K. 
 keep his boys back like this ? they are as 
 innocent as children. I never saw such a 
 thing in my life ; they fancy they are to be 
 punished. Hang it all, let me see how green 
 they are. Mr. Evans, how old are you?" 
 " Nineteen, sir." 
 
 " You have behaved very badly. Suppose 
 I was to cane one of you." 
 
 "We understood, sir," said Roland, "that 
 we could not be caned after we came here. If, 
 however, you decide on that course, the only 
 one you could cane would be my brother. No 
 boy is ever caned over eighteen, and my brother 
 is only seventeen." 
 
 " And it would be no use caning him ! ' 
 exclaimed the irrepressible young Mordaunt ; 
 " he has been caned a dozen times for laughing 
 in chapel. And last half I tried him to see 
 whether he had got over it. I showed him a 
 halfpenny in Litany, and he went off, and was 
 taken out, and caned." 
 
 "I would gladly, sir," said Roland, "take 
 my brother's punishment on myself: but being
 
 62 STRETTON. 
 
 over eighteen, I cannot, and should, in fact, 
 resist ; it would he almost cowardly, sir, to 
 put thi' fault of all of us on my brother." 
 
 "Do go to Bath, and keep me from Bedlam ! " 
 exclaimed the irritated Dean. 
 
 And they fled off, and apparently had a free 
 light on the stairs ; for as the Dean put it, 
 sixteen out of the five seemed to tunihle down 
 instead of walking down. 
 
 " This is K. all over," he said to himself, 
 when they were gone; "this is his system; 
 sending his hoys up here babies instead of 
 men. I wish he had sent them to Balliol, — 
 I wish he had sent them to Jericho. I have 
 no stand-point with them. I can't get at them. 
 They are a noble lot ; but they are five years 
 too young. And this hotbed of sin ! Come in!''
 
 STRETT0N. G3 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 There seemed some difficulty about the person 
 who knocked at the door coming in, as indeed 
 there was. There was a curious pegging sound, 
 then a gentle turning at the door-handle, and 
 then a heavy fall. The Dean dashed out, 
 and found a little cripple lying on his hack on 
 the landing, laughing. 
 
 "I shall do it once too often," said the 
 cripple. " My servant puts me into bed, but I 
 direct my energies to tumbling out of it. I live 
 in the gate which is called Beautiful, and am 
 happy there ; but St. John and St. Paul are in 
 heaven and have never said to me, ' What we 
 have, we give thee.' Will you help up a poor little 
 cripple, and set him on his legs, and give him 
 his crutch, Dean? Be St. John to me, Dean." 
 
 "Sir Jasper Meredith!" exclaimed the Dean. 
 
 " I thought I should creep so nicely up, and
 
 64 STRETTON. 
 
 I came one stair at a time. And I made fair- 
 weather of it until I tried to turn the handle, 
 and then I lost my balance, and fell on my back." 
 
 The Dean had never seen anything like this. 
 He was a man of the cloister, and had heard of 
 human ills, and of baronets with 14,000 acres, 
 and of cripples also. But to find a feeble 
 cripple, with 14,000 acres, flat on his back 
 before his own door, on the landing, was a 
 sensation for the good Dean. " And he is from 
 Shropshire also," he considered. " Shropshire 
 will do for us in time." 
 
 He picked the little cripple up very carefully, 
 and brought him in. " What can I do for you, 
 Meredith?" he said, gently. 
 
 " Give me leave to get my breath, my dear 
 sir," began the little man. " Thank ye. Oh ! 
 that's better. I can't get on anyhow. The 
 doctors say that it is my spine, and I say it's my 
 legs, and I expect that I know as much about it 
 as they do. My legs have separate individu- 
 alities ; in fact, I have named them differently 
 -Libs and Auster — and they always want to 
 go in different directions, which brings me to 
 grief — don't you see ? I suppose you have
 
 STRETTON. 65 
 
 never noticed the same thing with regard to 
 your legs, for instance, have you?" 
 
 "No," said the Dean, glancing complacently 
 at his well-formed legs. " I never experienced 
 anything of that kind — lately." 
 
 "No," said Meredith; "your legs do look 
 like a pair. Now mine, you will perceive, if you 
 will do me the goodness to look at them, most 
 distinctly are not." 
 
 " You are certainly afflicted," said the kind 
 Dean, " and I am sorry for it." 
 
 " We will speak of that on some future occa- 
 sion," said the little man. " I am not at all 
 sure that I am. Being afflicted in this manner, 
 do you see, brings you so many kind friends, 
 and such sympathy, that I am not sure that I 
 would change it even to he Koland Evans. 
 Well, that is not what I came to speak about. 
 I came on a matter of business, and I am 
 taking up your valuable time in talking of my- 
 self. Cripples will talk about themselves, you 
 know." 
 
 " My time is yours, Meredith," said the 
 Dean, pleased by the kindly little ways of the 
 cripple. 
 
 VOL. i. f
 
 66 STRETTON. 
 
 " Now that is very kind of you. May I take 
 a liberty ? I have been a petted boy, and am 
 used to take liberties. May I have one little 
 sprig of that Wustaria which is hanging your 
 window with imperial purple ? I half live in 
 flowers, Dean. They are the purest forms of 
 mere physical beauty which can be brought to 
 me, and I cannot travel in search of beauty, 
 you know." 
 
 The Dean got him one at once, saying, 
 " There is one form of physical beauty which 
 comes to you very often, I fancy — Roland 
 Evans." 
 
 " Yes," said Meredith ; " I believe that he is 
 very beautiful. But I, for my part, having 
 known him so long, have lost the power of see- 
 ing that. If he were a cripple, or a leper, it 
 would make no difference to me." 
 
 " You like him, then ?" said the Dean. 
 
 Meredith laughed quietly, and very absently, 
 looking at the carpet. 
 
 " The brain is always affected in these spim* 
 diseases," said the Dean to himself. " The 
 poor little fellow is wool-gathering." 
 
 Then he added, emphatically, "We wire
 
 STBETTON. G7 
 
 speaking of Eoland Evans, Sir Jasper Meredith. 
 
 You like him, do you not ?" 
 
 In an instant one of the keenest, shrewdest 
 faces he had ever seen was turned up to his, 
 and he stood astounded. 
 
 "Like him!" said the cripple. "Yes, 
 like him very much indeed. Y^ou know that 
 you yourself would like a noble young man like 
 that (supposing that you were a cripple, which 
 you are not) who left habitually his own amuse- 
 ments, in which he excelled, to attend to you ; 
 who could put you in the best place to see his 
 innings at cricket, and come running to you 
 after a race to tell you about it. You would 
 like such a man as that, would you not?" 
 
 The Dean, interested, said " Yes !" 
 
 "Ah ! So I like him. And, in a similar 
 way, I like his sister, who is Viola to Sebastian. 
 And I like the whole lot of them — the two 
 Mordaunts, Maynard, and Eddy Evans. They 
 are all good. I came here on a point with 
 regard to them. I am afraid they have been 
 behaving very badly ?" 
 
 " They have been quarrelling so dreadfully," 
 said the Dean.
 
 08 STRETTON. 
 
 '• They always do in class," said Meredith. 
 "It is an old Gloucester dodge for spinning out 
 the work, if one of the set has not got up 
 enough lines." 
 
 " If that is the case," said the Dean, angrily, 
 " I must request you to tell your friends that I 
 will not suffer it again." 
 
 " It will not happen again," said Meredith. 
 " They thought— I declare they did — that you 
 would set them impositions. They are on 
 their honour now." 
 
 " They are an extraordinary lot of green- 
 horns." 
 
 "They are," said Meredith, "with the ex- 
 ception of shrewd old Mordaunt. I suppose 
 you know that none of them have ever heen to 
 London ?" 
 
 " I know nothing ahout them," said the 
 Dean, " except that K. sent them here. I 
 never saw such an extraordinaiy lot of fellows 
 in my life. But you must tell them that I will 
 not stand disturhances in lecture-time. You 
 said that you came here to speak to me ahout 
 them." 
 
 "True," said Meredith. " 1 ought to have
 
 STRETTON. 69 
 
 had notice to quit before. I will do my business. 
 The butler tells me that, as a fellow-commoner, 
 I must sit at the high table with you. Do 
 relax your rule, and let me sit at the Fresh- 
 man's table, with the Evanses and the Mor- 
 daunts. They help me in a hundred ways. 
 Do let a poor cripple have his dinner among 
 his kind at the Freshman's table." 
 
 " Your request is granted, certainly," said 
 the Dean, laughing. " But you must tell your 
 friends not to be so turbulent. We were told 
 last night that the younger Mordaunt and the 
 younger Evans fought for a plate of meat, 
 which both claimed, and were fined by the 
 senior man at the table." 
 
 "My groom told me this morning," said 
 Meredith, quietly, "that the Bible clerk had 
 sneaked. Young Evans certainly ordered the 
 chicken, but then young Mordaunt, as senior 
 boy, considered that he had a right to change 
 dinners, not liking his mutton when he saw it. 
 I am sorry they fought over it, but boys will 
 fight over their victuals, you know. I dare say 
 you have done it yourself." 
 
 There rose suddenly on the mind of the Dean
 
 70 STRETTON. 
 
 the ghost of a certain Bath bun which he ha 
 struggled for at a certain lodge at a certain 
 school nearly twenty years before, and which 
 had ended in a great fight in the playground 
 with a certain great general, who was just now 
 engaged in the reduction of Sebastopol. The 
 Dean had the best of it, as did not the general. 
 
 "But," said he, "they behave like school- 
 boys. They are ranked as men here." 
 
 " They were schoolboys yesterday, and are 
 schoolboys still," said Meredith. "It rests 
 with you to make them men. What sort of men 
 you are going to make of them is more in your 
 line of business than mine. Lord help you 
 through it ! for they are a rough lot. It 
 rests with you to take up Dr. K.'s work where 
 he left off. He has sent them here in trust to 
 you."
 
 STRETTON. 7 1 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Pulvekbatch, one would think, was (at least in 
 the old coaching days) as far, intellectually 
 speaking, from anywhere, as any place could 
 be. It was even out of the then road from 
 Shrewsbury to Ludlow — one would have thought 
 a very quiet road — and was intensely sleepy. 
 
 The Grange, Miss Eleanor Evans' inalien- 
 able property, was a heavy old grange, with an 
 actual moat, in which Miss Eleanor lived as a 
 Mariana, though with a difference. There were 
 eight hundred acres of fat meadow and corn- 
 land around it, washed down from Caradoc, 
 Lawley, and Longmynd ; every acre of which 
 this strenuous lady held in her own hands. 
 
 When she took possession of it, after the 
 lapse of a bad tenant's lease, and announced 
 her intention of farming it, her brother gave 
 her a little good advice.
 
 7 '2 bTRETTON. 
 
 " It is worth two pounds an acre, Nell, 
 now that the Dower Farm has fallen in, even 
 after Dell has scourged it so. .£1,600 a year 
 — I'll find you a good tenant." 
 
 " Thank you," she said, " but I am going to 
 find a good tenant in myself." 
 
 ''You will make a mess of it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you can't farm." 
 
 " Fiddle-de-dee," said Eleanor, " I have been 
 bored to death with it all my life ; I ought to 
 know something about it by this time. And, 
 besides, women are much sharper than men. 
 Any one can farm ; don't tell me. I will take 
 my four thousand a year off that land, or I will 
 know the reason why." 
 
 "My dear Eleanor," said her brother, "I 
 know you to be shrewd and determined ; I will 
 allow that you have quite sufficient intellect to 
 manage the property." 
 
 " That is to say, as much intellect as Dell, 
 who has 780 acres of yours. Thank you, for 
 I am very much obliged to you for comparing 
 me with a tipsy, muddled, uneducated old man 
 like him. Go on," said Eleanor.
 
 STBETTON. 73 
 
 " You are angry, my dear," said her brother, 
 "but you must remember that farming is a 
 second nature to him." 
 
 " What was his first ? " she asked. 
 
 This was one of those pieces of pure nonsense 
 which scatter men's nonsense. Squire Charles 
 picked himself up as well as he could, and said, 
 somewhat heavily : 
 
 '• Supposing that you could actually get this 
 farm in order, and get money's worth off it, 
 you would be beaten at marketing." 
 
 "Why?" said Eleanor. 
 
 "Because, not being able to go to market 
 yourself, you would have to send your bailiff, 
 who would cheat you." 
 
 " But I am not going to have any bailiff. 
 And I am going to market my own self." 
 
 " The farmers will be too much for you," 
 said Charles. 
 
 "Will they?" she said; "they must have 
 had a sudden accession of brains then." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me, Eleanor, that you 
 are actually going into Shrewsbury market with 
 samples of oats ? " 
 
 "Certainly."
 
 74 STRETTOX. 
 
 " It will be thought very odd, and some will 
 say improper." 
 
 "I know nothing about your last epithet. 
 With regard to oddity, now look round among 
 the county families around us, and say whether 
 or no there is not a queer story among every 
 one of them. There is an odd storv in our 
 own family, Charles." 
 
 " You mean about me." 
 
 " I mean about you. But I want to finish 
 about this farming business. I am going to do 
 it. I pay rent to myself; I have quite as much 
 knowledge of farming as Dell, and ten times his 
 intellect; why should I not do well? '' 
 
 " You will be beaten in market," said Charles. 
 
 " We will see about that," said Eleanor. 
 
 She certainly was right, for she " gave her 
 mind to it," and became one of the best farmers 
 and keenest marketers about. Her scourged 
 land recovered, as if by magic. She had good 
 years and bad years, but she made money and 
 a good deal of it ; as a very diligent and clever 
 person, with no rent to pay, and over seven 
 hundred acres of fine land, may do. As time 
 went on, her brother saw that he was wrong,
 
 STRETTON. 75 
 
 and lie told her so ; and added, " And you 
 seem to be very happy, Eleanor." 
 
 "I am as happy as the day is long," she 
 said. " I have no time to he otherwise. I am 
 interested and amused all day long, in all 
 weathers, and I have perfect health, and no 
 cares. Women are frequently very great fools 
 to marry." 
 
 "Yet it would be well to have another to 
 care and work for," said Charles. 
 
 " I have got Eddy ; he is my son, and I 
 know he will be extravagant, and bring my grey 
 hairs with sorrow to the grave. I have spoilt 
 him," she added, laughing, " therefore I must 
 work and slave to meet his extravagance. As 
 I have brewed, so must I bake ; I have made 
 my bed and I must lie on it, as regards him. 
 I gave him a new watch last week." 
 
 " So I saw. I hope he did not ask for it '? " 
 
 "Oh, no ; he never asks for anything, only 
 he looks so pretty when he is pleased, and he 
 likes bright and glittering things. I must work 
 and save for him." 
 
 " You will not save much with those new 
 cottages," said her brother; " you ought never
 
 70 STRETTOX. 
 
 to lay one brick on another, till you see your 
 way to a clear seven per cent., exclusive 
 of bad debts ; and you will never see three 
 there." 
 
 " Say two and a half," said Eleanor, " but 
 it pays me indirectly on my own estate. I have 
 my labourers on my own ground, close to their 
 work. What would you say of the wisdom of 
 a slave-owner who made her niggers walk three 
 
 'DD^ 
 
 miles to the cotton grounds ? " 
 
 "You will raise the rates." 
 
 ,; I don't care. Oh ! by-the-bye, your head- 
 keeper has been asking me whether he may 
 rear some pheasants in my large spinney, and 
 I have told him that I should like to catch him 
 at it. Your partridges I will protect for you, 
 but I won't have pheasants, rabbits, or hares ; 
 you have plenty of ground of your own without 
 bothering me." 
 
 Squire Charles laughed, and left her ad- 
 miringly. 
 
 So she went on, busy, happy, quiet, contented, 
 until I regret that it becomes necessary to pick 
 her up at the age of forty-four years, just at 
 the time when that extraordinary set of boys,
 
 STRETTON. 77 
 
 which I have previously described, had begun 
 their most eccentric career at St. Paul's 
 College. 
 
 The Grange at Pulverbatch was like so 
 many Shropshire houses, a place worthy a long 
 summer-day's visit. It was a low stone house, 
 shrouded in and darkened by great dense groves 
 of elms. Sooner than touch one bough of 
 which, Eleanor would have sold her watch ; 
 though she had very much spoilt the scenery 
 of the valley, by slashing into her hedge-row 
 timber elsewhere most unmercifully, and cut- 
 ting down her hedges to the famishing point. 
 I am not antiquarian enough to say who built 
 it or why it was built, but Eleanor had chosen 
 to get it into her head that it was built by a 
 small country gentleman, at the time, as she 
 put it, "when the greatest of all Englishmen 
 for all time, Oliver Cromwell, ruled the land, 
 and had one Milton for his Poet-Laureate." A 
 mild antiquarian, on one occasion, by way of 
 making himself agreeable, told her in a mild 
 voice that her house was formerly a religious 
 house, a cell of the larger house of St. Law- 
 rence at Stretton.
 
 78 STRETT0N. 
 
 " It was nothing of the kind, sir," she 
 answered, indignantly. 
 
 " I think you will iind that I am right," 
 said the mild man. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," said Eleanor, 
 And the mild antiquarian said no more. 
 
 " It was moated around on all sides, for 
 defence," she said; "carp-ponds," said the 
 antiquarian ; and this moat was part of her 
 belief in the place. 
 
 There were carp in this moat, and although 
 she was shrewd enough to prefer the splendid 
 trout which came out of the stream running 
 through her estate for her own eating, yet on 
 state occasions she always, as a great treat, 
 gave her guests these abominable masses of 
 dry bones, out of the moat. They were to her 
 as a haggis or a sheep's head is to a Scotchman. 
 She used to send them to her neighbours, as 
 rare compliments and presents. Well, she had 
 few prejudices, and those were very innocent. 
 
 We shall see more of her kind, innocent, wise 
 life as we go on: a little more about her house, 
 and herself, and she will be sufficiently fully in- 
 troduced.
 
 STBETTON. 79 
 
 I should think, from what I have observed, 
 that almost the first ambition of every clever 
 woman was to have a room of her own, a place 
 where she was mistress, and could do as she 
 pleased, (surely some clever woman has said 
 this before, though I cannot recollect where, 
 but it is true). I have seen such rooms ; I 
 know at least two ; and I guess that in these 
 maiden bowers, women, whether poor or rich, 
 symbolize their own souls, or the phases of 
 them. I know a bower, hung with crude oil- 
 sketches and photographs of great pictures ; 
 again, I know another, full of saints, angels, 
 and crucifixes. I suppose that every woman 
 would have such a nest — alas ! how few are 
 able. Eleanor, however, had her nest, which 
 most decidedly symbolized her pursuits. 
 
 Eleanor's nest was what her brother called 
 "the dining-room," but what she would insist 
 on calling, out of contradiction mainly, I think, 
 " the best parlour." It was a dark wainscoted 
 room, with a large stone-jambed bay-window at 
 the end furthest from the door, in front of 
 which her great library table, with innumera- 
 ble drawers, was placed, and by which the only
 
 80 STRETTOX. 
 
 available light was let into this wonderfully un- 
 comfortable room. At this table she could 
 look over her beloved moat, and write her 
 letters. Here she received her men, and her 
 poor folks ; and here she sat one afternoon, 
 soon after the boys had gone to St. Paul's, 
 reading her letters and answering them. 
 
 She was in her usual riding habit, and had 
 been on foot or on horseback since six o'clock 
 in the morning. As the light from the only 
 window fell upon her face, you could see that, 
 although her complexion might have suffered 
 (or been improved) by wind, weather and hard 
 work, there was no doubt that she was still a 
 singularly beautiful woman. 
 
 She had had all kinds of letters by that 
 post, and she had read them, and laid them 
 aside for answer. Mr. Sutton, of Reading, in- 
 formed Miss Evans that he did not approve 
 of such a large admixture of triticum in the 
 grass-seed intended for soil washed from lime- 
 stone hills, but had executed the order under 
 Miss Evans's direction, and begged to inform 
 her that the " Student " parsnip, from Ciren- 
 cester, was well worth a trial. Barr and Sugden
 
 STRETTON. 81 
 
 informed her that they would, if possible, 
 execute her small order for 5,000 snowdrops, 
 but that a regular customer had come down on 
 them for 14,000, and they were at present 
 uncertain. A neighbouring miller wrote to say 
 that if she would thrash out at once, he 
 would chance the four big ricks at 54 (to which 
 she said, "I dare say"); under all of which 
 there was a letter from her lawyer, telling 
 her that the dispute about the old arrears, 
 hanging on since Dell's time, was settled 
 against her; and several begging-letters. 
 
 These were put aside for answering : tltey 
 caused her no thought. It was the two she 
 had just read which made her sit with her 
 handsome head in the light, and really think. 
 Let us look over her shoulder. The first was 
 from young Allan Gray, the young man who 
 was the son of the soldier Gray, and who, by 
 natural laws, was nephew of Charles and Elea- 
 nor Evans, and cousin to Roland and Edward. 
 
 It ran thus : — 
 
 "My dear Madam, — I enclose you Mr. 
 Secretary Cowell's receipt for the very noble 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 82 STRETTON. 
 
 donation to our poor little work. I know that 
 the pleasure you had in giving it is even higher 
 than is ours in receiving it ; I am requested to 
 thank you for it, madam, and I thank you 
 accordingly. Mr. Taunton, one of our best 
 helpers, offered prayer for you to-night, madam, 
 in the general prayer, and by name. This I 
 know will be gratifying to you." 
 
 (" Well, and so it is," said Eleanor. " I am 
 sure we all want it.") 
 
 " I wish, madam, that you could come and 
 pay us a visit here, say when you come to the 
 Cattle Show, at Christmas. I wish that such 
 a shrewd and yet kind heart as yours could 
 see what actual good we are doing among the 
 misery and guilt around us. 
 
 " With deep reverence and gratitude, I re- 
 main, dear madam, your devoted servant, 
 
 "Allan Gray." 
 
 "Yes," said Eleanor, "you are a good boy, 
 and a shrewd boy, and a grateful boy ; but I 
 doubt I can't like you. You would be glad to 
 be rid of your obligations to me to-morrow. 
 I ought to like you, but I can't."
 
 STRETTON. 83 
 
 She was a shrewd, hard woman, this Elea- 
 nor Evans ; not given to show sentiment, yet, 
 when she opened the next letter she kissed 
 it, and said, " My darling, now we will have 
 you, after this Methodistical young prig. All 
 the flowers in May are not so sweet as you, 
 hut you might write hetter you know." The 
 letter was from Eddy, and she read it with 
 concentrated attention, weighing every word, 
 this sensible and keen lady, going over the 
 sentences three or four times to extract their 
 meaning (of which there was but little). Don't 
 laugh at her ; a love as keen and pure as 
 hers is not ridiculous. Perhaps Gray's letter 
 was more sensible, but this boy's nonsense 
 was infinitely dearer to her. 
 
 " Dear Aunt Nell, — You know that in one 
 of our delightful, confidential talks the other 
 day, you, in laying down our mutual plans for 
 the future, said that one day I must get a good 
 wife, and come and live with you. You hinted 
 that you would, in the case "of such an event, 
 make over the main part of your personal pro- 
 perty to me ; only reserving to yourself one
 
 84 STKETTON. 
 
 single room. You remember the alacrity with 
 which I fell into the arrangement, and the 
 extreme anxiety I have always shown to carry 
 out your wishes. Consequently, I have kept 
 my weather-eye open for above a fortnight, 
 and after long and painful consideration, I am 
 able to declare myself suited for life. 
 
 " To a well-balanced mind, such as I believe 
 mine to be (it is your look-out if it is not), 
 wealth, position, nay, even beauty itself, weigh 
 as nothing in the balance in a choice of this 
 kind, in comparison with solidity of character. 
 Gain that and you gain everything. I have 
 gained it. 
 
 " Of course I should not think of moving 
 definitively in such an important matter as 
 this without consulting 3^011, my more than 
 mother, to whom I owe so much. By-the-bye, 
 this last remark reminds me that I may as 
 well owe you a little more, while we are at it. 
 Roland has boned all my money because young 
 Mordaunt and I gave half-a-sovereign a-piece 
 to a young man we found on the Trumpington 
 road, with scarcely shoes to his feet, just come 
 out of Eeading Hospital. So do send mc
 
 STRETT0N. 85 
 
 some ; make it a tenner, if you can ; as much 
 more as you like. I am sure that you must 
 have thrashed out the three ricks by now, and 
 must be in cash. Don't you hold your corn 
 back in the way you do, raising the market on 
 the poor. You thrash out, and send me a ten- 
 pound note, and I'll bring you a present, if 
 there is any of it left. 
 
 "I suppose this will be the first intimation 
 you will have had of our splendid success. 
 Eoland has done such a thing which is simply 
 unequalled in history. To be continued in our 
 next, provided you send the money. 
 " Yours lovingly, 
 
 "Edward Evans. 
 
 " P.S. — I bought a squirrel of a cad in the 
 meadow, who said it was tame. On calling it 
 to our rooms, it bit me to the bone, and ran 
 up the chimney. This is a wicked and un- 
 grateful world. I doubt, I am already nigh 
 weary of it." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor put this letter aside, and 
 answered young Gray's first.
 
 86 STRETTON. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Gray, — I must beg that in 
 any future communications to me, you will 
 omit mentioning any obligations which you 
 conceive you still owe to me. Such obliga- 
 tions certainly existed at one time, but they 
 exist no longer. I therefore request, sir, that 
 they may be no longer mentioned between us. 
 
 "At my mother's desire, I did all I possibly 
 could for you. You on your part have repaid 
 me a thousand-fold, by turning out so well, 
 and by leading such a blameless, godly, and, 
 I hope, prosperous life as you are leading. 
 What I did for you was from a sense of duty, 
 and not on any sentimental grounds, for you 
 and I never liked one another, which you know 
 as well as I do, if you choose — (last three 
 words erased). Consequently, my dear sir, 
 now you have risen to your present honourable 
 position, I must tell you that these continual 
 protestations of gratitude towards a woman 
 you always disliked are not good ton. 
 
 " It seems strange that two people so utterly 
 separated as we are by every thought and every 
 feeling should be engaged in the same work, 
 that of ameliorating the condition of the poor.
 
 STRETTON. 87 
 
 But it is so. If you wish to put me under 
 obligations, you will show me how I can fur- 
 ther assist you in your very noble work, and 
 further how I can, in case of your requiring 
 pecuniary help yourself, assist you. I can 
 admire you without liking you ; and I am told 
 by Mr. Cowell, whom I knew before you did, 
 that you are decreasing your own income by 
 these good works. 
 
 ' ; E LE ANOR E VAN S . " 
 
 When Allan Gray got this letter, he rose 
 with set lips and walked up and down the 
 room. "A bitter, bitter, hard, cruel woman," 
 he said ; "an insult in every tone of it. Well, 
 if she can be bitter, I can be bitter too;" and 
 so he sat down and wrote : — • 
 
 " Madam, — I very much regret that a few 
 expressions of personal gratitude, which since 
 your last letter are no longer felt, should have 
 caused you such very deep annoyance. The 
 cause being removed the effect will not reappear. 
 
 " With regard to my personal pecuniary 
 matters, madam, they are in good order. With 
 regard to the Refuge, send as much money to
 
 88 STBETTON. 
 
 us as you possibly can. ' Sell all that thou 
 hast,' if you like. With regard to our personal 
 relations, madam, I can only say, as a man 
 who never told a lie, that I respect and reve- 
 rence you deeply. 
 
 "Allan Gray." 
 
 " The fellow has got go, though," said 
 Eleanor: "but a brimstone temper; well, we 
 are rid of him for a time. I will send them 
 some money, and go and see them." 
 
 Now we come to the answer to Eddy's letter, 
 and the reply to that. A bitter, hard woman, 
 was she, Master Gray? Bitter to you : bitter 
 to one who showed her every day and all day 
 that he disliked his obligations to her, but not 
 a bitter woman, though shrewd of tongue, to- 
 wards the world. Was she strong '? certainly ; 
 as strong a woman as most. Was she weak ? 
 she was weaker than water to some few : to a 
 very few. She could fight and beat her brother 
 easily, and he was an "upstanding" man. 
 Young Gray she could beat as the dust under 
 her feet ; yet he was as self-contained and as 
 mentally powerful a young man as most ; you 
 will see that for yourselves. Yet where she
 
 STBETTON. 80 
 
 loved she was utterly powerless. And among 
 others, she loved Eddy ; nay, she loved him 
 the dearest of them all. 
 
 Her brother went about with her on the 
 subject of spoiling Eddy. He pointed out to 
 her that her power over him was great, that 
 her responsibilities with regard to him were 
 great, and that she should not let him have 
 his own way. 
 
 "I can't help it," she said. 
 
 "You, so strong-minded and energetic," said 
 her brother, " allow yourself to be made a per- 
 fect fool of by that boy ! " 
 
 " I tell you I can't help it," said Eleanor, 
 somewhat emphatically. 
 
 "You should. You will spoil him," said 
 her brother. 
 
 "I never spoilt you, at all events," flashed 
 out Eleanor. And Squire Charles, with cer- 
 tain school-room reminiscences in his mind, was 
 obliged to admit that she certainly never had. 
 
 Now, with the almost cruel, almost vulgar 
 tone of the answer to young Gray fresh in 
 one's mind, let us turn to her answer to that 
 bright little nephew of hers, Eddy Evans, and
 
 90 STBETTON. 
 
 see whether or no there were not two sides to 
 this woman : — 
 
 "Dearest Eddy, — Your letter gives rne the 
 deepest interest. I congratulate you sincerely, 
 my dear, in having found a partner for life. I 
 go this afternoon to take the joyful intelligence 
 to your father and mother, who will, no doubt, 
 be made as happy as I am. Pray give my 
 dearest love to your dear one, and say that I 
 shall be happy to receive her on a visit as 
 soon as she chooses, and to present her to her 
 new father and mother-in-law. 
 
 " I think it of all things important that a 
 person of a character so frivolous and empty 
 as yours, should early become imbued with a 
 sense of responsibility, and on those grounds I 
 am delighted that you have taken this impor- 
 tant step. 
 
 " I have not thrashed-out yet ; the steamer 
 comes to-morrow ; but I have found an odd ten 
 pounds. Do get out of that foolish habit of 
 giving your money away like a baby. You will 
 probably hear from your father the day after 
 to-morrow on the subject of your grand alliance.
 
 STRETTON. 91 
 
 " Write to rne, and tell me what Roland 
 has done, what ' your great success ' is, and 
 what share you had in it. I can quite under- 
 stand that Eoland has done something un- 
 exampled in history, for I helieve Eoland to be 
 capable of anything ; the only thing which 
 puzzles me is that you should have had any 
 hand in it. Write and explain. I will do 
 anything at any time, my dear, to give you 
 pleasure." 
 
