LADY SILVEKDALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 AND OTHER TALES
 
 LADY SILVEEDALE'S 
 SWEETHEAET 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM BLACK 
 
 NEW AXD REVISED EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY 
 
 LIMITED 
 
 St. Qunslnn'* ?i>au;r 
 1892 
 
 [All rights reserved.']
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. FiVE-AND-THIRTY ..... 
 
 II. Ax OLD STORY RE-TOLD .... 
 
 III. RECHAUFFE D'AMOUR . . . , 
 
 IV. REVELATIONS ...... 
 
 V. "THE PITY OF IT, IAGO" . , 
 
 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS. 
 
 I. A BLOW FACED 61 
 
 II. ALONE IN LONDON 75 
 
 III. A FELLOW-SUFFERER . . . . . 81 
 
 IV. A RESOLVE . . . . .87 
 V. TREASURE TROVE . . . . .93 
 
 VI. THE END OF THE EPISODE . . . .103. 
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 I. THE DOCTOR DREAMS. . . . .115 
 
 II. THE FIRST TRIAL 126 
 
 III. A CONSPIRATOR . . . . . .134 
 
 IV. FOREBODINGS . . . . . .143 
 
 V. THE DOCTOR'S SISTER 151 
 
 THE STRANGE HORSE OF LOCH SUAINABHAL . .159 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 189 
 
 1781560
 
 LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART. 

 
 LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FIVE-AND-THIKTY. 
 
 A BRIGHT, mild, and genial day in February ; a 
 frail sunshine glimmering through the thin blue 
 mist hanging about St. James's Park ; the light 
 catching here and there on the lake, and the 
 green shrubs, and the yellow piebald bark of 
 the plane-trees suggesting, altogether, one of 
 Corot's tender, shadowy, spectral landscapes. A 
 lady and her son were walking briskly along the 
 Mall it was a day that invited even the aged 
 and infirm out of doors. This lady wore a tight- 
 fitting grey Ulster coat, a Rubens hat, and a stand- 
 ing-up collar; but although there was enough 
 that was " mannish " in her attire, there was 
 nothing of the kind in the expression of her face, 
 which was singularly refined, and even beautiful. 
 She had pale, fine features ; large grey eyes, full 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LADY SILVERDAL&S SWEETHEART 
 
 of brilliancy, under dark lashes ; she had beauti- 
 fully cut lips, perhaps looking all the redder for 
 the paleness of her face ; and she had abundant 
 masses of golden hair, tightly braided under 
 that picturesque hat. This was Lady Silverdale. 
 She was thirty-five years of age ; with her 
 slender figure, her erect carriage, and the bright 
 cheerfulness of her face, she did not look more 
 than twenty. 
 
 She was walking hand-in-hand with a small 
 boy of eight or nine, who had eyes like her own, 
 but whose hair, flowing down on his shoulders, 
 was even lighter than hers. She was carrying a 
 small parcel which she had purchased in St. 
 James's Street. 
 
 " Harry," she said to him, as they got opposite 
 Buckingham Palace, "do you remember your 
 Uncle Frank ? " 
 
 " A little, mamma." 
 
 " He is coming back to England now ; and he 
 will come and see you ; and you must tell him 
 how glad you are to have your dear uncle back 
 
 again. 
 
 " I am not glad, mamma ; and I hope he 
 won't come and see us," said the young gentleman 
 frankly.
 
 FIVE-AND-THIRTY 5 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because lie is a bad man, that wants to kill 
 the Queen, and give our house, and my pony, 
 and all that we have away to the beggars." 
 
 The mother looked amazed. 
 
 " Whoever put such nonsense into your head, 
 child ? " she demanded. 
 
 " Maudey read it in the newspapers," said he. 
 
 "Maudey must have been making fun. 
 Maudey has no business to read the news- 
 papers, and talk about what she does not under- 
 stand. I suppose she was giving you lessons in 
 politics. Now mind, Harry, when your Uncle 
 Frank comes to see you, you must be very kind 
 to him, and love him very much, and you must 
 forget all that silly nonsense that Maudey has 
 put into your head." 
 
 Harry received these instructions with meek 
 obedience ; but he was not convinced. This 
 Uncle Frank who was really a cousin of Lady 
 Silverdale's, but had received a courtesy title 
 from the children had been away from Eng- 
 land for something like two years and a half ; 
 and Harry had no particular remembrance of 
 his many acts of kindness. On the other hand, 
 the loyal young Englishman was determined,
 
 6 LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 before lie quite made friends with his home-com- 
 ing uncle, to receive a distinct assurance that he 
 had never meant to kill the Queen or con- 
 fiscate any person's pony. 
 
 These two walked carelessly on until they 
 reached a house on the south side of Belgrave 
 Square, which they entered. A couple of letters, 
 just arrived, were still lying on ithe hall table ; 
 and Lady Silverdale took them up and turned 
 into the dining-room that she might read them. 
 But this spacious and lofty room, with its simple 
 and old-fashioned furniture, was not very well lit 
 in the day-time ; and so she walked up to one 
 of the two windows, that she might see to read 
 her letters. She had not opened one of the 
 envelopes when her attention was distracted by 
 the driving up of a hansom ; at the same mo- 
 ment she saw a tall, well-built, yellow-bearded 
 man jump out of the cab. Lady Silverdale 
 thought no more of her letters. She heard the 
 bell ring, and swift as lightning she flew to the 
 dining-room door. 
 
 " Mitchem," she said, to the man who was 
 about to answer the summons, " where are the 
 young ladies ? " 
 
 " In the drawing-room, m'lady."
 
 FIVE-AND-THIRTY 7 
 
 " Show this gentleman into the library." 
 
 "Yes, m'lady." 
 
 Then she retreated into the dining-room again ; 
 and felt compelled to put aside her Ulster there, 
 and to take off her gloves, for the heat of the 
 place seemed to stifle her. Nevertheless the 
 slender, fair woman, now dressed all in black, 
 looked pale and cold ; and her hands were 
 trembling. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Frank Cheshunt had been 
 shown into the library, which was immediately 
 behind the dining-room, and there he stood, hat 
 in hand, looking out of the window at a some- 
 what dismal panorama of stables and back-gar- 
 dens. He was a good-looking man of middle age, 
 not quite so flabby of face as most Englishmen 
 of his type of physique become at forty. More- 
 over, he had just returned from wandering 
 over the wild places of the earth for over a 
 couple of years ; and his ordinarily fair com- 
 plexion was plentifully browned. 
 
 He turned as the door opened, and advanced 
 to meet his cousin. She 'looked a little frightened, 
 and there was less than usual of that sparkling 
 colour in her lips ; but all the same he could not 
 help being struck even he who knew her so well
 
 8 LAD Y SIL VERD ALE'S S WEE THE ART 
 
 by the singularly youthful and almost girlish 
 grace of this woman. They shook hands rather 
 distantly. 
 
 " I am glad to see you are quite well, Mary," 
 said he, affecting a business-like air. "I was 
 afraid you might be down at Woodley. Did you 
 get my letter ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, but she did not look him 
 in the face. " Sit down, Frank. Oh, yes, 
 I got your letter. I suppose you have just 
 arrived ? " 
 
 " Last night. I left Venice a day earlier than 
 I had intended." 
 
 " You have been a long time away." 
 
 " Yes, it seems a long time to me now," said 
 he, taking care not to stare her out of counte- 
 nance. " I I got the news in Japan I I was 
 very sorry for you, Mary." 
 
 Then the pale face flushed ; and she somewhat 
 nervously took up a paper-knife that was lying 
 on the table, and began to bend it. He was 
 sorry he had mentioned that painful circum- 
 stance so soon ; he should have waited until the 
 first chill of the meeting had gone off. He 
 noticed her embarrassment, and endeavoured to 
 retrieve his blunder by shifting the subject al-
 
 FIVE-AND-THIRTY 9 
 
 together, and by talking in a light and cheerful 
 strain. 
 
 " Do you know," said he, " that during the 
 whole of the four months I was in South America, 
 and more particularly when we were going up 
 the Amazon, I was haunted by an extraordinary 
 delusion a fancy a sort of dream. Whenever 
 I lay awake at night, I could not help believing 
 that somehow, when I got up in the morning, I 
 should see Woodley Place right opposite my 
 window ; and I should not have been surprised 
 if I had suddenly found myself again fifteen or 
 eighteen years of age. All these later years of 
 my London life seemed to have gone to have 
 been worth nothing at all ; and I had a sort of 
 notion that I ought to go out and ask old 
 Higgins for his gun to shoot the blackbirds in 
 the kitchen-garden. Do you remember the 
 awful damage I once did to the fig-trees ? " 
 
 She smiled ; there was a brighter look on her 
 face now. 
 
 " And the time I shot one of Higgins's pigeons, 
 mistaking it for a jay in the twilight ? " he said. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answered quickly. 
 
 " And the first time your father would let me 
 have a turn at his rabbits "
 
 io LAD Y SIL VERD ALE'S S WEE THE ART 
 
 " When you lay three hours in a sheep- 
 trough " 
 
 " And the time you fell into the pond " 
 
 " That was all your fault, Frank." 
 
 " And then that dell up by Coney -Bank, where 
 there were such quantities of blue-bells and prim- 
 roses in the spring " 
 
 " Yes," she said, with gathering spirit, " and 
 the dread we had of it after night-fall, because 
 of the packman " 
 
 " And do you remember that squirrel I gave 
 you that bit one of the servants one night at 
 prayers, and made him squeal out and your 
 father getting into such a rage, and declaring 
 I had set him at the man " 
 
 " I believe you did, Frank." 
 
 Her face was radiant. The old days had come 
 back. They were boy and girl together ; making 
 mischief in the dairy ; sitting opposite each other 
 in the great, damp-smelling family pew ; fishing 
 for sticklebacks in the ponds ; gathering violets 
 by the hedges and in the woods in the sweet, 
 fresh springtime. Surely this could not be the 
 woman who was mother of two daughters about 
 as tall as herself ? 
 
 " Ah, well 1 " said he, with something of a
 
 FIVE-AND-THIRTY 11 
 
 sigh, " I began to look on all that as having 
 happened only yesterday ; and I was sure when 
 the morning came I should get up and look out 
 on the old park, and the ponds, and Woodley 
 Church up on the hill. I I was glad to forget 
 the intervening years they had not been very 
 pleasant for me." 
 
 She remained silent ; but her breath came and 
 went more quickly. 
 
 " I wonder," said he, looking at her, " whether 
 one could get quit of a period of one's life by 
 refusing to think of it whether one could for- 
 get-" 
 
 He rose, and went forward to her, and took 
 her hand in his. 
 
 " Mary," said he, " is it too soon to 
 speak ? " 
 
 She rose also, and she did not withdraw her 
 hand until she had answered him. 
 
 " I don't know, Frank," she said, in tones so 
 low that he could scarcely hear ; but then she 
 raised her beautiful wet eyes to his, and said, 
 with evident emotion, " If I can make up to you, 
 Frank, for all you have suffered and if you will 
 forgive me for all that is past I will do what 
 you please."
 
 12 LADY SILVERDALPS SWEETHEART 
 
 He kissed her on the forehead, without 
 speaking. 
 
 Then a low, booming sound was heard outside 
 in the hall, increasing in volume, followed by a 
 pattering of feet on the stairs. 
 
 " You must see the girls, Frank ; you will stay 
 and lunch with us, will you not ? " 
 
 He did stay ; but he was rather silent during 
 lunch-time ; for he was occupied in studying the 
 faces of the two young ladies and their brother 
 though he had known them for years in 
 order to prove to himself that all three were 
 singularly like their mother, and had, in fact, no 
 trace of resemblance to anybody else in their 
 features, voice, or manner.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN OLD STORY RE-TOLD. 
 
 EVERYBODY " in society " and the much larger 
 number of people outside who take a strange 
 interest in the family affairs of persons of 
 title knew familiarly the romantic story con- 
 nected with Mary Cheshunt, subsequently Lady 
 Silverdale. It was a very old story, to be sure, 
 and a very common one ; but it contained those 
 simple elements of romance which have gone to 
 the making up of many thousands of books and 
 plays. Mary Cheshunt was the only daughter 
 of a well-to-do Nottinghamshire squire, whose 
 younger and much poorer brother was a rector 
 just over the borders in Lincolnshire. This 
 clergyman had a son, Frank Cheshunt, who, as 
 a boy, spent a great part of his holidays at 
 Woodley Place, the house of his uncle, and had 
 for his chief companion and playmate his cousin 
 Mary. That was all very well in the days of 
 bird's-nesting and pony -riding ; but it became
 
 14 LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 very different when young Cheshunt, home from 
 Cambridge, betrayed a high appreciation of 
 something else at Woodley Place besides his 
 uncle's hares and pheasants. In fact, the two 
 cousins fell over head and ears in love with each 
 other before they themselves found it out ; and 
 it was only when John Cheshunt, consulting 
 with his wife, came to the conclusion that their 
 nephew Frank was too frequent a visitor at the 
 Place, and decided to give him a hint to that 
 effect, that the two young people declared them- 
 selves to each other, and swore that nothing 
 on earth should part them. However, John 
 Cheshunt and his wife had come to a contrary 
 resolution. Frank was an exceedingly nice 
 young fellow ; and he promised to make his way 
 in the world ; but all that he could have from 
 his father, the clergyman, was a thoroughly good 
 education, and a pittance of a couple of hundred 
 a year or so. Then the young Lord Silverdale, 
 who had just succeeded to the title, and whose 
 spacious woods and forests adjoined the humbler 
 coverts of Woodley Place, had, in his silent and 
 solemn way, betrayed a considerable regard for 
 his neighbour's [daughter, and always accepted 
 invitations to Woodley Place, though it was well
 
 AN OLD STORY RE-TOLD 15 
 
 known that lie never visited, and considered 
 dinner parties an intolerable nuisance. All these 
 things led up to a climax ; then there was much 
 weeping and passionate imploring, and secret 
 vows of constancy ; after which Mary Cheshunt 
 was carried off by her parents to Florence, and 
 her cousin did not even hear a word of her for 
 many a day. 
 
 Mary Cheshunt was not a heroine. If the 
 course of true love had run smoothly, she would 
 doubtless have married her cousin, and made 
 him a good wife. But this was impossible ; she 
 could not think of disobeying her father and 
 making her mother wretched ; Silverdale, with 
 all his silent solemnity, and his premature bald-' 
 ness, which looked odd in a man of eight-and- 
 twenty, was a highly worthy and respectable 
 young fellow ; and it would be nice to have a 
 town house in Belgrave Square. When the 
 Cheshunts, having remained some months in 
 Florence, started for the Nile, Lord Silverdale 
 accompanied them ; and the next thing that 
 Frank Cheshunt saw or heard of them was 
 a statement in a morning paper that a marriage 
 had been " arranged " between his rival and his 
 faithless cousin.
 
 1 6 LADY SILVERDAL&S SWEETHEART 
 
 Of course, he flew into a series of violent 
 frenzies ; at one time vowing to himself that he 
 would go and shoot the man who had stolen his 
 sweetheart's love from him ; at another declar- 
 ing ruthless war with the perjured aristocracies 
 of all countries ; at another resolving to write a 
 book that would hold the mirror up to heartless 
 women and cause them to blush if any shame 
 were left in them at the picture of their own 
 meanness, and cruelty, and corruption. Happily 
 for himself, he had his living to work for ; 
 and these wild schemes were unable to struggle 
 against the immediate pressure of actual facts. 
 
 He had come up to London from Cam- 
 bridge with a fair reputation for ability, and he 
 was busily reading for the Bar not with a view 
 to practice, but that he might be qualified to 
 accept from the Government one of those 
 appointments which the Cheshunts of Woodley 
 had a fair right to claim as the reward of many 
 years' devotion to the Conservative interests of 
 the country. So he turned with a sick heart to his 
 books again ; and tried to forget his false love. 
 
 A year or two went by ; the newspapers told 
 him that Lady Silverdale was here, there, or else- 
 where ; but he had never seen her : the news-
 
 AN OLD STORY RE-TOLD 17 
 
 papers, too, were beginning to talk about him 
 occasionally and briefly. He had got called to 
 the Bar ; but he had suddenly forfeited all his 
 chances of political patronage from the party 
 then in power by joining an informal association 
 of what were at the time known as " Aristocratic 
 Eadicals," and becoming one of their most 
 vehement speakers and pamphleteers. Some of 
 those young noblemen and gentlemen had a 
 mild way of toying with revolution over their 
 claret, and spoke of barricades in the same 
 breath with blue china ; while having been com- 
 pelled by the higher criticism to give up 
 revealed religion, they had consoled themselves 
 with a gentle deification of the British workman. 
 But there was no dilettante mildness about 
 Frank Cheshunt's professions of faith. When, in 
 the pages of some review, the initials " F. C." 
 were discovered, most readers who busied them- 
 selves with politics knew what to expect keen 
 and trenchant English a trifle rhetorical, per- 
 haps, with the enthusiasm of youth ; a frank in- 
 sistance on following out theories to their logical 
 conclusion ; and an indignant protest against 
 the political apathy of the English people. It 
 was no use laughing at this man ; he had to be 
 
 c
 
 i8 LADY SILVERDAL&S SWEETHEART 
 
 answered ; and he was strong enough to make 
 people angry. His enemies, on the other hand, 
 were rejoiced to see that he could not get into 
 Parliament, though he tried one or two bo- 
 roughs where his friends declared he was safe. 
 He had no money ; and the somewhat noisy 
 crowds whom he harangued at public meetings 
 appeared to have no votes. At all events, he 
 cut a poor figure at the poll ; and the scorners 
 had their will of him. " In my distress I called 
 upon the working man," this was the sub- 
 stance of their jibes, " but there was none to 
 answer me." 
 
 In the intervals of this busy, eager, active life 
 he had his fits of despairing Wertherism, kept 
 carefully sacred to himself. Those men who met 
 him every day had no idea of the well-spring of 
 sentiment that kept bubbling up within the 
 heart of this hard-hitting, keen-speeched man ; 
 but all the women, of course, knew how he had 
 been jilted, and judged by his conduct in society 
 that he never meant to marry. Sometimes, sitting 
 alone by himself at night, he would go back to 
 the old days, dream for a while, and then seek 
 refuge in Alfred de Musset or Heinrich Heine. 
 Grief seemed more bearable when it was put into
 
 AN OLD STORY RE-TOLD 19 
 
 musical words. And if there was a terrible 
 agony in Heine's picture 
 
 Das wat ein lustig Hochzeitfest, 
 
 Zu Tafel sassen froh die Gdsf, 
 
 Und ivie ich nach dem Brautpaar schauf, 
 
 Oh weh! mein Liebchen war die Braut, 
 
 there was some proud remembrance in these lines 
 of De Musset's 
 
 Je me dis settlement, "A cette heure, en ce lieu, 
 Un jour, je fus aime, die etait ~belle. 
 J' enfolds ce tresor dans mon dme immortelle, 
 Et je Vemporte a Dieu ! " 
 
 while sometimes but very rarely some wild, 
 hopeless, passionate wish of his heart startled 
 even himself 
 
 that 'twere possible, 
 After long grief and pain, 
 To find the arms of my true love 
 Round me once again! 
 
 He never doubted for a moment that Mary 
 Cheshunt was still Mary Cheshunt that the 
 grown woman must have been the perfect fulfil- 
 ment of all his boyish dreams. She was still to 
 him the one woman in all the world. There was 
 no other ; there could be no other. A blue-book 
 
 C 2
 
 20 LADY SILVERDALE^ SWEETHEART 
 
 was about as interesting to him as the faces of 
 the women whom he saw. 
 
 He met her by accident. He was at the 
 foot of a steep and narrow staircase, and he was 
 trying to make his way up through a crowd of 
 men and women in order to shake hands with 
 his hostess, and then get off to his club. At 
 length he managed to gain the landing ; and 
 there before him looking at him with rather a 
 frightened, pitiful face was his cousin. The 
 wrench his heart got then was known to none. 
 She might have been an acquaintance of yester- 
 day to whom he said, 
 
 " Oh, how do you do, Lady Silverdale ? " 
 
 He did not offer her his hand ; but she put 
 out hers. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you, Frank," said she, 
 with superb composure, but with a wistful en- 
 treaty for kindness in her eyes. " Let me 
 introduce you to my husband 
 
 " I have met Lord Silverdale before," said 
 Cheshunt, as the silent man with the black hair 
 speckled with white tufts bowed. 
 
 She made him promise to call and see them ; 
 and this he did, for he began to grow ashamed 
 of his "VVertherism, and thought he could do
 
 AN OLD STORY RE-TOLD 21 
 
 nothing better than make the friendly ac- 
 quaintance of the Silverdale family, children 
 included. But it was only an acquaintance, 
 kept up perforce. He knew very little of 
 Lady Silverdale. He could see that she was 
 a fashionable woman, and had ways and 
 manners different from those to which Mary 
 Cheshunt was given ; but she was still to him 
 Mary Cheshunt. 
 
 His attention, however, was carried away from 
 these sentimental fancies to more practical 
 matters. There was a man called Alexander 
 Thompson, to whom a kind Providence had given 
 a constitution capable of withstanding the 
 climate of the Gold Coast a fact which promised 
 well for his comfort anywhere else, whether in 
 this world or the next. Thompson was one of a 
 small handful of merchants, for whose exclusive 
 benefit the British Government maintained one 
 of the most unhealthy settlements on that un- 
 healthy coast sending out its servants, civil 
 and military, to be buried there, or invalided 
 home with the seeds of fever dnd dysentery in- 
 eradicably implanted in their systems. The 
 place was of no manner of use to us ; the settle- 
 ment, notwithstanding the exertions of the
 
 22 LADY SILVERDALE>S SWEETHEART 
 
 Wesleyan missionaries, had most thoroughly 
 demoralized the adjoining tribes ; it was hope- 
 lessly insolvent, and its chief export to 
 England was sick officials demanding pensions. 
 But it had plenty of exports for other parts of 
 the world ; and the handful of merchants waxed 
 fat on their profits. 
 
 When Mr. Alexander Thompson returned to 
 England, one might have thought he would be 
 grateful for what the Government had done for 
 him. Most Scotchmen, it is true, are born 
 Radicals, the national constitution not having as 
 yet been mellowed by a few centuries of roast 
 beef and port wine. But then it is as fairly to 
 be supposed that Thompson, having made a 
 large sum of money, would, on returning to 
 England, prefer the respectability of Toryism ; 
 or, at the very least, profess himself a reformer 
 until he had gained entrance into the most com- 
 fortable club in London, and then have sunk 
 into the gentle Conservatism which is the pre- 
 vailing political feeling within that institution. 
 Strange to say, Thompson showed himself as 
 fierce an opponent of all governments as any 
 Irishman who has been six months in New York. 
 Nothing but rank Communism would do for him
 
 AN OLD STORY RE-TOLD 23 
 
 theoretical Communism, that is to say ; for of 
 course a man who had worked hard for a fortune 
 could not be expected to share it among the 
 poor. He bought for himself a big house in 
 Palace Gardens ; he had it luxuriously furnished ; 
 and he gave elaborate dinners to those young 
 men mostly younger sons, it is true who were 
 vastly discontented with existing institutions. 
 He acquired a pretty taste of his own, too, in 
 the way of luxury. A lady once asked him 
 where he got a certain very beautiful service of 
 dinner glass, as she was anxious to have some of 
 the same ; to which he replied that, wishing to 
 have this service unique, he had had the moulds 
 broken. The theory of Communism, one sees, 
 has its limitations in practice. 
 
 Now Mr. Thompson betrayed a very special 
 liking for Frank Cheshunt. More than one of 
 the revolutionary Honourables who frequented 
 the house had rather a trick of standing with 
 their back to the fire after dinner and silently 
 staring through a single eye-glass ; whereas Mr. 
 Thompson had a particular dislike to being 
 stared at through a single eye-glass. Frank 
 Cheshunt he found to be a plain-spoken, thorough, 
 and altogether earnest fellow; and at last he
 
 24 LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 swore by all the gods that had ever been wor- 
 shipped on the Gold Coast or elsewhere that he 
 would get Cheshunt into Parliament, if money 
 would do it. We know quite well that money 
 cannot. Mr. Thompson had doubtless formed 
 a commercial view of English public life while 
 supplying the Africans with fierce spirit and 
 sham cotton fabrics. Sure enough, however, 
 Frank Cheshunt got into Parliament. 
 
 To sit below' the gangway on the Liberal side 
 of the House was at that time to be identified 
 with the pulling down of park-railings and other 
 wicked actions ; and there was a good deal of 
 strong language being used here and there. 
 When Cheshunt by accident stumbled into one 
 or other of these journalistic controversies, he 
 generally managed to give as hard knocks as he 
 got; but this only proved him to be all the 
 more a dangerous person. It was no matter for 
 wonder, therefore, that Lady Silverdale's eldest 
 daughter, puzzling her small head over stray 
 references in the newspapers, had arrived at the 
 conclusion that her Uncle Frank was a desperate 
 character, who wished to kill the Queen and con- 
 fiscate everybody's property. A great many 
 folks in society, however and these mostly of
 
 AN OLD STORY RE-TOLD 25 
 
 the gentler sex took a more kindly view of the 
 young man's Eadicalism. It was all, according 
 to them, the result of his having been thrown 
 over for wealth and a title ; and although they 
 did not blame Lady Silverdale severely for 
 having followed her parents' wishes, they con- 
 sidered his remaining unmarried as rather a 
 touching spectacle the spectacle of the tradi- 
 tional jilted but faithful lover. 
 
 To wind up this hurried sketch of the history 
 of these two people previous to their meeting 
 formerly described, it only remains to be added 
 that two important events happened in Frank 
 Gheshunt's life within the same year. Mr. 
 Thompson died, leaving him a very considerable 
 fortune ; and he lost his seat in Parliament. 
 He then took it into his head that he would 
 travel ; and it was in Japan that he learned 
 from a newspaper which had been sent him that 
 his old sweetheart had become a widow. He 
 did not go post-haste back to England. He 
 waited until two years of her widowhood had 
 expired ; and then, as we have seen, he drove up 
 to her house in Belgrave Square in an ordinary 
 and prosaic hansom.
 
 26 LAD Y SfL VERD ALE'S S WEETHEART 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RECHAUFFE D' AMOUR, 
 
 VERY speedily all the world got to know, or to 
 guess, that Lady Silverdale was about to marry 
 her cousin her sweetheart of former days ; and 
 it was considered that now their romantic story 
 had reached its proper end. But however little 
 romanticism remained in the heart of Frank 
 Cheshunt who was now a tall, robust, yellow- 
 bearded Englishman of eight and thirty years 
 of age, who had seen a good deal of the world 
 and had his share of interest in public life he 
 did not at all look at the matter in that light. 
 He determined that, so far as he was able, the 
 long interval which had separated him from his 
 love of early days should be a blank. They 
 should both ignore that hapless time and all its 
 associations. They were to start a new life to- 
 gether, and forget the past. He was ready even 
 to give up England for her sake, if she for his 
 sake would do as much ; and then they might
 
 RECHAUFFE & AMOUR 27 
 
 go away to some distant home, by the side of a 
 blue lake, and there, content with each other's 
 society, learn to think no more of the time 
 during which they had been separated than if it 
 had been a dream. It is perhaps needless to 
 point out that these vague aspirations were but 
 the incipient signs of retrospective jealousy 
 one of the most perilous of the passions. 
 
 To his surprise and regret he found that his 
 beautiful sweetheart was far less imaginative and 
 romantic than himself. She did not at all care 
 about being married at once and leaving Eng- 
 land, just as the London season was about to 
 begin. But she did not precisely tell him that 
 she preferred another London season to the 
 early enjoyment of his society by the side of 
 that far blue lake. She represented that any 
 undue haste on their part would shock their 
 friends. Then there was a great deal to be done 
 about sending Maudey and her sister to a school 
 at Dresden. Finally, it was necessary to guard 
 against any disrespect to the dead and here, of 
 course, Frank Cheshunt at once, and in awkward 
 silence, gave in. After all, he loved his cousin ; 
 and he was sure that her tender heart would tell 
 her what was right.
 
 28 LAD Y SIL VERD ALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 But lie grew during these few months of 
 waiting to hate the circle of friends and ac- 
 quaintances in which she moved. They con- 
 spired, with great kindness, to bring these two 
 together ; but then, they continually talked of 
 matters relating to that long period which he 
 had resolved to ignore ; appearing to be far 
 better acquainted with Lady Silverdale than 
 himself. They led his cousin, too, into all sorts 
 of fashionable foibles ; and dragged her about ; 
 and induced her to talk frivolity just like them- 
 selves. If he had not known Mary Cheshunt, he 
 would have said that Lady Silverdale was an 
 ordinary, empty-headed woman of fashion, who 
 was exceedingly pretty, and dressed well when 
 her dress did not happen to be a trifle too pro- 
 nounced. He was sure, indeed, that this was 
 not the proper atmosphere for his beautiful 
 bride-elect. Mary Cheshunt had never been a 
 popinjay. When should he be able to carry her 
 off to those calm and peaceful solitudes where 
 the heart could speak freely without risk of 
 being ashamed ? 
 
 He was all the more ready to make this sacri- 
 fice on his own side if it could be considered a 
 sacrifice from the fact that he had but recently
 
 RECHA UFFE &A MO UR 29 
 
 returned from two years' residence abroad ; and 
 lie had not had time to resume much interest in 
 English public affairs. In fact, there was little 
 doing at the time. The leader of one political 
 party had gone off in high dudgeon to fell trees 
 and write for magazines, leaving his followers 
 somewhat bewildered ; the leader of the other 
 party, finding his opponents without a policy, 
 and himself therefore unable to appropriate it, 
 was quite content to wait. Certain outsiders, it 
 is true, were anxious to put into the pauperized 
 peasant's hand something he could give in ex- 
 change for the blankets, port wine, and Christmas 
 puddings received from the squire's wife and the 
 parson that quid pro quo being a vote ; and the 
 squire and the parson were not much alarmed by 
 this proposal, for they knew very well how they 
 could use that vote against a party which was 
 supposed to be directing a baleful eye on the 
 National Church. Neither the lowering of the 
 County Franchise, however, nor Disestablish- 
 ment was near enough to awaken much interest ; 
 and Frank Cheshunt found his afternoons at the 
 Eeform Club chiefly taken up with playing 
 whist. He could have left England at that time 
 with little regret.
 
 30 LAD Y SIL VERB ALPS SWEETHEART 
 
 As it was, he consoled himself with the hope 
 that when once he had got his sweetheart clear 
 away from all old associations, he would make 
 her life so happy that she would be well-disposed 
 to remain wherever he pleased ; and in the 
 meantime a great deal had to be done to make 
 this plan possible. Happily, Lady Silverdale had 
 already, before seeing him, resolved to send her 
 two daughters to Dresden ; but it required an 
 infinite amount of argument and persuasion to 
 convince her that the young Lord Silverdale 
 ought to be sent to live with Frank Cheshunt's 
 father, the old clergyman having kindly under- 
 taken to coach the boy for Eton. At last she 
 did consent ; and another obstacle was then re- 
 moved. But what did she mean by never 
 speaking of the neighbourhood in which they 
 were to live when they returned from their 
 wedding-tour ? Did she suppose for a moment 
 that he, Frank Cheshunt, was coming back to 
 live in that house in Belgrave Square, or even 
 at Woodley Manor ? His face burned at the 
 very thought of it. But whatever she may have 
 thought or forgotten he was happily absolved 
 from the necessity of taking and furnishing a 
 House, which would have been a desperate en-
 
 RECHAUFFE D 1 AMOUR 31 
 
 cumbrance in the event of his persuading her to 
 remain with him at Ouchy. 
 
 At length the time drew near when they were 
 to be married ; and it was necessary to make 
 arrangements for their wedding trip. It was at 
 this point they had their first quarrel or some- 
 thing approaching a quarrel for Lady Silver- 
 dale insisted on taking her maid, an old servant 
 of the Silverdale family, with her. Cheshunt, 
 with great gentleness and affection, remon- 
 strated ; then, finding that she persisted, grew 
 indignantly angry. 
 
 " How could I travel without her, Frank ? " 
 her ladyship pleaded. " I have never travelled 
 without her 
 
 " Gracious heavens ! " he said, " how do other 
 women travel without a maid, then ? " 
 
 " I should lose all my things " 
 
 " Cannot I look after your luggage ? " 
 
 " She knows everything, and she has been 
 everywhere with us " 
 
 " Not with us" said he, with bitter sarcasm ; 
 driven to speak of a subject which he ordinarily 
 avoided as if it were poison. " You forget, 
 Mary. I have not the pleasure of the woman's 
 acquaintance. I should consider her a nuisance
 
 32 LADY SILVERDALE^S SWEETHEART 
 
 an impertinent intrusion why, on a man's 
 wedding trip, to be haunted by some old fool of 
 a woman " 
 
 Lady Silverdale rose. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you use such language, 
 Frank. Holmes is a most respectable person ; 
 and she has always been treated with the 
 greatest consideration by my husband's family." 
 
 He was rather a hot-tempered man. 
 
 " When I asked you to marry me, Mary," said 
 he, " I did not undertake to marry your late 
 husband's family, and his man-servants, and his 
 maid-servants, and the confounded number of 
 asses within his gates. So you had better 
 consider the matter." 
 
 He took his leave ; and she, cold, and silent, 
 and proud, merely bowed to him as he went out. 
 He went up to the club, read an evening paper, 
 yet saw nothing on the page before him ; played 
 a rubber at whist, and made two revokes, which 
 called down on his head a fair amount of bad 
 language. Then he dressed, and dined by him- 
 self choosing a small table so that no one 
 should be able to sit down with him. He was 
 to have met Lady Silverdale at a party that 
 evening ; and he was resolved not to go near the
 
 RECHAUFFE & AMOUR 33 
 
 place ; but if lie was not going, why had he 
 taken the trouble to dress ? 
 
 Lovers of eight and thirty and five and thirty 
 have happily more common sense than younger 
 persons ; and this quarrel was easily made up. 
 Lady Silverdale was pacified by a most ample 
 apology for his unjustifiable rudeness ; and she, 
 on the other hand, agreed to give up the invalu- 
 able Holmes. Yet she could not understand 
 why her cousin had betrayed such a dislike to 
 Holmes. Nor could she understand why, when 
 she had to go down to Woodley Manor, he would 
 not come and see her, though his own father was 
 coming over to carry off the youthful heir. The 
 plain fact was that she did not perceive how 
 anxious he was to consider that long period of 
 separation as never having existed ; while she 
 was continually harping on what she did this 
 year or the other year, and what Lord Silverdale 
 had said on this or the other occasion. But 
 Frank Cheshunt forgave much to his beautiful 
 cousin ; knowing that he would soon have ample 
 time to explain to her all his views about their 
 coming life together, when perhaps she, too, 
 would resolve to forget.
 
 34 LADY SILVERD ALES SWEETHEART 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 REVELATIONS. 
 
 " that 'twere possible, 
 After long grief and pain ; 
 To find the arms of my true love 
 Round me once again ! " 
 
 THIS had been the secret, yearning cry of 
 Frank Cheshunt, as it has been the cry of 
 thousands on thousands of other people, who, 
 even in married life sometimes, have been visited 
 by moments of sentimental regret, when they 
 believed that their life might have been other 
 than it is. Very well, then. He had his wish. 
 When everybody heard of Lady Silverdale and 
 her old lover having gone off on their wedding 
 trip, it was universally conceded that poetic 
 justice had been awarded, and the romance 
 happily and fitly come to an end. 
 
 He took her down to Dover to a hotel where 
 the Mumm's " extra dry " is very good, and the 
 drainage very bad. Anxious as he was to leave 
 England and all its associations behind, he never-
 
 REVELATIONS 35 
 
 theless gladly consented to stay in Dover for 
 two or three days, for the sea was not quite a 
 mill-pond, and Lady Silverdale had a horror of 
 a rough passage. When he pointed out to her 
 that there was not a white line on the sea, and 
 not a breath of wind anywhere, and yet found 
 her unwilling to cross, he generously yielded to 
 her timid fears. But when he found that, by 
 waiting, she had managed to receive a budget of 
 letters from Woodley Manor, and was disposed 
 to seek his advice about certain propositions of 
 her land-steward, he put on his hat and walked 
 out, and for about three-quarters of an hour 
 smoked a cigar on the pier. 
 
 " I hope," said he, when he returned, " that 
 you don't mean to have letters dogging your 
 footsteps all over the Continent ? " 
 
 "My dear Frank," said she, looking up in 
 perfect innocence, " we are not going into ban- 
 ishment, are we ? " 
 
 But after all he had to be considerate towards 
 this beautiful bride of his, if she should not 
 understand all his imaginative purposes and 
 wishes all at once. And now he found her ready 
 to cross the Channel at any moment. That 
 night the water was smooth as glass ; there was 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LAD Y SIL VERD ALE'S SWEETHEAR T 
 
 scarcely a ripple in the harbour to break the 
 reflection of the stars. They got their things on 
 board ; and remained on deck during the whole 
 of the passage. When they reached Calais pier, 
 he had of course all the bother of looking after 
 rugs and hand-bags, and so forth, of which she 
 had a considerable stock ; and when they had 
 got up and into Calais station, he proposed they 
 should have a basin of soup, or some such thing, 
 before getting to sleep in the carriage that was to 
 take them on to Brussels. But all her anxiety 
 was to send a telegram to Maudey, at Dresden, 
 announcing the safe voyage across the Channel. 
 He did not see the fun of blundering about this 
 gloomy station in the middle of the night. 
 
 " You telegraphed to her yesterday," said he, 
 rather impatiently, " what on earth is the good 
 of telegraphing now ? " 
 
 " I am sure the dear child will be so anxious 
 until she knows I am safely over." 
 
 " I hope the dear child is in bed," said he. 
 
 " She would get the telegram the first thing 
 in the morning," his wife responded, and then 
 she added regretfully, " If Holmes had been with 
 us, I could have sent her at once she was very 
 clever at doing these little things for me."
 
 REVELATIONS 37 
 
 " Shall I put the telegram in French or 
 English ? " said he abruptly ; and then he stalked 
 off to send that message to the " Honble. Maud 
 Calesthorpe, Pension Grimm, Nudelsuppe-strasse, 
 No. 49, Dresden." 
 
 They spent a day in Brussels, or rather in the 
 Eue Montagne de la Cour, for Lady Silverdale 
 greatly admired the shops, particularly the lace 
 shops, in that thoroughfare ; and she said she 
 liked to hear her own tongue spoken by the 
 people about her who were staring in at the 
 windows. He bought some trifles for her ; she 
 bought some presents for Maudey, Ernestine, 
 and Harry. 
 
 Now on his recent return from distant lands 
 Cheshunt had come home by way of the Khine ; 
 and at Cologne had stumbled across a hotel 
 which has a very pretty balcony, or " Belvedere," 
 right at the top of it, from which one has a 
 commanding view of the Khine, and of the 
 distant country around the Drachenfels. At 
 that time he imagined to himself, if only his old 
 sweetheart would now consent to marry him, 
 the pleasure he would have in leading her up to 
 this lofty balcony, and showing her the broad 
 and flowing river and the distant ramparts that
 
 38 LADY SIL VERD ALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 guard the entrance to the great valley of romance. 
 But when they got to Cologne, he found that 
 she knew the hotel very well ; and did not think 
 it worth while to undertake the fatigue of climb- 
 ing to the Belvedere ; and was mostly curious 
 to know how far Dresden was from Cologne. In 
 fact, she had a familiar acquaintance with the 
 Rhine. She had spent a month at Konigswinter, 
 when Maudey was recovering from the measles. 
 Did he know that Maudey's sketches of Roland- 
 seek and its neighbourhood had been shown to 
 no less a person than Mr. Ruskin, who had not 
 at all condemned them. Had he ever heard 
 Maudey sing " The Lorelei " ? In his secret 
 heart Lady Silverdale's husband coupled the 
 name of Maudey with an expletive which was 
 quite uncalled-for, and indeed so improper that 
 it cannot be put down here. 
 
 However, when they got to Geneva, and he 
 found she had never been there before, nor yet 
 to Chamounix, things looked better ; and now 
 he felt they were really setting out on their 
 wedding tour, leaving the world behind them. 
 At eight o'clock on a beautiful bright summer 
 morning, they got into the large and open 
 carriage which had been ordered over-night.
 
 REVELATIONS 39 
 
 The scarlet-coated driver cracked his long whip ; 
 the four horses, ornamented with foxes' tails and 
 pheasant's feathers, started off at a rattling pace, 
 with all their bells jingling ; they crossed the 
 bridge that spans the blue and rushing waters of 
 the Khone ; they took a last look at the broad 
 and still bosom of the lake ; and then away they 
 went all by themselves towards the deep and 
 beautiful valley lying under the white snows of 
 Mont Blanc. 
 
 " At last," said he, " Mary, we have got clear 
 away from England ; and I don't care whether 
 I ever see it again." 
 
 " 1 think you would soon tire of perpetual 
 holidays^ Frank," said she, with a smile ; but 
 she put her hand into his, and he felt contented 
 and happy. 
 
 Suddenly she looked round at the rugs and 
 bags with which the interior of the open car- 
 riage was filled. 
 
 " Where is that batch of newspapers that came 
 yesterday ? " she asked. 
 
 " Newspapers ? " said he, lightly. " What do 
 we want with newspapers ? I left them." 
 
 " Indeed, Frank, you should have brought 
 them on ; you ought to be ready to take your own
 
 40 LAD Y SIL VERD ALE'S S WEE THEAR T 
 
 part in public affairs when we go back ; for a 
 man gets so much more consideration shown him 
 when he is in Parliament ; and of course the 
 Liberals will get in again ; and they might give 
 you some office ; and then you know how im- 
 portant it would be for the girls, by and by, to 
 go to the official receptions and such things " 
 
 " My dear Mary," said he, with some firmness, 
 " we will leave all that alone for the present. I 
 think we ourselves are entitled to some little 
 consideration ; and if it suited us not to return 
 to England for some time for an indefinite 
 period politics would get on very well without 
 us ; and so I am sure would those charming 
 young ladies about whom you feel so anxious." 
 She detected no sarcasm in his tone. She said 
 innocently, 
 
 " They are really such good girls ; you will 
 love them more the more you see of them ; 
 and you know you will have to be a father to 
 the poor things, Frank. Fancy their being away 
 all by themselves in that strange town 
 
 " I suppose this must be Chesne," said he 
 rudely. 
 
 Every one who drives from Geneva to Cha- 
 mounix ought to stop at the small village of
 
 REVELATIONS 41 
 
 St. Martin, where, while lunch is being got ready, 
 he may walk down to the bridge over the river, 
 from which the first impressive view of Mont 
 Blanc is to be obtained. Frank Cheshunt and 
 his bride did so ; and as they leaned on the 
 stone parapet, over the chalky -green and rushing 
 waters, they found before them the great white 
 shoulders of Mont Blanc standing far, and high, 
 and clear in a cloudless blue sky. It was a 
 spectacle that called for silence. 
 
 " It is very pretty," said Lady Silverdale. 
 " Keally, the white and the blue are exactly 
 like" 
 
 " Like one of Maudey's drawings ? " said he, 
 fiercely. "Is it literally impossible for you to 
 look at any given object, or to pass a single 
 moment in the society of any being, without 
 continually harping on Maudey and Ernestine, 
 and Ernestine and Maudey ? " 
 
 She did not answer him. She turned her 
 head away, and tears began to run down her 
 cheeks. He knew he had been a brute. 
 
 " Come, Mary," said he, and he took hold of 
 her arm, " you must forgive me. I am very 
 sorry. I did not mean to hurt you." 
 
 For the rest of that day she maintained a
 
 42 LAD Y SIL VERD ALE'S S WEETHEART 
 
 strict silence as regarded Maudey and Ernestine 
 an enforced silence that was perhaps more 
 irritating than free speech. It raised a certain 
 barrier between them. When they reached their 
 hotel at Chamounix, about six o'clock in the 
 evening, she went up to her room, saying that 
 she had a headache and would lie down. She 
 failed to appear at dinner ; preferring a cup of 
 tea and a bit of dry toast. So he dined at the 
 taUe-d'lwte without her ; made the acquaintance 
 of nobody ; and after dinner, in the cool, clear 
 evening, went off for a long leisurely walk along 
 the road leading through the valley, that he 
 might smoke his cigar in peace. He was not 
 thinking now of Maudey, nor yet of Ernestine, 
 nor yet of his old fair love of former days ; but 
 of an interview which he had had with Lord 
 Hartington about a week before he had started. 
 He had also had a talk with Mr. Adam. Frank 
 Cheshunt was no longer the fierce irreconcilable 
 he had been in his hot youth. In his wander- 
 ings abroad he had come to doubt the saving 
 virtues of more than one party Shibboleth. But 
 he still professed himself a Liberal ; and he had 
 paid his subscription to the Devonshire as his 
 humble tribute to the reconstruction of his party.
 
 REVELATIONS 43 
 
 He was thinking at this moment that, after all, 
 it was not good for a man to be idle. And if 
 the prospect of a General Election were remote, 
 vacancies were still occurring by death and pro- 
 motion to the Lords, in which case it was always 
 better for a man who wanted to slip quietly into 
 a seat to be on the spot. No one knew how his 
 country might suffer by his absence.
 
 44 LAD Y SIL VERD ALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 " THE PITY OF IT, IAGO." 
 
 THEY remained about ten days or a fortnight 
 at Chamounix, making all the orthodox excur- 
 sions, except the Jardin, which Lady Silverdale 
 was afraid to attempt. She had forgotten or for- 
 given that little episode at St. Martin, and was 
 quite as much disposed as ever to chat cheerfully 
 about her dear girls. When she climbed up to the 
 Glacier des Bossons she brought away souvenirs 
 for them ; when she got to Montanvert she 
 gathered ferns for them ; when she was carefully 
 handed over the rounded and slippery blocks of 
 the Mer de Glace she shudderingly looked at the 
 deep blue crevices on either hand, and declared 
 that she would never allow her children to cross 
 that terrible place a decision she adhered to 
 all the more when she had clambered down the 
 Mauvais Pas, clinging to the iron rope, and not 
 daring to turn her eyes for a moment towards 
 the sheer precipice beneath her feet.
 
 " THE PITY OF IT, IAGO 45 
 
 And Frank Cheshunt, being a good-natured, 
 reasonable fellow, argued with himself, and tried 
 to persuade himself that it was but natural 
 for his wife to be continually thinking about 
 Maudey. Do not all women who have children 
 bore their relatives ;and friends by persistent 
 talking about these infant prodigies ? And here 
 was a mother taken away from her children for 
 the first time. If the truth were told and the 
 object of this story is to tell the truth it was 
 not alone her constant talking about her children 
 that somewhat painfully disappointed Lady 
 Silverdale's husband. He found that their tastes 
 were very different, and that she was not a little 
 opinionated. He was shocked to find, for 
 example, that she greatly admired a species of 
 novel which he particularly detested and here 
 they might have been content to differ ; but 
 when he proceeded to show that these descrip- 
 tions of life and manners were only fit for the 
 scullery and the stable, he was met by an 
 exhibition of will and temper that pretty plainly 
 warned him off attempting to convert his wife to 
 his views about literature. She was not a strong 
 woman in any way. Her natural detestation of 
 one whom she considered to be the perjured arid
 
 46 LADY SILVERDAL&S SWEETHEART 
 
 treacherous assassin of innocent women and 
 children, and of an event which she considered 
 to be the blackest crime in modern history, 
 melted away before the solvent influence of an 
 invitation to dine at St. Cloud, and she acquired 
 a thoroughly bourgeois delight in the spangle- 
 glitter of Paris. She was rather dense, too, as 
 regarded a joke, and consequently very apt to 
 take offence at perfectly good-natured raillery. 
 The mere mention of certain subjects seemed 
 to freeze her into an icicle ; she knew that 
 her husband was going to say something 
 that would wound her feelings. Bishops, 
 for instance ; why is it that gentlemen who 
 profess Liberal opinions should be so fond of 
 making fun of bishops, who are a most respect- 
 able class of persons when they are rightly 
 understood ? Now the moment that Frank 
 Cheshunt began to talk about a bishop, his wife 
 froze. He was nearly proposing a compromise 
 on this matter offering to cut out the whole 
 bench from his conversation, if she would consent 
 to cut out Maudey from hers. But he refrained 
 from making the suggestion, for she would most 
 certainly have construed it into an attack on the 
 Established Church.
 
 " THE PITY OF IT, I AGO " 47 
 
 At this point of the narrative the writer would 
 like to put in a disclaimer. The reader may, as 
 his temperament suggests, object to this story 
 as impertinently flippant, or as too painfully 
 miserable, or as fiendishly malicious. But he 
 must not regard it as written with a purpose. 
 It would be a mistake to suppose that if every 
 man who now, in the quiet jog-trot of married 
 life, thinks of the early love of his youth, and 
 perhaps deplores the imagined happiness that 
 then vanished out of his grasp it would be a 
 mistake to suppose that every such man, had he 
 married his early love, would have found her 
 out to be an unmistakable ass. We are now 
 dealing only with Frank Cheshunt and Lady 
 Silverdale, and their story, which every one 
 assures you is so romantic. Painful as the task 
 may be, it becomes necessary to tell the simple 
 truth about that romance. 
 
 The first time they went up to Montanvert 
 they saw a wonderful sight. Up to that period 
 the weather had been too fine, and they had 
 grown tired of looking up at the great white 
 shoulder of Mont Blanc standing clear against 
 
 o o 
 
 the blue sky. But on this occasion great moving 
 and ragged masses of fog lay over the Her de
 
 43 LADY SIL VERDA LE>S S WEE THE A R T 
 
 Glace, entirely shutting off the mountains beyond; 
 and when they and the guide proceeded to 
 descend from Montanvert to cross the glacier, 
 they could see nothing at all in front of them. 
 Suddenly, however, Cheshunt uttered an ex- 
 clamation. His eye had somehow been attracted 
 upward, and there, apparently overhead, above 
 the long and shifting swathes of fog, and 
 seeming to belong to another world, rose far 
 away into the unimaginable distance long 
 glittering spires and pinnacles of rock, gleaming 
 in a sunshine that came from a sky which they 
 could not see. It was their first revelation of 
 the awful height of this mountain-land, and it 
 had come upon them in the form of a vision ; 
 for these scarred and snow-spreckled Aiguilles, 
 that shone away up there in the intense and 
 distant blue, seemed to be glittering, beautiful 
 phantoms that had sprung upwards to this 
 amazing altitude from the witch's cauldron of 
 whirling and changing fog. Cheshunt had seen 
 many sights in his time, but even he was over- 
 awed by the incomparable majesty and 
 splendour of this weird thing, and for a second 
 or two he could not speak. His wife came to 
 his relief.
 
 " THE PITY OF IT, I AGO" 49 
 
 " Oh, Frank, isn't it beautiful ? " she said, in 
 simple faith. " I never saw anything like that 
 before. It reminds one of that beautiful picture 
 of heaven you remember." 
 
 " Oh, yes," he said quickly, " Martin's. It is 
 quite like that. Shall I carry your alpenstock 
 for you until we get down to the ice ? " 
 
 She got very tired of Chamounix before they 
 left. She did not at all like this rough work of 
 jolting about on mules ; it sadly disarranged her 
 toilette. Then they had not met a single 
 acquaintance, though they tried the tables-d' hote 
 of the associated hotels in succession. She used 
 to glance ovex' Galignani after dinner, and read 
 out to her husband the names of her friends who, 
 as she saw, were in Paris. 
 
 At last they set out from Chamounix Lady 
 Silverdale mounted on a patient mule, her 
 husband walking by her side, and an attendant 
 bringing up a spare mule in the rear. They 
 made a picturesque group enough, and it was a 
 day fit to be remembered specially even in a 
 wedding- tour. He was a good specimen of the 
 stalwart, manly Englishman ; her beautiful 
 refined face had got some touch of colour in it 
 from the cool fresh winds ; and they were slowly 
 
 E
 
 co LAD Y SIL VERDALPS SWEETHEART 
 
 ascending the pass of the Tete Noire, which is 
 the grandest pass in Europe, with the sunlight 
 shining on the wonderful snow-peaks all around 
 them. They ought to have been content. 
 
 Somehow Frank Cheshunt was not quite so 
 hopeful as he had been about that project of his, 
 which was now about to be tried. He had 
 spoken to his wife, timidly and tentatively, about 
 the beauties of the Lake of Geneva. He had 
 described the clear blue waters, the fair skies, the 
 panorama of mountains, the w r hite walls of the 
 Castle of Chillon reflected in the crystal deeps. 
 He had described, too, a spacious villa, set amid 
 gardens, with quaint eaves and green casements ; 
 its gleaming white front variegated here and 
 there by trellis- work ; its garden walls a mass of 
 crimson with Virginia Creepers ; its cool summer- 
 house by the side of the lake. She said it was 
 very nice, but she did not add that she would 
 care to live all her life at Ouchy. 
 
 It was well on towards evening when they 
 drew near the Martigny ; and as they went 
 down the mountain-side, passing through the 
 twilight of the dense forests, she looked like 
 some princess of Komance attended by her faith- 
 ful squire on foot. She was cheerful, too, with
 
 " THE PITY OF IT, I AGO " 51 
 
 a new cheerfulness that surprised him after all 
 the fatigues of the day. The fact was, she had 
 inquired of the mule-driver, and learned that 
 they should pass the post-office in going into 
 Martigny, and there she expected to get a whole 
 batch of letters from Dresden, Lincolnshire, 
 Nottinghamshire, and London. 
 
 They stopped in passing, and her husband very 
 willingly went into the post-office. It was but 
 natural she should want to have her letters ; she 
 had received none for two or three days. When 
 he came out, however, and said that there was 
 not even one for her, she grew terribly alarmed. 
 Something dreadful must have happened. They 
 had acted in concert to keep back the news. He 
 must telegraph at once to Maudey, to his uncle, 
 to everybody. 
 
 " Nonsense," said he ; " can't you wait till the 
 morning ? There is a post in at ten." 
 
 She was hurt by his cruel indifference ; but 
 she consented to wait. The whole evening she 
 was silent and distraite : he could scarcely get a 
 word out of her. Next morning she was at the 
 post-office by half-past nine, just to see if the 
 mails might not be in sooner than usual. They 
 were later than usual. When they did arrive, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 she almost refused to believe the postmaster that 
 there was not a single letter for her. 
 
 She walked quickly back to the hotel ; her 
 husband was standing in the archway, smoking 
 a cigar. She went past him without speaking, 
 and he noticed something peculiar about her 
 expression. 
 
 " Hallo, Mary, where are you going ? " said 
 he. 
 
 She turned for a moment ; there was a sparkle 
 of anger in her eyes, in the midst of all her 
 dread. 
 
 " I must get money to telegraph for myself, I 
 suppose," she said, " since you won't. There is 
 not a single letter. I know something has 
 happened." 
 