 After a few pleasant days among her turnips 
 and her beasts, during which she was observed 
 to have very often a smile of amusement on 
 her face, Aunt Eleanor got Eddy's reply. 
 
 "Dear Aunt, — If you are willing to do 
 anything to give me pleasure, you had better 
 send another cheque for ten pounds (unless you 
 like to make it twenty), because that gave me 
 the deepest pleasure, as it did also to Jimmy 
 Mordaunt. We have spent some of it in riot 
 and dissipation, but have still some of it in 
 hand. You have no idea of the temptations 
 of this place, the facilities of credit, and the
 
 92 STKETTON. 
 
 easiness with which young men of my personal 
 appearance and of my expectations, can raise 
 money from the lenders, at ruinous interest. 
 If I sent a son here, the first thing I should 
 take care of would be that he was supplied with 
 large sums of ready money, and so kept from 
 all risk of temptation. Believe me that such 
 is my experience. 
 
 " With regard to the young person of whom 
 I spoke to you in my first letter (I never spoke 
 to her), I doubt if she will do. She is a barmaid 
 down the river. I don't think she will do ; 
 but, as you have told father, I will keep my eye 
 on her, with a view of keeping her hanging 
 over his head, and keeping him civil. 
 
 " We never were frivolous so long together 
 before, aunt. Suppose we drop it ; but this 
 place is a perfect atmosphere of chaff. I don't 
 like it half as well as the old place. There, 
 between-whiles of racket and horse-play we were 
 serious. Well, there is not much that is serious 
 in what I am going to tell you, except that old 
 Roland has suddenly become a kind of hero in 
 the University. Eoland is the first man who 
 ever won the University sculls in his first term,
 
 STRETTON. 03 
 
 and my share in the victory was running 
 along the bank and howling at him. 
 
 " I need not remind you of the Doctor's ob- 
 jections to our having Eobert Coombes to 
 Gloucester to teach us to row, and how his ob- 
 jections were overcome by our father and Mr. 
 Mordaunt; at all events, as far as money went. 
 The fruits of that teaching have come out now. 
 
 " The third day we were here, Eoland and I 
 went early in the day, before the others were 
 on the river, and Eoland began trying sculling 
 boats at the principal place where they are let. 
 He was a long time before he found one to suit 
 him, and kept going up and down in front of the 
 barges, trying one after another, and changing 
 frequently, during which time I noticed that he 
 was attracting the attention of the people who 
 were standing b} r . At last he found one which 
 he said he could feel, and sent a waterman and 
 myself to the tow-path side, at which time I 
 observed that the principal boat-proprietors, 
 and at least a dozen other people, had crossed, 
 and were standing about, or walking slowly 
 down the tow-path. 
 
 " He kept us waiting for a long time, but at
 
 94 STRETTON. 
 
 last lie came raging clown, bare-legged and bare- 
 headed, at a racing pace; and I said to myself, 
 ' I should like to see some of these University 
 oars.' The waterman and I got our elbows up 
 and went after him, and, as we went, I heard 
 muttered exclamations of wonder and admira- 
 tion. I felt as if I was the proprietor of a show. 
 
 " He went clown to the starting-post and 
 rowed over, steered by the waterman. As we 
 neared the barges we found others running 
 with us, and Eoland rowing more splendidly 
 every minute. His last rapid rush home was 
 Imperial — with a large I. 
 
 "When he stopped, there was perfect silence 
 among the boat-builders and watermen. They 
 were bent, as I have understood, on business, 
 and were none of them inclined to commit 
 themselves. I said to the man — a most re- 
 spectable tradesman, as rich as you, I believe — 
 who had let the boat to us, 'My brother rows 
 well for a Freshman.' He answered, ' I have 
 not time to build him a boat, sir, but would 
 earnestly beg him to use the one he is in, and 
 not change.' I thought, of course, that he was 
 afraid of our going to his rival over the water,
 
 STEETTOX. 95 
 
 till that rival came to me, and said : ' I should 
 be glad of your custom, sir, but do urge your 
 brother to stay in that boat. I have no boat 
 in which he could show his form as well as in 
 that. Beg him, sir, not to train down ; it is 
 only a fortnight to the race.' 
 
 "I was utterly puzzled at all this, and looked 
 for Eoland. He had locked his boat to a punt 
 in front of the University barge, and was 
 talking to Jasper Meredith, who lay in it on 
 cushions. I hailed them, and they took me 
 in. I told them what I had heard. Jasper 
 answered : 
 
 " 'I have been trying to persuade your brother 
 from entering for the boat-race,' said he to me. 
 'His answer is that he will not run against 
 these older men. I watched you two this 
 morning, and crutched it down to follow you, 
 and see Eoland row — a thing which delights 
 me — and I have few pleasures. And I have 
 been here, and heard those cads making bets on 
 our own Eoland ; discussing the points in his 
 body, as if he were a horse — his legs, his arms, 
 his chest, his thighs — nay more, his manner 
 of living, and his morality. All I can say is,
 
 96 STRETTON. 
 
 that the whole business was immeasurably in- 
 decent. Since the days of Commodus, there 
 was never such a thing done as for Roland to 
 go down into the arena. It is a pleasure to me 
 to see him row, but if he had heard the ex- 
 pressions those cads used about him, he would 
 never row again as long as he lived.' 
 
 " 'You are looking only at one side of the 
 question,' said Roland. ' I only match myself 
 against another gentleman.' 
 
 " 'Yes ; but on what terms,' said Jasper. I 
 heard one of them say, ' If a cove could only 
 persuade him to train, what a pot of money a 
 fellow might put on.' He did not say ' fellow,' 
 but I spare your ears. And Roland has dropped 
 to this ! ' 
 
 "Roland, laughing, said: 'I am not sure 
 that I am going to row, and I don't think I am 
 going to win. I only know that I am not going 
 to bet.' And he shot away and left us. 
 
 " But he rowed and he won. He had in- 
 finitely the worst side, and Jimmy Mordaunt 
 and I ran through the Meadows with punts 
 over the ditches, to steer him. The thing was 
 easily done. Roland rowed his man — a Hen-
 
 STRETTON. 97 
 
 ley winner — down, and after the first half mile, 
 kept him working on his wash. Although he 
 had scrupulously practised in public, few be- 
 lieved in him against the Henley winner, and 
 the cheers were very slight. He came into the 
 University-barge, as did the other man, and 
 they got locked together. Roland said : ' we 
 cannot all win, sir. I am sorry you have lost, 
 but I am glad I have won.' The other man 
 said : ' I give you my shoes, sir, and I think 
 you will wear them well.' And then I took 
 Eoland out of his boat, and put the waterman 
 in, and we stood alone on the barge. 
 
 " Not a soul knew us personally, and so not 
 a soul would speak to us. We wanted to get 
 the cup, but did not know whom to ask about 
 it. We were not likely to speak to men who 
 would not speak to us, and there we stood like 
 fools ; Eoland, in breeches, with his legs bare 
 (for these barbarians row in trousers). How 
 long we should have stood I cannot say, but 
 the President came, parting the throng, and 
 made Eoland' s acquaintance. 
 
 " His influence here is so great that it broke 
 the ice at once. He had actually called en us 
 
 VOL. i. h
 
 98 STRETTOX. 
 
 that morning, it seemed, which gave him the 
 right of introducing us. So one happy result 
 of the race is that we, with our charming man- 
 ners, and our splendid personal appearance, 
 have a new world opened to us. I was not 
 aware, until I went to other colleges, that our 
 college was a marked and disliked one ; hut it 
 is. So much for Koland's boat-race. 
 
 " On the meadows we picked up Jasper Mere- 
 dith, and, strangely enough, the young man to 
 whom I gave ten shillings, who is now one of 
 his servants. 'For heaven's sake,' said Jasper, 
 ' don't begin talking of the boat-race. I am 
 sorry he has won. Give me the address of this 
 man, if you know it. He is a friend of yours.' 
 He wanted the address of Allan Gray, for what 
 purpose I did not ask him. Send it to him, for 
 I have not got it. He has moved."
 
 STRETTON. 99 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 See Aunt Eleanor's writing-table in the bay- 
 window once more, with a lady writing there — 
 a lady, but not Aunt Eleanor. The light of the 
 window fell, this time, on the head of the most 
 delicate little fairy ever seen : on the head of 
 the girl who had taken her aunt's place as 
 the great Evans beauty : on the head of 
 Mildred Evans. 
 
 The cross which the handsome Evans had 
 made with the still more beautiful Meredith, 
 had resulted in her, and she was very splendid 
 indeed ; very small, very fragile, very blonde, 
 in every attitude graceful ; yet not without a 
 rather quick, decisive way of changing from one 
 perfectly unstudied pose to another. 
 
 "Without shadow; all light as morning; light 
 in hair, light in sapphire eyes, light in her 
 dress. She had dressed herself in white, and
 
 100 STRETTOX. 
 
 she had got a pink rose from the garden and 
 put it in her hair, and she had got a red rose 
 and put it in her bosom, and had put a 
 geranium and rose in a glass vase before her, 
 and thus fortified, had sat down, at our un- 
 sympathetic Aunt Eleanor's desk, to write her 
 innocent little love-letter, which the reader will 
 be glad to be spared. 
 
 She had just finished when the door was 
 opened widely, and in came Aunt Eleanor, in a 
 riding-habit, accompanied by a girl, also in a 
 riding-habit, who looked exceedingly like Aunt 
 Eleanor's ghost. 
 
 A very tall girl, with a singularly upstanding 
 carriage, and a well-set-on head, covered with 
 fine brown hair, combed back into a knot ; a 
 very fine girl, very large and strong, but not in 
 the least coarse. Ethel Mordaunt, of whom her 
 brothers used to say that she was the greatest 
 brick in England, whom Squire Charles was apt 
 to pronounce a trifle coarse at times, though 
 never within his sister's hearing, and whom 
 Aunt Eleanor pronounced to be a perfect lady, 
 far too good to marry any one except Eddy. 
 
 This young lady, still holding her riding-skirt
 
 STHETTON. 101 
 
 under her left arm, threw her whip on the table, 
 and said : 
 
 " You are the best judge, Miss Evans, being 
 so much older and wiser than I am ; but even 
 a girl just out of the schoolroom has an opinion, 
 and my opinion is that you allow your good- 
 nature to be abused in countenancing these two 
 women." 
 
 "I don't encourage them. Mrs. Gray is 
 most respectable." 
 
 " Is she ? " said Miss Mordaunt ; " ah, I dare 
 say she is. But I don't like her, for all that. 
 I don't like the way she talks to my brothers, 
 for instance, though, perhaps, my brothers may. 
 She is both familiar and slangy." 
 
 " I don't know what 3*011 mean," said Aunt 
 Eleanor. " Her grandson and herself were left 
 in my care by my mother, and I have striven 
 to do my duty by them ; and slangy is not a 
 nice word, Ethel." 
 
 " My brothers use it," said Ethel ; " and 
 then there is old Phillis Myrtle again." 
 
 " Mrs. Myrtle has her faults," said Aunt 
 Eleanor; "but these arc matters which you 
 cannot understand."
 
 102 STRETTON. 
 
 " Papa says she is a tipsy old thing," said 
 Miss Mordaunt. " Look here, Miss Evans, see 
 if here is not our sweet little bird, writing her 
 love-letter, and dressed up in flowers to do so. 
 What an innocent little love it is. Put it in 
 strong, Milly, my love. Leave no doubt about 
 the state of your sentiments, my dear. Don't 
 let him have the slightest doubt of your mutual 
 relations, and let me read it after." 
 
 " It is sealed up," said Mildred, turning round 
 and laughing. 
 
 "What a pity ! " said Miss Mordaunt. " I 
 have seen a few of his, but I never saw one 
 of yours. I should like to see one, because I 
 don't know how I shall have to write to your 
 brother Eddy, when he, driven to exasperation 
 by your aunt here, proposes to me. Do you 
 ever write to Eddy ? " 
 
 " I am going to write now," said Mildred. 
 
 " Tell him that his aunt's heart is set on our 
 union, and that if he will summon up the 
 courage to propose, I will have him — con- 
 ditionally. He must add a cubit to his stature, 
 to begin with ; and there are other conditions 
 also. Will you write that for me ? That, do
 
 STRETTON. 103 
 
 you see, Miss Evans, will crown your kind 
 plan." 
 
 " I iiavo no plan, now," said Aunt Eleanor, 
 and standing in her place, with her riding-skirt 
 tucked up under her left arm, she looked steadily 
 at Miss Mordaunt, standing in her place, also 
 in the same attitude, and also looking steadily 
 at Aunt Eleanor. But as she returned Aunt 
 Eleanor's stare, the veins in the girl's throat 
 began to swell and throb, and a flush spread 
 upwards over her face, until that face was 
 scarlet. At which time, Aunt Eleanor went 
 up and patted her on the shoulder, and said in 
 her ear, " It was so with me once, my dear, 
 long ago, long ago ; that is the reason why I 
 never married." 
 
 The girl said nothing, but Mildred Evans, 
 turning round from the table, said, suddenly : 
 
 " I have got a letter also from Koland." 
 
 The blood fled back from Ethel Mordaunt' s 
 face as fast as it had come, and told the story 
 full well — the story which Aunt Eleanor had 
 nearly guessed that afternoon, during their 
 ride. An old story, and generally a sad one, 
 of childish friendship ripening into love on the
 
 104 STItETTON. 
 
 woman's part, but only into kindly, friendly 
 indifference on the man's. " She loves him," 
 thought Aunt Eleanor, " and / shall never prate 
 her out of it. No one ever prated me out of it, 
 even after I had her children on my knee. 
 God help the poor child ! " 
 
 Ethel Mordaunt had as veil-cut and veil- 
 carved a head on her shoulders as had her 
 brother James, vhose carriage of his head has 
 been before alluded to. This head was very 
 nearly down on Aunt Eleanor's shoulder, but 
 it vas suddenly and imperiously drawn up 
 again, and turned towards the door ; for a 
 footman opened that door and said, " If 3*011 
 please, ma'am, here is Mrs. Gray and Mrs. 
 Myrtle." 
 
 Every fibre of Ethel Mordaunt' s body became 
 rigid as these two women appeared. " Send 
 beauty away," she said, almost imperiously, 
 pointing with her head, negro fashion, to Mil- 
 dred Evans. "It is- not fit that she should 
 breathe the atmosphere with these two." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor chuckled internally, but did 
 not let her laughter show outwardly. " Mil- 
 dred," she said, " vould you kindly be so good
 
 STRETTOX. 10 
 
 
 
 as to go and see whether the 1 mean, be 
 
 so good as to go upstairs and look out of the 
 
 window and see if but I cannot do it. 
 
 Would you be so kind as to take yourself out of 
 the way, my dear ?" 
 
 " I can understand that, Aunt," said Mil- 
 dred, laughing, and slid out of the room, with 
 her precious letter in her hand, making two 
 pretty little obeisances to Mrs. Gray and Mrs. 
 Phillis Myrtle as she went out, which those good 
 ladies returned with deep reverences. 
 
 " Now you go too," said Aunt Eleanor. 
 
 " I am going to stop where I am," said 
 Ethel Mordaunt. 
 
 " What is not fit company for her is not fit 
 company for you." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I am going to stop where I 
 am. I am clever, and wish to study character." 
 
 " You will go, if I tell you to go," said Aunt 
 Eleanor. 
 
 " Of course ; now have them in." 
 
 And they came in. Two very different- 
 looking women, Mrs. Gray first. A tall old 
 woman, with the remains of a certain kind of 
 aquiline beauty, very upright in her carriage,
 
 106 STRETTON. 
 
 and an expression in her face — a look of cool, 
 careless impudence, which might either take 
 the form of contemptuous badinage, or of utter 
 scorn. She was very well dressed, and in good 
 material ; but her whole appearance, striking 
 as it was, was utterly repugnant both to Eleanor 
 and Miss Mordaunt, for different reasons. 
 
 Phillis Myrtle was an entirely different person. 
 A little, round-about old lady, with an apple 
 face and a perpetual smile. To Eleanor she 
 was possibly more repugnant than Mrs. Gray. 
 
 It was natural that these two women should 
 be utterly repugnant to her, even if they had 
 been the most estimable characters in the 
 world. These two women were the only two 
 left who knew of, or cared to remember, her 
 brother Charles's escapade with Elsie Gray. It 
 was a secret between them, though it was never 
 mentioned at all ; neither of the three knew 
 how much the other knew. Who knew most, 
 we shall see. 
 
 It was a life-long annoyance for a very high - 
 souled woman, impatient of control, to keep 
 this secret with two such women ; yet it had 
 to be kept, for these women had the power of
 
 STEETTON. 107 
 
 annoying her brother seriously. Squire Charles 
 had done well by Mrs. Gray. She lived in a 
 cottage rent-free, and had a fixed allowance, 
 but the cottage was Eleanor's, and the allow- 
 ance was paid by Eleanor's hand. Once, and 
 once only, had the Squire spoken to Mrs. Gray 
 after his return from India, and that was to 
 say, "Mrs. Gray, our more recent intercourse 
 was a very sad one ; I think that the wisest 
 thing we can do is to forget one another." And 
 Mrs. Gray said, "Your honour shall be obeyed." 
 Nothing more ; and had accepted her position 
 quite quietly, merely curtseying to the Squire 
 when they met. Here she was now with old 
 Phillis Myrtle, the nurse, staring fixedly and 
 boldly at Miss Mordaunt, as if she was weigh- 
 ing or appraising her, and here was Miss Mor- 
 daunt looking out of window instead of return- 
 ing her gaze, and drumming with her horse- 
 whip. 
 
 "I am afraid I have kept you waiting," 
 began Eleanor. 
 
 " Not at all,. miss ; I have been accustomed 
 to wait on gentlefolks all my life, and my 
 husband's family have been vassals to yours
 
 108 STRETTON. 
 
 for centuries. Corning from the manufactur- 
 ing counties as I do, this vassalage seemed 
 strange at first, but I have got used to it. The 
 world uses you well, Miss Eleanor, and I hope 
 it will use you as well, Miss Mordaunt, when 
 you are as old as Miss Eleanor. Why, miss, 
 3 T ou are three-and-forty ; you must think of 
 marrying soon." 
 
 " I am sony to say that I am three-and- 
 forty, my good Gray ; and as for thinking of 
 marrying, I have thought of that all my life, 
 and the more I think of it the less I like it." 
 
 It was so good-humouredly said that Mrs. 
 Gray smiled a gaunt smile, and continued the 
 conversation with Miss Mordaunt, who, by-the- 
 bye, had not said one word. 
 
 " You will poison Miss Mordaunt' s mind 
 against marriage, Miss Eleanor," she went on, 
 audaciously. " Beauty 7 like hers should not go 
 unsued. Mordaunts and Evanses must not 
 fail in the land ; beauty, worth, valour, perfect 
 openness, and perfect truth, are too good 
 qualities to be lost in the land ; and where are 
 they to be found unless among Mordaunts and 
 Evanses ? Ah ! we may sec Miss Mordaunt
 
 STEETTON. 109 
 
 mistress of Stretton yet." Whereupon Miss 
 Ethel, with her crest in the air, marched out of 
 the room, with her riding-habit under her arm, 
 and a look of high, cool, unutterable contempt 
 on her face. " I will come back, Miss Evans, 
 when this woman is gone," she said ; but she 
 might have gone up-stairs without bruising her 
 clenched hand against the banisters. 
 
 "Mrs. Gray," said Eleanor, angrily, " you 
 are taking great liberties." 
 
 " Only with a Mordaunt. I love it ; I love to 
 make one of those snake-headed Mordaunts put 
 their heads in the air, like an adder just before 
 he strikes ; I do it with the boys. They are a 
 red-handed old lot. Why, that youngest one, 
 Jimmy, her brother, nigh tortured your own 
 nephew, Edward, to death at school, that you 
 know. Mad love and bitter hate. I love to 
 play with a Mordaunt. Ha ! ha !" 
 
 "I'll trouble you not to play with an Evans, 
 if you please," said Eleanor, calmly furious. 
 
 " No! no ! not with a she-Evans. They get 
 their stuff from the Merediths. Do you re- 
 member your mother ? Ah ! to see her bare- 
 headed, with her hands held up over her head
 
 110 STRETTON. 
 
 — well, don't look like that. She was a Mere- 
 dith, and so are you ; your brother is an 
 Evans. All the men-Evanses are soft; you 
 can do anything with 'em you like, except 
 resist them when they plead. Your brother 
 took two of my sons to Waterloo, and only 
 brought back one. They would have gone to 
 the devil after him — and then — why, and then 
 another man-Evans, your nephew Edward, 
 kisses you, strokes your hair, calls you his 
 foolish old woman, and makes you, a woman 
 of spirit, do just as he pleases. And he will 
 live to break your heart as his father broke 
 mine. You wait till you are old, and see him 
 spending your hard-earned money on them 
 that will despise you. Wait till you see him 
 getting impatient for your death, and then re- 
 member my words." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor rose. " Now look here, Mrs. 
 Gray, and have the goodness to attend to me. 
 I am not going to have this, or anything in 
 the remotest degree approaching to it, for one 
 instant. Go out !" 
 
 " You had better hear my errand first." 
 " I will not speak to you. Go out !"
 
 STKETTON. Ill 
 
 " You may get your servants to turn me out 
 if you like," began Mrs. Gray. 
 
 " I shall not get my servants to do it ; I 
 shall do it myself in less than half a minute," 
 said Aunt Eleanor. And as she rose she looked 
 so extremely like doing it, that Mrs. Gray 
 turned round, not one bit abashed, and broke 
 into a loud laugh. 
 
 " I'll go," she said; "and I'll hold my tongue, 
 too. This woman will tell you what we came 
 about. There is no bad blood between us, 
 Eleanor; I like you the better for your anger." 
 And she was gone. 
 
 "The old witch," said Aunt Eleanor, drop- 
 ping back in her chair. " For her to have 
 dared ■" 
 
 A low sigh, and a dropping, or rather drib- 
 bling, of honey-sweet words reminded her that 
 Phillis Myrtle was still seated in the easiest 
 of easy-chairs, rolling her head from one side 
 to the other, and using her pocket handker- 
 chief. 
 
 "You may well say dared, my dear young 
 lady," began Mrs. Myrtle : " audacious as dear 
 Mrs. Gray can be, I never thought she'd have
 
 112 STRETTON. 
 
 burst out on this clay of all clays in the year. 
 And witch you may well say, Miss .Eleanor : 
 witch she would be if she could, for I have 
 watched her. But it ain't biling things in a 
 pipkin as makes a witch — no, my clear, Lord 
 forbid ! If she has asked me for black spells 
 once, she has asked me a dozen times, and I 
 replied to her, 'Mrs. Gray, I don't use them; 
 I am old, and I think of my soul ! ' And she 
 had said to me, 'But, you fool, you know them,' 
 as, heaven help me, I do. And I have set her 
 off with white spells,* for bunions and king's 
 evil. But now she is going for good and all, 
 and how her pious grandson will like it, I can't 
 say. 
 
 " As I was saying, my dear young lady, she 
 comes to me, and she says, ' You half-hearted 
 witch,' she says, 'ho will have you all the same, 
 if you won't give me a black spell. If you won't 
 let me make acquaintance with your master, 
 at all events give me a white one. And I said 
 I would do anything neighbourly, not against 
 
 * All this is going on in the present day, and there are 
 educated men who believe that Mr. Home was carried 
 round the ceiling of the room.
 
 STRETTOX. 113 
 
 niy conscience, onty that I should want a new 
 crown- piece. Then she told me what she 
 wanted. She says, in her own words, ' I want 
 a love-spell. That girl Ethel Mordaunt is in 
 love with young Eoland Evans, for I have 
 watched them, and he don't care for her. And 
 I want something to put in his wine, or his 
 drink, to make him love her ; for there will be 
 mischief afoot if he marries her before they 
 have studied one another's character. They 
 will fight for the mastery, and there will be 
 your master to pay.' And I gave her some 
 dill-water, and she put it in his drink." 
 
 Eleanor groaned. The secret she had found 
 out that day was known to this terrible Mrs. 
 Gray ; and how many others ? 
 
 " Therefore, my dear young lady, it is as 
 well that she goes away. It is indeed." 
 
 " Is she going away ?" 
 
 " Her grandson has offered her a home in 
 London, my dear young lady, and she goes to 
 him, and a nice mess they will make of it to- 
 gether." 
 
 " Did you two come here to tell me of this 
 to-day?" asked Eleanor. 
 
 vol. 1. 1
 
 114 STKETTON. 
 
 " Yes, my dear lady, partly. And partly to 
 ask if I might have her cottage. There is no 
 one but us two knows anything, and no one but 
 I and yourself, and your dear mother, now in 
 glory, and the Squire as knows a certain part 
 of the truth ; and there is no one but my own 
 self knows the whole and entire truth. She 
 thinks she does, but she don't. The Lord help 
 you, if she did." 
 
 " What do you mean by the whole truth, 
 Mrs. Myrtle?" said Eleanor. 
 
 "Parcelling all together," said Mrs. Myrtle. 
 ''Not parts and parcels, but the whole biling." 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Eleanor, rubbing her 
 nose, " I suppose you had better have the cot- 
 tage rent-free. I need not mince matters with 
 you. It is of great importance that my brother's 
 first marriage should not be talked of " 
 
 That silly old trot, Phillis Myrtle, was down 
 on her knees before her in an instant. " She 
 don't know of that, my lady. Oh! for heaven's 
 sake keep it from her for ever." 
 
 "Does she believe my brother a villain, 
 then?" said Eleanor, indignantly. 
 
 " Oh ! let her believe so, my lady. Oh ! for
 
 STRETTON. 115 
 
 the sake of the mother that bore you, and the 
 brother you love, let her believe so. Listen to 
 me, a foolish old woman. Think of what her 
 claims would be if she knew it ; and nobody 
 knows that much but you and I— no one alive. 
 Think, dear Miss Eleanor, what would be the 
 effect of bringing it up now — how Squire 
 Charles had made a shameful marriage in 
 Scotland over the broomstick, but legal. Think 
 of what Madam Evans would say when she 
 found it had been kept from her. Think of 
 the effect on the boys. Think of my darling 
 Roland, whom I nursed, how his head would 
 be bowed ; and think of your poor little Eddy. 
 Think of him, miss. Don't let that woman 
 think there was a marriage. You have con- 
 cealed before. Go on concealing : it is no new 
 sin. Think of Eddy, miss." 
 
 " You plead well," said Aunt Eleanor. "I 
 think you are an affectionate woman, though 
 you must own yourself to be a great fool. Will 
 that woman, Gray, speak, think you?" 
 
 " No, my lady ; she is too proud ; and she 
 don't know all. I did not think as you knew 
 as much as you did. I thought you thought
 
 1 1 G STRETTOX. 
 
 as she thought. But I am the only one that 
 knows all. Leave well alone, my lady." 
 
 "Leave ill alone, you mean. "Well, I sup- 
 pose I had better. You can have the cottage." 
 
 " Well, aunt," said Mildred, coming in with 
 her arm round Ethel's waist, " are the two 
 wretches gone ? ' ' 
 
 " Don't talk to me for a time, you two. Kiss, 
 play, fall in love, quarrel, do anything you like, 
 hut never give j-ourselves to a deceit. It will 
 grow out of a little lie, like the thin clouds 
 of summer, darkening and darkening, till it 
 breaks, in ruin and confusion."
 
 STHETT0N. 117 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Stretton Castle lay on the north side of the 
 valley, under Longmynd ; Mordaunt Royal lay 
 upon the south side, nearly facing it, with 
 Caradoc at its back. 
 
 When the Evanses and the Mordaunts first 
 came into that part of the country, and began 
 quarrelling, is lost in the mist of antiquity. All 
 down through the history of the county, how- 
 ever, you will find that the Evanses and the 
 Mordaunts did nothing but squabble, and now 
 and then intermarry, mainly for the purpose 
 of patching up a worse quarrel than usual. 
 There was, however, generally such a furious 
 hurly-burly about marriage settlements, dower 
 lands, appanages, and so forth, that the remedy 
 had been found to be worse than the disease, 
 and had been tacitly abandoned. These disputes 
 had been settled with lance in the tilting-
 
 118 STRETTON. 
 
 ground, with rapier in the meadow, and with 
 red tape in Chancery ; hut at last the old 
 jealousies and disputes had died out, and they 
 were exceedingly good friends. The last case 
 of enmity between the houses was when James 
 Mordaunt so shamefully bullied Eddy Evans 
 at Gloucester. Even that was past and gone 
 now. 
 
 In the great civil war, the then Evans had 
 declared for Parliament — and, of course, the 
 then Mordaunt for King. This was a very pretty 
 quarrel indeed, and the great statesman tried 
 to utilize it ; not knowing, as the Maynards 
 and Merediths, or any Shropshire folks, could 
 have told him, that the Evanses and Mordaunts 
 only quarrelled between themselves, and that. 
 in case of an Evans or a Mordaunt being- 
 assailed in any way by an outsider (even a 
 Maynard or a Meredith), the other family 
 would at once fly to the rescue, and defy crea- 
 tion. Consequently, during the Revolution, the 
 Evans of those times did nothing more than 
 watch his pestilent neighbour, Mordaunt ; and 
 during the Restoration, Mordaunt did nothing- 
 more than go bail for his traitorous neighbour,
 
 STRETTOX. 119 
 
 Evans. Obligations in this way were mutual ; 
 and what is more to the purpose, they both 
 kept their lands under their feet, their heads 
 on their shoulders, and what concerns us most, 
 their houses over their heads. 
 
 So that now, as of old, Stretton stood a little 
 up the hill— a long mass of dark grey, blazing 
 with roses, with an oak wood behind it, and 
 sheets of moorland rising behind ; while before 
 it, the deer-park stooped down, like a cascade 
 of green turf, into the valley, unaltered since 
 the time of Henry VII. For a similar reason, 
 the dark red-brick, James the First house of 
 Mordaunt, buried among its dense elms and 
 oaks, on the other side of the valley, kept its 
 form unaltered through all political changes. 
 
 Either house, or either estate, were posses- 
 sions which, to poor folks, seem almost fabu- 
 lous. Yet there are thousands as good, or 
 much better, to be seen anywhere. One of my 
 neighbours, a commoner, has .£20,000 a year; 
 another, just in sight, has ,£60,000; another, 
 also a commoner, within four miles, has just 
 died worth £5,000,000. The figures, with 
 regard to the Evans and the Mordaunt pro-
 
 120 STRETTON. 
 
 perties, drop terribly from these real, every-day 
 sums. Mr. Mordaimt was reputed to have 
 about £7,000 a year, and Squire Charles 
 Evans £8,000. We have only to do with the 
 last estate, and I only mention figures to show 
 that it was a very desirable one for a moderate 
 man. Though not by any means as good as 
 the "New York Herald," and but little better 
 than Mr. Ward Beecher's church, it was worth 
 lighting for. 
 