 " Better wait till two," said he ; " there is 
 another post in from England then." 
 
 She did not answer. She went up and got 
 her purse, and then walked off to the post-office, 
 where she bothered the poor postmaster for half 
 an hour with her applications and inquiries. 
 Ultimately, as it turned out, there was not the 
 least occasion for all this worry. She received a 
 telegram from Maudey saying that all was well, 
 but she had neglected to write. She received a
 
 " THE PITY OF IT, I AGO " 53 
 
 telegram from London saying all was well, but 
 that the last batch of letters had been forwarded 
 by mistake to Chamounix instead of Martigny. 
 
 " Very well," said her husband ; " now we can 
 go on to Ouchy. We will send a message to 
 Chamounix to forward letters there." 
 
 But she would not hear of that. She would 
 remain in Martigny until the letters arrived. 
 She could not go on without her letters from 
 London. 
 
 At this point his patience broke down. 
 
 " I wish to Heaven," he said savagely but he 
 really did not intend her to hear, " that you had 
 never left London ! " 
 
 " Do you wish," said she, turning round and 
 becoming rather pale, " do you wish, Frank, that 
 you had never married me ? " 
 
 He dared not quite say that, when they were 
 not much more than a month married ; but he 
 said, with extreme bitterness, 
 
 " And what then ? Would it concern you ? 
 You seem to consider your marriage as but a 
 very trifling accident of somewhat less impor- 
 tance than Maudey's toothache, or the building 
 of the new stables at Woodley Manor." 
 
 " I don't quite understand you, Frank," she
 
 54 LADY SILVERDALE>S SWEETHEART 
 
 said calmly : she had a vague notion that she 
 was being insulted, or at least injured ; but 
 she did not exactly know which phrase to com- 
 plain of. 
 
 Once more, however, peace was patched up 
 between them, Cheshunt spending the best part 
 of a day and a half in walking up and down the 
 main street of Martigny, smoking cigars, while 
 they waited for the precious letters. That batch 
 of correspondence having at length arrived, they 
 started for Ouchy ; but now his fond fancy about 
 beginning a new life there with his sweetheart of 
 old was distinctly moribund. 
 
 It was a beautiful clear forenoon when they 
 stood on the small wooden pier I really for- 
 get the name of the village waiting for the 
 steamer. The skies were blue, the waters were 
 blue, a soft sunlight lay along the smiling green 
 shores. Frank Cheshunt was looking rather 
 blankly out on the smooth, beautiful lake. 
 
 " How long do we stay at Ouchy ? " said his 
 wife ; and somehow the voice that startled him 
 from his reverie sounded business-like and 
 harsh. 
 
 " I had a fancy," said he, with a smile, " that 
 we might remain there a long time if you had
 
 " THE PITY OF IT, I AGO " 55 
 
 been less occupied with England, Mary. I had 
 some vague wish to take a house there 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad you no longer think of 
 that," she said quite cheerfully. " Ouchy, of all 
 places in the world I We should not know a 
 soul there ; and as for amusements ! Now, it is 
 quite remarkable the number of people we know 
 who happen to be in Paris at present. Don't 
 you think we had better get back to Paris as 
 soon as possible, Frank dear ? " 
 
 " Yes," said he, speaking with measured indif- 
 ference ; "I think we ought at once to make for 
 Paris. And then, as you will be with plenty of 
 friends there, you will not mind my running 
 over to London for a few days. The fact is, 
 
 asked me to let him have that article by 
 
 the 1st of November, and I must have an after- 
 noon or two in the library at the Reform." 
 
 " Well," she said, smiling, " people may think 
 it odd if you return to London by yourself from 
 your wedding trip. But it is only for a day or 
 two ? " 
 
 " Oh, only for a day or two," said he ; the 
 steamer was coming in at the moment, and he 
 was busy about the rugs. 
 
 It was on that pier that Frank Cheshunt's
 
 56 LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART 
 
 illusory project, based on the assumption that 
 Lady Silverdale would necessarily prove to be 
 all that his boyish dreams had imagined Mary 
 Cheshunt to be, dropped stone-dead ; and as he 
 was a practical, sensible sort of man, he resolved 
 to think no more about it. He took his wife to 
 Paris, and left her in good hands, while he ran 
 over to London for materials for his magazine 
 article. The last that I heard of Lady Silverdale 
 and her husband was that she was temporarily 
 staying in Dresden, to the great delight of her- 
 self and Maudey and Ernestine ; that he was 
 waging a spirited but hopeless fight in a North 
 of Scotland borough which had just become 
 vacant ; and that both he and she were quite 
 well, quite comfortable. 
 
 So far the story in its plain truth : this may 
 be added, perhaps, as a guess that if Frank 
 Cheshunt should now and again by some such 
 accident as happens to many see a beautiful, 
 tender face in his dreams a face familiar, yet 
 strangely unfamiliar, to him the face of a 
 woman whom he has loved, and if his heart 
 should grow sick with the pain of seeing her 
 turn away from him ; and if he should follow 
 with a pitiful agony the receding form wringing
 
 " THE PITY OF IT, I AGO " 57 
 
 its hands with grief, and withdrawing from him 
 at last the beautiful, bedimmed, never-to-be-for- 
 gotten eyes, you may be sure that the face and 
 the figure he beholds with mingled yearning and 
 anguish in these phantom halls of sleep are those 
 not of Lady Silverdale, his wife, but of Mary 
 Cheshunt, his cousin, and his early love.
 
 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS,
 
 THE PUPIL OF AUKELIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A BLOW FACED. 
 
 ON a Sunday morning in the early part of 
 November 1878 a stranger arrived at Euston 
 Square, and passed from the gloom of the station 
 into the brighter air of the London streets, there 
 pausing for a second or two to look around him. 
 He was a man of about fifty, short, thin, wiry, 
 square-shouldered ; his features firm even to 
 sternness, and hardened by exposure to wind and 
 weather ; his hair gray ; his beard also gray and 
 clipped short. The harshness of his face, how- 
 ever, was in a measure tempered by the look of 
 his eyes ; these were calm and contemplative, 
 perhaps even with a shade of melancholy in 
 them. For the rest, he was well and warmly 
 clad in home-spun cloth ; and he carried with
 
 62 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 him a small hand-bag, which appeared to be his 
 only luggage. 
 
 He hesitated only for a moment. As he 
 turned off to the left he met two labourers 
 coming along. 
 
 " This is the way to London Bridge, is it 
 not ? " he asked, slowly, and with a strong 
 northern accent. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said one of them ; and then, as he 
 looked after the departing stranger, he took the 
 pipe from his mouth and grinned, and said to 
 his companion : 
 
 " Scottie means to walk it." 
 
 The new-comer's next encounter was less satis- 
 factory. A drunken-faced woman jumped up 
 from a door-step and begged for alms. He had 
 not seen her. Instinctively his hand went to 
 his pocket. Then he glanced at her. 
 
 " No ! " he said, with unnecessary severity, 
 and passed on. 
 
 But instantly the woman was transformed 
 into a cursing and swearing virago. She fol- 
 lowed him, making the little thoroughfare 
 resound with her shrill abuse. Most people 
 would, in such circumstances, have looked out 
 for a policeman, or tried to get away somewhere,
 
 A BLOW FACED 63 
 
 but this man turned round and stood still and 
 regarded the woman. There was neither anger 
 nor surprise nor scorn in his look, but a calm 
 observation. He listened to her foul language, 
 as if wishing to understand it ; and he regarded 
 the bloated face and bleared eyes. The woman 
 was not prepared for this examination. With 
 another parting volley she slunk off. Then the 
 new-comer continued on his way, saying only 
 to himself : 
 
 "It is strange. I do not think that God 
 could have meant any of His creatures to be like 
 that." 
 
 Now let us see what manner of man this was 
 who was passing into the larger space and wan 
 sunlight of Euston Eoad, making for London 
 Bridge, with but little hurry, and always with 
 his .eyes [regarding the withered trees, or the 
 closed shops, or the early omnibuses with an 
 observation that had no curiosity in it, rather as 
 if these were mere passing phenomena that left 
 no permanent impression on a mind too busily 
 occupied with its own speculations. 
 
 His name was John Douglas. His father had 
 been a small shipowner in Greenock, and, dying, 
 had left this, his eldest son, a fortune oi about
 
 64 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 10,000. John Douglas, after patient judgment 
 of the matter, arrived at the conclusion that "it 
 was far from just and fitting that he should 
 have the exclusive use of this money, so he lent 
 7000, or thereabouts, to his two younger 
 brothers, who forthwith took it, and, unhappily, 
 themselves also, to the bottom of the sea, in a 
 vessel which, recklessly, they had not insured. 
 Thereupon John Douglas, having still over 
 3000, invested it in what was then considered a 
 safe concern, and finding his wants very few and 
 very simple, repaired to the Renfrewshire coast, 
 and found there a small cottage overlooking the 
 Firth of Clyde and the sea, where he could live 
 cheaply and comfortably. And he did livejthere 
 very comfortably and contentedly, though not 
 quite to the satisfaction of his neighbours, who 
 resented the intrusion amongst them! of a man 
 who minded his own business, who would not 
 listen to any tittle-tattle, who was absolutely 
 indifferent as to what opinion, good or ill, they 
 might have of him, and who took long and soli- 
 tary walks among the hills on Sundays as on 
 other days. 
 
 It ought to be said here at the outset that 
 this man's character is not set up as in any way
 
 A BLOW FACED 65 
 
 an exemplar. If mankind at large were so many 
 John Douglases the world would not get on at 
 all. We should have no iron bridges built, or 
 Atlantic cables laid, or financial companies 
 started, and we certainly should not have any 
 mankilling machines a million or half-a-million 
 strong ; whereas every well-conducted person 
 knows that such things are now-a-days absolutely 
 necessary. The truth is, that John Douglas, or 
 Captain Douglas, as the neighbours called him 
 with a kind of grudging respect, was a skulker 
 from the battle of humanity. What he wanted 
 was a beach of white sand, a hot day, a blue sea, 
 a book, a pipe, and the absence of his fellow- 
 creatures. He was kind to such people as he 
 was forced to meet ; and he was a favourite 
 amongst the children in that part, for he bought 
 them toys and sweetmeats when he went to 
 Greenock ; but he preferred the society of his 
 books to that of his neighbours, and he was 
 impatient of idle talk. Indeed, what was the 
 use of their conversing with a man who was far 
 more interested in the first blossoming of the 
 furze in spring than in a Cabinet crisis, and who 
 would go away and search for birds' nests in the 
 woods, for the mere pleasure of looking at them, 
 
 F
 
 66 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 when the whole civilised world, from the Cloch 
 Lighthouse all the way to Largs, was convulsed 
 with the news that a minister in a parish adjacent 
 had been heard to say something disrespectful 
 about Calvin ? 
 
 The three books, one or other of which John 
 Douglas usually carried with him on his rambles 
 by sea-shore or through some country lanes, 
 were the New Testament, Marcus Aurelius, and 
 Tannahill's Poems ; but perhaps it was the wise 
 Emperor with w r hom he most closely communed 
 as the .waves rippled along the sand, and the 
 shifting lights crossed the clear blue of the 
 Arran hills. He had so entered into the spirit 
 of that proud and patient stoicism, that he con- 
 sidered himself proof against anything that 
 might happen to him in life or in death. It was 
 a voice from far away, it is true muffled, as if 
 from the tomb ; but it w r as human, sympathetic, 
 kindly in the main. 
 
 "Every moment think steadily as a Eoman 
 and a man to do what thou hast in hand with 
 perfect and simple dignity, and feeling of affec- 
 tion, and freedom, and justice ; and to give thy- 
 self relief from all other thoughts. And thou 
 wilt give thyself relief, if thou doest every act
 
 A BLOW FACED 67 
 
 of thy life as if it were the last, laying aside all 
 carelessness and passionate aversion from the 
 commands of reason, and all hypocrisy, and 
 self-love, and discontent with the portion which 
 has been given to thee. Thou seest how few the 
 things are, the which if a man lays hold of, he 
 is able to live a life which flows in quiet, and is 
 like the existence of the gods ; for the gods, on 
 their part, will require nothing more from him 
 who observes these things." 
 
 And again : 
 
 " If thou workest at that which is before thee, 
 following right reason seriously, vigorously, 
 calmly, without allowing anything else to dis- 
 tract thee, but keeping thy divine part pure, as 
 if thou shouldst be bound to give it back im- 
 mediately ; if thou holdest to this, expecting 
 nothing, fearing nothing, but satisfied with 
 thy present activity according to nature, and 
 with heroic truth in every word and sound 
 which thou utterest, thou wilt live happy. 
 And there is no man who is able to prevent 
 this." 
 
 Or if one should not find any great work in 
 the world to tackle ? 
 
 "Always bear this in mind, that very little 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 indeed is necessary for living a happy life. And 
 because thou hast despaired of becoming a 
 dialectician, and skilled in the knowledge of 
 nature, do not for this reason renounce the hope 
 of being both free and modest and social and 
 obedient to God." 
 
 Or has one been injured ? 
 
 " The best way of avenging thyself is not to 
 become like the wrongdoer." 
 
 Why should one desire praise or fear blame ? 
 
 " Which of these things is beautiful because 
 it is praised, or spoiled by being blamed ? 
 Is such a thing as an emerald made worse 
 than it was if it is not praised ? or gold, 
 ivory, purple, a lyre, a little knife, a flower, a 
 shrub?" 
 
 John Douglas knew nothing of the opinion 
 in which he was held by his neighbours ; and, 
 if he had known, he would not have heeded 
 one jot. 
 
 Now it was in the waning of the year, when 
 the great fuchsia-tree covering the front of Brae- 
 side Cottage had dropped all its dark-red bells, 
 and when the rowan-trees along the road were 
 yellowing, though masses of the scarlet berries 
 still remained to delight the eye, that the news
 
 A BLOW FACED 69 
 
 of the breaking of the City of Glasgow Bank 
 came to these parts. There were those who 
 knew that the residue of Captain Douglas's small 
 fortune was invested in that flourishing concern, 
 which had been paying dividends of 10 and 11 
 per cent. ; and they also suspected that he would 
 know nothing of the terrible crash, for he seldom 
 read newspapers. But not one of them would 
 go and take the bad news to him. If he had not 
 been a very sociable man, it was not through 
 pride. He ihad done many generous actions. 
 The children were fond of him. They waited 
 for himself to find out the misfortune that had 
 overtaken him. 
 
 Douglas's first intimation was contained in a 
 letter sent him by a solicitor in Greenock. The 
 vague reference to what had happened he did 
 not understand at first ; but he called his old 
 housekeeper and bade her to bring him the news- 
 papers of the last few days ; and then he sat 
 down, quietly and composedly, and read the 
 story of his ruin. 
 
 First came the rumours about a certain bank. 
 Then the definite statement that the City of 
 Glasgow Bank had suspended payment. Then 
 guesses at the deficit, beginning with 3,000,000,
 
 70 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 along with indignant comments about the 
 manner in which the business of the bank had 
 been conducted, and commiseration for the 
 shareholders, the large majority of whom, it was 
 anticipated, would have to surrender every 
 farthing of which they were possessed. 
 
 Douglas read on and read through ; and was 
 neither shocked nor bewildered. He even 
 remembered something about an official com- 
 munication which he had opened a day or two 
 before, and hastily dropped in order to fling a 
 book at a strange cat that had come into the 
 garden, and was cowering in wait for a chaffinch. 
 He scarcely knew enough of business to under- 
 stand who the creditors were ; but he could 
 perceive that if they had even 2,000,000 owing 
 to them, the first calls would far more than 
 sweep away his little property and leave him a 
 beggar. Very well. He looked at the news- 
 papers again ; there was nothing in these 
 crumpled sheets that could hurt him. A branch 
 of a tree blown down by the wind on the top of 
 his head could hurt him ; or a chimney-pot 
 falling from a roof; or a horse lifting its leg 
 and kicking him ; but a newspaper report he 
 could thrust into the fire. He looked out of the
 
 A BLOW FACED 71 
 
 window ; the broad waters of the Firth were all 
 ruffled into a dark blue by the morning breeze, 
 and the sunlight shone along the yellow shores 
 of Innellan ; and far in the south Arran's jagged 
 peaks were a clear blue among the silvery 
 clouds : these things could not be altered by 
 anything happening in Glasgow. He looked at 
 his hands ; there were ten fingers there that had 
 not done much work in the world ; surely it was 
 time they should try ? And surely they could 
 win for him bread and milk, or at the worst 
 bread and water ? In the meantime the thought 
 of the cat had recalled to him that he had not as 
 yet scattered crumbs for the birds that morning. 
 That was the first thing to be done ; and so he 
 went and did it. 
 
 There can be no doubt that this con- 
 temptuous indifference was largely the result of 
 the teachings of Marcus Aurelius, which this 
 solitary man had drunk in until they seemed to 
 have got absorbed into his very blood. But 
 there was something more ; there was a vein of 
 personal pride of a very distinct kind. He 
 would not admit to himself that any number of 
 bank-directors in Glasgow or elsewhere had the 
 power to harm him. Moreover, when, after
 
 72 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 waiting a considerable time to see now things 
 would go, he went to Greenock to consult the 
 solicitor who had written to him, and to whom 
 he was known, this stubborn pride and 
 independence came out more strongly than 
 ever. 
 
 " The question is," said he in his slow, em- 
 phatic way, " do I owe the money, or do I not 
 owe the money \ " 
 
 " No doubt of it, Captain Douglas," the other 
 remonstrated ; " you are morally as well as 
 legally bound. But the liquidators are human 
 beings ; they do not wish to press for the utter- 
 most farthing ; and well they know that this 
 first call of 500 on every 100 of stock will 
 ruin many and many a poor creature, and turn 
 him or her out into the world. There is even a 
 talk of a Belief Fund ; I believe the Lord Pro- 
 vost of Glasgow and other gentlemen " 
 
 John Douglas's face flushed quickly. 
 
 " I wish not to hear of such things," he said, 
 with a touch of resentment. Then he added 
 more slowly, " I will take money from no man. 
 I will earn my own living ; if I cannot do that, 
 what title have I to live at all ? But I will take 
 this obligation from you yourself, Mr. Campbell ;
 
 A BLOW FACED 73 
 
 if you will lend me five pounds, which I will re- 
 pay to you. And I would like to take with me a 
 few portraits, of my family and forbears, that 
 can be of no use to any one ; and one or two 
 books likewise ; then the rest can go to the 
 liquidators, to roup or scatter to the winds as 
 they see fit. I am a man of few words ; I will 
 repay you the money, if my health remains to 
 me ; and it will be enough to carry me to London 
 and start me there." 
 
 " To London ! " said the tall fair man in spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 "It is the great labour market of the world ; 
 it is natural I should go there. Besides, there 
 is another thing," he added, with a trifle 
 of embarrassment. " Our family were well 
 known in these parts in former years, and 
 respected. I know not what I may have to 
 turn my hand to. I will begin where I can be 
 alone." 
 
 He was a wilful man, and he had his way. 
 He got the five pounds and the few pictures, 
 and the three books named above ; and when he 
 entered the third-class carriage that was to bear 
 him through the night to London, it was with- 
 out fear. He had ten fingers, and he could live
 
 74 THE PUPIL OF A URELIUS 
 
 on a crust of bread and a drink of clear water. 
 What was the hardship ? Had not the great 
 Emperor himself counted it among the blessings 
 of his life one of the things for which he was 
 .ever to be grateful that he had been taught to 
 work with his own hands ?
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ALONE IN LONDON. 
 
 THIS, then, was the man who now found him- 
 self in the sickly daylight of the great city, 
 walking along the wide thoroughfare on this 
 Sunday morning. The grim and grizzled face 
 was somewhat tired-looking after the long and 
 wakeful journey, and the dark eyes were fatigued 
 and melancholy ; but his step was light and firm. 
 And it was well that it was so. He had been in 
 other large towns before, but not in this one ; 
 and as he had determined to make for London 
 Bridge, to get lodgings near there, seeing that 
 that looked on the map to be about the centre 
 of the commercial district, he had traced out 
 the safest route, by Pentonville Road and City 
 Road down to the Bank. As he trudged and 
 trudged, however, and no Bank made its appear- 
 ance, he gradually woke himself out of that 
 dreamy and contemplative mood. He began to 
 make inquiries about distance and so forth. The
 
 76 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 driver of a four-wheeled cab, his purple bemud- 
 dled face lighting up with a dull sort of humour, 
 gave him a facetious invitation to get inside the 
 tumble-down old vehicle. The conductors of one 
 or two passing omnibuses hailed him ; and he 
 gathered from their " Benk ! Benk ! " that at 
 least he was in the right direction. But he was 
 not going to spend money causelessly ; so he 
 trudged on. 
 
 At length, when he got to the wide square front- 
 ing the Royal Exchange, the solitariness of the 
 place struck him with a strange chill. All the 
 great buildings closed and deserted ; not a habit- 
 able-looking house anywhere. But there were 
 numbers of people passing along the thorough- 
 fares mostly groups of young men of about 
 two-and-twenty, tallow-faced, round-shouldered, 
 wearing over-coats and billycock hats, and smok- 
 ing short pipes ; and there were crowded omni- 
 buses coming rolling along (what a difference 
 was this roar and rabble from the quiet of the 
 Sabbath morning far away there on the northern 
 coast !) and these people must live somewhere. 
 So again he contentedly trudged on ; down King 
 William Street ; over the bridge spanning the 
 misty river ; along the Borough Road ; until ho
 
 ALONE IN LONDON 77 
 
 arrived at Union Street. He had so far failed 
 in his quest for lodgings ; but in Union Street he 
 espied a coffee-house ; and as he had become 
 both tired and hungry, he entered the dingy 
 little place, sat down, and ordered a cup of 
 coffee and a roll and butter. 
 
 It was a kind of shelter, after all ; though 
 everything was dreadfully dirty, and there was 
 a heavy odour in the place. The waiter, brought 
 him a greasy newspaper ; but he put it aside. 
 Then came his breakfast. The butter was 
 not touchable ; but he reflected that it was a 
 luxury which he, living on another man's 
 money, had had no right to order. When he 
 had paid back the 5, he would consider the 
 question of butter though not butter such as 
 this. He ate the dry roll, and managed to 
 swallow the strangely-tasting coffee ; then he 
 fell asleep ; and was eventually wakened by 
 the ringing of church bells. 
 
 So, having paid his shot, he wandered out 
 again into the pale and misty sunlight ; and as 
 he had been struck by the appearance of St. 
 Saviour's in crossing the bridge, he strolled back 
 thither, and entered the church, and sat down in 
 a pew. He remained through the earlier part
 
 78 THE PUPIL OF AURELWS 
 
 of the service ; but when the sermon began, he 
 left. The streets were now quite busy, though 
 the shops were closed. It was not like Sunday 
 on the shores of the Firth of Clyde. 
 
 " In any case," he was thinking, " it can be no 
 great breaking of the Sabbath that a man should 
 provide himself with a lodging to cover his 
 head." 
 
 Eventually, after much patient wandering 
 and enquiring, he found a house in the 
 Southwark-bridge Road he was attracted to it 
 by the presence of one or two flower-boxes on 
 the window-sills where he was offered a small, 
 fairly neat and clean bedroom for the sum of 
 three-and-sixpence per week. Thereupon the 
 bargain was closed ; and John Douglas found 
 himself established at least with headquarters 
 from whence he could issue to fight his battle 
 with the great forces of London. 
 
 Well, day after day nay, week after week 
 passed, and all his efforts to obtain employment 
 had resulted in nothing. It was not through 
 any shamefacedness or fastidiousness or false 
 pride. He was ready to do anything. Many 
 people thought this man a maniac, who calmly 
 walked in and offered, in his slow, methodic
 
 ALONE IN LONDON 79 
 
 Scotch speech, to copy letters for them, or do 
 anything that could be pointed out to him, 
 confessing, on interrogation, that he had been 
 in no employment before, and could therefore 
 produce no testimonials as to character or fitness. 
 On his own showing, there was nothing special 
 he could do ; though he had bought a little 
 treatise on book-keeping, and occasionally studied 
 it in the evenings. As he walked about the 
 streets and observed how all the people around 
 him seemed to be fully occupied, and busy and 
 contented, it occurred to him as strange that 
 they should all have fallen into these grooves 
 so naturally. He looked at the clerk giving 
 out tickets at a railway station, and thought he 
 could do that also. Perhaps the business of the 
 young men who every morning were to be seen 
 inside the big windows of the drapers' shops in 
 the Borough Road, decorating the place with rib- 
 bons and gowns, demanded a special knowledge 
 that he had not acquired ; but it could not be 
 difficult, for example, to be a policeman ? They 
 seemed happy enough ; good natured ; sometimes 
 even with a word of chaff for the costermonger 
 whom they ordered to move on, him and his 
 barrow.
 
 8o THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 These not very anxious experiments, and quite 
 idle speculations about the uses of various forms 
 of labour, might have gone on indefinitely but 
 for the very certain fact that Douglas's small 
 stock of money was being slowly but surely ex- 
 hausted. Slowly, it is true ; for he had wholly 
 given up tobacco ; his dinner was a roll or a 
 biscuit eaten in the street ; and as his landlady 
 charged him sixpence for each scuttleful of coals, 
 he preferred to keep himself warm on these now 
 bitterly cold evenings by tramping about out- 
 side and looking at the shops. That good 
 woman, by the way, was sorely disappointed in 
 this new lodger, out of whom she could make no 
 indirect profit ; and she had a waspish tongue. 
 John Douglas regarded her taunts almost 
 amounting to open insult with a patient and 
 mild curiosity. It was a little bit of psycho- 
 logical study, and more interesting than book- 
 keeping by double entry. Meantime, things 
 were becoming very serious ; with all his penu- 
 riousness, he had arrived at his last half- 
 sovereign.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A FELLOW-SUFFERER. 
 
 ONE night, a few minutes after nine, Douglas 
 was returning home along one of the badly-lit 
 little thoroughfares in the Borough, when he saw 
 the figure of a woman slowly subside on to the 
 pavement in front of him. She did not fall ; 
 she trembled on to her knees as it were, and 
 then lay prone near a doorstep. Well, he had 
 grown familiar with the sights of London 
 streets ; but even if the woman were drunk, as 
 he imagined, he would lift her up, until some 
 policeman came along. 
 
 He went forward. It was not a woman, but 
 a young girl of about seventeen or so, who did 
 not seem a drunken person. 
 
 l( My lass, what is the matter with ye ? " he 
 said, kneeling down to get hold of her. 
 
 " Oh, I am so ill I am so ill ! " the girl 
 moaned, apparently to herself. 
 
 He tried to raise her. She was quite white, 
 
 a
 
 82 THE PUPIL OF A U RE LI US 
 
 and almost insensible. Then she seemed to 
 come to ; she struggled up a bit, and sought to 
 support herself by the handle of the door. 
 
 "I shall be all right/' she gasped. "I am 
 quite well. Don't tell them. I am quite well 
 it was my knees that gave way " 
 
 " Where do ye live, my lass ? " said he, taking 
 hold of her arm to support her ; for he thought 
 she was going to sink to the ground again. 
 
 " Number twelve." 
 
 " In this street ? " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 11 Come, I will help ye home, then." 
 
 " No, no I " she said, in the same gasping way ; 
 " I will sit down here a few minutes. I shall be 
 all right. I I am quite well 
 
 " Ye are not going to sit down on a doorstep 
 on a night like this," he said, severely. " Come, 
 pull yourself together, my lass. If it is number 
 twelve, you have only a few yards." 
 
 He half-dragged and half-carried her along. 
 He knocked loudly at the door. There came to 
 it a tall, black-a-vised woman, who, the moment 
 she saw the girl, cried out 
 
 " Oh, Mary Ann, are you took bad again ? " 
 
 " No don't tell them," the girl said, as she
 
 A FELLOW-SUFFERER 83 
 
 staggered into the narrow "passage. " They'll 
 turn me off. They said so the last time. I shall 
 be all right. But my head is so bad." 
 
 They got her into the dingy little parlour, and 
 laid her down on the horse-hair covered couch. 
 Her hand was clasped to her head, and her whole 
 frame was shivering violently, as if with cold. 
 
 John Douglas, living that recluse life up there 
 in the north, had never before had to deal 
 directly with sickness, and he was terribly 
 anxious and alarmed. What was he to do? 
 His first wild notion, observing the violent 
 shivering, was to order hot whisky-and-water ; 
 then he thought it would be better to send for a 
 doctor. But the tall, dark woman did not seem 
 inclined to go or send for any doctor. She 
 stood regarding the girl quite apathetically. 
 
 " Poor Mary Ann ! " she said, watching her, 
 as if she were a dog in a fit. " She wasn't took 
 as bad as this before. She's been starving her- 
 self, she has, to keep her mother and her young 
 sisters ; and she can't stand all day in the shop 
 as she used to. I've seen it a-coming on." 
 
 "God bless me, woman," said Douglas, 
 angrily, "we must do something instead of 
 standing and looking at the poor lass. Cannot 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 you tell me where the nearest doctor is ? Has 
 one been attending her ? " 
 
 " Poor Mary Ann," the woman said, com- 
 posedly ; " she'll come out of it ; but it's worse 
 this time. A doctor ? She couldn't afford to 
 have a doctor, she couldn't. A doctor would be 
 bringing physic; she can't pay for physic, she 
 can't. She owes me three weeks' rent, and I 
 ain't ast for it once, not once. Thirteen hours a 
 day standing behind a counter is too much for 
 a slip of a girl like that. Poor Mary; Ann ! Is 
 your head bad, my dear ? " 
 
 Douglas made use of a phrase which is not to 
 be found anywhere in the writings of Marcus 
 Aurelius, and hurriedly left the house. He made 
 for the nearest chemist's shop, and asked the 
 youth there where he should find a doctor. The 
 youth glanced towards the back room, and said 
 Dr. Sweeney was at hand. Dr. Sweeney was 
 summoned, and appeared : a hard-headed-looking 
 youngish man, whom Douglas immediately bore 
 away with him. 
 
 The young Irish doctor did not seem much 
 concerned when he saw his patient. He seemed 
 to be familiar with such cases. He said the girl 
 must be put to bed at once. She was merely
 
 A FELLOW-SUFFERER 85 
 
 suffering from a feverish attack, on a system 
 weakened by exhaustion and fatigue. Then he 
 began to question the landlady. 
 
 The usual story. Girl in a draper's shop ; 
 mother and sisters in the country ; sends them 
 most of her earnings ; probably does not take 
 enough (food ; long hours ; constant standing ; 
 drinking tea to stave off hunger ; and so forth. 
 Douglas listened in silence. 
 
 "And when she recovers from this attack, 
 slight or severe," he said at length, " what would 
 restore that young lass to a proper state of 
 health ? can ye say that, doctor ? " 
 
 " I can say it easily," said the young Irishman, 
 with a 'sarcastic smile. " I can prescribe the 
 remedies ; and there are plenty of such cases ; 
 unfortunately the patients are not in a position 
 to follow my prescriptions. I should prescribe 
 good food, and fewer hours of work, and an 
 occasional week in the country air. It is easy 
 to talk of such things." 
 
 " Ay, that is so," said Douglas, absently. 
 
 He went home. He took from his pocket the 
 biscuit, wrapped in a bit of newspaper, that he 
 had meant for his supper ; but he put it on the 
 top of a little chest of drawers, thinking it would
 
 86 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 do for his breakfast in the morning, and he 
 would save so much. Then he went to the little 
 stock of money in his locked-up bag, and found 
 there eight shillings and sixpence. He took 
 seven shillings of it, and went out again into the 
 cold night, and walked along to the house where 
 the sick girl was. 
 
 " Mistress," he said to the landlady, in his 
 slow, staid, way, " I have brought ye a little 
 money that ye may buy any small things the lass 
 may want ; it is all I can spare the now ; I will 
 call in the morning and see how she is." 
 
 " You needn't do that," said the tall woman. 
 " Poor Mary Ann she'll be at the shop." 
 
 " She shall not be at the shop ! " he said with 
 a frown. " Are ye a mad woman ? The girl is 
 ill/ 
 
 " She'll have to be at the shop, or lose her 
 place," said the landlady, with composure. 
 " There's too many young girls after situations 
 now-a-days, and they won't be bothered with 
 weakly ones."
 
 87 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A RESOLVE. 
 
 HOWEVER, as it turned out, there was to be no 
 shop for Mary Ann the next clay or for many a 
 day to come. When John Douglas called in 
 the morning, he was informed that she was 
 " delirious-like." She was imploring the doc- 
 tor who had been there an hour before not 
 to let her lose her situation. She was talking 
 about her mother and sisters in an incoherent 
 way ; also about one Pete, who appeared to have 
 gone away to Australia and never written since. 
 Douglas looked at the girl, lying there with her 
 flushed face, closed eyes, and troubled breathing, 
 unconscious of his presence, only twisting the 
 bed-clothes about with her hot hands. 
 
 " Poor Mary Ann," the landlady said contem- 
 platively. " If she dies, she'll 'ave to be buried 
 by the work'us. And if she lives, she'll be worse 
 off than ever ; for they won't take a girl with 
 cropped hair into a shop, and the fear of infection
 
 88 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 besides. She ain't got a friend in the world, she 
 ain't ; except her own people, and they're only a 
 drain on the poor thing. Poor Mary Ann ! she 
 have had a bad time of it. Perhaps it would be 
 kinder in Providence if He took her ; for who's 
 to pay for her keep if she gets through the 
 fever ? Not that I would ask to be paid for her 
 lodging ; I ain't one like that ; there's her room, 
 and welcome ; that's what I says to my husband 
 when he come home last night ; and neither him 
 nor me's afraid of fever, nor would turn out a 
 poor thing as have been took. But law ! it 
 would be months afore she'd get another place ; 
 and she ain't got nobody to look after her. " 
 
 " What have you done with the money I gave 
 you last night ? " he asked. 
 
 " There it lies, sir on the mantel-shelf. It 
 ain't for me to touch ; it is for the doctor to 
 give his orders about that money." 
 
 "Just put this eighteenpence to it, mistress, 
 and ask the doctor what the poor lass may want. 
 It is all I happen to have with me now." 
 
 Then he left ; and walked away with an 
 unusual air of determination. He was not 
 downcast because he had parted with his last 
 sixpence.
 
 A RESOLVE 89 
 
 " It is even better thus," this stern-faced man 
 was saying to himself, " for now we must face 
 facts, and get rid of speculation. Let us begin 
 at the beginning with one's ten fingers ! Poor 
 lass ! It is a dreadful place, a great city like 
 this ; it has no compassion. Surely, in the 
 country, she would not be so utterly thrown 
 down in the race. Surely, some one would say, 
 " At meal-time come thou hither and eat of the 
 bread, and dip thy morsel in the vinegar ; " and 
 would command the young men and say to them, 
 " Let her glean even among the sheaves, and 
 reproach her not. And let fall also some of the 
 handfuls of purpose for her, and leave them, 
 that she may glean them, and rebuke her not."" 
 Poor lass 1 poor lass ! Even that cadaverous- 
 jawed, Tennants'-stalk of a woman thinks it 
 would be better for her to die." 
 
 He walked quickly, his lips firm. It was a 
 miserable morning ; the noisy thoroughfares full 
 of mist and wet and mud ; drifts of sleet 
 swooping round corners ; the air raw and cold. 
 The river was scarcely visible when he crossed 
 London Bridge ; the steamers and ships were 
 like ghosts in the fog. He made his way as 
 quickly as he could through the crowded streets,
 
 go THE PUPIL OF A URELIUS 
 
 until he reached Tower Hill ; then he passed up 
 into the Minories ; there he paused in front of 
 one or two shops, in the windows of which were 
 the most miscellaneous objects old clothes, 
 waterproof leggings, tin cans, and what not. At 
 last he entered one of these places, and after 
 a great deal of haggling and argument, he 
 exchanged his coat of grey home-spun for a 
 much shabbier-looking dingy blue over-coat, that 
 appeared the kind of thing a pilot would wear. 
 To this was added a woollen comforter; there 
 was no money in the transaction. Douglas 
 wrapped the comforter round his neck there 
 and then, and put on the coat ; w r hen he stepped 
 out again into the mud and snow and murky 
 atmosphere, his appearance was much more 
 reconcilable with the neighbourhood. 
 
 Still walking quickly, he went down to the 
 London and St. Katherine Docks, passing under 
 the shadow of the gaunt walls ; and then along 
 that dismal thoroughfare, Nightingale Lane, 
 that looks like a passage between two great 
 prisons ; until at last, with moderate pace, and 
 with a certain anxious, nervous look, as if he did 
 not wish himself to be seen, he arrived at the 
 entrance to a space at the corner of the London
 
 A RESOLVE 91 
 
 Dock, which was enclosed with some rusted iron 
 railings, and partially roofed over. 
 
 In this shed, shivering in the cold, and 
 occasionally moving so as to avoid the whirling 
 of the sleet, stood a number of most miserable 
 looking wretches, men and lads. John Douglas 
 knew very well who these were, and what they 
 were there for. Here, so far as he had learned, 
 was the only place in London where a starving 
 creature could get work, without a character or 
 qualification of any kind. Hither came those 
 who, through drink, or idleness, or sheer mis- 
 fortune, had got right down to the foot of 
 the social ladder ; waiting patiently in the dim 
 hope that some extra pressure of work inside 
 would occur to give them an hour or two's 
 employment. Well, he did not hesitate long. 
 He seized a moment when the attention of these 
 poor devils had been attracted by some sound to 
 the other side of the grating (where the foreman 
 was expected to appear), and glided in among 
 the group, hoping to be unperceived. 
 
 But what sharp eyes hunger makes ! They 
 had no sooner turned hopelessly away again, 
 than every man and lad of them caught sight of 
 the stranger. They did not resent his intru-
 
 92 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 sion. They regarded ihim with curiosity, and 
 with apathy. He looked well-to-do for that kind 
 of work. Perhaps if he were one of the lucky 
 ones, he would stand a pot of beer on coming 
 out in the afternoon. 
 
 But to their great astonishment, they were all 
 to be lucky ones that morning. The foreman 
 appeared, ran his eye over the group, and 
 engaged the whole of them for the day, all 
 except one dazed, drunken-looking tatterdemalion 
 of- sixty or so, whom he warned off by name. 
 Almost before he knew where he was, John 
 Douglas found himself at work in the docks, at 
 fivepence an hour.
 
 ( 93 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TREASURE TROVE. 
 
 THE work was very easy, it seemed to him. 
 What it might be in the warehouses he knew 
 not ; but here his business was simply to haul a 
 small and light truck, carrying two boxes of 
 oranges, from the unloading steamer along the 
 side of the basin to the barge which was receiv- 
 ing them. The work was light, and there were 
 pauses ; moreover, the snow had ceased, and the 
 surroundings the ships and barges and what 
 not were picturesque enough ; the scent of the 
 oranges was pleasant. And his companions, 
 these poor wrecks of humanity who had drifted 
 into this curious, quiet little pool, were in the 
 main good-humoured, though most of them 
 seemed too depressed to speak much. Of course 
 they instantly called him " Scottie." Scottie 
 got through his short day's work with satisfac- 
 tion ; and when at four o'clock the great bell be- 
 gan to toll, and when his wages, two shillings
 
 91 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 and a penny, were paid him, and when he set 
 out for the gate, he was much contented, and was 
 considering that, if he did his work diligently 
 and respectfully and in silence, it was not at all 
 unlikely that the foreman would take him on as a 
 regular hand, at four-and-twenty shillings a week. 
 
 He was thus thinking, and he had got almost 
 to the gate, when something ahead of him occur- 
 red that made him shrink back with a look of 
 dismay in his face. He saw that each man as 
 he passed through the portal held up his arms, 
 while one of the gatekeepers passed his hands 
 over his clothes. They were being searched. 
 Douglas stood still ; his whole spirit in angry 
 revolt. He would rather give up his day's wage, 
 the coat off his back, the cap from his head 
 anything than have to go through this shameful 
 ordeal. He looked back : could he not get out 
 by the wicket at which he entered, at the other 
 end of the docks ? 
 
 " Come on, Scottie ; you ain't been priggin' 
 oranges, eh ? " said one of his mates, laughing at 
 him. 
 
 Now it was quite clear that this searching of 
 the outgoing labourers was in most cases merely 
 formal ; but when the gatekeepers saw this man
 
 TREASURE TROVE 95 
 
 hanging back, they naturally concluded he had 
 been stealing. They called to him. to come 
 along. He hesitated no longer. With a grim 
 air he advanced and held up his arms in the 
 usual way. He would betray no shame. Doubt- 
 less it was a necessary precaution. And as he 
 had stolen nothing, they could not hurt him by 
 merely suspecting him. 
 
 But this gatekeeper's inspection was minute ; 
 and when he came to some slight protuberance 
 on the breast of the coat, which, indeed, Douglas 
 himself had not noticed, he demanded to know 
 what it was. Nay, -he had the coat taken off. 
 On examination, a part of the lining of the coat 
 was found to have been cut open and carefully 
 sewn together again. 
 
 " Took all that trouble ? " said the gatekeeper, 
 glancing at him. 
 
 " I did not know there was any pocket there," 
 said Douglas, hurriedly ; " I got the coat only 
 this morning." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said the other, with a slight 
 derisive laugh. " I shouldn't wonder if we found 
 some tobacco all the same." 
 
 The lining was ripped open, in the presence 
 of the little crowd of labourers, carmen, steve-
 
 96 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 dores, and so forth, who, seeing something 
 unusual going on, had collected. Douglas cer- 
 tainly looked very guilty. His face was burning 
 red ; and the natural sternness of his features 
 made him look as if he were angry at being 
 detected. But, on the other hand, the expression 
 on the face of the big yellow-bearded gatekeeper 
 changed very suddenly, when he took from inside 
 the lining a little oblong parchment bag, flat 
 and dirty, and opened it, and drew out a thin 
 packet of what turned out to be Bank of Eng- 
 land notes. Not many, it is true ; but a marvel 
 all the same. The gatekeeper glanced at the 
 culprit again, and said good-humouredly, 
 
 " Bought that coat this morning ? Then you're 
 in luck's way, my man, that's all I can say. 
 We don't keep them kind o' goods in our ware- 
 houses. There ye are." 
 
 He once more examined the dirty little parch- 
 ment bag all over ; there was no scrap of writing 
 on it, or on any of the notes. 
 
 " There ye are," he said, giving him back both 
 the coat and the valuable package. " There's 
 some as would advertise in the papers about that 
 money ; and there's some as would go to Scot- 
 land Yard, and expect to get something ; and
 
 TREASURE TROVE 97 
 
 there's some,' seem' as there's no writin', as would 
 stick to it, and set up a shop. Where did you 
 buy the coat, my man ? " 
 
 "At an outfitter's in the Minories it was an 
 exchange for my own," said Douglas hastily ; he 
 was anxious above all things, money or no 
 money, to get away from this crowd of curious 
 faces. 
 
 " An outfitter ! yes, it's a fine name. Any- 
 how, the money don't belong to him. Most 
 likely, now, that coat belonged to some seafaring 
 man as got drowned, and the poor chap's things 
 sold. Pass on there, my lads I " 
 
 Douglas escaped from the crowd, and got 
 away. He was greatly bewildered and excited ; 
 not often in his life had he come through so 
 much in so short a time. He walked hard, and 
 did not stop until he sat down in his own little 
 room, in the cold and dark. 
 
 Hour after hour he sat there, himself fighting 
 with himself ; or rather his consciousness of what 
 was right fighting with his great desire to do 
 something to help that luckless child, lying there 
 a few streets further off, friendless, poverty- 
 stricken, fever- stricken, with the most hopeless 
 of futures before her. He argued with himself 
 
 H
 
 98 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 that no doubt the gatekeeper's guess was correct ; 
 the money had belonged to some sailor or pilot, 
 who had been drowned, and his personal effects, 
 whether found on his dead body, or perhaps in 
 the hold of a derelict, sold. Certainly these 
 notes did not belong to the old-clothes' man in 
 the Minories. It almost seemed as if a special 
 act of Providence had placed this money at his 
 disposal to succour this helpless one in her sick- 
 ness, and support and strengthen her in her 
 convalescence. As for himself, he never dreamed 
 of touching it for his own uses. He had found 
 out at last one way of earning his own living. 
 But even if he were to be permanently employed, 
 at twenty-four shillings a week, how could he save 
 enough out of that to give this girl generous 
 nourishment, and a little wine, and country air, 
 when she should get well enough again ? In the 
 meantime, were her mother and sisters to starve ? 
 And it never occurred to him to ask why he 
 should take this sudden interest in this stranger 
 girl or in her family. The fact was, he had 
 never before been confronted with so clear a case 
 of hardship and distress. The solitariness, the 
 helplessness of the child appealed to him : it was 
 as if he had seen a wren threatened by a hawk,
 
 TREASURE TROVE 99 
 
 or a rabbit seized by a weasel. He could not 
 help interfering, and doing his utmost. 
 
 And how could this money of a dead and 
 unknown man be put to a better use ? Was he 
 to go and bury it in Scotland Yard ? Was he to 
 advertise for a crowd of impostors to claim it ? 
 He lit the gas and examined the notes. There 
 were seven 35 a fortune ! He saw the girl 
 in a little cottage, the window open to let the 
 first of the spring air into the room, she lying 
 well wrapped up on a couch, a few wild-flowers 
 on the table, daffodils and primroses from the 
 woods, pink-tipped daisies from the banks, the 
 red dead-nettle from the hedge-rows, and perhaps 
 herself, to please him, and out of gratitude as it 
 were, reading some of Tannahill's songs, 'London's 
 bonnie woods and braes,' ' Langsyne, beside the 
 woodland burn,' ' Keen blows the wind o'er the 
 Braes o' Gleniffer,' ' We'll meet beside the dusky 
 glen on yon burn side/ Poor child ! she had pro- 
 bably seen but little of the country during her 
 hard life. Would she be surprised when all the 
 hawthorn came out, and the lanes were scented ? 
 Perhaps he would be able to teach her a little of 
 the beauty of simple things, and remove from 
 her mind the poor ideas about what is great and 
 
 H 2
 
 ioo THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 admirable and desirable begotten in a large city. 
 ' Consider the lilies, how they grow ; they toil 
 not, they spin not ; and yet I say unto you that 
 Solomon, in alLhis glory, was not arrayed like 
 one of these.' No doubt her notion of what was 
 most beautiful and desirable in the world was to 
 be dressed in satin, and driving in a coach with 
 powdered footmen behind, to a Koyal Drawing- 
 room. 
 
 All this was so specious and plausible. The 
 money lying there seemed to belong to him more 
 than to any other. And what good might be 
 done with it ! Even if the real owner were alive, 
 surely he would assent. Thirty-five pounds : 
 ten pounds to be put into a savings bank in her 
 name ; the rest to clear off the doctor's bill, give 
 a weekly allowance to her people, and enable her 
 to get a couple of months, or even more, with'strict 
 economy, in the country, before returning to the 
 hard, dull work of London. 
 
 " I did not know," he said aloud, in his slow, 
 deliberate Scotch way, " that money could have 
 such value." 
 
 By-and-by he rose, put the notes into the bag 
 again, and that in his pocket ; then he turned 
 off the gas and went out, thinking he would
 
 TREASURE TROVE 101 
 
 walk round and see how the girl was getting on. 
 That is to say, he tried to make himself believe 
 that that was all there was in his mind ; but he 
 knew very well that there was ^something else. 
 There was a haunting, uneasy consciousness. 
 Suddenly, at the 'corner of the street, instead of 
 turning eastward as he should have done, he 
 abruptly turned in the other direction, and began 
 to walk quickly. " The money is not mine ; I 
 will have none of it," was his ultimate and fixed 
 decision. " No dreams, man ; no temptation. 
 The first step to perdition is no doubt smooth 
 enough. If I can do the lass a good turn, it 
 must be with my own money." 
 
 He walked to Scotland Yard, finding it without 
 difficulty, for he knew all the familiar features 
 of London on the map ; and there he told his 
 story, and delivered up the money, and left his 
 address. He departed with a light heart. Nay, 
 when he had crossed Westminster Bridge again, 
 he looked out for a poor-looking coffee house, 
 and went in and had some coffee and a roll, and 
 thought he never had enjoyed any dinner more. 
 He looked at the evening paper, too, and then 
 went out again into the wet streets, and 
 continued his way. He was further cheered by
 
 102 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 hearing that the sick girl, though still feverish 
 and perfectly weak and prostrate, had not, in the 
 doctor's opinion, caught any serious malady, and 
 only wanted time and care, and afterwards some 
 better nourishment, to bring her round.
 
 ' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE END OF THE EPISODE. 
 
 So with courage and patience, and with a final 
 gulp about that searching business, he returned 
 to his work at the docks, and very soon got 
 engaged as a permanent hand. He was a favour- 
 ite with the foremen, for he was industrious and 
 minded his own business ; but he was greatly 
 disliked by his companions. They would not 
 believe, and he was at no pains to convince them, 
 that he had not kept the found money ; and 
 they had expected him, if ever he returned to 
 the docks, to stand treat liberally. They were 
 angry at Scottie's stinginess, and took to taunt- 
 ing him. These casual jeers he heeded no more 
 than the idle wind ; they could not hurt. 
 
 His savings slowly increased, his only serious 
 expenditure being his weekly rent. When, each 
 morning at twelve o'clock, the great bell rang in 
 the docks, and the men and women came in
 
 104 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 with their baskets and barrows, his dinner con- 
 sisted of a couple of penny sausage -rolls (" bags 
 of mystery," his mates called them), and these 
 were really quite fresh and clean and wholesome- 
 looking. In the afternoon or evening, he gener- 
 ally went round to the house where the girl, 
 Mary Ann Ellis, was now so far recovered that 
 she could sit propped up in bed for an hour or 
 so ; and he would have a chat with her and 
 her landlady, and a cup of tea, with bread 
 and butter for which he privately paid. He 
 found this girl interesting, simple, and intensely 
 grateful, but ignorant to a degree that he had 
 not thought possible in a human being capable 
 of reading. In one respect this was lucky, for 
 she believed any nonsense he told her ; and the 
 quite imaginary associations of ladies and gentle- 
 men for the dispensing of needful charity re- 
 ceived her most earnest thanks for those little 
 sums that were sent to her mother, or that 
 enabled her to pay off her doctor's weekly 
 bill. 
 
 One day John Douglas was leaving the docks as 
 usual, when he was overtaken by a tall and hand- 
 some young fellow, whom he knew to be con- 
 nected with the Customs department.
 
 THE END OF THE EPISODE 105 
 
 " I say, aren't you the man that found a lot of 
 money ? " 
 
 Douglas had grown sulky, or rather suspicious 
 of foolery, and was inclined to keep his own 
 counsel. But the accent of this stranger went 
 straight to his heart ; he had not heard the 
 Scotch way of speaking for many a day. So 
 he turned and regarded the young man, and 
 frankly told him what he had done with the 
 money. This led to further questions, for 
 the young man's curiosity was aroused. It 
 was the City of Glasgow Bank, then ? But why 
 take to such work as this ? Couldn't he get 
 into some office ? Did he know a little of 
 book-keeping ? 
 
 The upshot of all this was that, about a week 
 after, John Douglas found himself installed as 
 clerk at a tall desk in the back-room of a co- 
 operative store connected with the docks, at a 
 salary of two pounds a week ; and the first and 
 immediate result of this was that the mysterious 
 charitable associations of which he was appar- 
 ently the agent, commissioned him to inform 
 Mary Ann Ellis that she need not try to get any 
 situation for at least two months' time, because 
 fourteen shillings a week would be paid to her
 
 106 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 during that period, to enable her to get tho* 
 roughly well again. 
 
 John Douglas grew to be a proud man. He was 
 proud of having paid off that five pounds, and 
 standing free of all the world ; he was proud of 
 his gradually-increasing account at the Govern- 
 ment Savings Bank as a guarantee against future 
 ill ; but he was proudest of all of his patient, 
 whose convalescence he in a measure attributed 
 to himself. The days were longer now, and the 
 weather fine ; on the clear evenings, or Satur- 
 day afternoons, these two would get into an 
 omnibus, and go away out to Camberwell Green, 
 or Kennington Park, or Clapham Common, and 
 sit on a bench, and watch the young folks enjoy- 
 ing their sports and diversions. He was better 
 dressed now, and she had got into the way of 
 calling him " Sir." He told her a great deal 
 about Scotland, and the mountains, and the 
 glens with the birch- trees and water-falls ; but 
 he always got into a difficulty when he came to 
 the sea, which she had never seen. She could 
 not understand that. 
 
 " Now, lassie, look at that piece of water there," 
 he would say to her, at the pond on Clapham 
 Common. " Cannot you imagine its going out
 
 THE END OF THE EPISODE 107 
 
 and out until it gets far beyond the trees and 
 houses yonder, until it gets beyond everything, 
 and meets the sky ? " 
 
 " I see what you mean, sir," she would say ; 
 " but I can't understand it : for I can't help 
 thinking, if there was nothing on the other side 
 to hold it up, it must tumble down. How can 
 water hold itself up in the air ? " 
 
 " Dear, dear me, lass ! " he would say 
 impatiently, " have I not explained to ye how 
 everything in the world, land and hills and 
 everything, is held together ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but water shifts so," she would 
 say ; and he would take to something else. 
 
 The two months went by, and she got strongei 
 and stronger, though sometimes she grew a little 
 anxious about her chances of getting another 
 situation. During this constant companionship, 
 he had become much attached in a compassionate 
 sort of fashion to this child whom chance had 
 thrown in his way. He could see her good 
 points, and her weak ones. She was of a kindly 
 disposition ; truthful, he thought ; with no very 
 distinct religion, but she had a general desire to 
 be good ; simple and frugal in her ways of living, 
 though this was a necessity, and she had no
 
 io8 THE PUPIL OF AURELIUS 
 
 idea of frugality being in itself a virtue. On the 
 other hand, her views as to what was most to be 
 desired in life were simply the result of the 
 atmosphere in which she had lived ; and she 
 confessed to him that the most beautiful thing 
 she had ever seen was the arrivals at a Mansion 
 House ball the coloured stair-cloth, the beauti- 
 ful ladies, the brilliant uniforms. Her know- 
 ledge of politics was entirely derived from the 
 cartoons of the comic journals in the shop 
 windows ; and she had any quantity of vague and 
 vulgar prejudices about Catholics, Eadicals and 
 Jews. But this patient listener, who seemed 
 interested in her foolish little opinions, was a 
 largely tolerant man. Such things were ; let 
 us make the best of them, that was what he 
 seemed to say. And as all the phenomena of the 
 universe appeared to him to be worthy of respect- 
 ful attention even if one did not go the length 
 of vexing one's self about any one of them he 
 was willing to learn that, in the opinion of this 
 profound observer, the Catholic priests were bad 
 men, who would let you do anything that was 
 wrong if only you paid them enough money for 
 absolution. 
 