 There was a pleasant, orderly luxury about 
 the place which was extremely agreeable, and 
 was rather wonderful to contemplate, when one 
 considered the beggarly income. It is per- 
 fectly certain that Charles Evans could never 
 have done what he did with his limited means, 
 but for one thing : he never went to London, 
 except to lodgings, and Mrs. Evans did not 
 dress. 
 
 But he did everything else. To begin with, 
 he sat in Parliament, for one thing, three elec- 
 tions, which somewhat took the gloss off hia 
 income ; and then he sat a fourth at a greater 
 expense than before — an expense which made 
 even him open his eyes, and brought in a
 
 STKETTON. 121 
 
 furious remonstrance from Eleanor. He sat, I 
 say, a fourth time, for three weeks, after which 
 time he was unseated in a scandalous manner. 
 There was no doubt at all about it. Outraged 
 Britannia held up her hands in sheer horror ; 
 and six thousand odd of good money gone to 
 the bad for nothing ! After this, Charles 
 Evans retired into private life, cursing his 
 attorney, consoling himself with the fact that 
 "the other fellow" had spent more money 
 than he had, and so let public affairs go to the 
 deuce as they liked. 
 
 Consequently, although he kept the hounds 
 at his own expense, his estate was not injured 
 in any way. Hounds can be kept very well for 
 .£2,000 a year; and he kept them till he made 
 the brilliant discovery that you could get as 
 much sport out of them if you let some one 
 else keep them, and only galloped after them 
 yourself. Ho he gave up his hounds. 
 
 Then he bred race-horses, and, indeed, he 
 won the Oaks, to Eleanor's intense exaspera- 
 tion. "Now we are done for," she said : "this 
 is the finish and end of us at last." But she 
 was deceived. Charles bred a colt, such a colt
 
 122 STRETTOX. 
 
 as was never seen, and lie, a consummate 
 horseman, taught one of his stable-boys to ride 
 it, and he won the Two Thousand,* and 
 Eleanor gave the house up for lost ; but no. 
 He came back to her the next day, very quietly, 
 and told her that he had sold his horse, with 
 its engagements, for £5,000, and had netted 
 £14,000 in bets. "You are not going on 
 then," she said. "No," he answered; " it is 
 so slow." 
 
 Sailing-yachts eat nothing, and so his yacht- 
 ing cost him little. And now that his Parlia- 
 mentary career was done with and finished, his 
 sole dissipation was his yacht at Aberystwith. 
 His was a most desirable property, perfectly 
 unencumbered, all ready for Roland, who 
 seemed to be worthy of it. 
 
 Most worthy. The good Doctor's estimate of 
 his character was being confirmed day by day. 
 The Dean had gone out of his way to write to 
 Squire Evans about his two sons : they were 
 both of them patterns (in spite of a slight 
 tendency to boisterousness), but Roland was a 
 paragon. The schools, and consequently the 
 * The Oaractacus Derby is an exact parallel.
 
 STRETTON. 123 
 
 world, were at his feet — he might do anything 
 — there was never anything like him. Old 
 Mordaunt wrote to his father: "Koly Evans 
 has won the University sculls, and has made a 
 blazes fine speech at the Union. I heard it. 
 There ain't a man to hold a candle to him here. 
 He is getting petted and nattered ; but I don't 
 think they will spoil him." 
 
 Jim Mordaunt also wrote to his sister. I 
 hardly know why, but I feel as if I was vio- 
 lating confidence in writing down what he 
 wrote. It ran thus :- — 
 
 " He has done a thing five hundred times 
 greater than winning the University sculls — for 
 my part I hate to see him rowing. The ques- 
 tion before the house was the Eastern Avar, and 
 the ultra-radicals were against it ; and Roland 
 got on his legs, on the Liberal side, and did so 
 cast about his beautiful, furious words about 
 national death and national dishonour, that he 
 carried the house with him. You should have 
 seen the w T ay he raised his head and sent the 
 well-thought-out syllogisms rattling through his 
 white teeth : it was a sight ! Johnny says 
 that his logic was all fishy in the major term.
 
 124 ST11ETT0N. 
 
 and that his whole argument was bosh ; but 
 you know Johnny. As for me, I would sooner 
 hear Eoland's buncombe than any one else's 
 common sense. So would you, my sister. 
 They are all flattering him, but they will never 
 spoil him. I got up a fight with him and his 
 brother to-night. Pretending to cut Eddy's 
 hair, while I was flourishing the scissors I got 
 the enclosed off his head. He is in an awful 
 wax with me, for he has missed his curl : he 
 little dreams where it has gone. Mind you 
 never, under any circumstances, let him see it ; 
 he would never forgive me." 
 
 So after their successful two first terms they 
 all came back, full of hope, health, and high 
 spirits, to their two beautiful homes. I sus- 
 pect that of all the men in the world, a young 
 English country gentleman, of good name, of 
 good repute, of tolerable intelligence, with good 
 health, and of innocent life, has more chance 
 of happiness than any other. Most human 
 cares are impossible for him ; he has plenty to 
 do, plenty to think about, and his work is all 
 laid ready to his hand. I cannot conceive of 
 any man of finer chances than a rich 3*oung
 
 STRETTON. 125 
 
 squire — the world and its temptations seem put 
 out of the way in his case ; yet he frequently 
 makes a fearful fiasco of it too. 
 
 There was no blot on the prospects of the 
 young Mordaunts or the young Evanses on the 
 morning after their arrival home, any more 
 than there was a cloud in the June sky, which 
 stretched overhead a sheet of glorious, cloudless 
 blue. All possibilities of any disturbing causes 
 seemed absolute nonsense. The chances were 
 so infinitely in their favour. Monej- was to be 
 had for the picking up ; they had talents, 
 prospects, health, high spirits ; the world was 
 theirs, in a way, if they cared to go into it and 
 succeed ; or if they failed, here were two homes 
 of ancient peace ready for them to come back 
 to. Misfortune, thanks to settled old order, 
 seemed in their cases to have become impos- 
 sible. 
 
 The Mordaunts had come over to break- 
 fast with the Evanses, and Maynard was 
 spending the first part of his vacation with 
 them, for the purpose of being with his beloved 
 Mildred Evans. Aunt Eleanor had come from 
 Pulverbatch to see her darling Eddy ; and so
 
 126 STRETTON. 
 
 they were all assembled in the morning room 
 at Stretton. 
 
 Aunt Eleanor was the first person "who 
 sauntered out through the open window into 
 the bright, blazing sun. The boys stayed be- 
 hind eating more, and yet more, of marma- 
 lade and honey, and the others sat because 
 they were contented, until at last Eddy cried 
 out, " There is Aunt Eleanor having a row 
 with Deacon Macdingaway ; " and, indeed, 
 Aunt Eleanor's usual expletive, "Fiddle-de- 
 dee," was plainly borne to the ears of the as- 
 sembled company. 
 
 '•' Let's go and hear the fun, you fellows," 
 said the younger Mordaunt — a proposition 
 which, as it stood, was innocent enough, but 
 might have been carried out with less boister- 
 ousness. They need not all of them have 
 rushed to the window at once. Likewise, there 
 was no necessity of a free fight between Eddy 
 Evans and young Mordaunt, which ended in 
 Eddy being cast on his back in the middle of 
 a bed of geraniums, with young Mordaunt 
 atop of him. However, they soon were be- 
 side Aunt Eleanor, determined to back her
 
 STRETTON. 127 
 
 through thick and thin against Deacon Mac- 
 dingaway. With which heed the younger 
 Mordaunt, on arriving at the scene of action, 
 by way of taking up a formidable position, 
 said to Macdingaway, "She did nothing of 
 the kind.'' 
 
 Macdingaway was the head Scotch gardener, 
 who, in an evil moment for him, had con- 
 fessed to one of these madcaps that he had 
 held an office in his church, after which they 
 had christened him " Deacon." He turned 
 on young Mordaunt, and said, "Her ladyship 
 threepit — — " 
 
 "That I emphatically deny," struck in Eddy, 
 who had got his breath. 
 
 " Her ladyship threepit that the roses should 
 no have been budded till the first week in July," 
 said the inexorable Macdingaway ; "and I took 
 the liberty to disagree with her." 
 
 "That alters the case altogether, of course," 
 said Eddy. "You are quite right, Deacon. 
 Aunt, you have not got a leg to stand on, 
 you know. You had better leave him alone : 
 he has much the best of the argument. Here 
 are the others : let us come to them."
 
 12 3 STRETTOX. 
 
 As they went awaj* from him, old Macding- 
 away shook his clever old head. " A' folly 
 together," he said. "If your father had na 
 lived before ye, where -would ye he?' ! 
 
 All the others were now standing on the 
 terrace. Squire Charles Evans, a handsome 
 man of fifty, in a short velvet coat, perfectly 
 cut trousers and well-made lace-up boots ; very 
 grey, with slight grey whiskers and moustache. 
 Squire Mordaunt, a full-necked, brown-faced, 
 thickset man, without a hair on his face, in 
 grey breeches and gaiters, with a grey shooting- 
 coat. He was a very bucolic-looking man, this 
 Squire Mordaunt, but he had a shrewd, deep- 
 set eye under his heavy eyebrow's too. He 
 stood looking at the group as they approached, 
 with his head thrust forward, and his hands 
 holding a whip (for he had ridden over), behind 
 his back, and he was the first who spoke. 
 
 " What new trouble has my friend Miss 
 Evans been getting into?" he asked, in a rather 
 grating voice. " She seems to be borne back in 
 triumph from some new victory by these four 
 foolish boys." 
 
 " Nothing but a dispute with my dear friend
 
 STRETTON. 129 
 
 and admirer, Macdingaway, George Mordaunt," 
 she replied, with her head in the air; " nothing 
 worse than that this time." 
 
 " I am glad of that," said Squire Mordaunt. 
 "Edward, you can come out of your aunt's 
 pocket. My dear Miss Evans, once more, will 
 you let me have that right of way through 
 your two orchards for watering my horses at 
 Gweline Farm?" 
 
 "No, I won't/' said Aunt Eleanor, with a 
 dangerous look in her face. Stroking Edward's 
 hare curls, who, although he was not in her 
 pocket, was certainly leaning idly against her. 
 "No, I won't." 
 
 " But why not, my dear Miss Evans ? " said 
 Squire Mordaunt. 
 
 "Because you ask me, and because you ask 
 me with that look in your face. I would 
 sooner let every gipsy on the country-side camp 
 there than let one of your dogs through, if you 
 look at me like that, and ask me like that, now 
 then ! What do you think of that, for in- 
 stance ? " 
 
 The other boys had heard nothing of this ; 
 but Mrs. Evans, who was en passant a pretty 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 STEETTON. 
 
 woman, and Mrs. Mordaunt, who was not 
 pretty, but clever, interposed. 
 
 " Surely," said Mrs. Mordaunt, " I shall 
 have to quote Dame Quickly on you two some 
 day. You cannot serve heaven well, that you 
 never come together without quarrelling. Do be 
 quiet." 
 
 "A wilful woman must have her way," said 
 Squire Mordaunt. 
 
 " And indeed she must," said Aunt Eleanor ; 
 "you never said a truer word than that. I 
 am going after the boys." 
 
 Young Maynard and Mildred Evans had 
 marched off, and were courting somewhere or 
 another ; there remained only the four boys and 
 Ethel Mordaunt, who were standing together, 
 and apparently all talking at once. The Mor- 
 daunts, with the exception of Mrs. Mordaunt, 
 had ridden over, and so Ethel Mordaunt was in 
 her riding-habit, though bare-headed. Aunt 
 Eleanor, as she approached them, heard that 
 the four boys were discussing what they would 
 do with themselves on this happy summer's day, 
 and saw that Ethel was listening to them : she, 
 also in her riding-habit and bare-headed,
 
 STRETTON. 131 
 
 stooped, and pretended to weed one of Mac- 
 dingaway's well- weeded flower-beds. 
 
 "I vote," said young Eddy, "that we ride 
 into Shrewsbury, have ices, and see the boats 
 go. And we might buy a piece of salmon, and 
 Jimmy Mordaunt might bring it home in his 
 pocket." 
 
 " I wouldn't be a fool if I was in your 
 place," said the younger Mordaunt. " You have 
 had plenty of opportunities of eating yourself 
 blind at the University ; and I am sure we 
 have had boating enough." 
 
 "Let us go fish," said the elder Mordaunt. 
 " What do you say, Eoland?" 
 
 "It is too bright for fishing, Johnny," said 
 Eoland ; "I'll tell you what / should be in- 
 clined to propose. Let us take Eory, our old 
 Irish pointer, and ride away over the Longmynd 
 and see what grouse there are. What do you 
 think, Ethel ? " 
 
 " I think that would be very pleasant," said 
 Ethel. 
 
 "It is certainly an improvement on Eddy's 
 proposal of eating ices in Shrewsbury, and also 
 an improvement on Johnny's equally idiotic
 
 132 STRETTON. 
 
 idea of going fishing. I am for it," said young 
 Mordaunt. 
 
 " Do you think, Johnny," said Ethel to her 
 elder brother — " do you think that / might 
 come ? " 
 
 "No," shouted young Mordaunt; "we don't 
 want a parcel of girls with us." 
 
 Young Mordaunt had said this in sheer 
 recklessness, expecting that his sister, as her 
 wont was, would have given it to him. He was 
 rather astonished, and very much ashamed, 
 when his imperial sister turned gently to him 
 and said : 
 
 " I won't be much in your way, Jimmy. I 
 can ride as far and as fast as any of you. And 
 you too have been a weary while away ; let 
 me see something of you now. Let me come, 
 Jimmy." 
 
 " I believe," said young Mordaunt, impet- 
 uously, "that I am the greatest brute on earth; 
 of course you are to come. I shouldn't go if 
 you didn't. Come on, you fellows, and let us 
 get the horses." And away they all went 
 towards the stables. 
 
 And Ethel following, passed Aunt Eleanor,
 
 STRETTON. 133 
 
 pretending to weed a flower-bed, and Aunt 
 Eleanor said : 
 
 "So you are bent on going with him then?" 
 And Ethel said, "I can't help it. One 
 long summer's day beside him is not much to 
 ask out of eternity." 
 
 Aunt Eleanor said, "You are binding a 
 burden for your back which you will find hard 
 to carry before you have done with it. / know, 
 and your father knows too : though he might 
 have kept his tongue between his teeth this 
 blessed day. Are you bent on going?" 
 " Oh yes, Miss Evans. Let me go ! " 
 " I am not stopping you. Which way are 
 you going to ride ? " 
 
 " Over Longmynd, to look at the grouse." • 
 
 " And so on to Maynard Barton to lunch," 
 
 rejoined Aunt Eleanor. "Go, by all means." 
 
 "They said nothing of Maynard Barton," 
 
 said Ethel. "We shall hardly get so far." 
 
 "You foolish child," said Aunt Eleanor. 
 " Why, if you had set out this day to ride over 
 Caradoc or Lawley, if you had set out to ride 
 to the top of the Wrekin, your destination 
 would have been the same. Roland can make
 
 134 STRETTON. 
 
 these boys go where he chooses, and sometime 
 in the day you •would have found yourselves by 
 some excuse at Maynard Barton, and would 
 have found Eoland talking to Mary Maynard. 
 Will you go now, you fool ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! It is twelve miles to Maynard 
 Barton, and twelve miles is something. It 
 would have been something to you once, Miss 
 Evans." 
 
 " Heaven knows it would ! ' said Aunt 
 Eleanor. "Well, my dear, when it is all over, 
 and you want to eat your own heart in peace 
 and quietness, come to the old woman at Pul- 
 verbatch, and begin a new life with her. You 
 won't die over it, you know — you have too 
 much chest, and are too active in your habits ; 
 but if j^ou think you are going to get out of 
 this without deep pain and misery, you are mis- 
 taken. See, they are calling for you. Pain, 
 my dear — and put the knife in delicately under 
 your fifth rib." 
 
 She did not hear the last sentence; but 
 running up to the door, found her mother with 
 her hat ready for her, and immediately after- 
 wards, having received a tremendous kiss of
 
 STRETT0N. 135 
 
 reconciliation from her brother Jim, was pitched 
 on her horse by him, and they all went away 
 through the lanes towards the mountain. 
 
 The horses were of course good, and they all 
 rode well (according to the English standard — 
 a ridiculously low one compared with that of 
 South America). They could, however, ride 
 better than French people, and their horses 
 were well trained and quiet : so they enjoyed 
 themselves. 
 
 They were soon through the lanes, and out 
 on the heather. Koland Evans and John 
 Mordaunt rode in front, and the old pointer 
 was sent out before them. Behind them rode 
 abreast Eddy, Jim Mordaunt, and his sister 
 Ethel, who were more than once cautioned by 
 the two elders in front about making so much 
 noise ; for Eddy and Jim were furious and 
 fantastic in their horse-play, and Ethel laughed 
 loud and long at them. " They seem jolly be- 
 hind there, those three," said John Mordaunt. 
 
 " Very jolly. Keep quiet there : we shall 
 have the birds up," said Roland. 
 
 "Quiet there, Ethel," said the elder Mor- 
 daunt, calling back to them.
 
 136 STRETTOX. 
 
 The old dog had pointed five times on the 
 south slope of the Longmynd, and had been 
 whistled away. " There are at least four packs 
 here," said Roland. 
 
 "And we are not half over the south side," 
 said stolid old John Mor daunt. " We shall 
 spot at least four or five packs more on this 
 south side : send the dog on." 
 
 " I should like to try the north side," said 
 Eoland. " Have you any objection ? " 
 
 "Not in the least," said the elder Mordaunt. 
 " You mean towards Maynard Barton ? I have 
 not the slightest objection to going there or 
 anywhere, so long as one understands where 
 one is going. Northward, ho ! you three jawers. 
 "We are going to beat among the bilberry slopes 
 towards Maynard Barton. Ethel, you mind 
 the blind ruts. We will lunch with old Mother 
 Maynard, d'ye hear?" 
 
 " Are you going to Maynard Barton to 
 lunch ? " asked Eoland. 
 
 "We had better, I think," said the elder 
 Mordaunt. "We shall know how things stand." 
 
 "I don't understand you," said Eoland. 
 
 "I don't think you do," said John Mordaunt.
 
 STRETTON. 137 
 
 " Twelve miles out of all eternity," she said, 
 and here was her reward. Not one single 
 word from him during the whole ride ; nothing 
 but the tomfooleries of her brother and Eddy 
 Evans. And at the last, when they found 
 themselves dismounting in front of the low, 
 dark-red facade of nearly the oldest and 
 perhaps the most prosperous of Shropshire 
 houses, only this for twelve miles' ride. Mary 
 Maynard, wonderfully pretty, and silly almost 
 to idiotcy ; and Eoland bending over this doll, 
 this fool, with his really fine genius flashing 
 from his eyes. 
 
 Old Mrs. Maynard was the very mother you 
 would have selected out of a dozen, as the mother 
 of the strong, good-humoured, good-looking 
 giant who was at that moment (laundering about 
 with Mildred Evans at Stretton. If you had 
 to compare her to a flower it would be to a 
 cabbage-rose, extremely beautiful, but rather 
 stout — a rose which budded well, but which 
 opened coarsely. Compare her to a bird, she 
 was a pouter pigeon, full-breasted, fussy, affec- 
 tionate, and never for one instant silent. She 
 was a widow, and intensely interested in love-
 
 138 STRETTON. 
 
 making, as she was also in eating and drink- 
 ing. She was in her flower-garden when our 
 party appeared, and having given one glance at 
 them, went swiftly indoors, and gave tremen- 
 dous orders for lunch. 
 
 The elder Mordaunt, who had by far the 
 oldest head on his shoulders of all our party, 
 in spite of his blockish look, noticed that this 
 good dame, whom he knew very well indeed, 
 was a little distraught and not quite herself. 
 He had reason to think that he might as well 
 watch matters this day ; and he watched her. 
 
 Mary Maynard was out in the porch to re- 
 ceive them, and when they had dismounted, 
 and were all standing about on the terrace, 
 talking to one another, Mrs. Maynard rejoined 
 them. Roland had gone at once to Mary 
 Maynard, and they two were apart, laughing- 
 together ; and John Mordaunt, watching keenl}-, 
 noticed that Mrs. Maynard on her arrival darted 
 a sudden, quick, impatient, and yet puzzled 
 look at Roland and Mary, but the next moment 
 was all smiles. He wondered deeply, did this 
 young man. "Hang it ! " he said to himself, 
 "The old girl ought to be satisfied with that."
 
 STRETTON. 139 
 
 " Now, this is good of you," began Mrs. 
 Maynard. " The very first day too : to come 
 over all this way to see me. I need not ask 
 where Robert is ; I am sure he is where I wish 
 him to be. Tell Mildred to send him over as 
 soon as she can ; a mother must wait under 
 such circumstances — must she not, John Mor- 
 daunt ? Roland, you have never paid your 
 compliments to me. Come here and pay them 
 — are these your university manners ? Mary, 
 go in and see that they are getting lunch. 
 Roland, I was saying " (she was not) " that it 
 was so good of you to come over and bring 
 Ethel with you the very first day." 
 
 " My brothers gave me leave to come," said 
 Ethel, quietly. 
 
 "To be sure, to be sure," said Mrs. May- 
 nard. " So kind of your brothers to bring you 
 over the very first day. Well, well, come in, 
 and we will see what there is to eat. Roland, 
 give Ethel your arm." 
 
 " Thank you, I am not lame," said Ethel. 
 
 "Well, well! Lame! no indeed! Lame, 
 she says ; that is good ; conceive a Mordaunt 
 lame- — no, no ! Or an Evans either, for that
 
 140 STRETTON. 
 
 matter. Come into the drawing-room — it is 
 rather dark coming out of the sun. I keep the 
 sun out of the room to spare the carpet ; for 
 Robert will be bringing your sister here some 
 day, Eoland, and I must quit. Take care of 
 the footstools, Ethel. Eoland, she will break 
 her neck; guide her." 
 
 " I can see as well as Eoland," said Ethel; 
 and they all sat down in the darkened drawing- 
 room. 
 
 If it was difficult to keep Eddy Evans and 
 Jim Mordaunt quiet in the class or lecture, it 
 was hopelessly impossible to keep them quiet, 
 without legal supervision, after a twelve miles' 
 ride, when they were both petulantly expective 
 of their victuals. They fell out instantaneously, 
 and cast away the scabbard ; and Ethel sat 
 and laughed at them. 
 
 Eddy deliberated where he should sit down, 
 and while he remained standing Jim Mordaunt 
 remained standing also, with his eye fixed upon 
 him ; of which fact Eddy was not unconscious. 
 At last he said, looking at a sofa, " I shall sit 
 here." Whereupon James Mordaunt bore down 
 swiftly on that same sofa, saying, "I am
 
 STRETTON. 141 
 
 going to sit there." A tremendous single com- 
 bat ensued, during which James Mordaunt, 
 ■who was as strong as a bull, managed to take 
 away Eddy Evans' watch, chain, and money, 
 and transfer them to his own pocket. After 
 which he sat quietly down in a chair by his 
 sister, and called her attention to the pictures. 
 
 Eddy was beginning his plaint. " I have 
 been robbed in your house by a ruffian, Mrs. 
 Maynard, while my brother has sat and looked 
 on," when he stopped, and every one started, 
 Mrs. Maynard included ; for a quiet voice out 
 of a dark corner said, 
 
 " The boy, Mordaunt minor, will restore the 
 property to Evans minor, and will write out 
 the first book of Euclid." Whereupon the 
 elder Mordaunt said to himself, " So that's her 
 game : well, I have no objection, I am sure." 
 And Mrs. Maynard said, somewhat queru- 
 lously in spite of herself, ' ' My dear Sir 
 Jasper Meredith, how you frightened me ! I 
 thought you were gone." 
 
 " Gone, when I was ordered off. Why, no," 
 said Sir Jasper Meredith. "I wanted to stay 
 and see my friends. I shan't go without my
 
 142 STRETTON. 
 
 lunch now. Roland or Johnny Mordaunt, or 
 any of you but Jimmy and Eddy, give my 
 poor bones a hoist into the dining-room, for 
 there is the butler announcing the vivers." 
 
 There was a general outcry of recognition, for 
 he was a great favourite ; and the bull-headed 
 elder Mordaunt took him on one arm, and 
 carrying his crutches in the other, carried him 
 into the dining-room, and set him down between 
 himself and his sister; James and Eddy skir- 
 mished in, Eddy, half begging, half fighting 
 for the recovery of his property, and the rear 
 was brought up by Roland and Mary, who sat 
 side by side. 
 
 Not a soul spoke to Mrs. Maynard except in 
 the way of politeness : matters were gone out 
 of her hands, for good or for evil. Such of 
 the company as glanced towards Eoland and 
 Mary might see that he was bending his face 
 towards hers, and talking so low that no one 
 could catch what he said, and that she was 
 answering him by very few sentences, each of 
 which was accompanied by a bland, vacant 
 giggle. Eddy and James Mordaunt miscon- 
 ducted themselves as usual, James saying that
 
 STRETTON. 143 
 
 Eddy was over-eating himself, and Eddy saying 
 that James was drinking too much wine. The 
 spectacle of these two fresh, innocent lads, 
 with their babyish horse-play of taking the 
 food off one another's plates, might have been 
 amusing at another time, but was passed with- 
 out notice now. There were several anxious 
 hearts at that table, and possibly the widow 
 Maynard's was the most anxious of all ; though, 
 indeed, Ox Mordaunt, looking across Sir Jasper 
 Meredith to his beautiful sister, was in his way 
 anxious too. For Ethel, there was no anxiety 
 shown in her face. "When her bright clear 
 eye was not looking down in pity and admira- 
 tion on Sir Jasper Meredith, it was raised to 
 her brother's honest broad head, and he could 
 look back to her — well, as she asked her 
 brother to look at her. 
 
 And with one of these glances of affection 
 from brother to sister, across that unconscious 
 cripple, Sir Jasper Meredith's head, there went 
 this unspoken sentiment. " He can't be such 
 a fool." Apparently, however, he was ; for 
 Mary Maynard and Roland were whispering 
 and giggling down at the lower end of the
 
 144 STRETTON. 
 
 table, and Dame Maynard's brow grew darker 
 and darker. 
 
 The only reasonable conversation at that 
 table was that between John and Ethel Mor- 
 daunt, and Sir Jasper Meredith ; the little 
 baronet, lying, a heap of deformed bones, at 
 the bottom of his chair, just able to feed him- 
 self, and no more, with the ox-like Mordaunt 
 on one side, and the beautiful Ethel on the 
 other ; he considered himself in good company, 
 and said so. 
 
 " There seems to be a strength comes into 
 my bones when I sit between you two," he 
 said. " I wish you hadn't got any money, you 
 two." 
 
 "Why so?" said Ethel. 
 
 " Because then I could give you my money 
 to sit alongside of me and talk to me, as you 
 are doing now." 
 
 " But we will do that without your money," 
 said Mordaunt. "And our conversation is not 
 worth much." 
 
 " You are not clever, you two ; but then you 
 are so good. I should like my Boland to be 
 with me too, for he is handsome, and you are
 
 STKETTON*. 145 
 
 not handsome, you know. At least, you are 
 handsome, Miss Mordaunt, are you not ?" 
 
 " Don't you think so ? " said Ethel. 
 
 " I don't know, bless you," said Sir Jasper, 
 " I am too blind to see you. I can see Ro- 
 land's beauty when he is bare-headed by the 
 shape of his head, and I cannot see your head 
 for your hair." 
 
 " You are not so blind as you pretend to 
 be," said John Mordaunt. 
 
 " Indeed I am. I can see nothing in quies- 
 cence ; I can see things in motion well enough, 
 and I am getting stronger in my sight. I like 
 to see Roland row, though I abuse him for 
 doing so." 
 
 "I think you are quite right," said old Mor- 
 daunt ; " I back you up there. But this blind- 
 ness of yours, there is a little affectation about 
 it, is there not? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps a little," said Sir Jasper, 
 laughing. " There are none so deaf as those 
 who won't hear, and none so blind as those 
 who won't see. And I won't see the girl who 
 is giggling down there, charm her mother never 
 so wisely." 
 
 VOL. I. l
 
 146 STRETTON. 
 
 "What! it is as I thought, then?" said 
 John Mordaunt. 
 
 "I don't know what you thought," said the 
 little cripple. "I only know that the estates 
 come entirely into Robert Maynard's hands 
 on his coming of age, and that the widow May- 
 nard, his mother, has only a fortune of £1,000 
 a-year, and that sheand your future brother-in- 
 law do not hit it off very well. I know, more- 
 over, Miss Mordaunt, that Mrs. Maynard is so 
 fond of good living and of a good establishment 
 that she would sell her daughter to an articulate 
 skeleton like myself to secure it ; do you see ? ' ' 
 
 " I see perfectly," said Ethel, in the coolest 
 way in the world. " But surely the Evans' 
 connexion, which seems to be progressing so 
 favourably there, will suit all parties." 
 
 " It will suit all parties but one. Of course 
 it is evident that Roland is desperately smitten 
 with Mary Maynard ; and it is equally obvious 
 (although you may be disinclined to believe it) 
 that she has sufficient mind of her own to pre- 
 fer Beauty to the Beast. The only person that 
 the Roland-Mary connexion would not suit 
 would be the old woman."
 
 STRETT0N. 147 
 
 " He is a precious good catch for her," said 
 John Mordaunt. 
 
 " Yes, but he is not such a good catch as 
 me," said Sir Jasper. " Boland ! — I have 
 hardly patience at his impudence in daring to 
 compete with me in a matter like this ! — Boland 
 has no qualifications comparable to mine. His 
 father will live thirty years longer ; mine is 
 dead. In case of Mary's marrying Boland, 
 which seems, after to-day, certain, Mrs. Maynard 
 will only have an elder son's house to retire 
 to ; in case of Mary's marrying me, she would 
 have a house of 14,000 acres to retire to, and 
 no one to stand in the way of her management 
 but her own daughter, who is as clay in her 
 hand, and a miserable cripple like myself, who 
 cannot get up-stairs without his valet." 
 
 ' ' Mary Maynard must have a will of her 
 own," said Ethel, "or she would scarcely go 
 on with Boland as she is doing, without her 
 mother's consent." 
 
 " She is only allowed to do so to-day," said 
 Sir Jasper, "because I, steadily declining to 
 come to book, Boland is kept as second string 
 to the old woman's bow. That old woman
 
 148 STRETTON. 
 
 would sell her daughter to the Cham of Tar- 
 tary, and the girl would never wince at the 
 bargain. Look at her with Roland now." 
 