 One evening, when he went round as usual, he
 
 THE END OF THE EPISODE 109 
 
 found Mary Ann in great excitement ; she had 
 evidently been crying, and now she was laughing 
 in a half-crying w^y. 
 
 " What is the matter, lassie ? " said he severely, 
 for he did not like " scenes." 
 
 " Oh, sir, Pete has written at last at last ! " 
 she said, crying all the more, but in a glad sort 
 of way, and looking again at the letter she held 
 in her two hands. 
 
 " But who is Pete ? " 
 
 " My sweetheart, sir ; I never said anything 
 about him I thought he had forgotten us but 
 now he says he wouldn't write until he had good 
 news, and now there is good news enough, oh 
 yes, there is ! there is ! For he has got a good 
 place, and good prospects and here is money to 
 take me out and my mother and sisters, too all 
 except fifteen pounds, Pete says, and that he'll 
 send in three months' time. Oh, sir ! you don't 
 know what a good fellow Pete is ! " 
 
 John Douglas sat down. His heart felt a little 
 heavy ; he scarcely knew why. But he began to 
 ask a few questions, in a slow matter-of-fact way ; 
 and he did not remain long. He saw that the 
 girl wanted to read and re-read the good news to 
 herself, and draw pictures of all that was coming.
 
 no THE PUPIL OF A URELIUS 
 
 The next afternoon Mary Ann got a note from 
 him, with an enclosure. Thus it ran : 
 
 "Dear Child, You need^iot wait through 
 three months of uncertainty. I enclose for 
 you what will make up the passage-money, 
 and also pay the expenses of your mother and 
 sisters' coming to London. Accept this quietly 
 and sensibly, and do not make any fuss about 
 it, nor when I see you. I shall be busy this 
 evening and may not call. 
 
 " Your friend, 
 
 "JOHN DOUGLAS." 
 
 But all the same Mary Ann came round 
 quickly, and with her the tall, gaunt, dark, 
 composed landlady ; and there was a great scene, 
 Mary Ann crying and accusing herself of unheard- 
 of stupidity for not having guessed that he all 
 along had been her benefactor ; and he, on the 
 other hand, sternly bidding her hold her peace 
 and not talk foolishness. 
 
 " Ye did me a great service, ye foolish lass,*' 
 he said ; "ye made me take to actual work when 
 I was merely idling and loitering about. Ye 
 gave me an object to work for, and pleasant 
 companionship for a space, and now, if I must
 
 THE END OF THE EPISODE in 
 
 find something else, that is as it has been 
 ordered ; and I maun bide my time." 
 
 A few days afterwards he saw the mother 
 when she arrived a poor, limp sort of creature 
 and the two bewildered little girls. He could 
 not, because of office work, go with them, as he 
 had wished, to Southampton ; but he accom- 
 panied them to the railway station, early in the 
 morning, and bade them farewell. And as he 
 turned away, he said to himself: 
 
 " These poor creatures I shall doubtless see no 
 more in this world ; but they will have a little 
 regard for me, perhaps, while they live, and that 
 is something. And now I will consider myself free 
 to spend a trifle of money on myself, when I get it 
 saved again ; and I will use it during the holidays 
 they speak of to take a trip back home again, 
 and see the old place, and that the graves of my 
 people are taken care of. And I may be able 
 to make dispositions, too, so that when I am 
 taken I may be placed there also ; for it is but 
 natural that one should wish to rest among 
 one's own."
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE 
 SHAKSPEARE.
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE 
 SHAKSPEAEE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE DOCTOR DREAMS. 
 
 ON the 24th of December last year Dr. Maurice 
 Daniel left his home in Brompton, London, 
 for his accustomed after-breakfast stroll. First 
 of all he walked down to Chelsea Bridge, and 
 had a look at the grey river, the grey skies, and 
 the grey shadows of London in the distance. 
 Then he wandered on until he found himself at 
 Victoria Station. Apparently having no busi- 
 ness to do there or any where else for the mat- 
 ter of that he turned, and proceeded to make 
 the best of his way back to his own house. 
 
 Now it happened that he strayed into a some- 
 what narrow and dingy street, the narrowness 
 and dinginess of which he did not perceive, for 
 his mind was occupied with his familiar hobby, 
 
 I 2
 
 n6 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 which was phrenology. This hale old gentleman 
 of sixty-five had himself some notion of com- 
 pleting the labours of Gall and Spurzheim, and 
 had already collected some variety of materials 
 in his odd little hermitage at Brompton. He 
 was thinking of all these things in a somewhat 
 absent way, when his attention was suddenly 
 drawn to a small shop in this gloomy thorough- 
 fare through which he was passing. It was a 
 tailor's shop. There were no signs of a large 
 trade in the place ; in fact, one could only tell 
 that it was a tailor's shop because the tailor him- 
 self was visible through the dirty window, seated 
 on a board, and industriously plying needle 
 and thread. It was the appearance of this man 
 that had startled Dr. Daniel out of his reverie. 
 The tailor bore an extraordinary resemblance to 
 the Droeshout portrait of Shakspeare, insomuch, 
 that the old gentleman outside could only stand 
 and stare at him. There were points of differ- 
 ence, of course. The head was narrower than 
 Shakspeare's, but the forehead was quite as lofty. 
 The hair was red. What the tailor's eyes were 
 he could not see, for they were fixed on his 
 work ; but they were probably light blue. 
 
 "Comparison and causality enormous," the
 
 old Doctor said to himself. " Hope and wonder 
 also large. Number and time deficient. Lan- 
 guage, I fear, not much to speak of. But what 
 a head what a brain ! Fifty-five ounces, I will 
 take my oath six ounces over the average of the 
 European male. Why, Lord Campbell had only 
 fifty-three ; and then the splendid possibilities 
 that lie in the difference ! What is Bain's phrase ? 
 that " while the size of brain increases in arith- 
 metical proportion, intellectual range increases 
 in geometrical proportion." Here is a man with 
 brain-power sufficient to alter the history of a 
 nation." 
 
 The old Doctor walked on, dreaming harder 
 than ever. And now there arose in his mind a 
 project, of which the origin was two-fold. The 
 night before he had been reading in his bachelor 
 study a heap of Christmas literature, that had 
 been sent him by his sister, an old maiden lady., 
 who lived mostly at Bath, and who took this 
 means of marking her friendly sentiments toward 
 her brother. She was not a sentimental old lady, 
 but she was correct and methodical in her ways, 
 and believing that Christmas literature was 
 proper at Christmas, she had despatched to her 
 brother a fairly large quantity of it. Having
 
 nS THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 received the gift, lie was bound to make use of 
 it ; so he sat down after dinner by his study fire 
 and pored over the stories, old and new, that she 
 had sent. He began to feel that he ought to do 
 something for Christmas. He did not wish to be 
 classed among those persons who, in the stories, 
 were described as sordid, mean, black-hearted, 
 generally villainous because they were indiffer- 
 ent about Christmas, or unable to weep over it. 
 Moreover, Dr. Daniel was really an amiable old 
 gentleman, and some of the stories of charity 
 touched him. He was determined that nobody 
 should say he was a Mr. Scrooge, if only he had 
 an opportunity of doing anybody a good turn. 
 
 Now, as he walked home to Brompton this 
 forenoon, that vague desire of doing some bene- 
 volent deed co-operated with his deep-lying in- 
 terest in phrenology to lead him to a daring 
 resolve. Although not a very wealthy man he 
 was pretty well off, and always had sufficient 
 funds in hand for an exceptional call. He would 
 now, he said, try what could be done with this 
 poor tailor. He would give to that splendid 
 brain its opportunity. Who could tell how 
 many village Hampdens and mute inglorious 
 Miltons had not been lost to this country simply
 
 THE DOCTOR DREAMS 119 
 
 because we had no sufficient system of national 
 education, by which the chance of declaring him- 
 self was elsewhere given to any capable youth ? 
 There could be little doubt but that the tailor 
 was a victim to this lack of early instruction. In 
 making his acquaintance, in becoming his patron, 
 in placing before him opportunities of acquiring 
 the power of expression, a good deed would be 
 done to the poor man in any case, while there 
 was also the beautiful and captivating hope that 
 in course of time a great genius would reveal 
 himself to his country, all through the kindly 
 ministrations of a philosopher who should be 
 nameless. 
 
 Inspired by this hope to overcome his natural 
 shyness and timidity, Dr. Daniel came out again 
 in the afternoon, and made his way down to the 
 tailor's shop. The man still sat there more 
 ignoble drudgery could not be imagined. The 
 Doctor entered. 
 
 " I did not observe your name over the door ? " 
 said he, hesitatingly, to the tailor, who had 
 turned quickly round, and was staring at him 
 with a pair of small, piercing, light blue eyes. 
 
 " Tis Gearge O'Leary, Sor, " said the tailor, 
 looking rather afraid.
 
 120 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 The Doctor's hopes were slightly dashed : the 
 man was an Irishman. But then, he instantly 
 reflected, Ireland had not yet produced her 
 Shakspeare ; perhaps this was he. 
 
 " An Irishman, I presume ? " 
 
 " Yis, Sor," said the tailor, somewhat recover- 
 ing from his astonishment, and proceeding to 
 get down from the board. " Is there anny thing, 
 now, that " 
 
 " Oh yes, " cried the old Doctor, immensely 
 relieved to find a subterfuge suggested to him. 
 " I wanted to see if you would repair some things 
 for me. Dear, dear me, and so you are an 
 Irishman I I am sure I don't know what I wish 
 done to them. Could you call this evening on 
 me, about half-past eight ? Oh I don't wish you 
 to work to-morrow far from it ; but I should 
 like to have the things taken away. Could you 
 oblige me, Mr. O'Leary, by calling yourself? " 
 
 That evening Mr. O'Leary, wearing an elegant 
 black frock-coat, and a beautiful bright green 
 neck-tie, was shown into the Doctor's study, where 
 the old gentleman was seated by the fire, with a 
 decanter of port and a couple of wine-glasses on 
 the table. 
 
 "Now, Mr. O'Leary," said this cunning old
 
 THE DOCTOR DREAMS 121 
 
 gentleman, with a fine affectation of manner, " I 
 have my ways, you know, and I never do busi- 
 ness with any man without having a glass of 
 wine over it. Sit down and help yourself. 
 'Twas my grandfather left me that ; you needn't 
 be afraid of it. And how long have you been a 
 tailor, Mr. O'Leary ? " 
 
 " Is it how long I have been a tailor, Sor ? " 
 said Mr. O'Leary, helping himself to the port, and 
 taking care to have the glass pretty well filled ; 
 " why, Sor, since ever I could spake, barrin' the 
 five years I was in the army, until me father 
 bought me out." 
 
 " You have been in the army, too ? Don't be 
 afraid to try another glass of that port, Mr. 
 O'Leary." 
 
 " Well, sure enough, 'tis Christmas-toime, 
 Sor," said Mr. O'Leary, turning to the table right 
 willingly. 
 
 Matters having been thus satisfactorily settled, 
 the wily Doctor gradually began to get out of 
 O'Leary all the facts concerning his history 
 which he chose to tell. The Doctor's house- 
 keeper had certainly brought in a number of old 
 and shabby garments, which were flung on a 
 sofa hard by ; but the Doctor made no reference
 
 122 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 to them, while his guest seemed sufficiently 
 pleased to sit in a comfortable arm-chair, with a 
 decanter of port wine at his elbow. Perhaps it 
 was the wine that had made him a trifle garru- 
 lous ; but at all events he talked about himself 
 and his various experiences of life with a charm- 
 ing frankness. Here was a man, the Doctor 
 said to himself, of infinite observation. Cuvier, 
 with his sixty-four ounces of brain, could only 
 stow away facts about birds, beasts, and fishes ; 
 here was a man, with probably nine ounces less, 
 who had stored up invaluable experiences of 
 mankind, their habits, customs, and humorous 
 ways. O'Leary was as much at home among 
 the fishermen of his native village, as among the 
 democratic tailors of London. At one time he 
 was describing his life in the army, at another 
 telling how he had served as a gamekeeper when 
 trade was bad. The more loosely his tongue 
 wagged, the more daring became his epithets ; 
 but the Doctor was aware that Shakspeare him- 
 self had not always been cautious in his language. 
 But when O'Leary came to describe his present 
 circumstances, he grew less buoyant. Affairs 
 were not going well with him. He could barely 
 screw the rent of that humble shop out of hia
 
 THE DOCTOR DREAMS 123 
 
 earnings. And then, with some shyness, he 
 admitted the existence of a young woman who 
 had a great interest in his welfare, and he said 
 he thought they would never be able to get 
 married if his small business did not improve. 
 
 " Ah, you have a sweetheart," said Dr. Daniel 
 slyly. " I dare say, now, Mr. O'Leary, you have 
 written some bits of poetry about her, haven't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Is it poethry ? " said O'Leary, with a loud 
 laugh ; " 'tis a mighty quare sort o' poethry, 
 Sor, an' no mistake ; but, oh yes, Sor, I've sent 
 her many's the bit o' poethry, and 'tis very fond 
 of it she is, Sor." 
 
 The old Doctor's face gleamed with delight ; 
 step by step the whole affair was marching on 
 well. His fairest hopes were being realized. 
 
 " I have a great interest in literary matters, 
 Mr. O'Leary, and I should like to see some of 
 your poetry, but I fear I could not ask you to 
 show me any of the verses you have sent to your 
 sweetheart. Is there no other subject, now, that 
 you have thought of trying? A man of your 
 quick observation ought to aim at something 
 better than sewing clothes. Do I speak too 
 plainly ? "
 
 124 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 " Divil a bit," said Mr. O'Leary frankly. 
 
 "And, to tell you the truth, I should be glad 
 to do anything in the way of helping you that I 
 could. I don't say give up your trade at once ; 
 that is a dangerous step. To attain eminence in 
 literature you require long and careful prepa- 
 ration a wide experience that is only to be 
 gained by diligent study of men in all walks of 
 life a freedom of expression only to be acquired 
 by practice. And these things, Mr. O'Leary, are 
 only the railway lines. The brain is the engine. 
 You have got a good head." 
 
 " There's many a stick has been broken by 
 coming against it, Sor," said O'Leary modestly. 
 
 " I do not wish to raise false hopes," continued 
 the Doctor, feeling it his duty to express a doubt 
 which he did not himself entertain for a moment ; 
 " but this I may say, that I am interested in 
 you, and am willing to help you if I can. You 
 may take these clothes, Mr. O'Leary, and look 
 over them at your convenience. I am in no 
 hurry for them. But if within the next few 
 days you care to write a few verses, just to give 
 one a notion of the bent of your mind and of 
 your faculty of expression, I should be glad 
 to see them."
 
 THE DOCTOR DREAMS 125 
 
 " About what, Sor ? " 
 
 "Anything, anything," said the Doctor. 
 " Obey the free impulse of your own imagination. 
 By the time you see me again, I shall be able to 
 tell you more definitely what I propose to do for 
 you ; but in the meantime I think you ought to 
 keep the matter to yourself. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 " Indeed I do, Sor," said Mr. O'Leary, getting 
 up, and discovering that either the port-wine or 
 the Doctor's plan had rather confused his head. 
 However, he got the clothes together, thanked 
 the Doctor most profusely, and left. 
 
 That night Dr. Daniel went to bed as happy 
 as a man could be, and all night long he dreamed 
 of brilliant receptions, of public meetings, of 
 Queen's drawing-rooms, and more than all of his 
 own great pride and glory in introducing to the 
 world a new Shakspeare.
 
 126 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FIRST TRIAL. 
 
 THREE days thereafter the Doctor received a 
 letter, and as he opened it an inclosure dropped 
 out. It contained Mr. O'Leary's first experi- 
 ments in professional verse-writing. The Doctor 
 seized it with avidity, and would have read it 
 forthwith, but, being a methodical man, he 
 placed it on the table, and read the letter 
 first. 
 
 Mr. O'Leary was a bad penman ; it was with 
 much difficulty that the old gentleman could 
 make out the sense of the rambling lines. But 
 when he did so, he was pleased. O'Leary con- 
 fessed that he had not the impudence to bring 
 his verses personally to the Doctor. He knew 
 they were worthless. He was ashamed of them ; 
 he even fancied he could do better. And then 
 he added something about the condition of the 
 Doctor's coats and trousers.
 
 THE FIRST TRIAL 127 
 
 Here is the first composition, which the Doctor 
 now proceeded to read, with some necessary 
 alterations in Mr. O'Leary's spelling : 
 
 "The moon was clear, the stars were white, 
 
 The wind blew over the sea, 
 When Mary left her cottage home 
 To go on board with me. 
 
 " Alas ! the ship was going fast, 
 
 The storm did rage and roar, 
 
 And Mary stood upon the deck 
 
 And look'd back to the shore. 
 
 " The moon was cover'd with the dark, 
 
 The wind did blow aloud ; 
 She struck a rock and straight went o'er 
 And all on board were drown'd." 
 
 " The poetry of the simple and uncultured 
 mind," said the Doctor to himself, "naturally 
 takes the lyrical form. Nations begin with 
 Chevy Chase and end with Hamlet. In this 
 artless composition the chief feature is its sim- 
 plicity and directness of phrase. The stars are 
 white ; the ship goes fast ; the girl, the central 
 figure, stands upon the deck and looks back to 
 the shore. It appears to me that there is genu- 
 ine poetic sentiment in this very reticence of 
 phrase, and in the stern sincerity and conciseness 
 of the narrative. The professional critic, some
 
 n8 THE At AN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 disappointed poetaster, would remark, of course, 
 that, ' drowrid ' does not rhyme with ' aloud ; ' 
 he would also make merry, doubtless, over the 
 fact that if all on board were drowned, the 
 narrator, being himself on board, would not have 
 lived to tell the tale. But such is the criticism 
 that stifles genius in its cradle. We cannot 
 expect to have our young poets express them- 
 selves according to their inspiration, if we pro- 
 ceed to treat them with a godless banter. What 
 I perceive in this composition of Mr. O'Leary's 
 is a most promising naturalness and simplicity, 
 coupled with a good deal of melody,especially, 
 in the first verse. Let us see what he has done 
 with his remaining effort. " 
 
 Mr. O'Leary's second composition had evi- 
 dently been written in compliance with a sugges- 
 tion of the Doctor that a true poet should deal 
 with the actual life around him that he should 
 tell us what he sees, and put into powerful 
 verse the experiences, fears, and hopes of his 
 fellows. Here it is: 
 
 "'Tis the grey of the evening in Vauxhall Road. 
 
 Alas ! what sounds do I hear ? 
 A crowd is around the public-house door; 
 It is a quarrel, I fear.
 
 THE FIRST TRIAL 129 
 
 He is drunk ; he doth lift up his hand ! 
 
 In vain the policeman doth run ! 
 Before he arrives the woman is struck down. 
 
 And all the mischief is done 1 " 
 
 The Doctor was not sure about these lines. 
 They contained, lie reasoned with himself, a 
 perfect picture of the scene which the poet had 
 attempted to describe. But there was a lack of 
 form, of method, of melody, apparent in the lines. 
 They wanted the sweet idyllic charm of the 
 verses describing Mary as she stood on the deck 
 of the ship. But was he not himself respon- 
 sible for this composition's failure ? He had 
 thoughtlessly discoursed to O'Leary about the 
 virtues of realism. He had endeavoured to guide 
 and direct the poetic instinct instead of leaving it 
 free choice. Now the bent of O'Leary's mind was 
 clearly synthetic and romantic ; he would not 
 follow in the wake of Crabbe and Wordsworth. 
 Doctor Daniel would omit further consideration 
 of the lines about the Vauxhall Road. He 
 would pin his faith to the charming ballad 
 about Mary. 
 
 He sent a message to O'Leary that he wished 
 to see him that evening. When O'Leary entered 
 the study, he was inclined to be at once bashful 
 
 K
 
 1 3 o THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 and nervous ; but his patron speedily reassured 
 him. 
 
 " You know," said he, with a smile, " you know, 
 Mr. O'Leary, I did not expect you to be able to 
 write poetry all at once. I merely wished to see 
 if you had any leaning that way ; and I must 
 honestly say that there is a good deal of promise 
 about the little ballad you sent me. Whether 
 you may develope any very special gift remains 
 to be seen, but if you care to make the experiment, 
 I shall be willing, as I told you, to help you as 
 much as I can. You must read and study the 
 great fountain-heads of poetry ; you must have 
 leisure to go about and observe all varieties of 
 men and things ; you must have your mind 
 relieved from anxiety in order to receive without 
 dictation the materials for contemplation. I 
 suppose you have a few books. Have you read 
 Shakspeare ? " 
 
 " Is it Shakspeare ?" said O'Leary doubtfully. 
 " Well, Sor, 'tis little I know av him in print, 
 but sure I've seen him in the theatre. There's 
 Macbeth, now, and the foightin' Avi' swords ; and 
 as for the Colleen Bawn, 'tis a mighty foiue piece 
 intirely. Shakspeare, Sor ? 'tis little av him I've 
 seen mesilf ; but he was a great man anny how."
 
 THE FIRST TRIAL 131 
 
 " I see I must present you with a copy of his 
 works, Mr. O'Leary. I may say, however, that 
 Shakspeare did not write the Colleen Bawn, 
 which is a modern piece, I believe. But first of 
 all I think you ought to begin and study the 
 ballad literature of our country ; then you might 
 proceed to Coleridge and Byron, and finally 
 devote yourself to Shakspeare. You should also 
 cultivate a habit of observation during your 
 leisure rambles, not confining yourself to things 
 which interest merely yourself. When you come 
 to read Shakspeare, you will find how strangely 
 he would enter into the opinions, sentiments, 
 and aspirations of an ambitious monarch, and 
 next minute how he could show himself familiar 
 with the speech and thought of some common- 
 minded peasant or justice of the peace. You 
 must widen your atmosphere. You must forget 
 Pimlico and Vauxhall Bridge Road occasionally. 
 Now, if you had next Saturday free, I would 
 myself go with you to Kew Gardens and 
 Richmond ; there you would see beautiful garden 
 scenes and the quiet beauties of the river ; while 
 at Richmond you would see some of the grand 
 houses of rich people, and observe something of 
 their ways of living."
 
 132 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 " Faix, it's mesilf would be deloighted to go 
 wid ye," said O'Leary, with a rueful expression 
 of face, "for 'tis little I'm doin' now with the 
 shop ; but little as it is, Sor " 
 
 "Don't let that stand in your way," the old 
 Doctor said generously. " I'm an old man, and 
 have few claims on me in the way of friendship 
 or benevolence. I told you I would give you an 
 opportunity of rising to something beyond the 
 sewing of clothes, useful and necessary as that 
 occupation is. Now to put your mind at rest for 
 at least this week, Mr. O'Leary, suppose I ask 
 you to accept this little sum. Why I hope you 
 don't misunderstand me ? I believed you rather 
 wished to enter into this project." 
 
 O'Leary was neither angry nor indignant ; he 
 was simply bewildered. He had received into 
 the palm of his hand five golden sovereigns, and 
 he could only stare at these in mute astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Do ye mane it, Sor ? " said he, fearing to put 
 them in his pocket. 
 
 " Dear, dear me ! it is no such great 
 matter ! " Dr. Daniel said, smiling at his com- 
 panion's perplexity. " Put the money in your 
 pocket, Mr. O'Leary. It is Christmas-time,
 
 THE FIRST TRIAL 133 
 
 you know, when the giving of little presents is 
 permissible." 
 
 " Am I to write anny more poethry, Sor ? " said 
 O'Leary, putting the sovereigns in his pocket. 
 
 " If you have any impulse that way, I should 
 be glad if you would trust to it. But in any 
 case you will call on me at ten next Saturday 
 
 morning ? 
 
 " That I will, Sor ! " said O'Leary, not quite 
 sure but that this was all a dream. 
 
 When he got outside, he went to a lamp, and 
 took out the sovereigns. Sovereigns they 
 certainly were ; and yet he was puzzled. He 
 went into a public-house and had a glass of ale, 
 in order to have one of the golden coins changed ; 
 the man gave him a heap of silver in return. He 
 came out again with a lighter heart. 
 
 " Bedad," said he to himself, " and 'tis a poet 
 I am. Me mother knew nothin' about it ; me 
 father, rest his sowl, was accustomed to bate me 
 if iwer I'd a pen in me hand. But what would 
 they say to thim blissed five gowld pieces, and 
 all for a dirthy scrap o' writin'? Oh, 'tis a moighty 
 foine thing to be a poet, an' no mistake. And 
 now 'tis to Biddy I'm goin' ; and will she 
 belave it ? "
 
 134 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A CONSPIRATOR. 
 
 Now there was not anywhere in London a 
 more amiable, simple-minded, and pious young 
 woman than Biddy Flanagan, who was the poet's 
 sweetheart. She was a domestic servant, rather 
 good-looking, with a fair, freckled face, hair 
 nearly as red as her lover's, and a brogue much 
 less pronounced than his. But when O'Leary 
 told this poor girl all the story of his adventure 
 with Dr. Daniel, her quick invention and pathetic 
 hope rather got the better of her conscience. 
 She did not tell her sweetheart that she consi- 
 dered Dr. Daniel a good-natured old maniac, but 
 she acted on that assumption. By this time, 
 be it observed, O'Leary had begun to share in 
 the Doctor's illusions or aspirations. He showed 
 Biddy copies of the verses he had written, for 
 which she professed a great admiration, though 
 she could not read them very accurately. But 
 after O'Leary had described the Doctor's project,
 
 A CONSPIRATOR 135 
 
 and shown her the four gold sovereigns and the 
 silver, and talked about the holiday at Kew, and 
 so forth, then she gave him, with an artful 
 ingenuousness, her advice. 
 
 It was this. Her sweetheart, she faintly 
 hinted, might in time turn out to be a great 
 man, and that would be a fine thing for him at 
 least. As for her, she could not expect him to 
 go out walking with her after he had been to 
 grand houses. On this, of course, O'Leary pro- 
 tested that whatever rank and wealth might fall 
 to his lot, he would never desert the girl who 
 had remained true to him so long and waited so 
 patiently for that better fortune which seemed 
 now to be approaching. Biddy, continuing, 
 gently reminded him that rich people might be 
 fickle in their patronage, and might not care to 
 wait for years to see the end of their projects. 
 O'Leary had written two poems ; the result was 
 51. Would it not be better to continue writing 
 these as rapidly as possible, so that as much 
 ready money as Dr. Daniel might be willing to 
 give could be secured at once ? And then, if 
 her sweetheart did care about getting married 
 
 The suggestion was not lost on O'Leary. 
 After all, he reflected, however great were the
 
 136 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 possibilities of the future, a little money just 
 now and a marriage with his faithful Biddy were 
 far more attractive. 
 
 " But divil the bit can I think of anny thing 
 more to write," said her sweetheart. " 'Tis a 
 moighty hard thing, the writing of poethry ; and 
 that's the truth, Biddy darling." 
 
 "Arrah, now," said Biddy impatiently, "what 
 harm would there be in taking a bit here or 
 there, just to keep up the gintleman's spirits, 
 and by-and-by 'tis many a fine bit of poethry 
 you'll give him into the bargain, when it comes 
 aisier to ye." 
 
 "There's something in that, Biddy," said 
 O'Leary, not only listening to the tempter, but 
 anxious to find reasons for agreeing with her. 
 "'Tis mesilf that knows that ye can't make a 
 pair of throwsers till ye've learned to thread the 
 needle, and sorra a bit do I know of the making 
 of poethry. But, Biddy, d'ye see, if he was to 
 come on the poethry " 
 
 " What ! " cried Biddy, " an ould gintleman 
 like that ! 'Tis not a loine of our good ould 
 Irish songs will he know ; and 'tis no chating 
 of him, Gearge dear, for you'll make it up to 
 him whin the writing of your own poethry
 
 A CONSPIRATOR 137 
 
 comes in toime. Now there's the Cruiskeen 
 Lawn " 
 
 " G-et along wid ye, Biddy 1 " said O'Leary 
 rather angrily ; " and is it a fool you'd make av 
 me ? Why, the old gentleman has been to all 
 the plays and the theatres, and isn't it out av 
 the ould songs like that that they make the 
 plays!? Sure and it's the police-office I'd foind 
 mesilf in, and not in Kew Gardens at all at all." 
 
 " There's manny more," said Biddy shrewdly, 
 not pressing the point. 
 
 O'Leary pondered over this suggestion for a 
 day or two. He did not think he would be 
 really imposing on the old gentleman by occa- 
 sionally quoting a verse from some one else as 
 his own. It was merely borrowing to be repaid 
 back with interest. At some future time, when 
 the writing of poetry had become easier to him, 
 he would confess the true authorship of these 
 verses, get them back, and offer in their stead 
 large and complete poems. 
 
 He dressed himself very smartly to call on Dr. 
 Daniel on that Saturday morning. He had even 
 gone the length of getting a tall hat an orna- 
 ment which he seldom wore, because the peculiar 
 shape of his head made it almost impossible for
 
 138 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 him to wear such a hat with safety, especially if 
 the day were windy. The Doctor was glad to 
 see him ; the morning was a pleasant one ; they 
 both set out in an amiable frame of mind. 
 
 In the railway carriage O'Leary took a piece 
 of paper from his pocket. His guilty conscience 
 revealed itself in his forehead that lofty fore- 
 head that had caused the old Doctor to dream 
 dreams. The colour that appeared in his face 
 Dr. Daniel took to be an evidence of modesty ; 
 and is not all true genius modest ? 
 
 " So you have been busy again," said his 
 Mentor, with a pleased smile. " You must not 
 write as if you wished to gratify me. It is your 
 own future of which I am thinking." 
 
 He read the lines, which were these : 
 
 "As charming as Flora 
 Is beauteous young Norah, 
 The joy of my heart 
 
 And the pride of Kildare I 
 I ne'er would deceive her, 
 For sad it would grieve her 
 To know that I sigh'd 
 
 For another less fair." 
 
 " Very pretty very pretty indeed," the Doc- 
 tor said approvingly, and O'Leary breathed 
 again. " There is much simple melody in the
 
 A CONSPIRATOR 139 
 
 verse ; and the ending of it, taking it for granted 
 that any other must be less fair than she, is 
 quaint and effective. Did you say your sweet- 
 heart's name was Norah, Mr. O'Leary ? " 
 
 " Biddy, Sor," said his companion. 
 
 " That is not quite so poetical," said the Doc- 
 tor ; and then he continued the reading : 
 
 "Where'er I may be, love, 
 I'll ne'er forget thee, love, 
 Though beauties may sinile 
 
 And try to ensnare ; 
 But ne'er will I ever 
 My heart from thine sever, 
 Dear Norah, sweet Norah, 
 The pride -of Kildare ! " 
 
 " Very good very good also," said the Doctor ; 
 " although there is just a touch of self-conscious 
 vanity you will excuse me, Mr. O'Leary in 
 the notion that beauties would endeavour to 
 ensnare the hero of the lines. But perhaps I am 
 wrong. You do not write these lines as the 
 utterance of yourself. The poem, so far as it 
 goes, is dramatic an impersonation. Now the 
 majority of men, when they are young, are vain 
 enough to believe that beauties do try to ensnare 
 them : hence the sentiment expressed by this per- 
 son is, I believe, true ; and I beg your pardon."
 
 140 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 At this point, it must be admitted, O'Leary's 
 conscience was touched. He felt that it was 
 a shame to impose on this good-natured and 
 generous old gentleman. He could almost have 
 thrown himself on his knees on the floor of the 
 carriage, and confessed that he was a scoundrel 
 and a knave. 
 
 Some recollections of Biddy, and her pretty, 
 honest, anxious face prevented him. The poor 
 girl had waited patiently for that better luck 
 which never came. The milkman had offered to 
 walk out with her, the postman had offered to 
 marry her this very Christmas, but she had 
 remained true to the hapless tailor, on whom 
 Fortune seemed resolved to send not the briefest 
 ray of her favour. And now when he saw within 
 his reach a means of bettering himself somewhat, 
 and of releasing her, from the bondage of that 
 overcrowded house in Lambeth to give her a 
 couple of rooms small, indeed, but her own 
 he tried to stifle that feeble protest of his con- 
 science. He saw Dr. Daniel fold up the paper 
 and put it in his pocket-book ; and he knew that 
 the die was at length cast. 
 
 All that day the friendly Doctor took his 
 pupil about, showing him how differently dif-
 
 A CONSPIRATOR 141 
 
 ferent people lived, pointing out the beauties of 
 the grey and wintry landscape, and talking to 
 O'Leary of how he should set about his self- 
 education. In the evening the poet dined with 
 the Doctor, much to the amazement of the old 
 housekeeper, who was indignant, but silent. At 
 night he went away with a whole armful of 
 books. 
 
 Next evening he saw Biddy, and he was in a 
 downcast mood. 
 
 " Biddy," said he, " 'tis moighty afeard I am 
 we are thieving from the good ould gintleman. 
 There is another five pounds to come to me next 
 week ; and, bedad, the mate that I'll buy with 
 it'll go near to choking me, it will." 
 
 Biddy was for a moment a little frightened ; 
 but presently she said, 
 
 " And is it you, Gearge O'Leary, that would 
 be setting yourself up as a better judge of 
 poethry than the ould gintleman, and him a 
 Doctor too ? And if it is the poethry he wants, 
 can't ye give him enough of it in toimes to come, 
 and a good pennyworth over, so there'll be no 
 repentin' of the bargain bctune ye ? And, indeed, 
 it is not another year, Gearge dear, that I could 
 stop in that house. What with the noine
 
 142 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 children, and the washin' all day, and the settin' 
 up for the masther till three in the mornin', 'tis 
 me coffin next you'll be for buying, Gearge dear, 
 and not anny wedding-ring." 
 
 O'Leary's doubts were banished for the 
 moment, but not destroyed.
 
 ( 143 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FOREBODINGS. 
 
 IT must be said for O'Leary that lie honestly 
 did his best to requite the Doctor's care. He 
 devoted every minute of his leisure time to that 
 self-education which had been recommended to 
 him ; he industriously laboured at the books 
 which had been given him. Somehow or other, 
 however, the big brain behind that splendid 
 forehead would not work. When he tried to 
 understand certain things the Doctor told him, 
 in explanation, a sort of fog appeared to float 
 before his eyes. When he tried to write verses 
 of his own composition, blankness surrounded 
 him. He would sit helplessly by his table for 
 hours, no suggestion of any subject occurring to 
 him. He grew irritable and impatient. The 
 Doctor noticed that his pupil, when they walked 
 out together, had lost much of his old gaiety of 
 spirits. He began to wonder whether tailoring
 
 144 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 and study combined were not proving too much 
 for O'Leary's health. 
 
 Otherwise all seemed to go well with him. 
 The old Doctor was as much in love with his 
 project as ever, and had grown to take a very 
 keen and personal interest in the affairs of this 
 poor man. Finding out that much of O'Leary's 
 anxiety was apparently connected with the 
 question of his marriage, he suddenly resolved 
 upon setting his friend's mind at rest on that 
 point by an act of exceptional generosity. He 
 told O'Leary that he evidently wanted change of 
 air and scene. "When he got married he would 
 have to leave his present humble lodgings. Now 
 what did he think of living a few miles out of 
 London say about Hammersmith or Barnes 
 Avhere the Doctor would purchase for him a small 
 cottage, and furnish the same ? The walk in of 
 a morning would improve his health, and afford 
 him ample time for thinking. If he would see 
 Biddy Flanagan, and arrange about the marriage, 
 the Doctor would proceed forthwith to seek out 
 and purchase some small cottage. 
 
 When he told Biddy of this proposal there 
 were tears in his eyes. 
 
 " Biddy," said he, " 'tis a jail and not a cottage
 
 FOREBODINGS 145 
 
 that I'm fit for. Sure there's not a day I go up 
 to the ould gintleman's house now that I'm 
 not trimbling from me head to me foot with 
 shame, yes, with shame. Biddy, what o'clock is 
 it?" 
 
 " 'Tis after ten, I belave." 
 
 " This very minnit I'll go and tell him what a 
 rogue I've been," O'Leary said, stopping short 
 on the pavement. 
 
 The girl looked at him, frightened and silent ; 
 but her hand was on his arm, and he did not 
 move. Then she spoke to him. She did not 
 attempt to justify what had been done ; she only 
 pleaded that, now it was done, he should wait 
 and accept this cottage as a loan, not a gift. 
 They would be most economical. She knew how 
 to tend a small kitchen-garden. She would take 
 in washing. O'Leary would save up what he 
 could in the shop, and then by and by he could 
 go to Dr. Daniel, confess his forgeries, and pay 
 the first instalment of the money which he had 
 to refund. Dr. Daniel had already given him 
 201 in money, besides an immense number of 
 books ; they would accept this climax of his 
 generosity, and being installed in the cottage, 
 would work faithfully to pay back the whole.
 
 146 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 O'Leary consented, with evil forebodings in 
 his mind, and resumed his imposture. He had 
 almost began to despair of ever being able to do 
 anything himself ; he did not even try now ; 
 he merely copied a verse or two of one of Moore's 
 songs, and took that to the Doctor to encourage 
 the old gentleman's hopes. Fortunately Dr. 
 Daniel showed none of these contributions to his 
 friends. They had got vaguely to know that 
 he had recently picked up some odd protege ; 
 but the Doctor was not communicative on the 
 point, wishing to have some finished work 
 of O'Leary 's before introducing him to the 
 world. 
 
 But each time that the tailor copied out some 
 verses and carried his stolen wares to the house 
 in Brompton, he grew more and more agitated. 
 A feeling of sickness came over him as he rang 
 the bell ; when he came away, he felt inclined 
 to walk down to Chelsea Bridge and end his 
 anxieties in the river. The remorse that he felt 
 seemed to be increased by each fresh proof of the 
 old Doctor's generosity, while the fear of detec- 
 tion became almost unbearable. He grew hag- 
 gard in face. He was peevish and irritable, so 
 that Biddy was almost afraid to speak to him
 
 FOREBODINGS 147 
 
 when they went out walking together. At last, 
 one night, he turned and declared to her fiercely, 
 that it was all her fault, and that she had made 
 a thief of him. 
 
 The girl burst out crying, and spoke in a wild 
 way of drowning herself. She quitted him 
 abruptly, and walked off in the direction of the 
 bridge. 
 
 For some time he gloomily regarded her, 
 uncertain what he should do ; then he ran after 
 her and stopped her. He would do what she 
 wanted. He would say nothing more about the 
 whole affair till they had the cottage. So he 
 gradually pacified her ; but from that moment 
 each felt that the mutual confidence which had 
 existed between them had suffered a serious 
 shock, and that at any moment something might 
 occur to sunder it altogether. 
 
 So the days and weeks went by. The small 
 cottage was at last got hold of; and so great 
 was the interest of the Doctor in this project, 
 that he sent for his sister to come up from Bath 
 to help him in selecting some pieces of furniture 
 and the necessary saucepans and dishes. Should 
 O'Leary turn out to have the poetical power 
 which the shape of his head promised, might not 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 this little cottage come to be in future times 
 regarded with interest by travellers from all 
 parts of the world ? 
 
 But the near approach of this marriage, and 
 the prospect of possessing this tiny residence, 
 did not seem greatly to raise the spirits of 
 O'Leary and his betrothed. Biddy now began 
 to look anxious too anxious and apprehensive, 
 as if she lived in constant dread of something 
 happening. She made fewer appointments with 
 O'Leary ; sometimes they walked for an evening 
 together with scarcely a word passing between 
 them. The old delight of their meetings had 
 passed away, 
 
 One night he was to have met her, but he did 
 not come a most unusual circumstance in hia 
 case, for he was a dutiful lover. More strangely 
 still, no word of explanation came next morning. 
 All the next day she waited and worried, harassed 
 by a hundred fears ; and at last, in the evening, 
 she went to her mistress and begged to be set at 
 liberty for a couple of hours. The request was 
 sulkily granted. 
 
 Kapidly indeed did she run across the bridge and 
 up through the gaunt and silent streets of Pim- 
 lico. With a beating heart she knocked at the
 
 FOREBODINGS 149 
 
 door of .0-Leary's lodgings ; the landlady, who 
 knew her, came. She had scarcely breath left to 
 ask if Mr'O'Leary was at home. The landlady, 
 a fa t\ good-natured shabbily-dressed woman, 
 drew ' Her ' inside, and motioned her to keep 
 quiet. 
 
 " He 'was took werry ill yesterday, the poor 
 young man/ in a fever like, and to-day he has 
 been wandering; There's something on his mind, 
 miss, that is troubling the poor young man 
 about them books he has, and some money ; and 
 law! the way 'he has been goin' on about you ! 
 But I knew : as yoti was sure to come over this 
 hevenin' and will -you go upstairs ? " 
 
 Biddy folio w-ed "the landlady upstairs as if she 
 was in a dream. ' In a bewildered sort of way 
 she saw the door; opened before her, and found 
 herself being taken noiselessly into the small 
 room, which was dimly lit with a solitary candle. 
 In the bed in the corner O'Leary lay, apparently 
 asleep, with a bright flush in his face. He turned 
 round uneasily ; he stared at her, but did not 
 recognize her ; then he turned away again, 
 muttering something about Dr. Daniel and 
 Chelsea Bridge, 
 
 Biddy seemed to recover herself. She went
 
 ISO THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 deliberately over to the bed, her face pale and 
 determined, and said, 
 
 " Gearge, me darlin', don't ye know 'tis me ? 
 Where's the money ? Give me the money ; and 
 'tis every farden av it and every blessed wan o' 
 the books that I'll take back to the Doctor this 
 very minnit. Don't ye hear me, Gearge dear ? " 
 
 The sick man groped underneath his pillow, 
 and feebly brought out a leather purse. He gave 
 it her, without looking at her, and said, 
 
 " Take it all back, Biddy." 
 
 The landlady could not understand the fierce 
 look of determination on the girl's face. Biddy 
 put the purse in her pocket. She gathered up 
 the books from the corner of the room, piled 
 them on the table, and then whipped the table- 
 cover round them, and tied up the ends. With 
 this heavy load on her back she staggered down- 
 stairs, and along the narrow passage. 
 
 " 'Tis the books and the money have brought 
 the fever on him," she was muttering to herself ; 
 " wirra, wirra, but 'twas a bad day that he met 
 that ould gintleman, wid his books and his money. 
 And sure, whin I give him them back, 'tis to 
 Father Maloney I'm goin', to tell him that 
 Gearge O'Leary is down wid the fever."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DOCTOR'S SISTER. 
 
 THE Doctor's sister came up from Batli a thin, 
 precise little woman, with silver-grey curls and 
 shrewd grey eyes. She wanted to know more 
 about this protege of her brother's, of whom 
 she had vaguely heard. Thereupon the Doctor, 
 forgetting his shyness, grew quite garrulous 
 about his project, described O'Leary's magnificent 
 forehead, told her all that he hoped from it, and 
 said that already he had received ample proofs 
 of the man's poetical leanings. To all this Miss 
 Daniel listened attentively, but silently. When 
 he had finished, she asked him if she might look 
 at some of Mr. O'Leary's pieces. 
 
 The Doctor was at first inclined to refuse. It 
 would be unfair to take these compositions as 
 evidence of what O'Leary might hereafter do. 
 But Miss Daniel was so firm in demanding to 
 see some actual work of the new poet's, that hei
 
 152 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 brother at last consented to go and fetch some 
 of it. 
 
 She had scarcely begun to read the first of the 
 pieces when he observed an extraordinary ex- 
 pression come into her face. She stared at the 
 paper ; then a flush of anger appeared on her 
 forehead ; finally she looked at himself with 
 something nearer contempt than pity. 
 
 "How can you, Maurice," she said to the 
 frightened Doctor, " how can you let people make 
 a fool of you so ? Year after year it is always the 
 same some new craze, and some new impostor 
 taking advantage of you. Last year it was 
 those relics of Sedan : they were no more relics 
 of Sedan than I am. Why, don't you know that 
 this man has been palming off on you verses of 
 Moore's songs songs that every school-girl 
 knows ? Oh yes, your Mr. O'Leafy is not a fool ; 
 his big forehead can do something for him." 
 
 The Doctor would not believe it. He was in- 
 clined to be violently angry. Then his sister 
 walked out of the room. 
 
 In a few minutes she returned. She had man- 
 aged to unearth an old copy of " Moore's Irish 
 Melodies," which she had left in the house in 
 days gone by. Without a word she opened
 
 THE DOCTOR'S SISTER 153 
 
 the page, put her finger at a certain passage, and 
 placed it before her brother. Doubt was no 
 longer possible. Here was O'Leary's " Oh, be- 
 lieve me, if all those endearing young charms ; " 
 there was Moore's version of the same. Miss 
 Daniel rapidly ran over O'Leary's manuscripts. 
 She could identify nearly all the pieces, though 
 some of them were ^disguised. The very first of 
 them that which described Mary standing on 
 the deck of the doomed ship she declared was 
 stolen from a Scotch song. 
 
 It was really some time before the full sense 
 of O'Leary's perfidy was impressed upon the 
 good old Doctor. He showed no signs of anger ; 
 but he was deeply pained and humiliated. It 
 was not so much that his own pet scheme had 
 fallen through, but that one whom he had tried 
 to benefit should have betrayed him so grossly. 
 
 Miss Daniel was of another mind. She de- 
 manded to have the man punished. She in- 
 sisted on the Doctor, although it was nearly ten 
 o'clock, taking her to see this traitorous tailor, 
 so that he might be confronted, and his ingrati- 
 tude and meanness pointed out to him. She 
 talked of a policeman, and the crime of obtaining 
 money on false pretences, her brother all the
 
 154 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 while listening in a confused and absent way, as 
 if lie did not even yet understand it all. 
 
 At this moment Dr. Daniel's housekeeper 
 tapped at the door, opened it, and announced 
 that a young woman called Flanagan wished to 
 see the Doctor, having a message from Mr. 
 O'Leary. 
 
 A gleam of virtuous indignation leaped into 
 Miss Daniel's eyes ; she bade the housekeeper 
 show her in at once. 
 
 The next moment Biddy Flanagan, still with 
 something of a wild look in her face, entered the 
 room. She did not see that there was any 
 stranger present. She hastily undid the table- 
 cover placed the heap of books on the table, and 
 counted out beside them eighteen sovereigns ; 
 and then she turned to the Doctor. 
 
 " Thim's the books, Sor," she said, in an 
 excited way, "and there's the money all but 
 two of the gould pieces annyhow, and to-morrow 
 you'll have thim too and sure 'tis the light 
 heart I have in putting thim there. And the 
 cottage, Sor plaze your honour, we'll have 
 nawthin' to do with the cottage " 
 
 " My good girl, what is all this about ? What 
 do you mean ? " the Doctor said.
 
 THE DOCTOR'S SISTER 155 
 
 " What do I mane ? " Biddy cried, with her lips 
 getting tremulous and her eyes filling with tears, 
 " why, 'tis Gearge O'Leary, Sor ; he's down wid 
 the fever ; and what has brought the fever on 
 him but the books, and the money, and all the 
 chatin' ? and 'twas me that did it, Sor ; indeed 
 it was mesilf, and not him at all ; and the 
 poethry, Sor, he brought you, sure 'twas all 
 stolen ; and I made him do it, for 'twas the 
 weddin' I was thinkin' of " 
 
 Here Biddy burst out crying ; but she quickly 
 recovered herself, and made some wild effort to 
 express her contrition. She had no time to lose. 
 She was going off for Father Maloney. It was the 
 ceaseless anxiety, she explained, about the impos- 
 ture that had worried her lover into a fever ; now 
 she had brought them back, and confessed her 
 fault, she was going to fetch the doctor and the 
 priest. 
 
 When she had left, Miss Daniel said to her 
 brother, 
 
 " Will you go and see this poor man ? " 
 
 " To upbraid him when he is down with a 
 fever ? " said the Doctor indignantly. 
 
 " No ; to relieve his mind by telling him you 
 forgive him, And you have not a great deal to
 
 156 THE MAN WHO WAS LIKE SHAKSPEARE 
 
 forgive, Maurice. You must have driven the 
 man into deceiving you. Suppose you were to 
 tell him now or as soon as he can understand 
 you that you don't wish him to earn that cot- 
 tage by writing poetry, but that you will give it 
 him as soon as he is well enough to get back to 
 his tailoring ; don't you think that would help to 
 get him better ? " 
 
 It did ; and George and Biddy are at this 
 moment installed in the cottage, the latter quite 
 contented that her lover should not have turned 
 out a great poet, and he glad to be relieved from a 
 task which was too much even for his magnificent 
 brain. As for the old Doctor, he has not given up 
 his faith in phrenology, of course, merely because 
 it apparently failed in one instance. He has still a 
 lingering suspicion that O'Leary has thrown his 
 opportunity away. However, if the world has 
 lost, O'Leary has gained : there is not a happier 
 tailor anywhere.
 
 THE STRANGE HORSE OF LOCH 
 8UAINABHAL.
 
 THE STEANGE HOESE OF 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL. 
 
 THE following is a copy of a letter addressed 
 to a lady living in Hyde Park Gardens, London, 
 by Alister-nan-Eacli, of Borvabost, in the island 
 of Lewis, Hebrides : 
 
 BORVABOST. the 20th of June, 1875. 
 
 HONOURED MADAM AND DEAR MISTRESS 
 
 TO COMMAND, 
 
 You waz writen to Alister Lewis, the school- 
 master, that I would tell you the whole story of 
 the Black Horse I sah at Loch Suainabhal ; and 
 I am not good at the writen whatever ; but I will 
 tell you the story, and I will tell you from the 
 verra beginnin of it the whole story. It waz 
 John the Piper he will go about tellin a foolish 
 tale about me ; and it waz many a time I will 
 think of going and breaking his pipes over his 
 head, that he will tell such foolish lies. There
 
 160 THE STRANGE HORSE OP 
 
 is no man in the island will drink more az John 
 the Piper himself, not one ; and so you will not 
 belief his foolish lies if you will be hearin of 
 them, Miss Sheila. 
 
 Now the verra beginnin of it waz this, that 
 Dugald MacKillop, that lives by Loch Suaina- 
 bhal, and his father waz my wife's father's first 
 cousin, ay, and a verra rich man mirover, for he 
 had more az forty pounds or thirty-five pounds 
 in the bank at Styornowa, he will be going away 
 to Portree to marry a young lass there, and 
 Dincan Peterson and me would be for going with 
 him too, and I waz to be the best man. And 
 you will not mind John the Piper's lies, Miss 
 Sheila, for it waz only one gallon of good whisky 
 we took aboard the Clansman steamer when we 
 waz going away to Skye as sure as death it 
 waz only the one gallon that Dincan and me we 
 waz for taking to the young lass's father but it 
 waz verra wat on board the boat, and verra cold 
 whatever, and what harm is there in a glass of 
 the goot whisky ? Sez Dincan Peterson to me, 
 he sez, Alister, there is plenty of goot, whisky in 
 Skye, and what for should we keep the whisky ? 
 and both me and Dugald MacKillop the two of 
 us both together said he waz a sensible man, and
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 161 
 
 not a foolish man, like John the Piper. And it 
 waz only the one gallon in the char we had on 
 board the steamer. 
 
 I will tell you now, honoured Madam, that the 
 wonderful big ship took us quick to Portree, 
 which is a great distance away ; but we did not 
 go to bed that night, for there waz two or three 
 waiting for us, and we had a glass mirover and 
 a dance or two. And the next morning we went 
 away to the farm where the young lass waz ; and 
 that was among the hills ; and there waz never 
 in the world such rain as there is in Skye. Ay, 
 in the Lews we have the bad weather, and the 
 goot weather ; but Gott knows there is no such 
 watter falling anywhere az there is in Skye ; but 
 we had a glass and a dance, for the two pipers 
 waz with us ; and in the evening of that day 
 there waz a grand supper at the young lass's 
 father's house. And it was not ten gallons of 
 whisky we took in the cart ; and Gott knows I 
 will mek John the Piper answer for that some 
 day ; but only six gallons ; and there waz a goot 
 many people there for a dance and a song. And 
 there waz no one wished to go to bed that night 
 either, for there waz many people in the house, 
 and a good dram and a dance for every one ; 
 
 M
 
 i6a THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 and the way the two pipers played the pipes 
 that night would hef made a dead man jump in 
 his grafe if he had been dead for two hundred 
 years, ay, or one hundred years mirover. And 
 you will mind, Miss Sheila, that the story about 
 the ten gallons of whisky is only the lies of that 
 foolish man, John the Piper, who is trunk oftener 
 az any man on the island of Lews. 
 
 The next day waz the day of the marrach ; 
 and who is there will not tek a glass at the 
 marrach of a young girl ? And after the mar- 
 rach we went away to this house and to that 
 house, and the two pipers playing in the front of 
 us verra fine, and many a dance we had, ay, and 
 the old people too, when they had got a" goot 
 tram. And in the evening there waz another 
 peautiful supper ; and no less az six and twenty 
 hens, and cocks, and chickens, and rabbits, all 
 boiled together in the boiler for boiling the 
 turnips ; and the big barn with more az twelve 
 or sixteen, or more az that of candles ; and it 
 waz a peautiful sight. And if the father of the 
 young lass will send to Portree for so many, or 
 so many gallons of whisky, what is that to any 
 one, and to one mirover that waz not there, but 
 will only mek lies about it ? I will not interfere
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 163 
 
 with any man's whisky ; no, and I would not go 
 and tell foolish lies about it mirover. 
 
 There waz one or two of the old people, they 
 will go to bed in the cart that night ; and there 
 waz good hay on the ground, and the cart upside 
 down to keep away the rain ; but the most of 
 us we waz for no sleepin that night, for a young 
 lass does not get marriet every day. And in the 
 morning Dugald MacKillop and the young lass 
 they will come out to us ; and they would hef 
 us trink their verra goot health before he went 
 in to the fresh herrings, and the milk, and the 
 cakes ; and when that waz all over, we had the 
 pipers to the front of us, and we set away for 
 Portree. And who would not trink a glass, 
 when you call at this house and at that house, 
 to let a young lass say good-bye to her friends ? 
 And all the way to Portree there waz this one 
 and the other one come out to shake hands with 
 the young lass ; and many of them came down 
 to the big steamer to see her away. And as for 
 Dincan Peterson and me, there waz one or two 
 on board of the big steamer that we knew ; and 
 we had a glass j or two with them whatever, for 
 it waz a verra cold night ; but the lies of that 
 foolish man, John the Piper, are more as I can 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 understand. I will not say, Miss Sheila, for it 
 is the old story I will be telling you, that Dincan 
 Peterson and me we were not verra tired when 
 we got to Styornowa ; for it waz five nights or 
 more we waz not in any bed at all ; but there 
 waz two or three of our friends will meet us at 
 Styornowa to drink a glass to Dugald MacKillop 
 and the young lass, and who w r ould be thinkin 
 of going to bed then ? No, nor waz there any 
 more thinkin of going to bed when we got to the 
 farm of Dugald MacKillop by Loch Suainabhal ; 
 for there waz two or three come to see the young 
 lass he had married ; and it was Aleck Cameron, 
 that lives by Uig, he had brought over two 
 gallons of verra goot whisky or perhaps, Miss 
 Sheila, for I will tell you the whole story that 
 you will see what lies old John the Piper would 
 be for telling perhaps it waz three gallons. I 
 cannot mind, now ; but it waz of no consequence 
 whatever ; and to go about speaking of men 
 being trunk that has just drunk a glass or two 
 at a marrach, is no more az foolish and wicket 
 nonsense. 
 