 " She seems quite devoted to him indeed, 
 and he to her. How pretty her ways are ! " 
 
 " Very pretty indeed," said Sir Jasper. 
 " You mean her pretty little way of turning 
 her head up into his face when he speaks to 
 her?" 
 
 Ethel said, " Yes." 
 
 "Ah, it is very pretty. I engaged a new groom 
 the other day, and he was brought in to see his 
 new master, and I saw the look on that young 
 man's face when he first set eyes on this 
 ruined heap of humanity, which his fellow- 
 creatures call Sir Jasper Meredith. I saw 
 repugnance in his honest, uneducated eyes, a 
 repugnance which I have removed since. Y r et, 
 Miss Mordaunt, that pretty girl, now using her 
 pretty ways to Roland, has been all this morn- 
 ing using them to the very same heap of dis- 
 ordered bones which is sitting beside you, and 
 which shocked a coarse groom ! " 
 
 " You don't shock us. We love you. And, 
 therefore, why need you have shocked her?"
 
 STRETTON. 149 
 
 said Ethel. And the elder Mordaunt said, 
 "Eight, Ethel! Well said! " 
 
 Said Sir Jasper, airily, "There is not much 
 to shock in her. However, you two hear me to 
 the end. The old woman will have Roland if 
 she can't get me, and she is not going to get 
 me. And now, mark me : I will die in the 
 workhouse (which, with my wealth, is improba- 
 ble ; or in the hospital, which is extremely pro- 
 bable, in case of my attempting the crossings 
 at Hyde Park Corner, or at Farringdon Street, 
 indeed I have made myself a life -governor of 
 both institutions, with a view to such a con- 
 tingency), but I will never let Roland's life — 
 a life of such unexampled promise — be ruined 
 by marrying that girl." 
 
 Could he hear Ethel's heart ? Professor 
 
 T tells us that a slight nervous twitch 
 
 in one of his legs was enough to puzzle a party of 
 spiritualists. If the good professor's legs are 
 subject to such terrible nervous manifestations 
 as Ethel Mordaunt' s heart, we should be in- 
 clined to ask him, as a man we cannot do with- 
 out, to give up his Alpine excursions. Her 
 heart thumped, and beat, and throbbed in a
 
 150 STRETTON. 
 
 way to puz zle any number of spiritualists ; 
 but the heap of bones lying in the chair be- 
 side her never heard it, and her face never 
 betrayed it. 
 
 She said, very quietly, ''Get rne some of 
 those cherries, Johnny ; not the May-Dukes, 
 but the Morellas ; I like sour cherries. My 
 dear Sir Jasper, if you would kindly take the 
 trouble, at some leisure moment, to put it to 
 yourself what extreme nonsense you have been 
 talking, I think that your death-bed, whether 
 it be at St. George's or Guy's, will be all the 
 easier." 
 
 " As how, then, Beatrice ? " said Sir Jasper ; 
 " give me some of your cherries, or tell him to 
 get me some more. No ; I want yours ; your 
 brother has picked out the best for you, and I 
 want them. Hand them over." 
 
 " I will give them to you ; but it is not 
 very polite of you to want them," said Ethel. 
 
 "I am not going to be polite," said Sir 
 Jasper. " Disabuse your mind of the idea. I 
 want your cherries. What were you going 
 to ask me ? " 
 
 " I was going to point out to you the
 
 STRETTON. 151 
 
 nonsense you have been talking. You say 
 that you will prevent this match from 
 taking place, which is utterly foolish and 
 wrong ; and as a matter of curiosity, I should 
 like to know what business it is of yours, 
 and what means you are going to employ?" 
 
 " My reasons against the match are that I 
 don't choose it to take place ; and my means are 
 — well, they are so numerous that I could not 
 even give a catalogue raisonee of them. But 
 I won't have Eoland's life destroyed by mar- 
 rying that chit of a girl." 
 
 " How are you to stop it ?" said John Mor- 
 daunt. " It is gone too far for you, I doubt. 
 Look at them now." 
 
 "Well, it is a strong flirtation," said Sir 
 Jasper ; " but I won't have it. At times I have 
 thought of marrying the old woman myself 
 (she would have me fast enough), and keeping 
 the girl as an old maid for her to bully. At 
 another time I have thought of opening Eo- 
 land's eyes ; but then he is decidedly in love 
 with her, and would resent anything I said of 
 her. At another time I have thought that if 
 he had not been an idiot he would have fallen
 
 152 STRETTON. 
 
 in love with — with some one else. However, that 
 
 is all over; there they go. Look at them. Con- 
 found — hut it shan't he for all that." 
 
 " Looks as if it was all over," said bull- 
 headed old Mordaunt ; " does it not, Ethel?" 
 
 "It seems so," she said, quietly and natu- 
 rally. " They have got their heads close to- 
 gether there in the garden, haven't they ? Let 
 us get up and go." 
 
 How much do cripples, and blind people, 
 and deaf and dumb people, and people who are 
 cut off from the ordinary means of human 
 intercourse see or feel more than we do — who 
 can say ? Sir Jasper Meredith, lying there 
 in his ruin, had some dim idea that there 
 was something in the nature of a cloud, and 
 the only way which he knew of dispersing a 
 cloud was by the old Shrewsbury trick of non- 
 sense. 
 
 There might have been a little cloud in her 
 eyes ; there might have been a slight tendency 
 to expanding her bust, and casting her head 
 back like a snake about to strike, which, accord- 
 ing to Mrs. Gray, was a speciality of the Mor- 
 daunts. Sir Jasper Meredith could not say
 
 STRETTON. 153 
 
 why, but lie felt it necessary, and more than 
 that, imperatively necessary, that some one 
 should talk nonsense to her. " She looks a 
 deal too old for her age," he said to himself. 
 " She does not like that arrangement. Let me 
 make her laugh. It is impossible that she can 
 care for Koland, and yet she is angry at this." 
 
 Ethel had risen, with her beautiful square 
 head on one side, and her riding-habit gathered 
 under her left arm, and had said, "It is time 
 we went home." When Sir Jasper said, " My 
 dear Miss Mordaunt, will you sit down again, 
 for I wish to speak on a matter of business, 
 and your brother being present, no time can be 
 so good as this ?" 
 
 Ethel sat down at once, and her brother ate 
 cakes. 
 
 " I wanted to ask you, Miss Mordaunt," said 
 Sir Jasper, " whether you would like to marry 
 me, and become Lady Meredith ? " 
 
 Ethel looked at him for one moment, but 
 took time at her answer. She was puzzled for 
 an instant, but she saw that he meant to please 
 and amuse her, and she met him. 
 
 "You might do worse," she said, bending
 
 154 STRETTON. 
 
 her beautiful face towards the heap of bones, 
 "and again you might do better; you might 
 marry Mrs. Maynard, or her daughter. Give 
 me your qualifications." 
 
 " Twenty thousand a year," said Sir Jasper. 
 "Nineteen thousand five hundred too much," 
 said Ethel. " I shall marry a parish doctor, 
 learn nursing, and get something to do. At 
 any rate, I will not have a word to say to you. 
 And, besides, sir, you are false and faithless, 
 for you love another. No, sir." 
 
 Merely a wild random shot of nonsense, 
 kindly meant; but she saw that her arrow had 
 hit, and had gone deep. No one saw the slight 
 spasm which passed over Sir Jasper's face as 
 she said these words, and she held her tongue 
 honourably. 
 
 "Mrs. Maynard," she said aloud, "Sir 
 Jasper Meredith has just made me a proposal of 
 marriage, which I have refused in the most 
 peremptory manner. I really think that after 
 such a dreadful ordeal as this, I ought to go to 
 my mother — you always do go to your mother 
 in a case of this kind, do you not ? Assist me 
 with your experience."
 
 STRETTON. 155 
 
 The experience of Mrs. Maynard was so 
 different from that of this frank, bold, honest 
 girl that she really had nothing to say. As for 
 her having sufficient humour to see that the 
 whole thing was a joke between two people who 
 had been children together, and were mere 
 brother and sister, that was not in her. She 
 did not doubt that the thing had taken place, 
 and that she saw before her a girl who had 
 refused a man with twenty thousand a year, 
 and coal under his property, and he a cripple, 
 which was such an immense advantage. She 
 was simply dumbfounded. She rang the bell, 
 and ordered round the horses, and Sir Jasper 
 took occasion to order his pony-carriage. 
 
 It was very awkward. No one spoke for a 
 long time, until Sir Jasper, in a wicked croak, 
 said, " Think twice over your decision, Miss 
 Mordaunt. You will never get such another 
 offer in your life. Just think an instant. 
 Twenty thousand a year and a cripple ! Think 
 of that, a helpless cripple ! Why, bless you, 
 Miss Mordaunt, you are entirely unable to see 
 the wonderful advantages which you are re- 
 fusing. You have only to take away my
 
 156 STRETTON. 
 
 crutch, and you are absolute mistress. You could 
 cut up my deer-park for the coal that's under- 
 neath it, and double your income, while I lay 
 powerless on the sofa." 
 
 " It is of no use," said Ethel; and they all 
 crowded out. 
 
 Young Evans and young Mordaunt could not, 
 of course, mount without riot and confusion ; 
 but at last they were all fairly under way. 
 Eleanor had been put on her horse by her 
 elder brother, and had ridden forward with 
 young Evans and young Mordaunt — ostensibly 
 to pacify their great quarrel, in reality to 
 aggravate it ; for in her heart she loved non- 
 sense and fun, as did Aunt Eleanor. James 
 Mordaunt entirely refused to give up Edward 
 Evans' watch and chain, although he had re- 
 stored his money. On being appealed to by 
 his sister to give up the watch, he replied that 
 there were certain cases in which the ordinary 
 laws of social morality were held in abe} 7 ance, 
 and that this was one. He had thought the 
 matter through, and had concluded to retain 
 the watch, more particularly as was a better 
 one than his own.
 
 STKETTON. 157 
 
 Old Mordaunt said to Eoland Evans, "Well, 
 
 old boy, I congratulate yon." 
 
 "On what grounds, Jobanne mi?" said 
 Eoland. 
 
 " On your engagement with Miss Maynard," 
 said the ox. 
 
 " Are you mad ? " asked Eoland. 
 
 "Are you?" said old Mordaunt. "You 
 can't be a humbug; but you may be an ass. 
 Are you not engaged to her ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said Eoland. "What could 
 have put that into your head ? " 
 
 " What put it into your head to keep it 
 so close to hers, old fellow?" said old Mor- 
 daunt. 
 
 " I was only talking about her brother, who 
 is to be married to my sister. There is nothing 
 between us. The girl is a fool. Why, your 
 sister Ethel is worth fifty of her." 
 
 " So I think myself," said old Mordaunt. 
 
 " But I don't want to be engaged to any 
 one. I shall never marry, bless you." 
 
 " Then I would let that be understood," 
 said old Mordaunt. " The girls say you are 
 good-looking. I don't see it myself, but they
 
 158 STRETTON. 
 
 say so. And if you keep your head so close 
 to Mary Maynard's as you did to-day, you 
 ought to mean something." 
 
 "You are a perfect fool, Johmry," said 
 Eoland. " To prove what a perfect fool you 
 are, I will go and do the same thing with your 
 own sister. I suppose that I am not suspected 
 there ? Perhaps you would like to get up a 
 scandal between Eddy and Aunt Eleanor. I 
 leave you to your thoughts." 
 
 He went forward and detached Ethel from 
 the squabbling lads. He rode beside her all 
 the way home, and he led her away from the 
 others. He called the old pointer to him, and 
 on the north side of Longmynd he took her 
 down a little glen, alone. The old dog stood, 
 and Roland, laying his hand on Ethel's, guided 
 her horse gently in front of the dog, until he 
 showed her the old grouse, swelled out with 
 indignation, in the heather, and the chicks 
 running after her, " peet ! peet ! peet !" "Is 
 it not a pretty sight ? " he said, with his hand 
 still on hers, looking into her face. 
 
 It was a very pretty sight indeed, that 
 beautifully imperial head, with the large specu-
 
 STRETTON. 159 
 
 lative eyes. He did not mean that. He was 
 speaking of the grouse-poults. 
 
 " It is a very pretty sight," she said. "We 
 had better go home now we have seen it." 
 
 "I am sure that it was a pretty sight," said 
 Eoland, " for the beauty of it is reflected on 
 your face. Good gracious ! don't tell your 
 brother that I said that, or he will be wanting 
 to make out that I am in love with you next. 
 He has accused me of being engaged to Mary 
 Maynard this blessed day. After that he is 
 capable of saying anything." 
 
 "Then there is no truth about this between 
 you and Mary Maynard ? ' ' 
 
 " No more than there is between you and 
 me," said Eoland. " Why, she is practically 
 my sister." 
 
 Ethel might have wished it otherwise, but 
 she was quite contented on the whole. So on 
 the long summer afternoon she rode beside 
 the man she loved, her loveless lover, through 
 the heather — idle, foolish, aimless. 
 
 Come elsewhere with me, if you please. We 
 have had nearly enough of these silly, orna-
 
 1G0 STRETTON. 
 
 mental people for the present. Let us see bow 
 another life or two, with the most important 
 bearing on these summer butterflies, are wearing 
 on. Keep, please, in your mind, the picture of 
 beautiful Ethel, and the beautiful Eoland ; she 
 loving him beyond everything created ; he not 
 loving her better than his pretty brother Eddy, 
 or voung Jim Mordaunt. Leave those two 
 sitting on their horses, whose knees were bathed 
 in the summer heather, and come away with me 
 elsewhere — into the squalor of London.
 
 STRETTON. 1G1 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 This life of the rich English country gentleman 
 would seem wonderfully beautiful. In a well- 
 set, well-ordered, well-trained house of this 
 kind, you get almost all the things which are 
 supposed by ordinary people to make life valu- 
 able. To begin with, you get rules of life and 
 conduct, in which you believe, and which are 
 easy to follow : the following of which (such as 
 going to church in the morning and being as 
 respectable as another generally) gives you the 
 prestige of being a respectable person. Next 
 you get an entourage of accumulated beauty and 
 accumulated tradition. No one ever knows of 
 the accumulated art-treasures in any old coun- 
 try-house, until a sleepy and tangled-headed 
 housemaid burns it down. There you have 
 enough to eat and drink ; all of the best. 
 There you have air, light, exercise. The 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1G2 STRETT0N. 
 
 beauty of horses, the beauty of dogs, the 
 beauty of your grass-lauds in spring aud of 
 your coru-lauds in summer. The beauty of 
 your budding oaks in May, when the soft note 
 of the wood-pigeon tones down the slightly 
 vulgar and too vivid green, and the beauty of 
 intertwining beech-twigs in winter, when the 
 woodcock rises like some swift, dim, noiseless 
 ghost, and you have to concentrate your whole 
 intellect — all that is in you — into that second 
 when you press your trigger, and the pretty 
 innocent bird lies dead, with outstretched wings, 
 on the dead leaves before you. 
 
 Then, again, there was a greater beauty and 
 a greater charm than any of these things in 
 a highly -toned English country gentleman's 
 house. I mean the relations with servants ; 
 the relations between master and man, between 
 mistress and maid. One would be inclined to 
 think that no relations could be much more 
 pleasant than those between a good master and 
 a good servant. These things, like much else, 
 have passed away ; one only alludes to this re- 
 lation in saying that the lives of such lads as 
 the Evanses and the Mordaunts are more to be
 
 STKETTON. 163 
 
 envied, in many ways, than those of any lads 
 in Europe. 
 
 Now we will leave these Evanses and Mor- 
 daunts, and go to Camden Town. 
 
 That great outcome of one side of British 
 genius is one of the first things which an in- 
 telligent foreigner should be taken to see. As 
 an example of the national genius displayed in 
 architecture, I conceive that it is unequalled in 
 Europe, and also in America ; and in this 
 opinion I am confirmed, after consultation, by 
 intelligent travellers, who go with me in saying 
 that it is absolutely unique. There is a depth 
 of vulgarity about it with which the Nevskoi 
 Prospect and the Hausmann Boulevards com- 
 pete but feebly. The Russian and the French- 
 man have each made an effort at soulless, 
 characterless vulgarity, but they have failed 
 because they have brought in the element of 
 size or bigness, the only thing which saves 
 Niagara from being one of the ugliest cascades 
 in the world. Now, in Camden Town we have 
 surpassed ourselves. We have had the daring 
 greatness to be little, mean, and low. We 
 have banished all possibility of a man's ex-
 
 1G4 STRETTON. 
 
 pressing his character in the shape of his 
 house; that is nothing — have not mere French 
 prefects done the same ? But we have done 
 more. Over hundreds of acres we have adopted 
 a style of house-building which is, I believe, 
 actually unique in the history of the world. 
 The will and genius of a nation often — nay, 
 generally — expresses itself in architecture. 
 Nineveh, Paris, San Francisco, St. Petersburg, 
 Pitt Street, Sydney, the Pyramids, are all 
 cases in point. With regard to Axum, of the 
 Ethiopians, and Caracorum, of the Tartars, one 
 has little reliable information, but I have no 
 doubt that they would bear this out, and assist 
 one in rendering the theory arguable, that the 
 genius of a nation generally expresses itself in 
 its houses. 
 
 It would be unwise to commit one's-self. 
 With Chatsworth and Buckingham Palace be- 
 fore us, it could not be asserted that the very 
 curious taste for gregarious vulgarity of opinion 
 among the least vulgar, and really the most 
 independent people in the world, has culmi- 
 nated at Camden Town. It is possible to say 
 that, if Arminius were to see Camden Town,
 
 STRETTON. 165 
 
 he would remark, " Here is the genius of the 
 English nation in bricks and mortar. Stone 
 don't pay. You can't get at best more than 
 four per cent, out of fair Ashlar, and you ought 
 never to build under seven." 
 
 Yet there are about one million people, of 
 good education, who live in these Philistine 
 ghettos in London, and never grumble. Is 
 there any reader who does not know some 
 family living in one of these artistically abomi- 
 nable terraces — some family shut up, with not 
 too much money, in a hideous brick box — a 
 family which, in spite of its inartistic surround- 
 ings, exhibits every form of gentleness and 
 goodness ? Any reader who docs not know 
 such a family is exceptionally unfortunate. 
 
 Some, whose souls are elsewhere, never think 
 of its being inartistic and squalid. Others, the 
 people who habitually eat their hearts, beat 
 against such a prison like caged tigers. Until 
 his grandmother came to him, young Gray 
 never thought of finding fault with the decent, 
 quiet little home he had prepared for her. 
 When she came, he wished she had never 
 come, for ho saw at once that she disliked
 
 166 STRETTOX. 
 
 liira, and only knew afresh that he disliked her; 
 and now that she had come, she took good 
 care to prove to him, not only that she disliked 
 him, but that she hated Camden Town ; and 
 what was still more unfortunate, utterly hated 
 his ways and his works. A glance at him 
 would not be amiss. 
 
 I have heard this gentlest, tenderest, and 
 least cruel of men compared to a bloodhound 
 in face, because of a certain solemn and ma- 
 jestic carriage of the head, and a lofty, uplook- 
 ing, speculative habit of the eyes, which the 
 bloodhound has among dogs, above all other 
 dogs. In mind, Gray certainly resembled the 
 bloodhounds : in this, at least, being nearly the 
 gentlest and kindest of created beings ; here the 
 fancied resemblance ceases. The bloodhound 
 is the stupidest of dogs. Allan Gray had a 
 very noble intellect. 
 
 I have described that wild, fierce boy (for he 
 was little else), James Mordaunt, as carrying 
 his head well ; Allan Gray carried his as high 
 as ever did James Mordaunt. They both 
 carried them like men ready to strike ; and 
 when you consider that, from the utter dis-
 
 STRETTON. 1G7 
 
 similarity of their education, their utter diver- 
 gence in every possible line of thought, these 
 two youths might have had to strike one another, 
 one would have prayed that they should he 
 kept asunder. They were strangely brought 
 together. 
 
 In stature, he was singularly tall and well 
 made, though very slight. Even at his present 
 age of thirty, he looked like forty — like a made 
 man. In manner he was extremely precise ; 
 silent and courteous ; in dress excessively neat. 
 
 Seeking about, scarcely guided at all, for 
 a rule of life, he had found a certain very 
 eminent clergyman among the Dissenters who* 
 had given him one which suited him so well, 
 that he never departed from it. An entire faith 
 in the verbal inspiration of the Bible ; a reso- 
 lute habit of self-examination and prayer ; and 
 an intense desire to do his whole duty towards 
 every one in this world : these were his rules 
 of life, and he followed them well, while Aunt 
 Eleanor disliked him, and called him prig. 
 Though, while she laughed, she said that the 
 world would get on no worse for a few more of 
 the same stamp.
 
 1G8 STRETTON. 
 
 His temper was naturally very quick indeed, 
 but he soon discovered this and tamed it — you 
 ■will never see it exhibited. The good and 
 noble man who had done so much for him had 
 an intense dislike of art in all forms, and his 
 teaching in this respect had fallen on congenial 
 soil in the case of Allan Gray. "What with 
 being naturally short-sighted, and what with 
 having a very intense and practical mind, he 
 was absolutely unable to understand the very 
 word. Religiously, objects of art were strictly 
 forbidden by the second commandment ; prac- 
 tically, they were a dead and totally unprofit- 
 able loss of money, which might be given to all 
 kinds of good works. He admired his little 
 home in Camden Town as being neat and re- 
 spectable, and as representing a great deal of 
 sheer hard work and of trust from his em- 
 ployers. In the jewellery which passed under 
 his hands ho had taste — but not of his own. 
 As we know, some boys, too stupid to learn 
 their Euclid, actually learn it by heart, and 
 pass examination in that singular way; so 
 Allan Gray had actually learnt by rote what 
 was in good taste and in bad, and was more
 
 STRETTON. 1G9 
 
 looked up to as an authority in that matter 
 than any one in the shop. 
 
 Such a man brought to such a home his 
 wild old fury of a grandmother ; and in his 
 honest, kindly loyalty, laid the whole of his 
 hardly earned home at her feet. 
 
 For the first week they got on very well to- 
 gether indeed. He returned promptly from his 
 business, and gave up his whole time to settling 
 her and making her comfortable. It was at 
 the end of the very first week, however, that 
 the first jar occurred. 
 
 " As you are now comfortably settled, grand- 
 mother," he said, at breakfast, " I need not 
 come home so early. Indeed, I shall not be 
 home before eleven." 
 
 She merely shrugged her shoulders ; but he 
 saw that she did not like it. "I shall go to 
 bed early," she said. " I don't care for look- 
 ing out on the gas-lamps." 
 
 " Can you not read, grandmother?" 
 
 " I have not got anything to read. I have 
 read the newspaper, and I have nothing to read 
 besides." 
 
 " Have you read the book I gave you ?."
 
 170 STEETTON. 
 
 " No. It is a religious book, which ought 
 to be read by a religious woman, which I most 
 decidedly am not, and don't mean to be. I'll 
 go to bed and think of the fine old times." 
 
 I think all women can be kind when they 
 have given deep pain, even to a man they dis- 
 like. She saw such a look of hopeless pain in 
 Allan Gray's face as he left the room to cro to 
 his business that she called him back. 
 
 " There, you silly lad," she said, " don't 
 mind what I say. You meant kindly by bring- 
 ing me here, and we shall do very well. I 
 came because I thought it would be a change, 
 and I love change ; and, heaven help me, I 
 have got it ; it is duller than the other place. 
 Let us bear with one another, boy. I have 
 mone} T , and in a few years it will be yours." 
 
 " You do not think I want your money, 
 grandmother ? I had not the wildest idea you 
 had any." 
 
 "Go to your work," she said, imperiously; 
 and he went. 
 
 When he was gone, she said, " I knew that 
 he did not know that I had any. He is quite 
 honest. I wish I had not come. Brick walls
 
 STRETTON. 171 
 
 for Caradoc ; a Methodist, or a pretended one, 
 for my garden of beauties. Allan's Puritan crop 
 
 and mutton-chop whiskers for Eoland's curly 
 head and Eddy's pretty eyes. Well, I am 
 freer here." 
 
 Such was the life to which Allan Gray was 
 condemned. Was it an unbeautiful or an un- 
 happy one ? I think that you will say that it 
 was not. That it was a singular contrast to 
 the very beautiful life of the Mordaunts, the 
 Evanses and the Maynards, is most true. 
 Camden Town is not Caradoc, nor Saffron 
 Hill Longmynd ; any more than Allan Gray, 
 the toiler, was Eoland Evans, handsome and 
 strong, the favourite among favourites of for- 
 tune. Yet they were both happy men in their 
 way. Both lived in the future ; the one in 
 a future of anticipated triumph ; but Allan 
 Gray's future went further than Eoland's as 
 yet. Allan's future went deep and far into the 
 next world ; his quiet fanaticism was as potent 
 a means of taking him out of himself, as were 
 Eoland's dreams of triumphs in the Schools or 
 the Senate. Eoland's surroundings were as grace- 
 ful and as beautiful as those of a Greek. Allan
 
 172 STRETTON. 
 
 Gray could dispense with them, nay, was even 
 glad to do so, for he called them in his quaint 
 language, " a snare." A man who is perfectly 
 assured that in thirty years he will be walking 
 in the City of the New Jerusalem, as described 
 in the 21st of the Kevelation, is not likely 
 to care much about the inartistic squalor of 
 Camden Town, even if he could appreciate it, 
 which Allan Gray could not. The costermon- 
 ger, against whose barrow this solemn young 
 gentleman walked sometimes, and to whom 
 this solemn "young swell" apologized, did 
 not know that the tall young gentleman was 
 thinking with his whole soul over the beatific 
 vision. The Romish priest for whom Allan 
 sent when he found that a soul was craving, 
 on the verge of death, for the old offices which 
 had given comfort before, little thought that 
 the young man with the face like a bloodhound, 
 who had so courteously handed over the dying 
 man to him, went home to pray that the Scar- 
 let Abomination might cease out of the land. 
 
 A most perfect fanatic — a man who was un- 
 able to appreciate any form of artistic beauty —   
 a man given up to a business which he hated
 
 STRETTON. 173 
 
 and despised ; and yet who had a flower-garden 
 too ; a garden also in which he could see his 
 flowers grow. They were apt to wither and 
 die, certainly; but he had heard that of all 
 flower-gardens. 
 
 On this day, when he had first left his grand- 
 mother alone, he went first to his place of 
 business, the jeweller's, and dashed at once 
 into the books. The partners came to him 
 once or twice on business, and he gave back 
 their kindly smiles of courtesy and trust as 
 frankly and as honestly as any man could. 
 So he worked away at the dull figures, which 
 were not dull to him, for he had his purpose, 
 until nearly three o'clock in the day, and then 
 uneasily began to hear the carriages pass. " I 
 must go into Vanity Fair soon, I doubt," he 
 said to himself. 
 
 He was quite right. A youth came in, and 
 said, " If you please, Mr. Gray, Mr. Henry 
 wants you." And Allan, with a sigh, arose 
 and followed. 
 
 Mr. Henry was the youngest partner, Allan's 
 old friend: he managed to brush past him. 
 "Allan, my dear," he said, "to the rescue!
 
 174 STRETTON. 
 
 Father and uncle are both engaged, and here 
 is the Duchess of Cheshire wanting loose opals 
 and sapphires for setting." 
 
 " C. 16 and Q. 19," said Allan, in a whisper, 
 and passed on, with his head in the air, for his 
 interview with the Duchess, looking uncom- 
 monly like an ideal duke himself. What were 
 principalities and powers to him ! 
 
 " The stones will he here at once, your 
 grace," he said, calmly. " One of the house 
 has gone for them. May I take the liberty of 
 inquiring whether it is your grace's intention 
 to set the stones together ?" 
 
 The Duchess said, " I had a design of doino- 
 so. I wanted to give my daughter, Lady Alice 
 Barty, a necklace for her wedding. I thought 
 they would look pure and innocent," said the 
 natural woman. " I mean, I thought it would 
 be in good taste," said the artificial one. 
 
 Allan bowed, and said, " They will be here 
 directly, your grace." He was back for one 
 instant among the sapphire, the sardonyx, the 
 jasper, and the chalcedony of the New Jeru- 
 salem ; but he had two existences : he was 
 quite ready for her when she said —
 
 STEETTON. 175 
 
 " Do you think it will do ? " 
 
 Now the Duchess of Cheshire was, in her old 
 age, a very religious woman of a certain sect ; 
 and a very open-handed woman also, as more 
 than one prophetical expounder of the Kevela- 
 tions well knew. Allan Gray knew it, hut 
 would have died sooner than trade on it : 
 nevertheless, he gave this singularly odd an- 
 swer, which, coming from a shop-manager to 
 a Duchess, must have rather astounded her 
 grace. 
 
 " It would scarcely do, your grace, as the 
 taste of the world goes. And, as a general 
 rule, you present to a young lady, on her real 
 entrance into the world, something symbolical." 
 
 " Yes," said the old lady ; " but sapphire re- 
 presents the blue of heaven, and the cloud of 
 oiryx the troubles on earth." For she had got 
 rambling, too, and was thinking of the time 
 when her son Charley was killed in the duel, 
 and of other disasters since, and forgot that 
 the solemn, imperial gentleman before her was 
 only a shop " manager." 
 
 "In the New Jerusalem, your grace," said 
 the shopman, quietly, " which we will pray
 
 176 STRETTON. 
 
 that the Lady Alice may enter, the gates were 
 twelve pearls : why should not her ladyship 
 have a twelve-fold collier of large pearls, with 
 the other jewels interspersed ? That would be 
 really symbolical, I should fancy, under your 
 grace's approbation, and at least Christian." 
 
 The astonished old lady could only say, 
 " Faut tie mieux — would the colours be in good 
 taste ? " 
 
 "They would be in St. John's taste," said 
 Allan, with that curious confidence and audacit} 7 
 which few other sects possess now, and re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 "It is really a beautiful idea," said the old 
 lady. " Your house is famous for its good 
 taste. I think I will say yes ; I like your idea 
 very much ; you are evidently a good young 
 man. Plan out the necklace for me." And 
 she retired to her carriage, and talked all the 
 evening, and for many evenings, of the wonder- 
 ful young man at Morton's. And Lady Alice 
 Barty wore that necklace on her wedding-day. 
 
 Meanwhile, Henry had been waiting with 
 the sapphires and the opals, and seeing the 
 Duchess depart, thought that they had missed
 
 STRETTOX. 177 
 
 an order. " Why, the old lady is gone," he 
 said. 
 
 "Have you any exceptionally large pearls?" 
 asked Allan. " What a pity it is that we 
 should have let the Googerat necklace go ! I 
 would give anything for those pearls now." 
 
 " Hang it ! you can have them, if you want 
 them. There was no cash produced. She is 
 burst up, and they are in the safe now." 
 