 It was the day after this day that Aleck 
 Cameron he sez to me, " Alister, you hef not 
 been to Uig for many a day ; will you go back
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 165 
 
 to Borva by the way of Uig ; and we will go 
 together, and we will hef a glass at Uig." And 
 I said to him, " It is a long time, Aleck Cameron, 
 since I will be at Uig, and I will go with you, 
 and we will drink a glass with your father and 
 your mother before I will be going on to Borva." 
 And it waz about fife o'clock in the afternoon 
 when we set out ; but Aleck Cameron he is the 
 most quarlsome man in the whole of Lews ; ay, 
 there is no one, not even John Fergus himself, 
 will be so bad in the temper as Aleck Cameron ; 
 and what did he know about the Campbelton 
 whisky ? I hef been in Isla more as three times 
 or two times myself; and I hef been close by 
 the Lagavulin distillery ; and I know that it is 
 the clear watter of the spring that will mek the 
 Lagavulin whisky just as fine as the new milk. 
 And the bottle I had it waz the verra best of the 
 Lagavulin ; and I sez to him, " Aleck Cameron, 
 if you do not like the whisky I hef, you can go 
 back to the farm of Dugald MacKillop, and you 
 will get what whisky you like ; and you are a 
 verra quarlsome man, Aleck Cameron." And he 
 is a coarse-speakin man, Miss Sheila, and I will 
 not be writen to you the words that he said ; 
 but he went away back to the farm whatever ;
 
 i66 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 and I kept on the way by myself, without any 
 bread or cheese in my pocket, or anything but 
 the bottle of the Lagavulin whisky. And as for 
 the lies of John the Piper, that he will tell of me 
 all over the island, I will not even speak of them 
 to you, Miss Sheila. 
 
 It waz about fife o'clock, or maybe it waz six 
 o'clock, or half-past fife, and not much more 
 dark as if it waz the verra middle of the tay, 
 when I was going along by the side of Loch 
 Suainabhal ; and I will put my hand down on 
 the Biple itself, and I will sweer I waz as sober 
 as any man could be. Sober indeed ! is it to be 
 trunk to trink a glass at a marrach ? Ay, and 
 many is the time I hef seen John the Piper him- 
 self az trunk that he could not find the way to 
 his mouth for his chanter, and all the people 
 laughin at him, and the wind in the pipes, but the 
 chanter going this way and that way by the side 
 of his face. It is many a time that I will wonder 
 Mr. Mackenzie will let sich a man go about his 
 house ; and for him to speak about any one hafing 
 too much whisky but I will break his pipes 
 ofer his head some day, as sure as Gott. Now, 
 Miss Sheila, this is the whole story of it ; that the 
 watter in the loch waz verra smooth, and there
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 167 
 
 waz some clouds ofer the sky ; but everything to 
 be seen as clear as the tay. And I waz going 
 along py myself, and I waz thinkin no harm, of 
 any one, not efen of Aleck Cameron, that waz 
 away back at the farm now, when I sah some- 
 thing on the shore of the loch, maybe four 
 hundred yards in front of me, and it waz lying 
 there verra still. And I said to myself, " Alister, 
 you must not be frightened by anything ; but it 
 is a stranche place for a horse to be lying upon 
 the stones." And he did not move one way or 
 the other way ; and I stopped, and I said to my- 
 self, " Alister, it is a stranche thing for a horse 
 to be lying on the stones ; and there is many 
 a man in the Lews would be frightened, and 
 would rather go back to Dugald MacKillop's 
 farm ! but as for you, Alister, you will just tek 
 a drop of whisky, and you will go forward like 
 a prave lad and see whether it is a horse, for it 
 might be a rock mirover, ay or a black cow." 
 So I will go on a bit ; and the black thing it did 
 not move either this way or that ; and if I will 
 tell you the truth, Miss Sheila, I waz afraid of it, 
 for it waz a verra lonely place, and there waz no 
 one within sight of me, nor any house that you 
 could see. And this waz what I said to myself,
 
 1 68 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 that I could not stand there the whole night, and 
 that I will either be going on by the beast, or 
 be going pack to Dugald MacKillop's farm, and 
 there they would not belief a word of it; and 
 Aleck Cameron, he will say I would be for going 
 pack after him and his Campbelton whisky. And 
 I said to myself, " Alister, you are beginning to 
 tremple, you must tek a glass of whisky to steady 
 yourself, and you will go forward and see what 
 the beast is." 
 
 It was at this moment, Miss Sheila, as sure as 
 we have to die, that I sah it mofe its head, and I 
 said to myself, " Alister, you are afrait of a horse, 
 and is it a black horse that will mek you stand 
 in the middle of the road and tremple ? " But I 
 could not understand why a horse will be lying 
 on the stones, which is a stranche thing. And I 
 said to myself, " Is it a seal you will be seeing 
 far away along the shore ? " But whoever will 
 hear of a seal in fresh watter : and, mirover, it 
 waz as pig as six seals, or more az that. And I 
 said to myself, "Alister, go forward now, for you 
 will not hef a man like Aleck Cameron laughing 
 at you, and him as ignorant as a child about the 
 Lagavulin whisky." 
 
 Now, I will tell you, Miss Sheila, apout the
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 169 
 
 terrable thing that I sah ; for it waz no use 
 thinkin about going pack to the farm ; and I 
 will go forward along the road, and there waz 
 the bottle in my hand, so that if the beast came 
 near, I could break the bottle on the stones and 
 gife him a fright. But when I had gone on a 
 piece of the road, I stood still, and all the blood 
 seemed to go out of my body, for no mortal man 
 effer sah such a terrible thing. It waz lying on 
 the shore ay twelve yards or ten yards from the 
 vatter and it waz looking down to the watter 
 with a head as pig as the head of three horses. 
 There waz no horns or ears on the beast ; but 
 there waz eyes bigger as the eyes of three horses ; 
 and the black head of it waz covered with scales 
 like a salmon. And I said to myself, " Alister, if 
 you speak, or mofe, you are a dead man ; for 
 this ahfu creature is a terrible thing, and with a 
 bound like a teeger he will come down the road." 
 I could not mofe, Miss Sheila ; there waz no 
 blood left in my body ; and I could not look this 
 way or that for a rock or a bush to hide myself, 
 for I waz afrait that the terrable beast would 
 turn his head. Ay, ay, what I went through 
 then no one can effer tell ; when I think of it 
 now I tremple ; and yet there are one or two
 
 1 70 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 that will belief the foolish lies of John the Piper, 
 that is himself the verra trunkenest man in all 
 the Island of Lews. It waz a stranche thing, 
 Miss Sheila, that I tried to whesper a prayer, 
 and there waz no prayer would come into my 
 head or to my tongue, and instead of the prayer 
 mirover, there waz something in my throat that 
 waz like to choke me. And I could not tek my 
 eyes from the terrable head of the beast; but 
 now when I hef the time to think of it, I belief 
 the pody of it waz black and shining, but with 
 no hind feet at all, but a tail. But I will not 
 sweer to that whatever ; for it is no shame to 
 say that I waz trempling from the crown of my 
 head down to the verra soles of my feet ; and I 
 waz watching his head more as the rest of his 
 body, for I did not know when he might, turn 
 round and see me standing in the road. Them 
 that sez I sah no such thing, will they tell me 
 how long I stood looking at him ? ay, until the 
 skies was darker over the loch. Gott knows I 
 would hef been glad to hef seen Aleck Cameron 
 then, though he is a verra foolish man ; and it 
 waz many a time I will say to myself, when I 
 waz watchin the beast, " Alister, you will neffer 
 come by Loch Suainabhal by yourself again, not
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 171 
 
 if you waz living for two hundred years or fife 
 hundred years." And how will John the Piper 
 tell me that that I waz able to stand there in 
 the mittle of the road ? Is it trunk men that can 
 do that ? Is it trunk men that can tell the next 
 morning, and the morning after that, w r hat they 
 hef seen ? But you know, Miss Sheila, that there 
 is no more sober man az me in all the island ; 
 and I will not pother you any more with those 
 foolish lies. 
 
 And now an ahfu thing happened. I do not 
 know how I am alife to be writen the story to 
 you this day. I waz tellin you, Miss Sheila, 
 that there waz little thought among us of 
 sleepin for five or six nights before ; and many 
 of the nights waz verra wat ; and I think it might 
 hef been on board of the big steamer that I will 
 get a hoast in my throat. And here, az I waz 
 standin in the road, fearfu to mek the least noise, 
 the koff came into my throat ; and I trempled 
 more than effer for fear of the noise. And I 
 struggled ; but the koff would come into my 
 throat ; and then thinks I, Alister, Gott's will be 
 done ; and the noise of the koff frightened me ; 
 and at the same time I tropped the bottle on the 
 stones with the fright, and the noise of it never
 
 i;2 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 will I forget the noise of it. And at the same 
 moment the great head of the beast it will turn 
 round ; and I could stand up no more ; I fell on 
 my knees, and I tried to find the prayer, but it 
 would not come into my head ay, ay, Miss 
 Sheila, I can remember at this moment the ahfu 
 eyes of the beast as he looked at me, and I 
 said to myself, " Alister, you will see Borva no 
 more, and you will go out to the feshen no more, 
 and you will drink a glass no more with the 
 lads come home from the Caithness feshen." 
 
 Then, as the Lord's will be done, the stranche 
 beast he turned his head again, and I sah him go 
 down over the stones, and there waz a great noise 
 of his going over the stones, and I waz just az 
 frightened as if he had come down the road, and 
 my whole body it shook like a reed in the wind. 
 And then, when he had got to the watter, I 
 heard a great splash, and the ahfu beast he threw 
 himself in, and he went out from the shore, and 
 the last that I sah of the terrable crayture 
 waz the great head of him going down into 
 the loch. 
 
 Ay, the last of him that I sah : for there and 
 then, Miss Sheila, I fell back in the road, just 
 like one that will be dead ; for it waz more as
 
 LOCH SUA1NA&HAL 173 
 
 mortal man could stand, the sight of that terra- 
 ble beast. It is ferra glad I am there waz no 
 cart coming along the shore that night ; for I 
 waz lying like a dead man in the road, and the 
 night it was verra dark mirover. Ay, and the 
 fright was not away from me when I cam to my 
 senses again ; and that waz near to the break of 
 day ; and I was verra cold and wat, for there 
 waz being a good dale of rain in the night. But 
 when I cam to my senses, I began to tremple 
 again, and there waz no whisky left in the bottle, 
 which waz proken all into small pieces, and I said, 
 " Lord, help me to rin away from this water, 
 or the stranche beast may come out again." 
 And then it waz I set out to rin, though I waz 
 verra stiff with the cold and wat, and I ran 
 neither up the shores of the loch nor down the 
 shores of the loch, but away from the watter as 
 hard az I could rin, and ofer the moss-land and 
 up to the hulls. It waz ferra bad trafelling, for 
 there waz a great dale of rain fallin in the night, 
 and there was a great dale of watter in the soft 
 ground, and many waz the time I will go down 
 up to my waist in the holes. But I will tell you 
 this, Honoured Madam, that when a man haz 
 sich a fright on him, it is not any sort of moss-
 
 174 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 watter will keep him from rinnin ; and every 
 time I will stand to get my breath again, I will 
 think I will hear that terrable beast behind me, 
 and it is no shame I hef that I will be so fright- 
 ened, for there waz no man alife will hef seen 
 sich a beast as that before. 
 
 And now I will tell you another stranche 
 thing, Miss Sheila, that I hef said no word of to 
 any one all this time, for I waz knowing verra 
 well they would not belief all the story of that 
 terrable night. And it is this, that when I waz 
 rinnin hard away from the loch, just as if the 
 ahfu beast waz behind me, the fright waz in my 
 head, and in my eyes, and in my ears, and all 
 around me I sah and heard such stranche things 
 as no mortal man will see and hear before. It 
 waz in the black of the night, Miss Sheila, before 
 the morning cam in, and it waz not one stranche 
 beast, but a hundred and a thousand that waz 
 all around me, and I heard them on the heather, 
 and in the peat-holes, and on the rocks, and I 
 sah them rinnin this way and that by the side of 
 me, and every moment they waz coming closer 
 to me. It was a terrable terrable night, and I 
 waz thinkin of a prayer, but no prayer at all at 
 all would come into my head, and I said to
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 175 
 
 myself, " Alister, it is the tevvle himself will be 
 keeping the prayers out of your head, and it is 
 this night he will hef you tammed for ever and 
 ever." There waz some that waz green, and some 
 that waz brown, and the whole of them they had 
 eyes like the fire itself ; and many is the time I 
 will chump away from them, and then I will fall 
 into the holes of the moss, and they will laugh 
 at me, and I will hear them in the darkness of 
 the night. And sometimes I sah them chump 
 from the one hole to the other, and sometimes 
 they were for fleein through the air, and the 
 sound of them waz an ahfu thing to hear, and 
 me without one prayer in my head. Where did 
 I rin to ? Ay, Gott knows where I will rin to 
 that terrable night, till there waz no more breath 
 left in my body, and I waz saying to myself, 
 " Alister, if the tevvle will hef you this night, it 
 is no help there is for it, and you will see Borva 
 no more, and Styornowa no more, and Uig no 
 more, and you will never again drink a glass 
 with the lads of the Nighean dubh." 
 
 I waz writen all this to you, Miss Sheila, for 
 it is the whole story I will want to tell you ; 
 but I will not tell the whole story to the people 
 at Borva, for there are many foolish people at
 
 176 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 Borva, that will tell lies about any one. And 
 now I know what it waz, all the stranche cray- 
 tures I sah when I was rinnin ofer the moss it 
 waz only the fright in my head after I sah that 
 terrable beast. For when I sah a grey light 
 come into the sky, " Alister," sez I to myself, 
 " you must turn round and look at the tevvles 
 that are by you ; " and I will tell you, Miss 
 Sheila, that verra soon there waz none of them 
 there at all ; and I will stand still and look 
 round, and there waz nothing alife that I could 
 see except myself, and me not much alife what- 
 ever. But I said to myself, " Alister, the sight 
 of the ahfu beast at the shore will turn your head, 
 and mek you like a madman ; and the stranche 
 craytures you sah on the moss, there waz no sich 
 thing mirover ; and it is no more thought of 
 them you must hef." And I said to myself, 
 " Alister, you must clear your head of the fright, 
 and you will say not a word to any one about 
 these strange craytures you sah on the moss ; 
 perhaps you will tell your neighbours about the 
 black horse, for it is a shame that no one will 
 know of that terrable peast ; but you will not 
 tell them about the stranche craytures that waz 
 on the moss, for they will be only the fright in
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 177 
 
 your head." But I will tell the whole story to 
 you, Miss Sheila ; for you waz writen to Alister 
 Lewis that I will tell you the whole story ; and 
 this is the whole story, as sure as death. 
 
 And when the grey of the morning waz cam 
 in, I waz safe away from Loch Suainabhal ; and 
 a man is glad to hef his life ; but apart from 
 being alife, it waz little I had to be thankful for ; 
 and when the grey of the morning waz cam in, 
 I will be near greetin to look at myself, for there 
 waz a great dale of blood about me, for I had 
 fallen on the side of my head on the bottle in 
 the road, and there waz blood all about my head, 
 and my neck, and my arm, and up to the waist 
 I waz black with the dirt of the moss-land, and 
 I think I could hef wrung a tub full of watter 
 out of my clothes. Gott knows I am speaking 
 the truth, Miss Sheila, when I will tell you I 
 would hef giffen a shellin ay, or a shellin and 
 a sexpence, for a glass of whisky on that mornin ; 
 for I wazna verra sure where I waz, and the 
 watter waz lying deep in the soft land. But sez 
 I to myself, " Alister, you are verra well away 
 whatever from Loch Suainabhal now, and the 
 stranche beast he will not come out in the day- 
 time : and now you must mek your way back to 
 
 N
 
 i;8 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 Dugald MacKillop's farm." And it waz near to 
 edit o'clock, Miss Sheila, when I will find my 
 way -back to Dugald MacKillop's farm. 
 
 And when I waz going near to the house, 
 I sez to myself, " Alister, do you think you will 
 go now and tell them what you hef seen about 
 the black horse, or will you keep it to yourself, 
 and wait, and tell the minister at Uig ? for the 
 men about the house, now they hef been trinking, 
 and they are not as sober az you, and they will 
 mek a joke of it, and will not belief any of it 
 whatever." Well, I waz not verra sure, but I 
 went up by the byre, and I sah one of the young 
 lasses, and when she sah me, she cried out, " Gott 
 pless me, Alister-nan-Each ! where hef you been 
 this night? and it is like a madman that you 
 are ; " and I sez to her, " Mairi, my lass, if I 
 waz not a sober man, as" you know, I would not 
 belief myself what I hef seen this night ; and it 
 is enough to hef made any man a madman what 
 I hef seen this night." And she will say to me, 
 " Alister, before you go into the house, I will 
 bring you a pail of watter, and you will wash 
 the blood from your face, and the dirt from your 
 clothes ; " and I will say to her, " Mairi, you are 
 a very goot lass, and you will mek a good wife
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 179 
 
 to Colin MacAlphin when he comes back from 
 Glasgow. Colin MacAlphin," I will say to her, 
 " is a verra good lad, and he is not a liar, like 
 his Uncle John the Piper ; and he does not go 
 about the island telling foolish lies like him." 
 That waz what I will say about John the Piper, 
 Miss Sheila. 
 
 And when I will be going up to the house, 
 there waz a great sound of noise, and one or two 
 singing, and the candles inside as if it waz still 
 the middle of the night, and I knew that these 
 foolish men were trinking, and still trinking, and 
 making a verra fine piece of laughing about the 
 marrach of Dugald MacKillop and the young lass 
 from Skye. And I went into the house, and 
 Aleck Cameron he cries out to me, " Gott pless 
 me, Alister-nan-Each ! and hef you not gone on 
 to Uig, when you waz having a bottle of Laga- 
 vulin whisky with you all the way ? " And I 
 sez to him, " Aleck Cameron, it is a verra wise 
 man you are, but you will know not any more 
 of Lagavulin whisky as the children about the 
 house ; and I hef seen a strancher thing than 
 Lagavulin whisky, and that is a great black 
 beast that was on the shores of Loch Suainabhal, 
 and you nor no other man ever sah such a thing ; 
 
 N 2
 
 i8o THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 and it is the story of that black beast I will tell 
 you now, if you will gife me a glass of whisky, 
 for it is the worst night I hef had since ever I 
 will be born." Ay, Miss Sheila, there waz not 
 one of them will be for laughing any more when 
 I told them all the long story ; but they will say 
 to me, " Alister, it is a stranche thing you hef 
 told us this day, and you will go and tell the 
 minister of it, and Mr. Mackenzie of Borva, and 
 you will hear what they say about it, for there 
 is no one in all the island waz hearing of such a 
 thing before, and it will not be safe for any one 
 to go along by Loch Suainabhal until the truth 
 of it is found out, and who will find out the 
 truth of it like the minister, and Mr. Mackenzie 
 of Borva, that hef been away to many stranche 
 places, and gone further away az Oban, and 
 Greenock ay, and away to London, too, where 
 the Queen lifes and Sir James himself ; and it 
 was a great thing for you to see, Alister, and 
 you will be known to all the island that you hef 
 seen sich a strange thing." 
 
 And then I will say to them, " Well, it is time 
 now I waz getting home to Borva, and Gott 
 knows when I will be back at Loch Suainabhal 
 any more, but if you will come along by the
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL i8r 
 
 shores of the loch, I will show you the place 
 where I sah the beast, and you will know that it 
 is true that I sah the beast." There was one or 
 two were for staying at home until the word 
 was sent to the minister ; but the others of them 
 they had a goot tram, and they said, " Alister, 
 if you will be for going by Loch Suainabhal, we 
 will go with you by Loch Suainabhal, and we 
 will tek the gun that Dugald MacKillop's father 
 got out of the wreck of the French smack, and 
 if there will be any more sign of the big horse, 
 we will fire the gun, and he will run into the 
 watter again, but first of all, Alister, you will 
 tek a glass." And I said to them, " Yes, that 
 is verra well said ; and we will tek the gun, 
 but it is not for any more whisky I am, for I 
 am a sober man, and there is no telling what 
 foolish lies they may hef about any one, for 
 there is ofer in Borva that foolish man John 
 the Piper, and every one in the island, and 
 Miss Sheila, too, will know that he is the 
 greatest one for trinking and for the telling 
 of foolish lies of all the people in the whole 
 island of Lews." 
 
 Ay, and Aleck Cameron he waz verra brafe 
 now, and he would be for carrying the gun, that
 
 1 82 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 had the poother in it, and the flint new sharp- 
 ened, and the barrel well tied to the stock ; but 
 I said to him, "It is verra well for you, Aleck 
 Cameron, to be brafe now, but you waz glad to 
 get back to the farm last night." And he is a 
 verra quarlsome man, Miss Sheila ; and he will 
 say before them all, " Alister-nan-Each, I cam 
 back to the house pekass you waz trunk, and I 
 sah no black horse in Loch Suainabhal or out of 
 Loch Suainabhal, and you will do yourself a 
 mischief if you say such things about me, Alister- 
 nan-Each." And I will tell you this, Miss Sheila, 
 that it waz the foolish speech of this man, Aleck 
 Cameron, that gafe the hint to John the Piper 
 to mek a lying story about it. There is no one 
 more sober as me in the whole island, as you 
 know, Miss Sheila ; and as for the trink, it waz 
 only a glass we had at a young lass's marrach ; 
 and as for Aleck Cameron and his lies, did not 
 every one see that he could not walk in the 
 middle of the road with the gun ofer his shoulter, 
 but he waz going this way and that, until he fell 
 into the watter by the side of the road, and 
 Dugald MacKillop himself would be for tekking 
 the gun from him, bekass he waz so trunken a 
 man. I hef no patience with a man that will be
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 183 
 
 going about telling lies, whether it is Aleck 
 Cameron or John the Piper. 
 
 Well, we waz going clown the road, and there 
 as sure as death waz the bits of the bottle that I 
 let slip when the terrable beast turned his head, 
 and it waz many a time we looked at the watter 
 and along the shore, and Peter MacCombie, who 
 is a verra frightened man, keeping to the back 
 of us, for fear of the terrable peast. There waz 
 no sign of him, no, for such stranche creatures, 
 I hef been told, do not like the taylight, but 
 only the afternoon or the evening ; and I said 
 to Dugald MacKillop, " Dugald, there is the 
 verra place where he waz lying." And Dugald 
 said, " You hef seen a stranche thing, Alister- 
 nan-Each ; and I hope no other man will see the 
 like of it again, for it is not good to see such 
 stranche craytures, and if I waz you, Alister, it 
 is the minister I would be for telling." 
 
 Now, Miss Sheila, that is the whole story of 
 the black beast that I sah, and I waz saying to 
 Alister Lewis, the schoolmaster, " Mr. Lewis, I 
 am not good at the writen, but if it teks me two 
 weeks or a whole week to write the letter, I will 
 tell the story to Miss Sheila, and she will know 
 not to belief the foolish lies of John the Piper."
 
 1 84 THE STRANGE HORSE OF 
 
 And lie will say to me, " Alister, if you will be 
 writen the letter, you will not say anything of 
 Miss Sheila, but you will call Miss Sheila, Mrs. 
 Laffenter, for she is marriet now, as you know, 
 and a verra fine lady in London ; " and I will 
 say to him, " Mr. Lewis, you are the school- 
 master, and a verra cleffer young man, but the 
 old way is the good way, and Miss Sheila when 
 she waz in Borva waz as fine a lady as she is now, 
 and as fine a lady as there is any in London, 
 and she will not mind the old way of speaking 
 of her among the people that knew her many's 
 the day before the London people knew her, 
 when she waz a young lass in her father's house." 
 And if there is any fault in it, Honoured Madam, 
 it waz no harm I had in my head when I waz 
 writen to you ; and if there is any fault in it, I 
 will ask your pardon beforehands, and I am 
 verra sorry for it if there will be any offence. 
 And I am, Honoured Madam, 
 Your most humble servant to command, 
 
 ALISTEK-NAN-EACH, 
 but his own name is Alister Maclean. 
 
 P.S. I waz not telling you, Honoured 
 Madam, of the lies that John the Piper will be
 
 LOCH SUAINABHAL 185 
 
 speaking about me, for they are verra foolish and 
 of no consequence mirover. But if you will hear 
 of them, you will know, Honoured Madam, that 
 there is no truth in them, but only foolishness, 
 for there is no one in all the island as sober az 
 me, and what I hef seen I hef seen with my own 
 eyes whatever, and there is no one that knows 
 me will pay any heed to the foolish nonsense of 
 John the Piper, thatwaz trunk no further ago than 
 the yesterday's raornin
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY. 
 
 THE fairies and good people are all gone away 
 now, and even if any of them were left, the 
 neighbourhood of the London Exchange is about 
 the last place in the world where one would 
 naturally expect to find them. Nevertheless, a 
 worthy couple living in a lane not far from the 
 Mansion House were regularly visited each New 
 Year's Day by an old gentleman who was quite 
 as good as a fairy, because he invariably left a 
 sovereign behind him ; and so implicitly did 
 they count on this visit, that on each recurrent 
 Christmas they indulged in a few simple but 
 unwonted luxuries knowing that the old gen- 
 tleman's sovereign would pay for these. Not 
 being philosophical persons they did not ask 
 themselves why they ate better food on Christmas 
 Day than on any other day ; they were quite 
 content to do as their neighbours did. 
 
 The lane in which they lived had in former
 
 190 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 days been a place of great commercial repute ; 
 but now it had relapsed into dingy offices, 
 restaurants, and billiard-rooms, the last much 
 frequented about midday by young gentlemen 
 who were supposed by their superiors or elder 
 partners to be at lunch. John Holloway and his 
 wife and two children occupied the attic floor 
 of one of the tall and narrow buildings ; he was 
 a salesman in a boot and shoe shop in Gracechurch 
 Street, and these rooms were at once cheap and 
 handy. Now one New Year's Day, just as he 
 was finishing his midday dinner, and preparing 
 to return to the shop, some one came up the 
 wooden staircase and knocked at the door. His 
 wife was looking after the children ; he himself 
 answered the summons. He found before him 
 a stout, middle-sized, respectable-looking old 
 gentleman, who, as he presently discovered, spoke 
 with a pronounced Scotch accent. Perhaps it 
 was scarcely the accent that was so Scotch, so 
 much as the grave, earnest manner of utterance 
 which is characteristic of old Scotch people ; 
 for, as a matter of fact, the stranger frequently 
 and apparently unconsciously, used American 
 colloquialisms. It was the matter rather than 
 the manner of his speech which interested and
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 191 
 
 even astounded Hollo way. The old gentleman 
 looked about him for a second or two in absolute 
 silence ; then he said, in a low, deliberate way 
 
 " You live here ? Ay, it is strange. The place 
 is little altered. That is the outlet on to the roof, 
 is it not ? " 
 
 He looked at a square aperture above his 
 head, a sort of hatchway with a heavy wooden 
 covering. 
 