 " That is well. Keep the twelve best. I 
 suppose you never heard of Chrysopras ? " 
 "Never," said the partner. 
 "We must try Giallo Antico," said Allan. 
 "Get me these other stones, and don't disturb 
 me, if you can help it. I will go and design 
 this necklace ; it is a large order for our house. 
 Send the artist to me. ' And the street of the 
 city was of pure gold, as it were transparent 
 glass,' — that is, white enamel over gold. Send 
 me the artist." 
 
 So the ultra-Protestant actually set to work 
 to symbolize in his trade, in a gold necklace, 
 the very thing which puzzles and awes the 
 most advanced Christians. He was disturbed, 
 if aught could disturb him. 
 
 vol. i. x
 
 178 STRETTON. 
 
 Just before the shop's closing, be was called 
 out again. This time he had to attend to a 
 different kind of people. An evil man was 
 buying jewels for a J'oung girl, and the girl 
 had had jewels bought for her before, and 
 knew their value, and was so particular that 
 Gray hud to be called in again. He stood 
 before these two quite quietly, and served them 
 well, and gave them his advice, knowing that he 
 was serving his employers. There were plenty 
 of precedents in the Old Testament, which he 
 read most, but fewer in the new, which he read 
 least. Those two were as nothing to him. A 
 hog comes to your gate, and you throw it an 
 apple ; the hog is nothing to you, and they 
 were less than nothing to him. 
 
 "Now," he said to the three partners, as 
 soon as the shop was shut, " I am going to 
 walk in my garden." 
 
 " Does your garden take much to keep up, 
 Gray?" said the senior partner. 
 
 " Well, it would cost more than I could 
 afford, sir, if it were properly kept up." 
 
 "Now how much, for instance," said the 
 senior partner — "to keep it going properly,
 
 STRETTON. 179 
 
 you know — do you think it would cost to keep 
 your garden in order ?' ' 
 
 "The whole garden?" asked Allan; "I 
 have only a share of it." 
 
 " Say the whole garden, then," said the 
 senior partner. 
 
 "Well," said Allan, "I could do something 
 with £400,000 a-year, if I had the manage- 
 ment of it. As it is, I do what I can." 
 
 "We were going to increase your salary,"" 
 said the senior partner, laughing, "by £100 
 a-year, but I suppose that would not be much: 
 for your garden ?' ' 
 
 "Very little," said Allan; and then, remem- 
 bering himself, added, "you are very kind to 
 me. I thank you deeply. I will make good 
 use of the money which you entrust to me from 
 God."
 
 180 STRETTON. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Allan Gray was walking swiftly away, with 
 his face towards his flower-garden, when he 
 heard himself hailed, and pausing, was over- 
 taken by the junior partner. 
 
 "Here is a young gentleman wants } r ou," 
 he said ; "he has been waiting at the shop- 
 door ever so long, and having given you up, 
 came into the shop. I ran after you." 
 
 "A young gentleman?" 
 
 " A regular young swell. He says that he 
 knows you would speak to him if you saw 
 him." 
 
 Allan Gray, coming into the shop, saw a 
 slight, deer-eyed youth before him, who held 
 out his hand and said, " Allan, you have not 
 forgotten me ?" 
 
 It was Eddy Evans. The few demonstra- 
 tions of kindly feeling which Englishmen allow
 
 STKETTON. 181 
 
 themselves were over in a moment. Their 
 eyes did the rest, and then Eddy and Allan 
 were alone in the street together. 
 
 "You had not forgotten me ?" said Eddy. 
 
 "Was it likely that I could forget }'ou ? Did 
 I not think you had forgotten me ?" said Allan 
 Gray. 
 
 " See, then," said Eddy, with both his 
 hands clasped over Allan's arm, and his face 
 turned up into the solemn face of the other, 
 " how unfair you can be. Have I not deserted 
 all pleasure, as they call it, to come here for the 
 higher and more real pleasure of seeing you '?" 
 
 Allan said nothing, but he somehow noticed 
 Eddy's hands, which were clasped over his left 
 arm. Eddy's hands were very small, and he 
 had on the most beautifully made lemon- 
 coloured kid-gloves. 
 
 These attracted Allan's attention so much, 
 that he took one of Eddy's hands in his, and 
 held it there, and passed his brown fingers up 
 and down the seams, and said, " What pretty 
 gloves!" For he loved the lad as much as he 
 could love any one, and he permitted his love 
 to demonstrate itself so far.
 
 182 STRETTON. 
 
 "I doubt you are an old brute," said 
 Edward. " You are not a bit glad to see 
 me." 
 
 " I am very happy," said Allan. 
 
 " Yes, but you don't show it," said Eddy. 
 " I am happy to see you again, but I don't look 
 like a Memnon. I want to spend the even- 
 ing with you. Where are you going?" 
 
 " I will go anywhere with you," said Allan. 
 *' Where are you going ?" 
 
 " I was going to dine at the Bedford with 
 the others, and then we were going to the play, 
 and then we were going to Cremorne. But 
 I gave it all up to come to you, and you don't 
 care for me." 
 
 " I care for vou more than for any living 
 being, Edward," said Allan. 
 
 "Hush, man, I know you do," said Ed- 
 ward. " Have I not come to you ? Have I 
 not proved that I, also, care for you — after 
 Eoland?" 
 
 " Friendships will settle in a few years," 
 said Allan. " We will see how this senti- 
 mental fondness for one another will settle 
 itself. Which is a great problem."
 
 STKETTON. 183 
 
 " Not such a great problem as this," said 
 Edward. " Where are you going to take 
 me ?" 
 
 " I was going to my flower-garden. Will 
 you come ? Dare you come ?" 
 
 " I dare anything. I am an Evans, and I 
 would sooner go to Newgate with you than to 
 Yauxhall with another. I will come." 
 
 " Then we will go. How did you come to 
 London?" 
 
 " Our fathers gave us money to come and see 
 the town, and we have come to see it ; Poland, 
 and Johnny and Jimmy Mordaunt, and I. And 
 we have been to St. Paul's, which is 404 feet 
 in height ; and to the Monument, which is 
 202; and to the Tower, which was built by 
 Augustus the Stark, King of Saxony ; and I 
 found it very slow, for tastes vary. Indeed, 
 Jim Mordaunt quarrelled violently with his 
 brother on the same subject on the very sum- 
 mit and top of the dome of St. Paul's, 
 Jimmy declaring that any one could have built 
 it if he had had the money, and Johnny ac- 
 cusing his brother of trying to be fine. I got 
 sick of all this giddy dissipation, and asked
 
 184 STRETTON. 
 
 Roland for liberty. So be took away my 
 money, and let me come to you." 
 
 ""Why did he take away your money?" 
 asked Allan. 
 
 " He always does. I give it away when 
 people ask me for it, and so does Jim Mor- 
 daunt. John Mordaunt used to take his brother's 
 money away until he got too big. Jim won't 
 stand it now, and fights." 
 
 "You don't fight Eoland, then?" 
 
 " No, Roland does as he likes. Nobody ever 
 could resist Roland, you know. Besides, he 
 leaves me some. I have five shillings or more 
 now." 
 
 " How old are you, Edward Evans ? " 
 
 " Seventeen." 
 
 " You are very childish and simple. I doubt 
 if we had better go where we are going — yet, 
 we will go. Are you too great a child to share 
 my pleasure ? Why should I ask you ? Let 
 us come ? ' ' 
 
 The bright evening summer's daylight fell 
 full and strong upon the squalor of the streets 
 through which they passed ; streets which be- 
 came more squalid, mean, and ugly, as they
 
 STRETTON. 185 
 
 passed along. In the darkness of the winter's 
 evening their wretchedness is hidden ; under 
 the summer sun it is patent. Eddy chattered 
 at first, but less and less as the streets got nar- 
 rower and more dirty, and at the top of Saffron 
 Hill he was quite silent. 
 
 For the people were so wild, so strange, and 
 so very fierce. They scolded one another so 
 much, and when they were civil to one an- 
 other, their language was hard and wild ; and 
 to Eddy, listening with his keen little ears, it 
 seemed that their conversation turned on two 
 things only, money and drink. 
 
 " I don't like this place," said Eddy, very 
 emphatically ; "it is a bad place. I like 
 pretty places and pretty things. What are 
 those bells?" 
 
 "The big one?" 
 
 "Yes; the one like Tom." 
 
 " That is the bell of the Roman Catholics ; 
 they have established themselves here." 
 
 "Do they do good?" 
 
 "Every one who works for Christ does good," 
 said Allan Gray, the extreme Protestant. " Of 
 course, they do good. They work among these
 
 18G STRETTON. 
 
 Irish, whom they have, for their own purposes, 
 kept sitting in outer darkness, and they do good. 
 And they'd need." 
 
 "What is the little sharp hell?" said Eddy, 
 getting interested. 
 
 " That is the Puseyite church," said Allan, 
 with a smile. " We tried that together, you 
 know, at Shrewsbury." 
 
 " I liked it," said Eddy ; " you did not. Do 
 they do good ? " 
 
 "No end," answered Allan. "I get into 
 trouble for saying so, though." 
 
 "Do you Low Church and Dissenters do 
 good, Allan?" 
 
 " We think so ; you must come and see. 
 Stay here a moment ; there is a row. Keep quiet." 
 The narrow steep lane before them was 
 crowded with people of the very lowest order, 
 all talking in that dreadful, hoarse, London 
 voice, which, I confess, I have never heard 
 elsewhere. As Allan and Eddy had been looking 
 down that lane, they had seen it swarming with 
 " roughs," male and female, intermingling, 
 growling, and swearing ; but now there was an 
 incident. Ask the next policeman, or read your
 
 STRETTON. 187 
 
 newspaper, before you say that I exaggerate 
 here. 
 
 From the door of one of the houses cauie 
 stumbling, impelled by some blow from behind, 
 a woman, bareheaded and mad, who recovered 
 her balance in the middle of the street, and 
 confronted the door from which she had come. 
 Her fierce, bruised face, her demoniac fury, and 
 her horrible wild words, made Eddy tremble 
 and cling close to Allan. In another moment • 
 a man had dashed out of the door and con- 
 fronted the woman, who was at bay, and the 
 cowardly crowd parted. It was an Irish row, 
 and they were man and wife. No one had a 
 right to interfere. 
 
 Then began once more the fierce, wild 
 objurgation, rising to a scream on the part 
 of the woman and a roar on the part of the 
 man, until there was an instant's silence, as 
 he went at her. Then inarticulate curses, 
 worse than the worst roar of any wild beast, as 
 he seized her by the hair, cast her heavily 
 down, and began kicking her on the head. 
 
 Not a soul of all the soulless cowards around 
 interfered. They were Irish ; the man was a
 
 188 STRETTON. 
 
 dangerous character ; and, moreover, they were 
 man and wife. Not one soul interfered. Allan 
 Gray uttered an oath which was strange to his 
 vocabulary, and made a dash forward against the 
 crowd; hut there was one more nimble than he. 
 While he was stopped disputing by three 
 or four heavy costermongers — who had the 
 strongest objection to any interference, on any 
 grounds, between a man and his "missis," 
 Eddy, with that rapid dexterity which is gained 
 at football and cricket, had parted the crowd — 
 nay, had done more. He had delivered his two 
 little fists straight into the eyes of the Irish 
 gentleman, and was apparently prepared to do 
 so once more. 
 
 It is impossible to say how the matter would 
 have ended, for the woman had risen, and 
 dazed and stunned as she was by her husband's 
 kicks on the head, had her wits enough about 
 her to see that this youth before her husband 
 was the youth who had saved her life by giving 
 her husband two black eyes. She therefore 
 found it necessary, according to the creed of 
 her class, to entirely eradicate and destroy that 
 youth. Having thrown a few flowers of speech
 
 STRETTON. 189 
 
 at our poor Eddy, she made a resolute advance 
 towards him, and in another moment it would 
 have fared badly with him — when Allan Gray 
 having been recognized by some among the 
 crowd, there was a cry raised of " Teacher ! 
 Teacher ! " and he was allowed to pass. With 
 singular misfortune, he arrived just in time to 
 get between Eddy and the infuriated Irishwo- 
 man. Eddy, who was expecting another attack 
 from the husband, watched Allan Gray, and knew 
 more about him than he had ever known be- 
 fore. Deep down in the man there was a strain 
 of humour, utterly unsuspected by himself, but 
 detected at once by headlong Eddy, who knew 
 the article when he saw it, if ever a lad did. 
 
 The woman raged at him, with her ten nails 
 spread out, blind in her wrath. Gray with 
 great dexterity caught her two wrists in his 
 hands, and said, quietly, " Now, my dear, good 
 soul, do just think how very much at random 
 you are acting." 
 
 " Where's the young man as hit him ? " she 
 said, slightly struggling. "Give me that young 
 man!" And then she proceeded to describe 
 what she intended to do to that ornamental
 
 190 STRETTON. 
 
 young undergraduate who liad saved her from 
 the brutality of her husband, with a degree of 
 detail which cannot be reproduced here. Her 
 object, it seems, was Eddy's lungs — she called 
 them his "lights" — and garnished her speech 
 with adjectives and participles. Her argument 
 took the form of what a sporting paper might 
 call " reiterated asseveration." She struggled 
 a very little, for the poor thing was faint, and 
 Allan Gray soon dropped her hands. 
 
 "Ah!" she said, "you're a teacher, I doubt: 
 I didn't see you. But," with sudden vivacity, 
 "I'll have out the liver of any chap that lays 
 hands on my man ! If they was a teacher's 
 I would ; if they was yours I would. Ho has 
 been a good husband to me out of liquor, and 
 I'll stand by him against —   — ." Aposeipesis 
 is the best thing here.* 
 
 * One pretends to write " a story of real life." If one 
 were to give the mere incidents of low London life, one 
 would be accused of exaggeration. ]STo publisher could 
 be found who would print the language which one hears 
 habitually about Saffron Hill. No one who has not been 
 there knows what that district is. Lord Shaftesbury at 
 Field Lane, aud Mr. Mackonochic at St. Alban's, Holborn, 
 are working and civilizing most nobly. God speed them 
 both !
 
 STRETT0N. 191 
 
 " What a very foolish woman you will find 
 yourself, if you once have sufficient resolution 
 to bring your mind to bear upon it, you know," 
 said Gray, with the most perfect temper. 
 " You should bring your mind to bear on 
 questions of this kind, and should not take 
 action in this rapid and illogical manner. You 
 should think the question out." 
 
 " Where is the young man as interfered 
 between me and my man? I'll have that 
 young man's life, I will!" she went on, with 
 that hoarse, thick, London voice, which most 
 of us, alas ! know. 
 
 " Now just think how foolishly you are 
 talking," said Allan Gray. "You would have 
 been killed if he had not interfered, you 
 know;" and the whole business was suddenly 
 finished by a maudlin and tearful reconciliation 
 between the man and his wife, not much less 
 disgusting than the quarrel; after which, Eddy 
 and Allan Gray walked on together. 
 
 " I don't think much of your flower-garden 
 as yet," said Eddy; "these people are worse 
 and more brutal than the country people." 
 
 " They have a hundred times more indi-
 
 192 STRETTOX. 
 
 viduality of character," said Gray, shortly; 
 and Eddy, puzzled with the length of his 
 words, passed into a whitewashed passage, at 
 the end of which were stone stairs. 
 
 Eddy thought first of gaols, then of work- 
 houses, then of hospitals, as they passed up 
 flight after flight of stairs; hut at last Gray 
 opened a door, and there was a warm whiff of 
 hot humanity, and an universal huzz of 
 teaching and learning voices, and he thought 
 at once of the old class-room at Gloucester. 
 
 "Where shall I go?" said he, to Allan Gray. 
 
 " Where God directs you," said Gray. "I 
 must attend to my class; God will see after 
 you. This is my flower-garden." 
 
 A strange one. About three hundred pre- 
 sent in a whitewashed room, of all ages, and 
 nearly all degrees,* divided into classes. Gray 
 having deserted him, Eddy the ornamental did 
 what most shy English lads do when they find 
 themselves in a social difficulty, took off his hat, 
 and sat down in the first place he could find. 
 
 And what a queer place it was, and yet such 
 
 * We have had surgeons and engineers in Field Lane 
 before now, and shall have them again.
 
 STRETTON. 193 
 
 a very familiar one. A young gentleman, in 
 spectacles, was instructing a class of boys in 
 Scripture history, and Eddy slipped in, on to 
 the end of the form, as a kind of ornamental 
 head-boy, used to the situation, and dropped 
 from the skies. The instant he sat down on 
 that bench the old school-fear was upon him, 
 and the spectacled young gentleman of his 
 own age was his dreaded master. That young 
 gentleman looked at him through his spec- 
 tacles, and Eddy trembled. But he had sat 
 down at the head of the class, and was com- 
 mitted to anything. The young gentleman 
 looked very much as if he would like to go 
 through a biblical pedigree or so with him, 
 and Eddy devoutly hoped that he wouldn't. 
 
 Looking at his fellow-pupils, Eddy saw that 
 there were eight of them, and that these sons 
 of the conquerors of India had developed their 
 genius in the direction of dirt. Yet there was 
 a striking similarity to the old Shrewsbury 
 classes in the way they behaved. The furious, 
 irrepressible boisterousness, of which the Dean 
 of St. Paul's complained, was rampant enough 
 here. 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 STEETTON. 
 
 As Eddy sat and looked, lie saw this. Two 
 boys, utterly tired out, had gone to sleep one 
 against the other. A very brisk boy, who was 
 very creditably answering the Biblical questions 
 of the spectacled young gentleman, perceived 
 these two boys. After looking steadily at the 
 young gentleman and at Eddy, to take them 
 into his confidence, this boy, instead of answer- 
 ing his question, advanced across the floor, 
 and taking the nose of the smaller of the 
 •sleeping boys between his finger and thumb, 
 half wrung it off his face; after which, he went 
 back to his place with the air of a boy who 
 had done a dexterous thing, and continued to 
 answer biblical questions in a way. 
 
 The young gentleman in the spectacles took 
 no notice ; and as for Eddy, it seemed to him 
 that he was back again at a school, mastered by 
 monitors. He was wondering whether or not 
 he could "take down " the present teacher, or 
 whether he could be taken down himself and 
 everlastingly disgraced by the dirty boy who 
 had pulled the sleeping boy's nose, when a 
 trifling miscarriage on the part of this very 
 lively boy got him relieved from his hideous
 
 STRETTON. 195 
 
 thrall. The young gentleman in the spectacles, 
 doing good work, if ever a man did it, sacri- 
 ficing time, pleasure, age, and not a little health 
 also, in his self-imposed task of civilizing these 
 boys, had found nothing better to teach them 
 than obscure and very doubtful questions of 
 theology. He saw in Eddy, with his dark-blue 
 necktie, an Oxford man ; a congenital Puseyite, 
 as he had been taught to believe, though Eddy 
 was nothing of the kind. He therefore thought 
 that he would air his boys' theology before 
 Eddy, and send him back discomfited. The 
 end was disaster. 
 
 " With regard to the true fold," he said ; 
 ""who are the true fold ? " 
 
 " All faithful people," said the lively boy 
 who had pulled the other boy's nose. 
 
 " And for whom do we pray in this collect, 
 that they may be brought into the fold ? ' ' 
 
 The boy meant to say, for he was a sharp 
 boy, and remembered, " All Jews, Turks, infi- 
 dels, and heretics." What he did say was, 
 *' All Jews, turkeys, fiddlers, and architects." 
 After which Eddy fled. 
 
 There was at the end of the room, next the
 
 19G STRETTON. 
 
 door, a class which had no teacher at all ; Eddy, 
 in sauntering past it, and looking very curiously 
 at it, as he did at the others, was descried by 
 them, and, so to speak, hailed. 
 
 "Will you come here, sir? We have not 
 got any one," said a bright-looking lad about 
 his own age, who rose from the teacher's chair 
 with a Bible in his hand, and confronted Eddy; 
 who could but come, very frightened, with all 
 his rings, and pins, and gew-gaws ; he sat down, 
 took the Bible, and stared round him stupidly. 
 
 " I don't know anything about teaching," he 
 began, finding it was necessary to say some- 
 thing, " but I know the Acts in Greek, and I 
 have been used to class and lecture. Where 
 are we ? ' ' 
 
 The bright-looking lad's eyes somehow at- 
 tracted his, and he addressed him. 
 
 " We are on the voyage of St. Paul, sir," 
 said the bright youth. And a voice at Eddy's 
 other elbow said, " And we've been arguing. 
 I maintain that St. Paul would have to tramp 
 it from Gaeta to Ptorue after they got ashore 
 there. And most burning and bustin' hot it 
 is, as I well knows, having tramped it myself ;
 
 STRETTON. 1S7 
 
 and nothing to see when 3-011 get there. Not 
 to be compared to the Broadway, or, for that 
 matter, Sydney, or, if you strains a p'int, Bio, 
 or, if }'OU strains another p'int, Batcliffe High- 
 way. I never seen nothing at Borne equally to 
 what you may see at Calcutta. That's the 
 place. Why, old Jummagy Bummagy (Jamset- 
 jee Jejeebhoy) hangs out a hundred times bet- 
 ter than the old Pope. Blow him." 
 
 Eddy looked in his wonder to the bright lad, 
 who understood him at once, and said, — 
 
 " Sailor, sir." 
 
 Eddy looked suddenly at the sailor — a man 
 with close-cropped grey hair, and a red-brown 
 face, with a rather obstinate expression ; and 
 as he did so he shut up his Bible, and the 
 others shut up their Bibles. For, as the sailor 
 said that night when he got into bed, they had 
 been making uncommon bad weather of it. 
 
 " I want to ask you people a few questions," 
 said Eddy. " I think you are better able to 
 instruct me than I you. Will you tell me this 
 — I hardly know where to begin, but this, if it 
 is not impertinent — what have you got to live 
 on?"
 
 198 STRETTON. 
 
 The heads went at once together to the cen- 
 tre of the class, listening. Some one — of 
 course, it is nobody's business— had better look 
 at those heads now and then, at a leisure mo- 
 ment. They are generally dirty, suggesting 
 blue precipitate ; yet there are eyes in them 
 out of which the devil can look. The heads 
 all drew together to hear what their spokesman, 
 the bright young man, was to say to this pretty 
 lad, with the £200 worth of jewellery on him. 
 I doubt more than one in that class could 
 appraise Eddy pretty accurately — at Fagin 
 prices. 
 
 "Well, sir," said the bright young man, 
 " we ain't any of us got none on it at all. 
 We are all in here off the tramp." 
 
 "Have you been tramping ? " asked Eddy, 
 interested. 
 
 " Tramping round for work ; yes, sir." 
 
 " How very pleasant ! " said Eddy. " Why 
 on earth did you come here ? Do you mean to 
 say that you went on from one place to another, 
 without caring where you slept, in this beauti- 
 ful summer weather ? I should like that im- 
 mensely."
 
 STRETTON. 199 
 
 " You see, sir, that we had nothing." 
 
 " I always thought," said Eddy, "that you 
 had barrows of cherries, or grindstones, or 
 vans with brass knockers, when you went on 
 the tramp. I always thought it looked so 
 pleasant." 
 
 "We hadn't got no money," said the sailor. 
 
 " I have not got any, either," said Eddy, 
 wishing to awaken a fellow-feeling somehow, 
 but feeling very much at sea. " My eldest 
 brother has taken away my money, because he 
 was afraid I should make a fool of myself ; and 
 my brother is a very talented young man, with 
 a singularly good judgment." 
 
 The sailor, who was getting sleepy again, as- 
 sented to this proposition more emphatically 
 than good manners would warrant in other 
 circles. He was decidedly of a mind with 
 Eoland. 
 
 One of the other Eutychians here suddenly 
 became animated as though by a miracle, and 
 said, in that hoarse Cockney voice which no 
 one whom I have ever heard, except Mr. Mac- 
 cabe, can imitate, " If the young governor's. 
 brother were a near hand with the dibs, as his
 
 200 STRETTON. 
 
 were, Lord knows, yet the young governor 
 might probably have such a thing as the price 
 of a pint of beer about him, which he'd never 
 miss," and was continuing his argument when 
 the sailor awakened himself thoroughly, and 
 said in a voice which, though hoarse like the 
 Cockney's, was not slovenly as his was, but 
 emphatic enough to be heard ten feet off in 
 the wildest gale which ever blew round the 
 Horn, — 
 
 " Shut up ! " 
 
 Eddy, a little frightened, looked at the bright 
 young man, who raised his eyebrows and put 
 up his finger. For the old sailor was going to 
 speak ; and it was evident to Eddy that this 
 young man, for whom he was getting a stronger 
 and stronger interest, put value on the old 
 fellow's opinions. 
 
 " Your brother was right in a-taking your 
 money away from you. I can see as you've 
 heaps on it, mor'n what most folks 'ad git 
 through with. But you'll never have enough. 
 You'll give it all away, as I give mine ; or 
 you'll lend it, or you'll drop it in the lee-scup- 
 pers in a gale of wind. Why, if you was paid
 
 STRETTON. 201 
 
 a hunderd and forty pound down, as I've known 
 done, on the capstan-head in Hodson's Bay, for 
 the run home, and that ship was drove into 
 Eio, through one of these racing skippers 
 racking every stick out of her, you'd knock 
 every penny of it down in a week. Your 
 brother must be an uncommon sensible young 
 man for taking your money away from you the 
 minute you come ashore. I should like to see 
 him. I wish I had a brother as would have 
 took mine." 
 
 " But, sir," said Eddy, puzzled and startled, 
 turning over the leaves of the Bible, " if you 
 haven't got any money, we might give you 
 some of ours." 
 
 " What 'ud be the good, with two such as 
 you and me ? I've had heaps on it at times, 
 well earned mostly ; though I picked up a 
 digger once in Francisco, which digger is on 
 my conscience now I'm down in my luck: four- 
 teen hundred dollars at Eucre in three sittings, 
 and I slipping down right or left bower* on the 
 ground, as the hand served : Lord forgive me ! 
 He won't try to pick up a British sailor again 
 
 * As intelligible to the British reader as it was to Eddy.
 
 202 STRETTON. 
 
 in a hurry," went on the old man, with a flash 
 of the old Adam. " But the money done me 
 no good, no more than yours will. I give the 
 main of it away, and I knocked down the rest; 
 and then I loafed round, because I wouldn't 
 ship for fear of another rush, and I were very 
 had off, young sir, until Bill Taylor come." 
 
 The bright young man whispered, " Let him 
 go on, sir; he knows heaps of things." 
 
 Eddy, with his Bible now wide open, and his 
 eyes more open than his Bible, asked, — 
 
 " What did Mr. Taylor do for you, if you 
 please ? " 
 
 " He convinced me of sin," said the old 
 sailor. "And I have never lost the conviction. 
 I can't help going on a-doing on it at times ; 
 but then, don't you see, I'm convinced of it ; 
 and that's nigh half-way ; for Bill Taylor* said 
 so, and there was nobody ever like he." 
 
 At this point a loud voice from the platform 
 said, with somewhat of a whine, Eddy thought, 
 " My brethren, I will now address you on the 
 fourth chapter of the Ephesians ;" and at the 
 
 * Evidently the Great San Francisco Episcopal Metho- 
 dist.
 
 STRETTON. 203 
 
 same moment he felt a touch upon his shoulder. 
 It was Allan Gray. 
 
 "Arise, and let us go hence," he said. 
 And Eddy arose. 
 
 But the class arose also, and came round 
 him, and pressed on him. And the bright young 
 man, who was spokesman, said, " Come to us 
 again;" and all their eyes brightened when 
 they said after him, " Come to us again." 
 
 And Eddy said, hurriedly, " I will try ; I 
 think that we might do one another good." 
 And to the young man he said, " Tell me your 
 name, and come to me at Ashley's Hotel to- 
 morrow morning." And the young man gave 
 him his name ; and his name was Joseph 
 Holmes.
 
 204 STRETTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Allan Gray, taking Eddy, departed somewhat 
 swiftly by a side-door, just as the expounder of 
 the evening had laid down his argument, which 
 was that the whole human race was naturally 
 doomed to a fate utterly too horrible for descrip- 
 tion, or even contemplation ; that the Deity 
 had in all time and eternity known the fate of 
 each individual ; and that there were certain 
 symptoms by which you might know whether 
 or not the Deity had beforehand, apparently for 
 no reason, condemned you to eternal fire or 
 everlasting bliss. Allan Gray and Eddy had 
 heard this much before Allan got Eddy away 
 from his new friends. 
 
 When they were in the street, Allan Gray 
 said, "Well, it is cooler here. That fellow 
 would have it hot enough for us, if he had his 
 way."
 
 STEETTON. 205 
 
 "But I thought you were the same way of 
 thinking yourself," said Eddy. 
 
 " Don't begin that sort of thing, pray 
 don't," said Allan, with extreme irritation. 
 " What earthly business can it be to you what 
 my religious opinions really are ? " 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Eddy ; " I did not 
 mean to make you angry ; please don't be 
 angry ; no one is ever angry with me, you 
 know." 
 
 Allan's touch on Eddy's shoulder quite re- 
 assured him. That little gentleman knew the 
 look of an eye, and the touch of a hand, as 
 well as most. 
 
 " My dear soul," said Allan, "who could be 
 angry with you ? I am only angry to you ? 
 You are one of the very people expressly made 
 to be angry to." 
 
 "Well, be angry to me then," said Eddy. 
 "What is the matter? Are you cross with the 
 fellow who was preaching, for instance?" 
 
 "Yes. God is not a vindictive fiend." 
 
 "F was chasseed for saying the same 
 
 things in the very same words," said Eddy. 
 
 "Let them try it with me," said Gray, in a
 
 206 STRETTON. 
 
 low snarling voice. Is Samson to sit for ever 
 in the Temple of the Philistines ? Let them 
 provoke me to get my two arms round the 
 pillars, and the house shall come down upon 
 their heads, and on mine too. I tell you, 
 young Evans, that God is not as they paint 
 Him." 
 
 And Eddy said, "You went about searching 
 for formulas, you know ; and you have taken 
 up with these. If they don't suit you, change 
 them." 
 
 " Have you no faith left then ?" said Allan. 
 
 " Yes ; I think so. But ask me when I lie 
 dying, and I'll tell you better about it." 
 
 "Sixtv years hence," said Gray. " How is 
 your aunt Eleanor?" 
 
 " Very bad," said Eddy, a boy again. 
 
 " "What is the matter with her?" said Gray. 
 
 " The same that was the matter with the 
 young lady in ' Pickwick ' — want of taste. She 
 don't like you." 
 
 "Does she dislike me very much ? " asked 
 Gray. 
 
 " Most specially and particularly," said 
 Eddy. " Whatever your doubts on religious
 
 STRETTON. 207 
 
 subjects may be, you may make your mind 
 easy about that." 
 
 "Don't be flippant," said Gray. 
 
 " I am not," said Eddy. " I am speaking 
 to facts. My aunt hates you like poison." 
 
 " What does she say against me ?" 
 
 " She says you are such an abominable 
 prig. And so you are, you know." 
 
 Many do not understand English badinage. 
 When it seems coarsest and most offensive, it 
 frequently only proves that the men who are 
 using it are the best friends in the world. This 
 last remark of Eddy's made Allan Gray laugh, 
 and put him in good humour. 
 
 This good humour was so obviously shown 
 on the face of Allan Gray that Eddy shot his 
 bolt, and then with his keen, kindly, steady little 
 eye, watched to see whether or no it had hit. 
 
 " Come home with me to the hotel and see 
 Roland." 
 
 "Oh dear, no !" was the reply. 
 
 "Well then, don't," was Eddy's not un- 
 dextrous answer. 
 
 After walking a little time, Allan Gray said, 
 " I hate meeting gentlemen."
 
 208 STRETTON. 
 
 " Which is the reason why you were sorry 
 to see me. Go on." 
 
 " But I am not sure, whether or no, it would 
 not be better for me to meet your brother.' 1 
 
 " Why ?" said Eddy. 
 
 " Well, I can't exactly say." 
 
 " Well then, come on, and don't be an ass." 
 
 "Mind," said Allan Gray, "he is to be 
 civil." 
 
 " Was he ever anything else ?" said Eddy. 
 
 "He will not have returned from the play- 
 house," said Allan Gray. 
 
 "He is thundering away at his logic by 
 now," said Eddy, " so come." 
 
 And so the rivals met. Eddy, in writing to 
 his Aunt Eleanor, pointed out to her that both 
 on the father's and on the mother's side he 
 had come of families famous — not to say 
 notorious — for good manners. But he frankly 
 confessed to his aunt that he had never seen 
 any such politeness exhibited as was exhibited 
 in the interview between Boland and Allan. 
 "Allan's manners," he said, "were perfect 
 (for there is nothing in the least degree Brum- 
 magem about Allan), but Roland beat him."
 
 STEETTON. 209 
 
 Roland, the scholar and the athlete, had his 
 square-sided, snake-like head bent over his 
 books when the two came in. He was sitting 
 in his shirt-sleeves, and he caught sight of his 
 brother first, and Allan saw him drop his pen, 
 and noticed that the two brown hands turned 
 themselves with their palms uppermost, and 
 spread themselves out to meet those of the 
 brother. Allan, standing in the shade, saw 
 this ; but saw more. He saw a bright light in 
 Roland's face for one instant, which he knew, 
 but which I have a difficulty in describing. 
 The eyebrows were elevated and the mouth was 
 slightly parted, and from between the parted 
 lips the soul said : " My darling ! My darling ! 
 where have you been ?' ' 
 
 Allan had looked into the soul of Roland for 
 one instant. It was enough for him. Not now 
 for one instant dreaming of the great question 
 which was to arise between them, he remem- 
 bered those words, and envied Roland nothing 
 but his pretty little brother. 
 
 " And which, indeed," said Eddy, " I am 
 not going to tell you where I have been. Here 
 is Allan Gray come to see you." 
 
 vol. i. r
 
 210 STRETTON. 
 
 The bright expression on Roland's face was 
 changed at once. Allan Gray only saw before 
 him a very tall, handsome young man, with 
 a short, curling head of hair, who rose and 
 greeted him with the smile of courtesy — a 
 very different smile from that with which he 
 had greeted his brother Eddy. 
 
 " I am sincerely pleased to make your ac- 
 quaintance, Mr. Gray," said Roland. " At 
 one time I confess I was extremely jealous of 
 the influence you had over my brother Edward. 
 I am jealous no longer. I hear nothing but 
 good of you. I think that you have done what 
 I have not — conceived a line of life for your- 
 self, and that you are following it out. I 
 understand that you are given to good works." 
 
 This was so frankly said, and evidently so 
 frankly meant, that even that king of prigs, 
 Robespierre, could not have resisted it. Allan 
 Gray had no such intention. 
 
 " You receive me frankly, and like a true 
 gentleman," he said. " With regard to your 
 jealousy of me, it is nothing ; with regard to 
 my having made a scheme of life, it is time I 
 did so — you, so young, can wait ; with regard
 
 STEETTON. 211 
 
 to my good works, some of us must turn to, or 
 the house will be afire." 
 
 "You will sit down and be comfortable, now 
 that you have come, won't you '?" said Eoland. 
 " What are these good works of yours, and 
 how can I assist at them ?" 
 
 " The work at which I am assisting," said 
 Allan, " is the old work of civilization. "We are 
 trying, through one form of Christianity, to 
 civilize the people upon Saffron Hill. The 
 way you can assist at it is hy giving me 
 money." 
 
 " That is easily done, and shall be done," 
 said Eoland. 
 
 " Thank you," said Allan; " send the money 
 to me. What we, who are working, want i& 
 money. The Puseyites at the top of the Hill 
 want it ; the Papists are beating us by having 
 more than we have. ' Money ! money ! ' is our 
 cry.. I have not got any ; send me some. 
 What are you going to do with yourself? 
 Soldier?" 
 
 There is an implied compliment, to most 
 young men, in being accused of going into the 
 army. W"e are a nation which is never at
 
 212 STRETTON. 
 
 peace. The gates of Janus are never open 
 •with our people. We are always spreading 
 the English language somewhere. The great 
 American army, recruited from 20,000,000, 
 heat down an army recruited hy 8,000,000. 
 The English army, after a death-throe with 
 Russia, crushed out a rebellious army hacked 
 by a population of 150,000,000. Therefore, 
 Alphonse, Arminius, and Silas, don't you get 
 villipending the British army. Is such a lad 
 as Roland Evans to be thought a fool because 
 he blushed scarlet when Allan Gray called him 
 soldier? And, indeed, he looked like it. It 
 was a compliment. We may have had our 
 AValcheren, or indeed our Chillianwallah. But, 
 my good Alphonse, brother of my heart ! we 
 have never had our Passage of the Beresina 
 (we will give Eylau as a French victory). 
 Arminius, my dear fellow, there was a battle of 
 Jena once. Silas, my dear, did you ever hear 
 of Bull Run ? Xo ! all young fellows of spirit 
 have a pride in being thought British soldiers 
 in esse or in posse, and Roland liked Allan 
 Gray for his suggestion; for Roland had fought 
 most of the battles of modern Europe, and
 
 STRETTON. 213 
 
 indeed some which have not been fought yet ; 
 for example, the battle of Nieder Lahnstein, 
 where you, being (do you see,) a Frenchman, 
 turned your Prussian left, dash at the heights 
 behind Ehrenbreitstein, take them, and have 
 the whole of the Rhine Provinces at your feet, 
 don't you see, with the command of the Rhine. 
 Roland would have undertaken to do that little 
 business for you to-morrow, just as willingly as 
 he would have undertaken to bring about a 
 coalition between the older Whigs and the 
 Radicals, both doctrinaire and uneducated, for 
 he was a boy of schemes. And this young 
 man, Gray, was a young man of perception. 
 Roland warmed to him, which was well fcr 
 him. 
 
 " I should like to be a soldier," he said ; 
 " for I am strong, courageous, and clear-headed 
 in danger ; but I fear I am condemned to 
 Parliament." 
 
 " I wish I was," said Allan, " I would get 
 some things done, I know, if I was." 
 
 " That's just it," said Roland; ''you wouldn't 
 do anything of the kind. You can do nothing 
 of the things you want to do. Where would
 
 214 STEETTON. 
 
 free-trade have been now, if it bad not been for 
 a combination of perfectly incalculable acci- 
 dents ? Peel for one accident ; the Irish famine 
 for another." 
 
 " You go too fast," said Gray. " Who told 
 you that free -trade was a good thing, except in 
 particular cases ? I allow that free-trade in 
 corn is good, as it feeds the people ; but free- 
 trade in other matters is murder to us in this 
 over-populated country. When we get a nearly 
 pure democracy, we shall have protection to 
 native industry back again — hot and heavy. 
 A pure democracy will never stand free-trade. 
 When did they ever do so ? " 
 
 " I don't remember," said Eoland. 
 
 " I fancy not," said Gray. " Your American 
 and your Canadian laugh it to scorn. There 
 is such a queer petitio principii about it in the 
 first term (correct me if I am wrong, for I have 
 not been to Oxford and learnt boat-racing), 
 which seems to me to condemn it. We prac- 
 tically find that we can compete (having a very 
 rich and compact country) with every nation 
 on earth on advantageous terms. Therefore, 
 free-trade is as good for other nations as it is
 
 STRETT0N. 215 
 
 for us. And so we send our dear Cobden to 
 tell other nations what he entirely believes —   
 that a franc is as good as a shilling. Some 
 nations believe him ; some don't. The Ameri- 
 cans don't, and they are a trading people 
 too." 
 
 " But you are attacking the very principle 
 of free-trade," said Koland ; " why, the very 
 Tories have given it up." 
 
 "There spoke a Whig," sai'd . Allan Gray, 
 laughing the while. " Won't think for him- 
 self ; will only think for his party. What are 
 you going to do when you get into Parlia- 
 ment ? ' ' 
 
 " Precious little, I suspect," said Ptoland, 
 laughing also. "It takes half a dozen first- 
 rate men, and accidents to back them, to get 
 anything done. And I am not a first-rate 
 man, and my accidents are inseparable, and 
 become qualities. For instance, I have too 
 much money." 
 
 " Give some of it to us then," said Allan 
 Gray. 
 
 " I will. Depend on me ; you and I shall 
 be good friends in time. Now what would you
 
 21 G STRETTON. 
 
 do, if you were in Parliament ? How would you 
 get matters done ? " 
 
 " I should go on making myself a nuisance, 
 like the importunate widow, until they were 
 
 done ; look at . Look at him, and a fool 
 
 too, all said and done." 
 
 These two rather splendid young men were 
 drawing nearer and nearer to one another. 
 They were not very unlike in character, though 
 cycles apart in thought. Roland moved closer 
 to Allan, and said, " What things would you 
 have done, for instance ? " 
 
 " Why," said Allan, " I would have the poor 
 cared for better ; and with regard to the public 
 schools " 
 
 He had, in reality, spoken some tolerably 
 reasonable sentences about the public schools, 
 but for dramatic purposes we will not repeat 
 them. There was a violent objurgation outside 
 the door, and then a violent crash against it. 
 The Public Schools were upon him, to the 
 utter puzzlement of poor Allan Gray. " Why 
 were such fools brought into the world ? " he 
 asked himself at first. And then, when the 
 rough prettiness of their horse-play had made
 
 STRETTON. 217 
 
 him laugh, lie said, "What are they good for?" 
 Let the boy Arbuthnot answer him that ques- 
 tion, with the flag shaping itself on to his dead 
 limbs ! India is a great fact, my dear Allan 
 Gray, even in these times of big things ; and 
 these boys helped to get it for you. And al- 
 though the 180,000,000, can't accept Chris- 
 tianity, yet we have made them accept rail- 
 ways. Our boys are working your work, Allan 
 Gray, and pretty near half of them have died 
 in the service. Don't abuse the boys ; they 
 are not bad fellows when you know them. 
 
 For here they come in their fury — their 
 quaint, petulant fury, which accounts for all 
 kinds of battles ; let us say from Agincourt to 
 Magdala (popular, but incorrect). In comes 
 Jimmy Mordaunt, blind with wrath, hotly full 
 of his grievance ; in comes Johnny Mordaunt, 
 making as much noise as his brother. The 
 old story — the elder brother has dexterously, 
 in pretending to get change, grabbed all the 
 younger one's money, and considers it as prize 
 of war, refusing to give it up. The brothers 
 Evans take violent sides in the dispute, and a 
 row royal ensues.
 
 218 STRETTON. 
 
 It seemed so strange to Gray to see Roland 
 taking part in such boys' play. It lasted some 
 time ; doubtless, like Tom Pinch's organ, to 
 the great delight of the gentleman down stairs, 
 and the gentleman over-head ; and when it was 
 over, Allan Gray was gone.
 
 .STRETTON. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 I think that Roland was secretly angry with 
 the elder Mordaunt as to his good-hirmouredly 
 bringing him to hook about Mary Maynard. 
 Miss Mordaunt was much too fine a young 
 lady to have any mistakes made about her of 
 any sort or kind. He would have been pro- 
 foundly delighted that Roland should marry his 
 sister, and would be very glad to see his friend 
 happy with Mary Maynard. Only John Mor- 
 daunt, by far the shreivdest of the five boys, 
 was determined that he should make up his 
 mind. 
 
 Roland and Ethel had been brought up to- 
 gether, and had always called one another by 
 their Christian names, and as Roland would have 
 said, were as brother and sister. So would not 
 Ethel have said. Ethel's secret was known to 
 two people, and guessed by a third.
 
 220 STRETTON. 
 
 Miss Evans bad seen it, and had tried rough 
 excision, as we saw ; that awful Mrs. Gray had 
 guessed it, and had bullied Phyllis Myrtle to 
 give her a philter, which would have only a 
 temporary effect, and would go off, as she 
 hoped, after they were married, causing neglect 
 on Eoland's part, and cause the red-handed, 
 wild, rude Mordaunt clan, to become her 
 daughter's avengers on the Evans family for 
 what she had suffered at their hands. Such 
 was the amiable old lady's scheme at onetime, 
 before she retired to London. She was gone. 
 
 One more, as you may remember, knew 
 Ethel's secret, her brother Jim. Jim used, 
 when a youngster — indeed, right up to the time 
 of the bathing accident — to bully every one he 
 could get to stand it, and, among others, of 
 course, his sister. Both of them high-spirited, 
 rough, and strong, they used to have terrible 
 battles, for she would resist in defence of her 
 property, and resist fiercely too, though he was 
 too strong for her. His father had thrashed 
 him for it, his brother thrashed him with 
 a cricket-stump for it ; but the boy only lay 
 quite quiet and silent on the grass while the
 
 STRETTON. 221 
 
 blows descended, until Johnny, with a loud 
 oath, threw the stump far and wide ; and then 
 the boy got up and let out his sister's fancy 
 fowls into the farmyard— a horrid kind of 
 revenge, which he could enjoy silently in her 
 bitter disappointment at the shows. On the 
 whole, I think that when she was about twelve 
 years old she fairly and honestly hated her 
 brother James. 
 
 That there is a natural brotherly love I 
 know; that it may, under certain rare circum- 
 stances, be changed into a far other feeling, I 
 have seen. 
 
 An actual cessation of hostilities took place, 
 as a matter of course, when they were about 
 fourteen, which was succeeded by indifference. 
 
 After Roland had saved Jim's life, there 
 was, as the Doctor saw, a marked change in 
 the latter. At home they were surprised at 
 him. Though by no means less boisterous, 
 his boisterousness had lost all its cruelty ; and 
 though he was far too close-mouthed to say 
 anything to his sister, yet she noticed an alter- 
 ation in him beginning — nay, it had scarcely 
 begun when it was over. Before he had been
 
 222 STRETTON. 
 
 home a week, John was profoundly astonished 
 at Jim bursting into the room where Ethel and 
 he were, and saying, "I took your whip over 
 to Shrewsbury, and waited while it was done ; 
 and I asked for the cheesecakes, and he had 
 not got any of them," and bouncing out again. 
 Still more, a week after, did his father and 
 mother notice Jim and Ethel, with their heads 
 together, walking rapidly and talking eagerly, 
 going over the hill rabbit-shooting. 
 
 Of course, Jim talked a great deal now 
 about Roland ; and why should not she talk of 
 what pleased him ? This talk went on and on 
 until it grew to badinage on the part of James, 
 which she sometimes resented. There was no 
 secret between them at all, only they never 
 either of them spoke of Roland when others 
 were present, save very slightly. And one day, 
 James, in a mad mood, cut off a lock of Ro- 
 land's hair, and sent it to his sister in a letter. 
 She scolded him, bat she kept it. 
 
 So the cloudless vacation went on — not one 
 appearance of change. Nothing happened, save 
 one, of the slightest importance, and that was 
 only knoAvn to three people.
 
 STRETTON. 223 
 
 The Shrewsbury people must have a regatta, 
 and Squire Evans and Squire Mordaunt being 
 asked rather early for subscriptions, and being 
 acted on b} 7 their boys, sent very large ones, 
 arousing the wrath of their political opponents 
 and the emulation of their neighbours. Sir 
 Jeremy Hicks and Sir Topham Shiner topped 
 them at once, and the committee found them- 
 selves with half as much money again as they 
 wanted. There was only one thing to be done : 
 make a greater thing of it — a four-oared race 
 for £5 cups, and a pair-oared race for similar 
 cups, open to all England. 
 
 Our young men had never thought of rowing, 
 thinking there was nothing worthy of their 
 skill, until the news of this came. It came 
 first to the Evanses at breakfast, and Koland 
 and Eddy were across the valley to the Mor- 
 daunts in ten minutes. They would row, of 
 course, now it was no longer provincial : but 
 old Maynard ? Eoland volunteered at once, be- 
 fore anything could be done, to ride across 
 Longmynd to the Barton and see ; and, in spite 
 of Jim's prophecy, returned with Maynard to 
 lunch, rather fat, but looking like rowing too.
 
 224 STRETTON. 
 
 Squire Charles Evans took the most intense 
 interest in it. Devoted to every kind of sport, 
 he had never seen any of this, now promising 
 to be the most popular of all. He'd bear all 
 the expense ; he'd give them a handsome pre- 
 sent all round if they won ; he'd give a dinner 
 to the tenantry : there was nothing he would 
 not do. That evening Eddy was despatched 
 to Oxford for a boat, with orders to see it home, 
 and they discussed their plans. 
 
 These fellows had been carefully taught to 
 row together for five years, and now had de- 
 veloped into four heavy men, perfectly accus- 
 tomed to one another. They had rowed toge- 
 ther often at the University also, but had only 
 tried their strength in some college fours, 
 which, of course, they won easily. They 
 rowed thus : James, bow ; John, second ; Ox 
 Maynard, third ; and Roland, stroke. Eddy, 
 coxswain (9st. 41bs.) James Mordaunt, the 
 lightest rower, list. 21bs. 
 
 They found they went as well together as 
 ever. After the first burst, they turned and 
 looked at one another, and said, " That will do." 
 The only question was, " Who was coming."
 
 STRETTON. 225 
 
 They never went near Shrewsbury. They 
 found a piece of the Severn, lower down and 
 nearer Stretton, which was even better than 
 the course. To this place every day went the 
 drag, the Squire driving, with the crew and 
 divers occasional gatherings ; once Sir Jasper 
 Meredith, who sneered at the whole thing, 
 generally Mildred, or a servant or two. Aunt 
 Eleanor and Ethel used to ride over, and trot 
 along the tow-path, and the young men rowed 
 none the slower for that. Several times, while 
 rowing about — for they spent most of the day 
 there — Eoland made Mildred get in and steer, 
 and once, to her awe and delight, with her 
 hair broken down and streaming like a flag, 
 they took her raging all over the course at full 
 speed. This was on a particular occasion 
 when Eddy had to be elsewhere. 
 
 It was reported that two crews had come to 
 Shrewsbury, and it was necessary that Eddy 
 should go and look after them, and returned 
 with a face blank with dismay. " This won't 
 do, fellows," he said; "there's the London 
 Rowing Club there." 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 22 G STRETTON. 
 
 " One of their scratch crews come pot-hunt- 
 ing," said Jim. 
 
 Eddy mentioned four names which made 
 Eoland whistle loud and long — some of the 
 best names in the club. It was even so. 
 Four club-oars were going to retire into real 
 life this season, and being four old friends, 
 thought they would see the last of it hand- 
 somely ; and so, going on from regatta to re- 
 gatta, from Barnes upwards, now found them- 
 selves at Shrewsbury in an amused state of 
 mind. 
 
 " I think we can manage the Manchester 
 crew," said the London coxswain, laughing. 
 
 " There's a local crew of bumpkins training- 
 down the river," said number two. " Do you 
 know what they are like ? ' ' 
 
 "No! but I know their stroke's name, 
 'Evans,' — did you ever hear of him '?" 
 
 "A youth to Henley and to fame unknown ! 
 Can't say I do." 
 
 "I'll tell you, then," said stroke. "Evans 
 is the man who won his university sculls 
 by beating Hexam easily, and Hexam is the
 
 STKETTON. 227 
 
 man who won the diamond sculls by beating 
 
 you" 
 
 It was number two's turn to whistle now. 
 " I wonder what sort of stuff he is sitting be- 
 hind," he pondered. 
 
 "Pretty good, you may depend upon it," 
 said stroke. " I wish we were fitter. Fancy 
 getting picked up in a place like this ! I shall 
 emigrate if we are." 
 
 The Londoners easily beat the Manchester 
 men ; and soon after came down to join issue 
 with their "dark" opponents, whose captain 
 was the great sculler Evans, the young man 
 who had beaten the last winner of the diamond 
 sculls. They saw the Shropshire boat swing- 
 ing up towards them, and they did not like it. 
 Stroke said, between his teeth, to coxswain, 
 " Picked up, by Jove ! " 
 
 Our lads had not the least idea of winning 
 against these well-known London names ; and 
 looked on them all, particularly stroke, as a 
 countryman looks at Mr. Gladstone or Mr. 
 Disraeli ; for, not having been to Henle}', they 
 had never seen these mighty Londoners. And,. 
 indeed, they were worth looking at ; set men.,
 
 228 STRETTOX. 
 
 of about three or four-and-twcnty, bearded, 
 brown, with brown ribbed arms — it looked, 
 size excepted, like David against the Philis- 
 tine. 
 
 Eoland guessed pretty well what the London 
 tactics would be, and he was right. When the 
 word was given, the Londoner went away like a 
 whirlwind, with the hope of getting far enough 
 before them to wash them — that is to say, to 
 keep the other boat riding uneasily in their 
 wash, taking off one-third of their pace, and so 
 win by sheer desperate rowing. Eoland, on 
 his part, was determined that this should not 
 happen, and, with his experience, was away so 
 quick after the Londoner that he never really 
 cleared the Shropshire boat. For three quar- 
 ters of a mile the struggle went on in this way, 
 and then condition began to tell : Eoland be- 
 gan to gain. Eddy did not see it at first ; and 
 when he did, he whispered the fact to Eoland, 
 who never changed his stroke. Aunt Eleanor, 
 who was riding on the tow-path with her 
 brother, gave a somewhat unfeminine shout 
 when she saw her beloved Eddy's boat steadily 
 passing that of the London coxswain. The
 
 STKETTON. 229 
 
 Squire, who rode with her, was in the wildest 
 state of excitement. 
 
 A quarter of a mile from the post, the 
 Shropshire boat had drawn fairly clear, and a 
 little further the Londoners made one of those 
 splendid efforts for which they are so famous ; 
 coming on with a rush, they completely headed 
 the Shropshire boat, and the Squire's heart 
 was in his mouth — he thought it was all over. 
 But not so, Eoland : crying out "Gloucester," 
 he, for the first time, quickened his stroke, 
 which was well responded to, and after a 
 furious struggle (the Londoners rowing magni- 
 ficently to the last), pushed the boat in half a 
 length ahead.* 
 
 Shrewsbury roared aloud in the fulness of its 
 joy. Here was a boatful of their own lads, 
 Evanses, Mordaunts, and Maynards, which had 
 beaten in fair fight five of the pick of London's 
 rowing chivalry. They might well roar, and 
 indeed they did ; and in the middle of their 
 roaring, the Squire laid his hand upon his 
 
 * Those who saw the "Eton boys " win at Henley last 
 year will see that there is no romance about this.
 
 230 STKETTON. 
 
 sister's arm, and said, " Follow nie, Eleanor, 
 quick." 
 
 There was a narrow lane up to the hotel, 
 and they pushed their horses up it. The yard 
 was deserted, save by an ostler or two. Sliding 
 off his horse, and followed quickly by Aunt 
 Eleanor, who thought he looked strange, he 
 went into a little parlour, and having shut the 
 door, fainted away on a sofa. 
 
 She rang the bell, and did what she could 
 for him. When the man came, she said 
 "Doctor! quick! Don't make a fool of your- 
 self and tell any one. Doctor, I tell you." 
 
 Before the Doctor came he had got sensible 
 again, but was a little stupid and wandering. 
 Eleanor took occasion to ask the Doctor what 
 it was, and was it the sun ? 
 
 He said, " No, my dear Miss Evans. I had 
 better trust you with the secret, but I would 
 keep it from him : it is his heart."" 
 
 So ended the Shrewsbury regatta, with these 
 consequences, at least. The coachman drove 
 the drag home, and the Squire thought he 
 would sit inside, being tired ; it was nothing. 
 They rioted and shouted all the way home ;
 
 STKETTON. 231 
 
 and Mildred, sitting between Jim and her lover, 
 was inexpressibly happy, and Eddy outshone 
 himself. Ethel Mordaunt rode with Aunt 
 Eleanor, and cast many a look up at the party 
 on the drag, as though she would be glad to 
 be there herself. But the Squire sat alone in- 
 side, dull in the reaction after the morning's 
 terrible excitement, and thinking of many 
 things past ; and Aunt Eleanor rode along, 
 very dull too, and wondering whether she had 
 done right in promising to keep his illness from 
 his wife. 
 
 He got perfectly well the next day, and no 
 one was the wiser. But on the 12th he made 
 excuses : the day was hot, the birds were well- 
 grown and wild, he would find them at luncheon 
 at the Cairn and chance a shot there, but 
 Eoland must take his gun in the morning. 
 
 This refusal of his to shoot seemed very 
 much to impress Squire Mordaunt. They had 
 shot together on the 12th for so many years 
 now, that he knew there was a reason. Very 
 often during the day he looked very pensively 
 and curiously at Pioland, and seemed a little 
 guilty when discovered. He talked often to
 
 232 STRETTON. 
 
 Roland, but in a constrained manner, as though 
 leading up to a purpose, which Roland, who 
 was as quick as lightning, saw in an instant. 
 
 "What a singular delusion that is, talking up 
 to an object, of leading the conversation to- 
 wards your question ! The feeblest intellect 
 can detect the manoeuvre, and the feebler the 
 intellect the more cautious and reticent does it 
 become, from the mere instinct of self-preserva- 
 tion. Again, used towards a tolerably good 
 intellect, this mode of gaining an answer pro- 
 duces irritation of the highest kind ; it is an 
 insult to the understanding. But perhaps 
 what the Americans call the " highest old 
 sport," in the way of conversation, is to hear 
 an inferior intellect using this dodge towards 
 a higher one. 
 
 It was soon evident to Roland that Squire 
 Mordaunt was trying to lead up to something, 
 but he could not find out what. 
 
 " Well shot, boy," old Mordaunt would say. 
 " Ah, you should shoot well ; you come of 
 shooting stock. I suppose in your time, when 
 it comes, you will keep up the old head of 
 grouse, hey ? "
 
 STKETTON. 233 
 
 " I don't like to anticipate that time, sir." 
 
 " Quite right ! quite right ! " 
 
 Then again, " We will take the south side of 
 this glen, Roland. Knee-deep in fern, lad. 
 Every acre would grow corn. Shall you, now, 
 break any up ? ' ' 
 
 " I am very well as I am, sir. I have never 
 thought of such things." 
 
 " You should. Suppose you had a lawsuit 
 over your father's will, now, with Eddy. And 
 there's Mildred's fortune — very large, I can 
 tell you ; and then there's your mother's join- 
 ture, very large. You won't be so very rich, I 
 can tell you." 
 
 " I shall have enough for my wants," said 
 Roland ; " and, to tell you the truth, Mr. 
 Mordaunt, my father has been such a kind 
 and gentle friend and companion to me, that I 
 shan't care much about taking possession." 
 
 " Very meritorious. You are a good fellow, 
 Roland ; I hope my boys are of the same 
 opinion." 
 
 Roland could not make out his object at all, 
 and had to be yet more puzzled. 
 
 " Bless me!" said Squire Mordaunt once
 
 234 STRETTON. 
 
 again during the afternoon ; " what tearaway 
 young fellows you are now-a-days. Why, 
 there's young Eedruan : his mother has lost all 
 her jointure in railway shares, and he has 
 given her up the estate for life, and gone to 
 Canada to make a fortune there." 
 
 "Happy fellow," said Eoland. "I envy 
 him. I'd a hundred times sooner have the 
 making of a fortune than the spending of one." 
 
 Mr. Mordaunt pressed him no more, and 
 meeting Squire Evans at lunch, they all talked 
 and shot together, and Squire Mordaunt having 
 dined with them, walked pensively home under 
 the harvest-moon, and went straight to his 
 stud} - , and sat down in front of his escritoire 
 with a candle. 
 
 " The boy," he mused, " will do well any- 
 where, if all goes against him. If all goes 
 with him, however, he will be a poorish man. 
 The defence of the Langley estate against the 
 Bourden Langley claim took six years' rents. 
 Whew ! let us look at it again." 
 
 He took out a letter. Let us look at it : — 
 
 " Sir, — As a friend of the Evans family my-
 
 STRETTON. 235 
 
 self, I wish to inform 3-011, as another friend of 
 the family, of this very singular fact : — At the 
 death of the present Mr. Charles Evans, the 
 succession to the estates will be disputed. 
 
 " I know nothing, and can advise nothing. 
 I only know that they are not going to move 
 during the life of the present Squire; and, 
 moreover, that they have a great deal of confi- 
 dence. " Yours, 
 
 " Nemo." 
 
 "I don't like the look of it," said old Mor- 
 daunt. " These people have money behind 
 them and a good case, to judge from our friend 
 Nemo's letter. I shall ride over to old 
 Eleanor."
 
 236 STRETTON. 
 
 CHAPTEK XVI. 
 
 See broad and big Squire Mordaunt pensively 
 
 riding, on a great brown horse, into (lie gate 
 at Pulverbatch, under the dark elms, past the 
 fish-ponds, up to Aunt Eleanor's front door. 
 See his own daughter running out in her 
 riding-habit to greet him, and making him 
 bend down from his saddle for a "regular good 
 hug." A pleasant sight ! 
 
 " Why, puss," said her father, "I missed 
 you at breakfast." 
 
 " I rode over here. She is necessary to me 
 at times. She does me good." 
 
 " Stick to her, my girl. There are few like 
 her. Where is she ? " 
 
 " Out in the yard;" and having given up 
 his horse, he followed his daughter until they 
 came to the gate of a splendid deep-littered
 
 STKETTON. 237 
 
 3traw-yard, of great extent, hemmed in on all 
 sides by various buildings, and on one side by 
 i vast barn, as big as some cathedrals, from 
 the open doors of which came a pleasant sound 
 of thrashing. 
 