 " Well, yes, it is," said Holloway, regarding 
 the stranger with amazement. 
 
 The old Scotchman again stood silent for a 
 second or two, looking round him in an absent 
 way. Then he suddenly seemed to recollect 
 himself. 
 
 " My friend, I beg your pardon. I am an 
 old man I forget sometimes. You were saying 
 that the place had not been altered for years ; 
 has the roof been altered ? Is the roof still the 
 same ? Are the ridges still there ? And the red 
 tiles?" 
 
 Holloway began to think that the old gentle- 
 man was a trifle off his head ; but being a 
 good-natured man he answered civilly that as 
 far back as he knew the attics of this old- 
 fashioned building had not been altered, and
 
 192 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 that the roof was still in ridges, and tiled. 
 Thereupon the old gentleman whose voice 
 seemed to quaver at times asked if he might be 
 permitted to go up and out on the roof for a 
 couple of minutes by himself. It would be a 
 great kindness. He would gladly give Hollo- 
 way a sovereign for his trouble in getting 
 a ladder. 
 
 Holloway hesitated. There was no trouble 
 about it ; for the steps were close by ; but he 
 began to suspect that all was not right. What 
 could be the object of any one in going out on 
 this dilapidated old roof on the grey and raw 
 afternoon of a January day with nothing 
 visible but the backs of a lot of buildings and a 
 bit of the side wall of the Mansion House ? 
 
 All the same, he looked at the old gentleman. 
 He did not appear to be one likely to be 
 connected with a gang of housebreakers. In any 
 case, what harm could be done in a couple of 
 minutes ? He would himself go up and examine 
 the place as soon as the old gentleman had gone. 
 
 So he got the steps, removed the wooden 
 covering of the hatchway, and assisted the 
 stranger to ascend. In two or three minutes 
 the old Scotchman came down again ; and
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 193 
 
 slipped a sovereign into Holloway's hand 
 without speaking a word, and hurried away. 
 
 By this time Holloway ought .to have been on 
 his way back to the shop ; but, just to make sure 
 that he had done no mischief, he went out and 
 on to the roof. Certainly there was nothing 
 very wonderful to be seen in the scopes of tiles 
 rising on each side to a stack of chimneys. 
 There was no trace of the old gentleman having 
 been there; no rope thrown over to a neigh- 
 bouring building ; no preparation for a burglary. 
 He descended, told his wife of the matter, and 
 then hurried off to the shop puzzled, but a 
 sovereign the richer. 
 
 Well, year by year this mysterious old Scotch- 
 man punctually paid his visit and Holloway and 
 his wife received their sovereign, and were none the 
 wiser. It is true they gathered several particulars 
 about himself, for he was far from being taciturn ; 
 and once or twice, when he had brought the 
 children some small present he stopped for a little 
 while and talked. He was a Mr. Duncan Macnab, 
 that they knew. They gathered from his con- 
 versation that he had been many years abroad, 
 engaged in commerce ; that his return to Eng- 
 land had taken place just before his first visit to 
 
 o
 
 194 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 the lane ; that he was rich ; that he had but few 
 acquaintances, and probably no relatives, for he 
 never spoke of any. But as to the object of this 
 annual visit no reference was ever made by him, 
 and of course they dared not ask. But they 
 talked about it between themselves, Mrs. Hol- 
 loway being especially curious. 
 
 One New Year's Day Mr. Macnab did not 
 arrive at the usual time ; and the salesman and 
 his wife began to look grave, for a sovereign 
 which they had spent in anticipation was of con- 
 sequence to them. Holloway waited a quarter 
 of an hour, twenty minutes, half-an hour after 
 the time at which he was due at the shop ; then 
 he gave up hope, and gloomily went off to his 
 business. He had not gone five minutes when 
 the old gentleman arrived. 
 
 Now if Holloway had been at home, his wife's 
 curiosity would have been kept within bounds ; 
 but as it was it overmastered her courtesy, and 
 she resolved to find out at last what this mystery 
 was. No sooner had Mr. Macnab gone out on 
 the roof than she stealthily crept up the steps, 
 listening intently. There was no sound. She 
 ventured to put out her head a little bit, and 
 then she saw that his back was turned to her.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 195 
 
 She could not resist the temptation to wait 
 and see. 
 
 Yet what did she see after all ? Here was an old 
 man standing on an old-fashioned tiled roof, and 
 apparently lost in silence and contemplation. 
 Then he took out from his pocket a small bottle 
 and a glass, and she saw that his hand trembled 
 as he filled the glass. And what was it he said 
 in a low and broken voice, 
 
 "/ drink this glass to you, Ben-na-Braren ; 
 and to you, Corrie- Cranach ; and to you, Ben 
 Lena ; and to any that may be alive now and near 
 ye, and to the memory of her that kenned ye all." 
 
 He turned his head as he spoke, and she saw 
 that tears were running down his face. At the 
 same moment, too her curiosity had spell-bound 
 her, and she could not stir she found him look- 
 ing at her. An awful sense of guilt rushed in 
 upon her conscience ; and in some wild way she 
 thought of standing her ground, and making an 
 excuse ; but the old man's look had nothing in 
 it of anger or vexation at being watched. He 
 merely said coming forward to her, 
 
 " Take heed, my good woman, that ye do not 
 fall." 
 
 " I I thought " she stammered and indeed, 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 as she had no excuse at all, she was forced to 
 save herself from further confusion by simply 
 descending the frail steps. He followed her. 
 
 The timid little woman stood before him, with 
 her eyes cast down, as if she expected judgment 
 to be pronounced upon her. He seemed either 
 unaware of her indiscretion or resolved to take 
 no notice of it. 
 
 " Where are the children, goodwife ? I have 
 some bits of things for them. Guess they don't 
 kndw much about New Year's Day in this 
 country ; but sweetmeats and toys never come 
 wrong." 
 
 The children were soon put into possession of 
 these presents, the old man meanwhile regarding 
 them with a strange and wistful look on his face. 
 
 " London bairns, ay," he said, apparently to 
 himself. "The cheek white the arms thin. 
 But I suppose they're used to it, poor things, 
 It is different wi' them that come from the hills 
 the London air tells on their cheeks, too but 
 that is only the first of it only the first of it." 
 
 He turned himself from this reverie. 
 
 " Goodwife, when will your husband be home 
 the night ? " 
 
 " A few minutes after eight, sir."
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 197 
 
 Well tell him I will come down then and see 
 him. I want him to do a bit of a job for me." 
 
 " Very well, sir." 
 
 In the evening the old gentleman came at the 
 appointed hour ; and then it appeared his errand 
 was to ask Holloway to take charge of a couple 
 of flower boxes which he, Mr. Macnab, proposed to 
 place on the roof which he had visited in the 
 afternoon. Mr Macnab would send the boxes, 
 have them filled up, and supplied from time to 
 time with such plants as were appropriate to the 
 season ; all that Holloway would have to do 
 would be to water the flowers from time to 
 time. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I shall be very glad to have the 
 boxes," said he ; but he looked rather doubtfully 
 at Mr. Macnab. He could not tell where this 
 mania was to end. 
 
 Perhaps something in his tone or look struck 
 the old Scotchman, who immediately said, 
 
 " And I suppose now ye are wondering what 
 concern I have wi' that roof o' yours. Well, it 
 is an old story, and a long story : I thought 
 there was no one left to care to hear it, until I 
 saw the goodwife's head to-day peeping over the 
 tiles, and then I knew she was curious as the rest
 
 198 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 of the women. Hoots, goodwife, there wa'nt no 
 harm done none at all you go and fetch the 
 supper in like a sensible woman, and I'll tell you 
 the story and I will take a glass of whisky, 
 if ye do not mind, which I have in my pocket. 
 It is not the first yarn I've spun in this very 
 room, Mr. Holloway ; for I was a tenant here 
 thirty years ago. Goodwife, could you give me 
 a drop o' hot watter ? " 
 
 The story was a simple one enough ; but it 
 had its touches both of fun and of pathos ; and 
 it was garrulous and good-natured. The old 
 gentleman did not seek to conceal the fact that 
 as a boy his conduct had not been of the best. 
 He was more familiar with the hills and glens 
 with the haunts of rabbit and blackcock and 
 snipe in the neighbourhood of the small High- 
 land town in which he was brought up than with 
 the interior of the parish schoolroom. In fact, 
 when he did present himself before the dominie, 
 the introduction to the day's exercises was 
 invariably a couple of " liffies " * administered as 
 punishment for his having played truant. More- 
 
 * Obviously from loof, the palm of the hand. The in- 
 strument of castigation is a good thick band of leather, 
 sometimes divided into two tails.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 199 
 
 over, Killietown was famous for its herring fleet ; 
 and young Macnab being a great favourite with 
 the fishermen, they were always ready to take 
 him off with them when they left before sunset 
 for the night's expedition, bringing him back in 
 the cold grey dawn much more inclined for sleep 
 than for vulgar fractions and the reading of the 
 New Testament. The boy's uncle, a shrewd and 
 patient old Scotchman of the name of Imrie, who 
 kept a shop for the sale of all sorts of ships' 
 stores, and who was responsible for the bringing 
 up of this incorrigible lad, knew not what to do 
 with him. His own daughter, a blue-eyed little 
 lass of eleven or twelve, aided and abetted the 
 ne'er-do-weel as much as she was able, saying 
 nothing about his playing truant, standing by 
 him when he was found out, and sometimes even 
 abandoning her own lessons and domestic duties 
 to join the indolent young rascal in an excursion 
 after blaeberries through the neighbouring glens. 
 Of course these two became sweethearts, and 
 young Duncan declared his bold intention of 
 sailing away in one of the King's ships as soon 
 as he was old enough and going to the countries 
 that were filled with diamonds and jewels, and 
 fighting and winning a heap of these that so he
 
 200 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 might come back and make Mary Imrie his wife. 
 And she was quite content to wait. 
 
 In the meantime, however, Duncan Macnab 
 was forced to content himself with less ambitious 
 work. His uncle took him away from school 
 and wanted to apprentice him for the lad was 
 tall and strong for his age to a blacksmith. 
 That was no use. Duncan took as naturally to 
 the sea as a wild duck that has been reared by 
 the side of a mountain tarn. He was continually 
 with the fishermen. At last his uncle let him 
 have his will. Duncan joined a crew consisting of 
 four brothers who had bought a smack amongst 
 themselves, and then his life as a fisherman began. 
 
 So the time went on, and Duncan Macnab and 
 his cousin, Mary Imrie, were growing up. He, 
 indeed, had so far advanced to man's estate that, 
 in the seasons when there was no fishing possible, 
 he had gone to Greenock, hired himself out for a 
 voyage, and come back with money in his pocket. 
 He had not yet fallen in with the King's ship 
 that was to take him to the country of gold and 
 diamonds ; but he had found out a way of earn- 
 ing a livelihood, which made him independent of 
 his uncle ; and he worked hard, saved what he 
 could, and drank as little as any inhabitant of
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 201 
 
 Killietown could do. For all that, old Peter 
 Imrie would never look upon the lad otherwise 
 than as a wild, harumscarum fellow, who was 
 born to be a trouble to all his friends ; and at 
 last, when some neighbour hinted to the old 
 storekeeper that his daughter and Duncan Mac- 
 nab were a likely-looking young couple, and 
 when the question was asked whether anything 
 was as yet settled, Mr. Imrie brought matters to 
 a crisis. He told the young man to look out for 
 lodgings in the town, and gave him to understand 
 that he \vas not to speak to his cousin unless 
 when he was formally invited to the house. 
 
 This abrupt and harsh conduct bore its natural 
 fruit. The young people met by stealth, and 
 vowed, with many tears, that nothing on earth 
 should part them. It was the old story told 
 again. In recounting it over his whisky-and- 
 water, in John Holloway's parlour, old Duncan 
 Macnab seemed to be looking at a picture that 
 was far away. The picture was mostly of a wild 
 and stormy night, when the herring fleet had 
 thought it more prudent to remain in shelter 
 the harbour of Killietown a black expanse, with 
 one or two points of green and red fire where 
 the coasters had hung up their lights the town
 
 202 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 visible only as a semicircle of shops, their win- 
 dows blazing out into the dark the streets 
 muddy and shining with the rain. Then he 
 could see a young fellow, not heeding the wet 
 very much, pacing up and down in the darkness, 
 and watching from time to time the lighted 
 doorway of one of the shops ; then the muffled- 
 up figure of a young girl coming out ; then the 
 hurrying away of these two to the end of the 
 pier, and a brief, hurried, happy interview, not- 
 withstanding the rain and the darkness. But it 
 was quite otherwise on one occasion, when Dun- 
 can Macnab came home from the longest voyage 
 he had as yet undertaken. It was in the summer 
 time, for he had got back for the herring fishing ; 
 and when he arrived in Killietown he heard that 
 Mary Imrie was staying with a certain Mrs. 
 MacDonald, a relative of hers, who had a farm 
 some few miles inland among the hills. Now, 
 the sailor lad was a great favourite with this 
 Mrs. MacDonald, and he made no scruple about 
 going straight away to the farm, and demanding 
 that he should be allowed to see his cousin. 
 Not only was that favour granted him, but the 
 old Highland woman also bade him rest content 
 at the farm for as long as he liked, seeing that
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 203 
 
 she had but few neighbours, and had seldom a 
 stranger-face to look at. The young sailor 
 remained at Sonachie Farm for seven long, happy 
 summer days. 
 
 It was, indeed, a time which these two ever 
 afterwards remembered as the happiest of their 
 life ; and there grew up in the girl more especi- 
 ally a sentiment of gratitude even to the inani- 
 mate objects around her to the silent and 
 beautiful glen, called Corrie-Cranach,' where she 
 and her lover used to wander; to the mystic 
 solitudes of the great Ben-na-Braren, where 
 sometimes they could descry a herd of red deer 
 trooping quietly along the mountain-slopes ; and 
 to the more accessible Ben Lena, on the other 
 side of the valley, which they oftentimes climbed 
 to get a glimpse of the distant sea. Mrs. Hollo- 
 way observed that whenever the old Scotchman 
 had to mention the names of these places his 
 eyes filled, and he paused in his speech for a 
 moment. 
 
 Well, it was at this farm of Sonachie that 
 these two young people made a solemn compact 
 with each other to this effect, that if Mr. Imrie 
 would not listen to any reason or persuasion, 
 they two would face the world together on their
 
 204 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 own account. That is to say, if he would not 
 consent, they would do without his consent ; 
 and that was exactly how matters turned out. 
 The old storekeeper said very little when he 
 heard that Duncan Macnab had been up at 
 Sonachie Farm ; but he went himself for his 
 daughter and marched her home ; and he forbade 
 her to leave the house for one moment without 
 his permission. She did leave it and for good. 
 One wet and misty morning, Peter Imrie stood 
 looking at a heavy-looking sloop that was just 
 getting out of the harbour on her way to Green- 
 ock. He had been offered a share in her by the 
 owners ; and he was having a speculative look 
 at her as the great brown sails got more and 
 more of the wind, and the vessel became more 
 and more dim in the rain. He did not know 
 that both Duncan Macnab and Mary Imrie were 
 on board that boat ; though he was speedily 
 apprised of the fact by a letter which he found 
 on his return to the store. He made no fuss 
 about the matter. He got another young lass 
 to keep his accounts ; and let his neighbours 
 understand that he did not wish to talk about 
 what had occurred. 
 
 Macnab and his sweetheart were married in
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 205 
 
 Greenock ; and then the girl wrote to her father, 
 begging his forgiveness (though she honestly 
 declined to say that she was sorry for the step 
 she had taken), and offering, on the part of her- 
 self and her husband, to return to Killietown, if 
 her father would meet them on friendly terms. 
 That letter was not answered. Then she wrote 
 to Mrs. MacDonald, begging her to go down to 
 Killietown, and see what could be done. Mrs. 
 MacDonald replied that she had done so ; that 
 Mr. Imrie's answer was, that if his daughter 
 returned to Killietown he would leave it ; and 
 that it was quite hopeless to try to make him 
 alter his decision. 
 
 Now Duncan Macnab was a resolute, enter- 
 prising young fellow, and having patiently, out 
 of deference to his wife's wishes, waited to see 
 these negotiations finished, he set about making 
 the best of existing circumstances. Moreover, 
 the girl, too, showed high courage. She had 
 thrown in her lot with the man whom she most 
 loved in the world ; and she was too high-spirited 
 to confess to certain lingering lookings-back. 
 She was not afraid. She only bargained that, 
 until all other resources had been tried, Duncan 
 should not go to sea ; for she did not wish
 
 206 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 to be left alone in a town like Greenock, the 
 size and noise of which bewildered her. To 
 this Duncan replied that, as he had been able 
 to earn a living at sea, he did not doubt he 
 would be able to do so on land. 
 
 Good fortune generally comes to those who 
 have the least fear of bad. The young fellow 
 had been only three days in Greenock, making 
 such applications for work as he could, when he 
 ran across the owner of a ship in which he had 
 made two or three voyages, and on this occasion 
 the gentleman in question was accompanied by 
 his brother, the manager of a bank in London. 
 The latter, on hearing Duncan's story, and per- 
 haps a bit impressed by the young fellow's frank 
 face, said he thought he could get him a situation 
 as hall porter to a bank in London, with ll. a 
 week, free rooms at the top of the house, and 
 coals. 
 
 "These are the rooms we came to," said the 
 old Scotchman at this point of the story and 
 there was a curious, sad smile on his face, 
 "this was the first house we set foot in in 
 London." 
 
 The young Scotch girl carried her brave spirit 
 up with her to London, resolved to make the
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 207 
 
 best of circumstances, and the circumstances 
 were not bad. Duncan's work was light enough ; 
 and he had plenty of leisure in the long evenings 
 for educating himself, which he immediately set 
 to work to do. Then the young wife knew little 
 of the roar and bustle of London ; she lived far 
 above it, and it was understood that she should 
 not descend from her Empyrean heights during 
 office hours. Accordingly she set to make a 
 home for herself, not only in the lofty little 
 rooms themselves, but actually on the housetop ; 
 and there she had flower-boxes with various 
 flowers in them ; and on the quiet summer even- 
 ings, when Duncan had closed the heavy doors 
 of the bank and gone up to his wife, that was a 
 pleasant place for them to sit, especially as there 
 was a stone coping to the front wall which 
 insured their safety. And then it was that the 
 girl, laughing at her own folly, began to make 
 this a Highland home for herself ; and that ridge 
 of the red roof that was the giant Ben-na- 
 Braren ; and that other ridge that was her 
 beloved Ben Lena, with the sea, invisible, behind 
 it ; and the hollow between, with the flowers 
 down the centre of it what could that be but 
 the beautiful, silent glen of Corrie-Cranach ?
 
 208 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 In the gladness of her heart she would laugh and 
 talk to those friends of her youth ; and when she 
 read in the afternoon it was as if she were in the 
 still solitude of Corrie-Cranach, until the red sun 
 in the west went down behind the Mansion 
 House, withdrawing the ruddy glow from the 
 ridge of Ben Lena, and then she knew it was 
 time to descend and prepare her husband's 
 supper. 
 
 He grew to have as firm a faith in these 
 fancies as herself. On high days and holidays 
 when the birthday of one of their distant friends 
 came round again, for example they invariably 
 paid a visit to these Highland solitudes to drink 
 a glass to the health of the absent one. But 
 they had grown to regard the mountains and the 
 glen as personal friends also ; and the young 
 wife laughing, though there were sometimes 
 tears in her eyes never failed to say, " And I 
 drink to you, too, Ben-na-Braren ; and to you, 
 Ben Lena ; and to you, my beautiful Corrie- 
 Cranach ; and to all that we know that are near 
 you." 
 
 Now, during the progress of this story, if 
 story it could be called, Mr. and Mrs. Holloway 
 had noticed that the old Scotchman, who had
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 209 
 
 begun in a jocular and garrulous manner, had 
 grown more and more absent, and his talk had 
 become disconnected. He was obviously far 
 more engrossed with these circumstances of 
 his bygone life than with the circumstances 
 around him. At times it almost seemed as 
 if he were speaking to himself. Then he 
 ceased altogether ; and his hand was playing 
 rather nervously with the glass before him on 
 the table. 
 
 He rose suddenly. 
 
 " Well, my friends," he said, with an effort, 
 " that is all the story ye would care to hear. 
 You wanted to know why I come to see ye on 
 the New Year's Days. That is it. We were 
 Scotch folk ; we drank a glass to our friends on 
 the New Year's Day ; and when I came back 
 again to England I thought I should like to 
 come and see the old place " 
 
 There was an unusual flush in John Holloway's 
 face. The worthy salesman said, with some 
 abruptness, " I hope, sir, you will come when 
 you please. And there is no need to pay us 
 money for going up above ; and as for the boxes 
 well, you may be sure, sir, we will look after 
 them ; and if you will come every week, and 
 
 P
 
 2io THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 every day if you like, to see them, you will be 
 welcome " 
 
 He did not seem to take much heed of this 
 offer ; he was looking absently about the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " I do not remember much now," he said 
 slowly, " about these rooms. They are greatly 
 altered ; but the hills and the glen on the roof 
 they are much as they were when she and I 
 sate there on the summer afternoons. I can 
 remember them ay, better than the Ben Lena 
 and the Corrie-Cranach of our younger days, 
 that we never saw again. It is strange I will 
 never see them again I had no thought I 
 should ever see these again. And I suppose 
 they have built a great house now on the side 
 of Ben-na-Braren ; and Killietown, I hear, 
 has become a watering-place wi' hotels in it ; 
 and all the old things and the old people are 
 gone. Well, I thank ye, friends. I did not 
 think to find so much remaining of what used 
 to be." 
 
 He was about to leave, with his sad, half- 
 suggested story but partly told. Somehow they 
 did not like to ask him questions; he was 
 troubled.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 211 
 
 He preceded them to the door, and turned 
 round with a brisker air. 
 
 " I wish ye good night. The boxes will be 
 here in a day or two, I guess ; and you will pay 
 good heed to them goodwife " 
 
 " Indeed I will, sir," said the shy little woman 
 hurriedly. " But if I might make so bold, sir 
 you were speaking of the flowers that the 
 young lady put up there did she live hero 
 long?" ' 
 
 He paused for a moment. 
 
 " She lived in London, in this house, for one 
 year and two months and it seemed a short 
 time to both of us. When she was dying, she 
 said she would just like to see, only for once 
 but indeed there is no more of that story that 
 ye would care to hear. Them that it concerns 
 are all dead now, I suppose, except myself and 
 I shall not be long in following." 
 
 With that he abruptly turned, and dis- 
 appeared down the narrow staircase. Three days 
 afterwards the flower boxes came : they were 
 covered over with glass, and had a few spring 
 flowers from a green-house, of course in them. 
 A few days after that again, old Macnab called 
 on the Holloways, and had a look at the boxes ;
 
 212 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY ' 
 
 he was surprised to find that the flowers had 
 not withered by that time ; but as they were 
 evidently going, he said he would send and 
 replace them. 
 
 After that he used to call more frequently, and 
 made up for any trouble he might give the 
 Holloways, by bringing or sending them presents, 
 on various excuses. He became very friendly 
 with them, and was blithe and cheerful in 
 conversation ; but he never referred again to 
 the story he had told them on that New Year's 
 night. 
 
 This state of affairs continued till May last ; 
 and then Mr. Macnab's visits ceased altogether. 
 The Holloways were surprised ; they were uncon- 
 scious of having given him any cause of offence ; 
 indeed, however friendly he might be in his 
 manner, they always treated him with great 
 respect, and they had grown accustomed to his 
 periodical visits. They knew his address ; and 
 they would greatly have liked to know merely 
 that he was well ; but it was not their place, 
 they considered, to go visiting a gentleman who 
 lived in Connaught Square. 
 
 At length, however somewhere about a 
 month after the old Scotchman's visits had
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 213 
 
 ceased a tall grave person called upon the 
 Holloways, and asked them if they had known a 
 Mr. Macnab. They said they had. 
 
 " The poor old gentleman," he said, " is dead. 
 He died a few days ago, after lying for a long 
 time in a state of insensibility which followed 
 an apoplectic stroke. You were very well 
 acquainted with him, were you not ? " 
 
 John Holloway merely said that Mr. Macnab 
 had come to his house several times, and that 
 his wife and himself had been glad to see 
 him. 
 
 " Because," said the stranger, " he seems to 
 have had no one about him who was familiar with 
 his ways. He has left his fortune, which is a 
 tolerably large one, to various institutions, with 
 the exception of one small legacy, which falls to 
 you. It is 50^ a year. There are no conditions 
 attached ; but there is one very odd request 
 made in connexion with the legacy. It is about 
 that principally I have called in, to see if you 
 understood what the old gentleman meant. He 
 says he does not bind you by this M. to any 
 service, but he begs of you that, as long as you 
 remain in this house, you will look after certain 
 flower boxes and also that on a particular evening,
 
 214 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 
 
 which you know, you should pay a visit to 
 certain strange places 
 
 The stranger took a piece of paper from his 
 pocket and consulted some memoranda. 
 
 " Ben-na-Braren, and Ben Lena, and Corrie- 
 Cranach, which, he says, are in your immediate 
 neighbourhood, and that you should drink a glass 
 1 to the memory of her that knew them! This is a 
 very strange request. Do you understand what 
 it all means ? " 
 
 Apparently Mrs. Holloway did : she was 
 silently crying. As for her husband he said, 
 
 " It was not necessary for the old gentleman 
 to have left us money to do that. We could 
 have done that without any money, I think." 
 
 " Well, you rob no one by taking it," con- 
 tinued the stranger. " Will you give me a call 
 in a day or two ? This is my name and address." 
 
 Since then the Holloways have faithfully 
 attended to the first portion of the old Scotch- 
 man's prayer. As regards the second, one may 
 be sure that the honest salesman will not forget, 
 on the afternoon of the coming New Year's Day, 
 to go up and drink a glass, " To you, Ben-na- 
 Braren ; and to you, Corrie- Cranach ; and to you, 
 Ben .Lena ; and to the memory of her that knew
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CITY 215 
 
 And if his wife had only some little 
 knowledge of the Highlands, she would doubtless 
 burst into laughter over his pronunciation of 
 the Gaelic names ; but perhaps she will not be 
 thinking of laughing at all just then.
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
 
 !t7ie follou-iny is a complete list of the new Half- Crown Edition 
 of Mr. BLACK'S Novels, and the probable order of their 
 monthly issue beginning January 1892. 
 
 A Daughter of Heth. (Ready.) 
 The Strange Adventures of a 
 
 Phaeton. (Ready.) 
 A. Princess of Thule. (Ready.) 
 In Silk Attire. (Ready.) 
 Kilmeny. (Eeady.) 
 Madcap Violet. (Ready.) 
 Three Feathers. (Heady.) 
 The Maid of Killeena. (Heady.) 
 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 
 
 (Ready.) 
 
 Macleod of Dare. (Heady.) 
 Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart. 
 
 (Beady.) 
 White Wings. 
 
 Sunrise. 
 
 The Beautiful Wretch, 
 
 Shandon Bells. 
 
 Adventures in Thule. 
 
 Yolande. 
 
 Judith Shakespeare. 
 
 The Wise Women of Inverness. 
 
 White Heather. 
 
 Sabina Zembra. 
 
 The Strange Adventures of a 
 
 House Boat. 
 In Far Lochaber. 
 The Penance of John Logan. 
 Prince Fortunatus. 
 
 LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTOX & COMPANY, LIMITED, 
 ST. DUNSTAN'S HOUSE, FETTER LANE.
 
 A 000 086 290 4