 Advancing slowly across the centre of the 
 litter, in a short gown, with her back well in, 
 and her head well up, a basket on her arm, 
 came Miss Evans : heading a wedge-shaped 
 procession. In front of her skimmed and 
 hopped innumerable pigeons, about her feet 
 and immediately behind her were the fowls — 
 the hens "pawking" and gandering, the little 
 ones losing their mothers in the crowd, and 
 peeting shrilly when trodden on by the bigger 
 ones ; the cocks solemn and gallant. Then 
 about forty little black Fisher Hobbes' pigs, 
 shrieking wildly, and changing places until 
 they looked like four hundred ; then a dozen 
 porkers, two calves, and four hrumphing old 
 sows bringing up the rear. With this follow- 
 ing, she approached the gate, and saluted 
 Mordaunt — 
 
 " Well, George, and so you have found your 
 way here once more ? "
 
 238 STRETT0N. 
 
 " I should come here more, if you did not 
 scold Hie so." 
 
 " That's nonsense. I only scold you when 
 you provoke me. How are you, old friend?" 
 
 And so, pleasantly chatting, these three went 
 the tour of the farmyard, looking at all its 
 wonderful order, thrift and abundance. In the 
 " woman's kingdom," which some say is com- 
 ing, I, projecting my soul into the future, 
 prophecy that a very great number of " disen- 
 thralled" women will become farmers, and, 
 moreover, the very best of farmers. Even as 
 they are now, with such education as they are 
 allowed to scrape together, a vast number of 
 women have every qualification which goes to 
 make up a good farmer. Thrift, diligence, and 
 attention to details are three qualifications 
 which few, even now, will deny to the majority 
 of women, and those three qualifications are 
 one half the battle. Let them be instructed in 
 the science of the matter, and that is not such 
 a very difficult thing, and the instinct of order 
 and management, so much higher in ordinary 
 women than in ordinary men, will do the rest. 
 AYhy are we always wanting (by advertisement)
 
 STKETTON. 289 
 
 a "Lady Superintendent" for some institution 
 or another? Why cannot a "limited hotel" 
 get on without a " Lady Manager ? " Look at 
 the duties of a great nobleman's housekeeper ; 
 and then tell me that a well-trained, clear- 
 headed woman would not make a better farmer 
 than one half of the ill-educated, narrow- 
 minded men who have got the land. Why, 
 one of the best-managed farms, some 14,000 
 acres — mind you, in Victoria — was kept by two 
 old maiden ladies : and for that matter, Elea- 
 nor Evans is no ideal personage. 
 
 " I wish I could make my farm pay like 
 this," said Squire Mordaunt, pensively. " I 
 lost a thousand pounds the last two years. If 
 it was not for my wife keeping things so well 
 in hand in the housekeeping, I should be pinched 
 to keep the boys at the university." 
 
 " Why don't you give the farm up to her, 
 then ?" asked Eleanor ; " then you might go 
 on with your fox-hunting, and your game pre- 
 serving, and your politics, and your magistrate's 
 work, with an easy mind. A farm takes a 
 man's or woman's whole time and energy, and 
 here you put ten irons in the fire, leaving the
 
 240 STRETTON. 
 
 poor farm to the last, and then come crying 
 to me because you lose money over it. Come 
 in. 
 
 They went into Eleanor's long, dark room, 
 and she put down her hat and her egg-basket, 
 and taking a particular pencil from a particular 
 place on her desk, began writing a date on each 
 of the eggs, as she handed them to her aide- 
 de-camp, Ethel, who meanwhile had opened a 
 long drawer — one of a dozen in an old oak 
 press ; the drawers were half filled with oats, 
 and in these oats Ethel carefully placed every 
 egg, in the succession in which it was handed 
 to her. 
 
 "There," Eleanor said, when it was done; 
 " I suppose you are too fine a gentleman to do 
 that?" 
 
 Mordaunt confessed it. 
 
 " I thought as much," said Eleanor, trium- 
 phantly ; " and you talk of farming ! Why, 
 by this simple detail, and by never trusting 
 the eggs into my servants' hands, I average 
 ten chicks out of every sitting of thirteen ; 
 and, in spite of your bothering foxes, which I, 
 not having had my warnings attended to, mean
 
 STRETTON. 241 
 
 most persistently to trap, I made £91 last year 
 out of my fowls alone, clear profit. What 
 does your pork which you eat cost you ? ' ' 
 
 " I never made any exact calculation," said 
 Squire Mordaunt, drily. " I got up to 8s. a 
 pound once, and then I dropped it. I want to 
 speak to you." 
 
 " Then, Ethel, my love, go and get the 
 garden report together for me, as your father 
 is going to waste my time. (Ethel went out.) 
 I am sick and tired of you men. I don't know 
 what you were brought into the world for. And 
 then, if things go wrong, it is always us. Now, 
 what is the matter?" 
 
 " You did not always think so of men, dear 
 Eleanor," said Squire Mordaunt. 
 
 " And don't now, my dear George. Ah, it 
 is a long while since that. "Where is your 
 brother?" 
 
 " In India still." 
 
 " Ah, well ! George, remember that no one 
 but you and I know that only tender passage 
 in my life. Keep my secret." 
 
 "It is not much of a one, Eleanor. He 
 made you think that he loved you when he did 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 STRETTON. 
 
 not. And you talk of it being the only tender 
 passage in your life ! Why, your life is a 
 piece of music made up of tender passages. 
 But here, I am uneasy, and I have come to you 
 as having the clearest head in your family. 
 Eead this," and he put before her the anony- 
 mous letter. 
 
 She read it twice very carefully, and then she 
 folded it up, and said : " This is very serious 
 and very annoying, indeed." 
 
 " Have you any idea what it means ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I know well enough what it 
 means. It means twenty thousand pounds 
 worth of law, and very likely a sequestration 
 of the estate pendente lite. You were called to 
 the bar once — that is good law language, is it 
 not." 
 
 " I have forgotten my law," said Mordai 
 "but that don't seem to ring true somehow. 
 However, I understand what you mean, which 
 I probably should not if you stated it correctly. 
 What is it all about?" 
 
 " Oh, it is the old Cecil Evans's claim on 
 the estate, dormant now for forty years. It 
 was last made when our father came into the
 
 STRETTON. 243 
 
 estate. His father died without a will, and our 
 father inherited ; and then up gets one Cecil 
 Evans and claims to inherit as eldest legiti- 
 mate son. He abandoned his suit after a 
 short time, publishing everywhere that it was 
 only from want of funds. Indeed, I remember 
 to have heard it said that many thought him 
 ill-used. He went to Australia, where they 
 have made mints of money, and are now far 
 richer than we are ; and now they are going 
 to spend some of it in trying to turn us out." 
 
 " Have they a good claim ?" 
 
 " Good enough to cost a deal of money. 
 But it was always said that we had papers 
 which would checkmate them. Old Somes, 
 our solicitor, is alive still. Let us communi- 
 cate with him ; he knows all about it." 
 
 "Shall we tell Charles?" 
 
 " Certainly not, unless they move before his 
 death. I have my reasons for not telling 
 Charles." 
 
 " They should be good ones." 
 
 " They are good ones. I tell you it would 
 kill him in a week," said Eleanor. 
 
 "Has he been ill?"
 
 244 . STItETTON. 
 
 " Yes ! Between ourselves, he had a very 
 dangerous attack the day of that silly regatta. 
 Let us go to old Somes." 
 
 "Well, we will agree to it," said Mordaunt. 
 " What was the name of the man who — you 
 know what I mean — before my brother ? ' ' 
 
 " Georgy Kolston," said Aunt Eleanor, 
 frankly. "I wonder what has become of him, 
 for instance." 
 
 " He is Dean of St. Paul's," said Mordaunt; 
 " the very man who is looking after our boys."
 
 STRETTON. 245 
 
 CHAPTEK XVII. 
 
 All things must end, even a long vacation ; 
 and the yellowing leaves began to tell of sepa- 
 ration. But what are changes under such cir- 
 cumstances as we find here, with youth, health, 
 and wealth ? only changes from one form of 
 pleasure to another. The mothers and the 
 sisters, saddened at the parting, listened to the 
 young men's talk ; it consisted only in antici- 
 pations of pleasures even greater than those of 
 home. They were glad enough to get away, 
 as they had been glad enough to come. 
 
 With regard to young James Mordaunt, how- 
 ever, it was very difficult to see whether he was 
 glad or sorry at the change. He spoke with 
 intense pleasure of his return to the University, 
 and of the various things they would do, yet he 
 was distraught, melancholy, and by no means 
 himself : and no explanation could be offered
 
 246 
 
 STRETTON. 
 
 of the change in him, except that he had fallen 
 in love with somebody. 
 
 Since Eoland had been spoken to on these 
 matters by the downright Mordaunt, his con- 
 duct had been most discreet ; he had never 
 flirted with Mary Maynard — when any one was 
 by ; and as for Ethel Mordaunt, he had treated 
 her like his sister, only with more profound 
 consideration. 
 
 They had all left their college in early sum- 
 mer, full of anticipations of home ; and now they 
 returned to the college, full of anticipations of 
 an agreeable change from the perpetual sun- 
 shine weather of home ; and the change after 
 all was a failure to them. The great, first 
 attraction of one of the old English Univer- 
 sities, is the entire and perfect freedom from 
 restraint during the time when the youth is as 
 much a schoolboy as ever. On the return 
 after the first long vacation, this is almost 
 always gone, and the individuality of the man 
 begins to show. The man is not merely a 
 cricketing, or boating, or tart-eating schoolboy ; 
 not merely the gregarious creature of whom 
 you can scarcely find five separate types in a
 
 STRETTON. 247 
 
 school of five hundred ; he begins to show 
 what individuality there is in him ; begins, 
 when thrown on himself, to show what he is 
 likely to be in the future. 
 
 The most empty and frivolous of lads ; the 
 lad who has spent his first year in doing all 
 that he has been forbidden to do, drinking and 
 smoking more than is good for him, ordering 
 things which he does not want, but which 
 must be paid for, finds out this ; for no 
 human soul was ever satisfied with new waist- 
 coats and fresh jewellery for long. He 
 gathers these choice flowers still, but the 
 bloom and scent are gone, and he merely goes 
 on doing it because he has begun ; and be- 
 comes, in his third year, if he lasts as long, a 
 miserable and unhappy spectacle, entering on 
 the ministry of a church which requires a clear 
 head and a bold heart for her service, a blase, 
 heedless man, often deeply in debt, sighing 
 regretfully, up to the latest moment before 
 that Trinity Sunday which is to alter his life 
 for ever, for the fleshpots of Egypt. "With 
 him we have little to do ; these lads of 
 ours had little in common with him, yet they
 
 248 STRETTOX. 
 
 felt that the University was not as it had 
 been. 
 
 There was certainly some little pleasure at 
 meeting such few friends as they had ; but 
 this did not last long. The river, which they 
 all loved, was not the same, with its broken 
 reeds and muddy banks, as it was in bright 
 June. They took their four down, and rowed 
 as splendidly as ever ; but it was in a per- 
 functory way, and Roland was a little cross at 
 the observation which they attracted, and 
 demanded of Eddy the innocent, whether they 
 could not go down the river like others without 
 being watched. The four-oared races were 
 rowed that term, which made Roland the more 
 petulant ; and the first day, seeing certain 
 men prepared to run up with them, he rowed 
 like fury over three-quarters of the course, and 
 then eased, turned, and rowed down again, 
 giving these gentlemen their run for their 
 trouble. The University was a failure as far 
 as boating went. " What rot it is ! " he said 
 in the barge. " I could find four watermen 
 here on the shore, who could give us a hundred 
 yards, and row round us."
 
 STRETTON. 249 
 
 " You are beginning to find that out," said 
 Sir Jasper Meredith, laughing at him. " Didn't 
 I always tell you so. You are a fine fellow, 
 Roland ; but you have neither the pluck nor 
 the dexterity to sweep a chimney." 
 
 " I'll bet your life I'll sweep any chimney in 
 the University I can get into," replied Roland, 
 in a loud voice. 
 
 " Leave him alone, Meredith," said old 
 Mordaunt, " or he'll do it. He has got out of 
 bed the wrong side, and will make a fool of 
 himself in any way you will name, if you will 
 only defy him." 
 
 " True, king," said Roland, laughing, in 
 good humour. " Well, what shall we do till 
 hall?" 
 
 Jimmy Mordaunt, in a stolid sententious 
 manner, looking nowhere, with his head in the 
 air, suggested that they should go up street 
 together, have ices, and look at trouser-pat- 
 terns for Sunday morning. " We used to like 
 it well enough four months ago," he said; 
 " of course we should like it now." 
 
 Sir Jasper Meredith laughed, winked, and 
 said, " He has read you the lesson, that young
 
 250 STRETTON. 
 
 bull. Take hold of me, will you, and carry 
 me somewhere out of this. Are you going to 
 take me over the plank, old Mordaunt ? Well, 
 old Mordaunt, and what do you say to it 
 all?" 
 
 Old Mordaunt was far too wise to say any- 
 thing. He grinned, however, as he deposited 
 Meredith with his servant. Nothing more. 
 
 There was a ghost of a revival of the old 
 days among them that night. They were 
 quietly together in the Evans' rooms, when it 
 occurred to James Mordaunt to take strom; 
 objections to Eddy Evans' recent conduct, on 
 many grounds. There was no new specific 
 charge at once, but a number ; and James put 
 it that he was getting objectionable in many 
 ways. That he was steering badly, talked 
 loudly in the street, ate too much and too fast, 
 slopped his drink about at dinner, talked while 
 he was chewing, and scraped his plate with his 
 knife. This, of course, as was usual, ended in 
 denials and recriminations, in which Eddy 
 used language towards James which of course 
 ended in a fight, or to speak more truly, in a 
 blind, aimless, innocent romp between the two
 
 STRETTON. 
 
 251 
 
 lads. Unluckily, however, even the old fun 
 fell worse than dead, for Eddy, having laughed 
 all the wind out of him, as he afterwards 
 explained, fell rather heavily under James 
 Mordaunt, and made his head bleed. They 
 did not fall so light as in the old times. Poor 
 Edward would have cried if he had been still a 
 boy ; but it was their last romp together. 
 
 Old Mordaunt had started a pipe, the first 
 of the set who did so, and puffing it, he said, 
 "You two must give up skylarking. You are 
 getting too old and too strong. All that has 
 passed away. Eh, Eoland?" 
 
 They put down their names for the Greek 
 prose lecture, because the Dean still had 
 it, but only for his sake. The Dean's eyes 
 brightened when they came in, and they 
 brightened up also when they saw their good 
 friend. 
 
 But it was all as dead as ditch-water. May- 
 nard, the ox-like, who never said anything, but 
 went his w T ays through the world without ex- 
 citing himself (saving when he quickened his 
 perfectly rowed oar to the motion of Eoland' s 
 back), now was the brightest of them all.
 
 252 STRETTOX. 
 
 Their old world had become dead to them. 
 Before him a new, bright, and most beautiful 
 world was about to open. The Dean knew 
 why, and was not surprised ; but he was sur- 
 prised that this good, handsome, not over 
 clever lad should shine so brightly beside the 
 four others, so much brighter and cleverer 
 than he. " The mere fact of a lad's going to 
 be married next Christmas," said the Dean to 
 himself, "need not make all that difference. 
 There is something wrong in these Gloucester 
 boys." 
 
 Maynard had never been a great favourite 
 of the Dean's. He had thought him lumpish 
 and rather stupid, though his scholarship was 
 high for that college. The Dean had very 
 little society in his college, being by far the 
 best man there, and the tattle of the common- 
 room was distasteful to him. Consequently he 
 spent far too much of his time in his own 
 rooms among his books. 
 
 But books will not last a man always. The 
 eye gets physically wearied of print in time, 
 and when that happens, a man should have 
 society among his own equals. In his own
 
 STRETTON. 253 
 
 college the Dean had none. His old friends 
 were dropping one by one from the University, 
 and the few who were left were changed in 
 many ways, and the Dean was a lonely man. 
 So it came about that in the dull, long nights, 
 when the college was asleep, he had got into 
 an unfortunate habit of summing up his own 
 case against destiny. A most unhealthy habit 
 indeed. 
 
 Here was his case against destiny. He was 
 the son of a poor clergyman, but a splendid 
 scholar. His father had carried everything 
 before him in the way of University honours, 
 and had then thrown everything — his fellow- 
 ship, his chances of promotion — in every way 
 to the dogs, by marrying a young lady to 
 whom he was promised, and by declining on a 
 small curacy, where his scholarship was a 
 mere incumbrance. He had then got a small 
 living, and had just lived long enough to get 
 his boy (the Dean) nominated to a good public 
 foundation. After which he died, leaving his 
 wife with £100 a year of her own, and £1,500 
 on a life insurance policy. 
 
 This £1,500 was devoted to the Dean's
 
 254 STRETTOX. 
 
 education : money seldom went further. At 
 school the hoy carried everything hefore him, 
 spending as little as possible, and spending 
 nothing "without consultation with his mother. 
 " I must be a great man," he said to her. " I 
 have abilities for it ; and I must show among 
 boys and men as a gentleman, and not as a 
 scrub. If you will trust me, mother, I will in- 
 vest this money at cent, per cent." And she 
 trusted him ; and was he not now enjoying an 
 income of £70.0 a year from a capital of 
 £1,500? He did all he had ever said he 
 would do, and his mother lived in wealth, hap- 
 piness, and pride ; talking of her son, the 
 Dean, among the gossips, as though he were 
 Dean of Durham, and waiting calmly for the 
 time, now soon to come, when he would be 
 head of his house, and Vice-Chancellor, walk- 
 ing, in scarlet cloth and velvet, among princes, 
 warriors, scholars of all nations, with six silver 
 maces before him, conferring honours upon 
 them all. Good lady ! her heart swelled with 
 an unutterable pride, as she in her imagination 
 rehearsed her behaviour as mother of the Yice- 
 Chancellor, when all the sages from the east
 
 STKETTON. 255 
 
 and from the west, from Berlin to Harvard, 
 should be taking their honours from the hands 
 of her son. 
 
 Could he destroy it all by telling her that he 
 was a miserable and disappointed man ; that 
 he had missed his aim in life ; that the world 
 she thought so great was so unutterably small 
 to him ; that his deanery of the college was 
 merely in his eyes the situation of an over-paid 
 bear-leader ; that the position of proctor, in 
 which she had rejoiced so much, was an office 
 utterly loathsome and degrading to him, which 
 he had fulfilled so ill and so unwillingly, that 
 he was cheered to the echo by all the worst of 
 the undergraduates at the end of his term ; 
 and that his name was even now remembered 
 as that of the "good proctor"? Could he tell 
 her that there were times now when he recalled 
 what he had meant to be, which made him say 
 to himself in his bitterness that he would as 
 soon be carried through the streets as Guy 
 Fawkes, as walk through them as Vice-Chan- 
 cellor ? No ; he could not tell all this to her, 
 or to anyone ; though as the evening which 
 followed the first day of the term closed in,
 
 256 STEETTON. 
 
 these thoughts came crowding on hirn as thick 
 as ever — nay, thicker. He would riot face the 
 long night alone. He rang his bell, and sent 
 his servant to request Mr. Maynard to sup with 
 hini at nine o'clock. 
 
 Then he set all his doors open, and walked 
 up and down through all his rooms, from one 
 end to the other, still putting his case against 
 the world. How came it that he was tied here 
 by the leg, an inevitable head of a house, an 
 equally inevitable Yice-Chancellor in his turn, 
 while the great world, in which he could have 
 shone, went spinning on and leaving him and 
 his ideas behind '? Could he have escaped, the 
 very name of his college would have been a 
 drag and a shame to him in those days. And 
 his holy orders, forced on him by the rules of 
 his house — there was a bar. His head grew 
 hot as he thought of that, as it always did ; 
 for the Dean had opinions which he kept to him- 
 self, but which even the breadth of the National 
 Church could scarcely hold. And he was an 
 honest man. If he had ten thousand a year to- 
 morrow, Parliament was closed to him. He put 
 that thought under his feet, and stamped on it.
 
 STRETTON. 257 
 
 "Get," said a very pleasant voice, "a bishop- 
 ric. With your political power, not so very diffi- 
 cult." And he said to himself, " That was very 
 neatly put, my dear friend in black. Fancy if it 
 was to come to that! ' And as he said it, he 
 grew pale and trembled. And then he went 
 into his innermost chamber and knelt before 
 a chair ; but he had scarcely knelt a minute 
 before he cast the chair from him, and began 
 his walk again, singing what he was apt to 
 sing a little too often when his scepticism 
 was strongest, and his consequent cynicism 
 greatest — 
 
 " There was turning of keys and creaking of locks, 
 And he took forth a bait from the iron box. 
 Many the cunning sportsman tried, 
 Many he flung with a frown aside, 
 Jewels of lustre, robes of price, 
 Tomes of heresy, loaded dice. 
 At length was a perfume of sulphur and nitre, 
 As he came, at last, to a Bishop's Mitre." 
 
 " Well, it has not come to that yet. Let 
 
 me forget ! If I had only had ten thousand 
 
 pounds, and if she had not been a fool, — God 
 
 bless her ! — it might have been different. Let 
 
 us prepare for this young bridegroom." 
 
 A bitter, cynical tongue had the good Dean, 
 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 STRETTON. 
 
 well known in lecture, in common-room, and 
 in senate-house : a man who had made many- 
 enemies by his stinging, quiet sarcasm. Some 
 of those enemies would have given money to 
 have seen him now, forty-five years of age, and 
 in a wig, gathering flowers out of his little 
 terrace-garden by candle-light, and bringing 
 them in, and laying them on the table, sorting 
 them out and putting them in a vase. Poor 
 old Dean ! 
 
 His next act was much more Don-like, and 
 less sentimental. He took his bunch of keys 
 from his pocket, and unlocked his escritoire, 
 and from a second place in it took another 
 key. And even while holding that key in his 
 hand, he did another strange thing, not to be 
 believed by senate-house or hebdomadal board. 
 Pulling aside a pile of neatly docketed papers, 
 — which were, indeed, so man} r lamentable 
 efforts of Greek prose, all to be waded wearily 
 through in the course of the week, — he took 
 out an old bundle of letters tied together, in 
 the tie of which was stuck an old rose. Going 
 to the table, he took the best fresh geranium 
 he could find, and put it in beside the rose,
 
 STRETTON. 259 
 
 and laying down the letters beside the Greek 
 exercises, scratched his head in deep thought, 
 and in doing so scratched his wig off. 
 
 It fell impartially, like the rain, on the 
 Greek exercises, the letters, the rose and gera- 
 nium, and looked up at him, as only a wig can 
 look. With an air of vivacious effrontery, as 
 though it would say, " You and I are fine 
 fellows ; but must pull together ; we are no- 
 thing apart." The Dean scratched his bare 
 head, and said, with a sigh, " Ah ! it is too 
 late for all that now." 
 
 The sudden entry of his servant caused him 
 to lock up his escritoire very rapidly, and to 
 lock his wig inside, with his love-letters and 
 the other witnesses of his folly. Turning to 
 scold his servant, he caught sight of himself 
 in the glass, and scolded not. He undid the 
 escritoire, and taking out his wig, put it on in 
 the presence of his servant, and going with 
 his key to his most sacred wine-bin, took out 
 a very particular bottle of wine, saying to 
 himself, " This will unloose his tongue, at all 
 events." 
 
 In came supper — a most delicate, light little
 
 2 GO STRETTOX. 
 
 supper, for the good Dean had learnt in his 
 seclusion to know the pleasures of good eating, 
 and had, indeed, sent two of the young men 
 in the kitchen, at various times and at his own 
 expense, to his London club for instruction. 
 In came Maynard, beautifully dressed, looking 
 splendid, with a geranium in his button-hole. 
 The servant was sent away, the oak sported, 
 and Maynard, the simple, was left undefended, 
 to be pumped by this wily old Dean. 
 
 "You won't find any beer here, Maynard," 
 said the Dean. " These vivers are too good to 
 be washed down by that infernal compound of 
 malt, hops, and raw beef, which is good for 
 nothing but to irritate the temper, and the 
 consumption of which accounts for so much of 
 our national history. You will find a bottle of 
 White Hermitage beside you : don't be afraid 
 of it. I have my half-pint of Beaune, as you 
 see. A young stomach like yours should be 
 able to stand hashed venison (not Magdalen, 
 my dear youth, but Arundel) and Hermit- 
 age." 
 
 Maynard made some respectful reply, and 
 they supped like gods ; and when thoroughly
 
 STRETTOX. 261 
 
 refreshed, moved to the fire, with their wine 
 between them. 
 
 " And so," said the Dean, " you are to 
 marry Miss Evans, at Christmas." 
 
 Maynard's sober tongue was thoroughly 
 loosened by drinking White Hermitage as 
 though it were beer, and he thought the Dean 
 an uncommonly friendly, gentlemanly fellow, 
 and very handsome too. 
 
 He replied, without the least sheepislmess, 
 that such was the case, and received the Dean's 
 congratulations with respectful dignity. 
 
 " If you will allow me, we will drink to the 
 bride-elect," said the Dean. And down the 
 throat of the innocent Maynard went another 
 quarter of a pint of the White Hermitage. 
 
 "A handsome family," said the Dean. "At 
 least, judging from Roland, I should say so. 
 Eddy is ugly, certainty ; but one might almost 
 predicate of him that his inseparable accident 
 would be pretty sisters." 
 
 " You think Eddy ugly, sir ? " 
 
 "Decidedly, I should say. A weak, silly, 
 frivolous little being, but very amiable." 
 
 "I assure you, sir," said Maynard of the
 
 262 STRETTON. 
 
 loosened tongue, "that you are quite mistaken. 
 Eddy has quite as much go in him as Ro- 
 land." 
 
 The Dean laughed, and put the question by. 
 "The Evanses are very rich, are they not? 
 You get wealth as well as beauty and wit by this 
 match, I hear." 
 
 " No," said Maynard. " I have a large pro- 
 perty. She only has five thousand at pre- 
 sent." 
 
 " Indeed ! By-the-by, did I dream it, or 
 is there not some of the Evans' property alien- 
 ated?" 
 
 "Not that I am aware of," said Maynard. 
 " I settle two farms on her for pin-money. In 
 case of my death, she has everything, barring 
 my mother's jointure and my sister Mary's 
 little fortune. There never has been any ques- 
 tion of money. Why should there ?" 
 
 " Of course not," said the Dean. " I am 
 clumsy in my inquiries. I wanted to lmow 
 whether there was not some of the Stretton 
 property alienated — on Miss Evans, I mean." 
 
 "Aunt Eleanor ! " said Maynard. 
 
 " Exactly," said the Dean, settling himself.
 
 STRETTON. 263 
 
 '.' The very person. Fill your glass, and tell 
 me all about her. I knew something about 
 these Evanses in old, old times, and I re- 
 member this Miss Evans. She has taken to 
 woman's rights, farms her own land, goes 
 shooting, and goes to market, does she not ? 
 She was pretty at one time — what is she like 
 now?" 
 
 "Aunt Eleanor," said Maynard, solemnly, 
 " is one of the most beautiful women you ever 
 saw in your life, sir ; and if there is an angel 
 on earth, it is she." 
 
 " Pity she did not marry," said the Dean, 
 whistling. 
 
 " There never walked a man in shoes good 
 enough for her, sir ; and that is why she did 
 not marry. As for her estates, which she cer- 
 tainly farms, they would be denned by Mr. 
 Hallam as an appanage in her mother's right, 
 in no way influencing the succession, or in 
 any way at the mercy of the main hereditary 
 branch. They are at her own disposal." 
 
 "Hang Mr. Hallam ! " said the Dean, fear- 
 ing that Maynard had drunk so much Her- 
 mitage that he would get sententious instead
 
 264 STRETTON. 
 
 of communicative. " Why did she not 
 marry?" 
 
 " You must ask my mother that story, sir," 
 said Maynard. 
 
 " Come, you know it ; " said the Dean, 
 " and you may as well tell it. Do you ever 
 smoke a cigar ? ' ' 
 
 There was no hesitation' in Maynard's confi- 
 dence after this. 
 
 " Miss Evans," he said, "had once a pro- 
 posal from a man whom she greatly esteemed, 
 and to whom, my mother says, she had shown 
 the most marked partiality. To the great as- 
 tonishment of her most intimate friends, she 
 refused him so emphatically that he retired, 
 and was seen in that part of the country no 
 more." 
 
 "Aye, indeed!" said the Dean, "a poor- 
 spirited fellow. Well, and did she ever give 
 any reasons for her unreasonahle conduct ?" 
 
 " They became apparent to a few; although 
 she esteemed the first man, there was one she 
 esteemed more ; in fact, she refused the first 
 man in favour of another." 
 
 " And is yet unmarried ! "
 
 STRETTON. 265 
 
 " Yes ; the man was a soldier, and had 
 shown her great attention ; but the one word 
 was never spoken by him, and he went away 
 and married another. It was disappointment 
 and a feeling of humiliation in having given 
 away her heart and not having it accepted, 
 which prevented her from ever marrying." 
 
 " Still handsome," said the Dean, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " Still beautiful," said Maynard ; and took 
 his leave. 
 
 The Dean, sitting before the fire, said, " She 
 had better have had me before I had to wear a 
 wig; but it is too late now." And there was 
 no one to care what the Dean said, so he took 
 off his wig and went to bed. 
 
 Nothing is easier than to go to bed ; but few 
 things, at times, are more difficult than going 
 to sleep. The Dean found that out. As soon 
 as he was in the dark he began thinking. If 
 I were to write down all that he thought about, 
 you would certainly not read it. I can only 
 give you the results. 
 
 "Eleanor still handsome, and I a bald old 
 man in a wig : though I am only her age,
 
 266 STRETTON. 
 
 when all is said and done. I have a good 
 mind to go down and see her ; but, perhaps, 
 I had better send my wig, to let her see how 
 things stand. She has taken to all kind of 
 things, why the dickens hasn't she taken to 
 socialism ? Then she might turn her estates 
 into a Phalanstery, and I would join her with 
 my money, get her to marry me, and burst it 
 all up triumphantly. After such nonsense as 
 that, I know I must be going to sleep." 
 
 But he was not. After a full hour he was 
 broad awake enough to say, " What did I ever 
 
 do to K that he should have sent these 
 
 outrageous young Bedlamites to me, and so 
 arouse my interest in her again ? There will 
 
 be mischief among those bovs. K licked 
 
 them into shape ; he would lick any hoy into 
 shape I ever saw. But boys have an ugly trick 
 of growing into men ; as they are. And one 
 single pretty woman would play the deuce 
 among the lot of them." 
 
 Finding that this consideration did not make 
 him more sleepy, the good Dean arose, and 
 putting on his wig and some clothes, buckled to 
 at the Greek prose exercises : which had the
 
 STKETTON. 267 
 
 desired effect. For he fell asleep over them, 
 and nearly burnt down the college, but only in 
 reality burnt his wig. 
 
 As he had not got a lock of hair on his head 
 to send as a specimen of colour, the leading 
 barber of that town sent him the closest match 
 he could : a bright red wig, made for a gentle- 
 man commoner of scrofulous tendency, of St. 
 Vitus' College, who had had his head shaved for 
 delirium tremens ; the only wig without grey let 
 into it which the barber had in stock. The 
 Dean took it and wore it, to the delight of the 
 undergraduates ; for a red wig was better than 
 a grey one. 
 
 " If my confounded hair had stayed on 
 my head," he thought, " things would have 
 been different. I am only her age." And so 
 he made himself ridiculous by wearing the red 
 wig. If any one else had done it, he would 
 have murdered them with sarcasm. But no 
 man knows what an ass he is when he is in 
 
 L 
 
 love.
 
 268 STRETTOX. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A very long foreseen confusion now occurs in 
 this story. If the kind reader has been patient 
 enough to notice the fact, he will perceive that 
 not one of the people whom I have tried to 
 present to him in an amiable light had been 
 doing anything at all. The energetic Gray, 
 the most active among our characters, hitherto 
 had been only vegetating. There had come 
 no question between him and the world. Aunt 
 Eleanor's chief glory was in her plan of sowing 
 white rock stubble turnips, and arguing with Mr. 
 Martin Sutton, of Reading. As for the boys, they 
 had been doing rather less than nothing. Sir Jas- 
 per Meredith having now attained his majority, 
 had built some cottages, but finding a return of 
 scarcely one per cent., had gone off into doc- 
 trinaire radicalism, and had screeched his com- 
 monplaces of supply and demand into the ear
 
 STRETTON. 269 
 
 of a sympathizing vestry, who said that they 
 always knew that no Meredith was the man to 
 raise the rates on them. But none of them 
 had done anything. 
 
 The whole lot of them would have slept 
 through life, and awakened wondering in eter- 
 nity, had it not been for a bouleversement in 
 affairs, which brought out the character of 
 all. 
 
 We must follow our boys first. In spite of 
 the cynical croaking of Sir Jasper Meredith, 
 these boys held together, with Eoland as their 
 captain. In those old times men could row 
 and read at the same time. Witness an Ox- 
 ford eight at Putney, in 1852, with two first- 
 class men in her. Now we have changed all 
 that ; it matters not, I am only speaking of 
 the past. In the four-oared races of the Octo- 
 ber term, Brasenose, with the splendid fury 
 which seems to be a spccialitc of that college, 
 rowed down every crew in succession, until 
 they were thrown, in the last terrible heat, 
 against St. Paul's, manned by our five boys. 
 Brasenose, with the Berkshire shore, raged away 
 ahead, in the style which few men can ap-
 
 270 STRETTON. 
 
 proacli. But when the Gut was passed, the 
 steady steam-engine style of the Gloucester 
 boys began to tell. Eddy Evans, sitting like a 
 little Memnon in the stem, merely nodded 
 to his brother to quicken the stroke. Eoland 
 did so, and was answered by the crew as one 
 man. The magnificent rage of Brasenose was 
 as nothing. Opposite the Cherwell, Eddy 
 tickled his boat over in front of them, and 
 washed them, and there was an end of the old 
 regime ; no more University boating for them. 
 One or two of them, in after times, and in sub- 
 dued voices, disputed whether they had got 
 more harm than good out of it. At all events, 
 there was an end and finish of it. 
 
 Three days afterwards the Moderation lot 
 were out, and Eoland and the elder Mordaunt 
 figured in the first class. 
 
 The very next Thursday, at the Union, Lord 
 Eustace Yanderbilt made his great Eadical 
 speech, in which he demonstrated, to the satis- 
 faction of the majority, that Christianity and 
 democracy were identical ; that the only true 
 formulas of Christianity were to be found in 
 the traditions of the Church ; and that, there-
 
 STRETTON. 271 
 
 fore, the only true democracy would be found 
 in the formulas of the High Church party. 
 Lord Eustace was clever, and had a vast deal 
 to say for his theory ; as well as any one else 
 has who takes it up. But the instant he sat 
 down, Roland Was up and at his throat. Old 
 Mordaunt, who was sitting beside him, growled 
 out to him, from time to time, " to draw it 
 mild," but Eoland scorned him. 
 
 "Priestcraft and democracy!" he cried. 
 " Who is he that publishes the banns of that 
 adulterous marriage '? Who is this man who 
 sits there with brazen forehead, and talks this 
 blasphemy ? The great grandson of the fa- 
 vourite of William the Third, who would have 
 struck his degraded successor to the earth 
 if he had heard his atrocious sentiments. 
 (Order, order.) It was well to cry order ; it 
 was a most excellent and admirable thing to 
 cry order, when an honest English country 
 gentleman denounced a renegade Dutchman, 
 pampered as his family had been, and rewarded 
 as his family had been, for turning to and 
 talking mere Sacheverellism, or worse." Eo- 
 land also was at a loss to conceive what this
 
 272 STRETTON. 
 
 young nobleman expected to gain by it, and 
 took about half an hour in trying to find out : 
 during which he tore the Constitution to tat- 
 ters ; gave his opinion of the Church pretty 
 strongly ; and called the house to witness the 
 state of things we had been brought to : which, 
 with a rapidly civilizing population of nearly 
 two hundred millions, the possession of the 
 principal naval keys of all seas, and a surplus 
 of three millions, was scarcely an easy matter. 
 Then finding, like most young speakers, that 
 he was wide of his subject, he harked back to 
 it as well as he could. " What did the noble 
 lord want ? what did the noble lord mean ? 
 If the noble lord meant that the only form of 
 pure democracy was Christianity directed by 
 priests, he would fight that noble lord to the 
 last drop of his blood. If, on the other hand, 
 the noble lord meant merely that pure primi- 
 tive Christianity meant pure democracy, he 
 would take the noble lord to his bosom." 
 Then he rambled on, missing his central point 
 oftener than he hit it, and ended by doing 
 what all inexperienced speakers do, twaddling 
 off into a thin end of nothing at all. One of
 
 STRETTON. 273 
 
 the greatest and most important accomplish- 
 ments required for public speaking, is to know 
 when to leave off. To speak for an hour on 
 a proposition, to keep your audience interested 
 all the time, and then to round up your speech 
 with your original proposition, claiming to have 
 proved it, is not an easy thing. The only 
 recipe for doing so which I know of, is to 
 believe in your proposition, and speak the 
 truth. 
 
 Old Mordaunt then rose, and deprecated per- 
 sonalities ; denounced the habit of reducing an 
 argument from the general to the particular ; 
 and committed himself to the statement that 
 there were few men in the world whose hearts 
 were more entirely in accord, on the whole, than 
 those of his friend Eoland Evans and the noble 
 lord opposite. "He did not happen himself," 
 he said, " to agree with either of the honour- 
 able members, because he happened to be a 
 Tory. He was very sorry for it ; but Tory he 
 was. Lord Eustace Vanderbilt would observe 
 that his family had been Tories centuries before 
 any Dutchman had heard the word Whig. He 
 supposed it was bred in the bone, and would 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 STEETTON. 
 
 come out in the flesh. Still he had the highest 
 honour for his friend Eoland Evans, and for 
 his family. Had it not been for the Evans 
 family, he (Mordaunt), could never have appeared 
 there. At the time when the noble lord's 
 (Vanderbilt's) family were cowering like whipped 
 hounds under the lash of the Spaniard, his 
 (Mordaunt' s) family had been busy at every 
 kind of Popish sedition ; in which he gloried. 
 The Evans family, having persistently taken 
 the winning side, that of Protestantism, had 
 always brought the Mordaunt family through, 
 and he would stick to them now. He stuck to 
 his friend Eoland, by saying that his language 
 was indecent and indiscreet, even towards a 
 mere mushroom Dutch interloper, and that he 
 could not have meant what he said." After 
 which, he sat down suddenly, and preserved an 
 ox-like silence. 
 
 Such an astounding breach of all possible 
 good manners paralysed the assembly. As for 
 old Mordaunt, he had done what he wanted — 
 roused Eoland, and he sat quite still. " I want 
 to see how he will get out of a scrape," he 
 said to the little wizened form of a man who
 
 STRETTON. 275 
 
 nestled beside him. " He insulted the man, and 
 I have driven the insult home." 
 
 Lord Eustace Vanderbilt and Eoland were on 
 their legs at the same time ; both white with 
 wrath. The President hammered for order, 
 and they obeyed him ; before either had spoken, 
 a thin, cracked little voice, piercing shrill, 
 was heard, and the Union, turning towards it, 
 saw that it proceeded from Sir Jasper Mere- 
 dith. 
 
 "Sir," he cried, "I rise — if such an un- 
 happy and miserably formed eidolon as I, can 
 be said to rise — to order. Sir, it would be 
 foolish in you to deny the fact, that two of our 
 best men have quarrelled personally, and have 
 interchanged insults. I beg you to give me 
 time for speech, sir — I beg you and the assem- 
 bly to forgive any want of consecutiveness in 
 my argument ; for if you, Mr. Fitzgerald, were 
 the shattered wreck which I am, your sentences 
 would not run so smooth, and your logic would 
 not be so perfect. I cry for your pardon, sir, 
 and I cry for theirs. Please listen to me, you 
 two : though I shake and tremble with fear at 
 speaking in public. You two mean the same
 
 276 STKETTON. 
 
 thing ; why quarrel over details and personali- 
 ties ? I beg you to make friends. The hot 
 words which you have said to one another will 
 fester to all eternit} 7 , if you do not recall them. 
 Forget and forgive, you two. Forget and for- 
 give everything, and go on hand in hand towards 
 the amelioration of our country. You two, in 
 your youth, strength, and beauty, look at me, 
 staggering meanly here before you. I have 
 forgiven the wicked old past, which has brought 
 me to this. Forgive you, in like manner, and 
 cast no words abroad about Cavalier and Round- 
 head, about Defoe and Sacheverell. Agree ! ' 
 
 Said old Mordaunt. " He is a worse speaker 
 than I am ; and I am bad enough." Yet, no. 
 That strange little cripple, bad and illogical as 
 his speech was, touched the heart of the assem- 
 bled boys. His splendid head, superimposed on 
 the shambling heap of bones, was striking- 
 enough ; his rugged, almost inconsecutive, 
 speech did the rest. When he cowered back, 
 and lay once more on old Mordaunt' s shoulder, 
 the house was clamorous for a reconcilia- 
 tion between Roland and Lord Eustace Yan- 
 derbilt.
 
 STRETTON. 277 
 
 It was solemnly made. Roland and Lord 
 Eustace shook hands, and Sir Jasper Meredith 
 shrunk close to the shoulder of old Mordaunt, 
 saying, "You did right to rouse him. But we 
 shall never know the best of him ; he has too 
 much money."
 
 278 STRETTON. 
 
 CHAPTEE 
 
 So began the end of the old r&gime. That 
 was the very last glimpse that our boys had of 
 a British university. They had been educated 
 as rich boys are educated, at a public school 
 and at a university. The time comes now, 
 when, by a series of accidents, they were cast 
 into the world. Will you bear with me while 
 I sum up their qualifications for fighting that 
 same world ? 
 
 Roland. With regard to Roland's rowing, 
 there has never been, I believe, but one opinion. 
 It was unapproachable. Roland rowed before 
 the new art of " catching " the water at the 
 beginning of your stroke, and rowing so many 
 strokes a minute, came in fashion. Roland 
 rowed like Coombes, his master ; diligently 
 observing the rule to " catch " nothing, but to 
 imitate, as far as possible, the motion of a
 
 STRETTON. 279 
 
 steam-engine. Eoland, with bis Maynarcl and 
 bis Mordaunt between him, and Eddy steering, 
 won everything. I only mention bis rowing 
 powers first, as a tribute to the genius of the 
 age. I have now to descend to the unimpor- 
 tant fact of bis scholarship. 
 
 I suppose I ought to apologize for doing 
 anything so vulgar, or so commonplace. Yet 
 we are a practical people, and the French say 
 a nioney-loving people. Roland's education 
 bad cost the change out of £1,500 already. 
 He had been the favourite boy of one of the 
 most successful masters of modern times. He 
 so far differed from the ordinary public school- 
 boy of these times, that he could have got into 
 Balliol, or taken his degree when he left school. 
 It was not necessary for his father to spend 
 £200 on a coach, before he could pass his 
 matriculation, and another hundred before he 
 could pass his " little go." He was a very 
 favourable specimen. He could have competed 
 with the head boys from Cheltenham or Marl- 
 borough, just then coming into existence, in 
 classics. The question is — what did he know ? 
 
 He could do a better piece of Greek jjrose
 
 280 STRETTON. 
 
 than, probably, any man in the House of Com- 
 mons, in the Chamber of Deputies, or in Con- 
 gress. His Greek prose was so good that there 
 were scarcely two dozen men in England who 
 could correct it. He could translate any Greek 
 book, let it be what it would, elegantly and 
 correctly. Erasmus and his friends, or Milton, 
 were scarcely better classics at his age. He 
 was a young lion. In the viva voce part of his 
 examination, a middle-aged Moderator, fresh 
 from the country, got frightened at him, and 
 sought safety in flight. Eoland, standing on 
 the other side of that dreadful table in those 
 divinity schools, there and then, under the 
 most beautifully decorated roof in England, 
 corrected and shut up that Moderator. 
 
 Then his " science." He could reel you oft* 
 the limits of human knowledge. He could pick 
 you out the few queer places in his Aldrich, 
 and pour out the vials of his contempt over the 
 " logic " of the late Archbishop of Dublin. At 
 the Union he had got on his legs, and utterly 
 demolished the "science" of Emerson, show- 
 ing that he had not mastered the mere gram- 
 mar of his art.
 
 STRETTON. 281 
 
 Then in divinity. He would as lief read 
 you Iris Bible in Greek as in English, and had 
 made numerous emendations in Pickering's 
 notes. His essay on the miraculous draught 
 of fishes, in 'which he clearly proved that they 
 were Tli3 T malli and not Cyprinidae (in which he 
 was quite wrong), was printed. And he could 
 say half the articles by heart, including the 
 somewhat difficult one on Predestination, which 
 James Mordaunt called the article on Pedes- 
 trianism. 
 
 I have now come to the end of my hero's 
 accomplishments. He was destined for Parlia- 
 ment, and would have educated himself there, 
 and done well there. I acknowledge that he 
 had learnt how to learn, and that when the 
 world had shown him what it was necessary to 
 know, that he would have learned it. But let 
 me tell you what he did not know. 
 
 He knew nothing of the history of his own 
 country. He could tell you of commonplaces 
 about a Spartan Hegemon} 7 , but the Fox and 
 North coalition was news to him. Before the 
 catastrophe came, he had scarcely, from the 
 most ordinary sources, put himself in posses-
 
 282 STKETT0N. 
 
 sion of the most ordinary facts in English 
 history. 
 
 About physical science he was absolutely 
 and perfectly ignorant. For this we can 
 scarcely blame him. Mr. Lewes, and another, 
 whom family reasons prevent my naming, had 
 not then brought science to our doors. Darwin 
 and Huxley were watching the wonders of God 
 in the deep sea, and had not got epitomized. 
 Mrs. Sabine had not translated the Cosmos, 
 which brings us to the fact that Roland was 
 entirely unable to read the Cosmos in the ori- 
 ginal German. Not to mince matters, that he 
 was practically ignorant of every modern lan- 
 guage. He might have gone on the grand tour, 
 and have come back not much wiser than he 
 went. The bright, agreeable Frenchman, with 
 his bright, half false ideas (always, however, 
 containing a half truth), and the slow, wise 
 German, were alike dumb dogs to him. Out- 
 side this small over-populated island of ours, 
 the world was a dead black blank to him : those 
 very admirable fellows, Fritz and Alphonse, 
 having no language to speak to him but that of 
 the eyes. If you turn on me and say that
 
 STEETTON. 283 
 
 Fritz and Alphonse might have taken the 
 trouble to learn the language of Shakespeare, 
 I can only retort that they did not and will not. 
 I also ask you whether, after the above sum- 
 ming-up of Roland's accomplishments, Squire 
 Evans got his money's worth (£1,500) for his 
 money ? I say that he did not. 
 
 Suppose Roland stripped of his wealth, what 
 was he fit for ? For my own part, I shall soon 
 get near to believing that the Cornell " Univer- 
 sity " in the United States, or the Oxford, or 
 still more, the Cambridge of Chaucer, is the 
 best in the world. And now, when we have 
 broken through tradition in every way, just 
 conceive what we might make of our young 
 men on the " Cornell " principle, with the 
 Oxford and Cambridge revenues. But our pur- 
 pose is to write a story, and this is past it. 
 Let me come back to my proposition. Roland, 
 after £1,500 of expenditure, was little fit to 
 cope with the world, as far as education had 
 helped him. 
 
 In one moment, see what the Oxford and 
 Cambridge of Chaucer were, not as bearing in
 
 284 STRETTON. 
 
 any trifling opinions of mine, but in showing 
 for the mere sake of five minutes' amusement, 
 how each university has kept its character 
 through so many centuries, at all events, in 
 the public mind. What are the popular opi- 
 nions about Cambridge now ? The ideal Cam- 
 bridge man is plodding, thrifty, quiet, diligent, 
 solemn, wise. The ideal Oxford man is fan- 
 tastic, noisy, extravagant, and given to prac- 
 tical jokes. Most of the " Joe Millers " for 
 many years are laid at the door of " Oxford 
 students." Just compare the ideal Oxford man 
 of the day with the ideal Oxford man of Chau- 
 cer, as compared with his Cambridge man, and 
 see how true it comes after so many centuries. 
 Compare Allan and John, the Cambridge lads, 
 who carried the wheat to Trumpington, with 
 Hendy Nicholas and Soloman, the Oxford lads; 
 and Allan also was a Scotchman (we have had 
 a senior wrangler or so from that kingdom of 
 late years, I believe) ; and was there ever such 
 an Oxford man as Soloman ? His love for 
 gaudry, his love for private theatricals, with an 
 easy part and a line dress. That inimitable
 
 STRETTOX. 285 
 
 Chaucer makes liim act Herod. " Nothing to 
 say and a fine dress — Tory Oxford all over," 
 says a cynical Cambridge friend. 
 
 And of the others, what can he said? they 
 were but little more prepared for the world 
 than he. Had they been put to the test of 
 competitive examination, they would have been 
 found fit for nothing but ushers in schools or 
 curates. Give, or Hastings, were not more 
 ignorant, or more helpless, before they under- 
 went that great competitive sink-or-swim ex- 
 amination, which is called The World.
 
 28 G STUETTOX. 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 As the time for the great wedding, which once 
 again was to unite the rather often united 
 houses of Evans and Maynard, drew near, 
 some of those connected with the preparations 
 noticed that there would he two rather con- 
 spicuous absentees. Young James Mordaunt 
 had suddenly discovered that his whole heart 
 was set on trying for the Engineers, and, fail- 
 ing that, getting into the Artillery ; and in a 
 letter to his father, urged the necessity of 
 going to Bonn to study at once. 
 
 The request was so very sudden and odd, that 
 Squire Mordaunt wrote to his eldest son to con- 
 sult him about the matter, and to beg him to 
 see if Jim was in earnest. The result was, 
 that the two brothers were closeted together, 
 and the elder Mordaunt looked very grave and 
 vexed when they parted. John Mordaunt wrote 
 to his father very curtly, to say that he thought
 
 STEETTON. 287 
 
 it would be much better if James was allowed 
 to go to Bonn at Christmas instead of coming- 
 home. He could give no reasons, he said, but 
 he had got his brother's leave to put the case 
 before Roland Evans, and Eoland Evans had 
 agreed with him. Squire Mordaunt gave his 
 consent wonderingly ; and Eddy Evans noticed 
 that from this time his brother Eoland and 
 John Mordaunt treated James Mordaunt with 
 a rather solemn kindness and respect, which 
 they had never exhibited before. 
 
 There were no sky- larking and folly now. 
 Jim was the most solemn and miserable of the 
 group. He got up a fiction that his health was 
 bad, and that there was something the matter 
 with his heart ; poor boy ! there was. Some- 
 thing past mending. 
 
 Eddy fell in popularity this autumn. Seeing 
 every one (except Maynard) very low in their 
 minds, he would play the fool to cheer them 
 up ; but no one wanted the fool played, and all 
 the old babyish balderdash fell dead. For fun 
 is a good enough thing in its way, and in its 
 time, and is very like the flower called " Ga,:a- 
 nea" or "Dame tVonze hcurcs," a flower which,
 
 288 
 
 STEETTOX. 
 
 under the morning's cold, is no flower at all, 
 but an ugly bud ; but which, under the eleven 
 o'clock sun, spreads out into a golden corona 
 studded with pearls. Who knows it better than 
 a story-teller ? There has been fun of a sort 
 in this story. How different it must look to a 
 man without a care, and to a critic, reading the 
 story in a perfunctory manner. I know a man 
 who was highly complimented once, by pro- 
 bably the best judge of humour in England, on 
 a passage in his novel. That identical passage 
 was ticketed the very next week in one of the 
 leading reviews, by the best critic we have, 
 as pointless and degrading balderdash. What 
 had pleased the one had utterly disgusted the 
 other, yet they were both fine judges. Thackeray, 
 master of humour, says distinctly that what 
 some think a mass of rather ugly stupidity, is 
 the most amusing book ever written ; * and, 
 under any circumstances, jokes fall dead some- 
 times. No wonder that Eddy's babyish folly fell 
 dead on the ears of men so deeply anxious as 
 Eoland Evans and the elder Mordaunt. 
 
 For a very ugly thing had happened. I have, 
 * Humphrey Clinker.
 
 STEETTON. 289 
 
 I hope, not concealed from you the character 
 of the younger Mordaunt. You remember the 
 frightful bullying of poor little Eddy Evans by 
 him, and have known that there was a wild 
 beast vein in him somewhere. Say, if you like, 
 that the Evanses and the Mordaunts had been 
 crossed too often, and were beginning to show 
 the true symptoms of the decadence of a family 
 by a stupid, blind petulance in the males. 
 Draw a parallel with racehorses, if you like. 
 Blue Mantle or D'Estournel for instance. Ac- 
 count for it as you will, the fact remains 
 the same. That splendid young man, James 
 Mordaunt, tamed now for five years by fear 
 of death and by gratitude to Eoland, had 
 broken out again. He had fallen in love, it 
 seems, with Mildred Evans ; and to Eoland 
 and to his brother John he talked of murder 
 and suicide in the maddest manner. 
 
 To such steady-going stage-coaches as John 
 Mordaunt and Eoland Evans this was simply 
 horrible. They, in. their utter ignorance of 
 physics, thought that this excitability of brain 
 was permanent. It terrified them more than it 
 need have done. How could they guess or know 
 
 vol. i. u
 
 290 STRETTON. 
 
 that the mad ferocity of the latest European 
 cross of blood frequently went Berserk at the 
 time of the most rapid physical development ? 
 Who was there to tell them that the Prussian 
 duellist student, as soon as he moves his chair 
 to his bureau, becomes the most quiet of men, 
 a little haughty, perhaps, but a good fellow ; or 
 that that brown-faced gentleman who asks your 
 opinion on a point in croquet, has been mad 
 once, and elbow-deep in Indian blood ? Had 
 they ever seen a private of Pelissier's Algerian 
 division boiling beans and giving a baby bon- 
 bons ? No. These lads knew nothing of these 
 things. But poor James was pronounced mad, 
 and was sent to Bonn. 
 
 Sir Jasper Meredith might have come, but 
 his conduct was as crooked as his limbs. Mr. 
 Evans asked him, and he wrote to Boland to 
 refuse. He wrote, I am sony to sa} 7 , a very 
 petulant and impertinent letter. " I shall not 
 come," he said. " Now matters are come to a 
 point, I am not sure that I am pleased. Your 
 sister has had little or no choice in this matter. 
 Who can be sure that she would have chosen 
 Robert Maynard at all if she had had any one
 
 STRETTON. 291 
 
 else to choose ? I hate this kind of marriage 
 beyond measure. Before either of them know 
 their own minds, they bind themselves to live 
 for at least fifty years together, barring acci- 
 dents. It is not at all a wise arrangement, 
 and I am going to stay with Jimmy at Bonn." 
 
 Boland showed this letter, in a state of white 
 fury, to John Mordaunt. " The ill-tempered 
 little fellow," he said, " to write me such a letter 
 as that : I have it in my heart to beat him." 
 
 "He is a cranky little chap," said ox Mor- 
 daunt. " And it is no business of his, which 
 makes his letter a piece of cool impertinence, 
 which you ought certainly to resent. But I 
 don't know. No man in this world ever speaks 
 decidedly, unless there is some grain of truth 
 in what he says. I ain't positive of many things, 
 but I am positive of that. Why, the very tele- 
 grams themselves begin, ' It is asserted,' or 
 something of that sort, to let you down easy. 
 Meredith is positive in this matter as far as he 
 dare be. I doubt he knows something." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you agree with 
 Meredith?" asked Koland. 
 
 "No," said Mordaunt, "not exactly. But
 
 292 STKETT0N. 
 
 I wish the engagement had been a longer one : 
 that is all. When little Meredith says that 
 they don't know their own minds, I agree with 
 him. It is a boy-and-girl match, and may turn 
 out well or ill. It is all a toss up." 
 
 " The women of our family always make 
 good wives," said Eoland. 
 
 " Your family!" said old Mordaunt. "You 
 are, like ourselves, crossed with half the blood 
 in Shropshire, and, like ourselves, you have 
 f>roduced no great sire who could leave his mark 
 in the family, like the horse Tadmor, for gene- 
 rations. You Evanses, certainly, don't breed 
 true. Look at Eddy. He is no more your 
 brother than I am. And the bride, she is not 
 your sister, she is Eddy's. Don't talk to me 
 about your family. Is your family capable of 
 fierce rabid vinclictiveness ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said Eoland. " Look at 
 our history." 
 
 " You haven't got any history," said old Mor- 
 daunt. " You have never produced a distin- 
 guished man, before yourself. So your family is 
 incapable of vindictive ferocity ? Why, man, 
 that vagabond poor brother of mine, Jim, used
 
 STKETTON. 293 
 
 to leather and pound Eddy, and I have thrashed 
 him for it ; and whilst I have been thrashing 
 my brother, I have been glad that your little 
 kitten of a brother had not had a knife in his 
 hand when my brother was bullying him. And 
 Mildred is his sister, not yours." 
 
 " You put matters rather coarsely, old fel- 
 low," said Eoland. 
 
 "lama brute I doubt. Where you got your 
 refinement from, in the atmosphere of this 
 valley, I can't think. It is suffocating me. To 
 wind up all in a downright manner, I hope 
 everything will go right. Bob Maynard is a 
 good fellow, not without brains; but upon my 
 soul I wish they both had more time to look 
 about them. In the name of heaven, what is 
 there to prevent him, when he gets into the 
 world, finding a woman he likes better than 
 your sister? That would be death to her." 
 
 " Then love will last unto death," said Eoland. 
 
 "How do you know that? Who told you 
 that ? You have had a fancy for more than one 
 woman, have you not ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," said Eoland, promptly ; " I 
 never had a fancy for any woman in my life.
 
 294 STRETTON. 
 
 • 
 
 By-the-by, do you mean little Mary Maynard? 
 Well, I like her about as well as I do your 
 brother Jim." 
 
 There was something contemptuous in old 
 Mordaunt's voice, when he growled out, " Then 
 you are more lucky than most men. For my 
 own part, I am not made of the same stuff that 
 you are. I can sum up three girls that I would 
 have gone to the devil for in the last three 
 years. But I have changed, and hurt no one. 
 Suppose Bob Maynard was to change ? ' ' 
 
 " He can't change after he is married," said 
 Boland. 
 
 "No, you are right there," said old Mor- 
 daunt, " that is just the very thing he can't do." 
 
 "Well, don't go on," said Boland; and so 
 old Mordaunt left off. 
 
 It was strange to Boland that this very wed- 
 ding, a splendid affair altogether — a marriage 
 which united two considerable estates, and 
 which brought youth, beauty, and wealth to- 
 gether in such a singular manner — was object- 
 ed to by the very people he thought would 
 approve of it most. The vague, bucolic elder 
 Mordaunt had scarcely finished his illogical
 
 STRETTON. 295 
 
 lowings over it, and had not yet reached his 
 father's house across the valley in the dark, 
 nay, even had walked into the trout-stream, and 
 was still swearing, when Aunt Eleanor came 
 into the room where Eoland was sitting, and 
 told him, as a piece of good news, that Mildred 
 was quite quiet now. 
 
 " What the devil has the girl got to be 
 unquiet about ? ' ' 
 
 " I don't know," said Aunt Eleanor, who, in 
 spite of her farming and shooting, was as 
 thorough a woman as ever walked. That is to 
 say, when anything happened she would accuse 
 the nearest man of it on the spot, and leave 
 him to get out of the scrape the best way he 
 could. " I don't know what she has to be un- 
 quiet about, but she is perfectly quiet now, and 
 seems inclined to sleep." 
 
 " Have you been worrying her in any way ?" 
 
 " I haven't said a word to her. What do 
 you mean ?" 
 
 "I'd sleep her," said the exasperated Eoland. 
 ' ' Why, she is going to marry the man of her 
 own choice to-morrow. She must be an idiot." 
 
 "We are all idiots, we women," said Aunt
 
 296 STRETTON. 
 
 Eleanor. " We know it, my dear. That is 
 the worst of it. Mildred is an idiot. But she 
 has been in a state of strong nervous excite- 
 ment all day, and is comparatively quiet now." 
 
 " But you did not make such a fool of your- 
 self when you were married, Aunt." 
 
 "My dear, I never was married," said Aunt 
 Eleanor, quietly; "your memory is going with 
 study, my dear." 
 
 This so took the wind out of Boland's sails 
 that he had to start on a fresh tack. 
 
 "Aunt Eleanor, I beg your pardon. But I 
 want to ask you something ; would you postpone 
 this marriage if you could ? Old Mordaunt has 
 been gandering here, and has just gone home in 
 the dark, swearing. Now, would you postpone 
 this marriage if you could?" 
 
 " Yes," said Aunt Eleanor. " Good night." 
 
 So she went to bed. And Boland, who, in his 
 unapproachable purism, is about as good a hero 
 as a bean-stalk or a punt-pole, sat before the lire 
 and wondered why the deuce people couldn't 
 marry one another without all this botheration. 
 
 k 
 END OF VOL. 1. 
 
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